Backwards Compatible
Coming Back Home

Harry Potter had been exceptionally quiet during the trip from King's Cross station to number four Privet Drive. As a point of fact he was usually so when in the presence of the Dursleys, having learnt many years ago that the easiest way to get along with his so-called family was to keep his mouth shut and speak only when spoken to. That way, if he was lucky, they might forget he even existed and thus not bother him.

This start of summer, however, Harry was preoccupied.

The reason for this was that Harry's Godfather, Sirius Black, had died in an effort to safeguard Harry's life during a botched adventure at the Ministry of Magic building several weeks before. It was the fact that Harry and his friends had been at the Ministry in a misguided attempt to rescue Sirius from Voldemort's supposed clutches which weighed rather heavily on Harry at the moment, as it had been revealed that Sirius had never been in any danger and the entire event had been a trap set and sprung by Voldemort.

Sirius had died trying to get Harry out of a trap of his own making and, despite everyone's insistence that it wasn't his fault, Harry knew that he alone held the blame. It had been his pride and ego that made him refuse to resume his Occlumency with Snape. It had been his naive idiocy that blinded him to the possibility that it was a trap. It had been his courageousness and accompanying hero complex that made him charge off half-cocked. It had been his stubbornness and damn fool ego that made him ignore Hermione's warnings. It had been his weaknesses that led his friends and loved ones into a situation where they could not help but be hurt.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, even Loony Luna Lovegood. None of them had escaped the battle in the Department of Mysteries without injury. Hermione especially had been grievously hurt and, from what he heard later, had hung precariously in the balance before being stabilized. If the curse which stuck her had been the smallest fraction more powerful she could have been killed.

Just like Sirius.

Besides being a showcase for his weaknesses, his stupidity, the fight at the Ministry had revealed something else. Something that Harry had long tried to deny. Something that he had not thought himself capable of having. Something that, quite frankly, scared him almost more than anything he had ever experienced.

Harry had a dark side.

And it was very dark.

He was not unaware of the similarities between himself and Tom Riddle. Not just the physical similarities, but the stark parallels of the lives they had led. Both losing their parents at a young age. One to murder, the other to abandonment. Both taken in by people that despised them and who they, in return, despised. The Dursleys, an orphanage. Both willing to do whatever to took to remain in the one place they felt at home; the Wizarding World. Both driven by ambition and a thirst to prove themselves...

The motion of Uncle Vernon's car pulling into the driveway of number four Privet Drive shook Harry from meandering thoughts. The Dursleys had completely ignored Harry for the duration of the journey from the train station and their arrival at Privet Drive did not change anything. As a group they exited the car and proceeded quickly into the house, leaving Harry by himself to gather and carry his trunk, Hedwig's cage and his Firebolt.

Staggering through the front door he found himself facing Uncle Vernon, who stood before him like a grotesque caricature of a welcoming committee. Somehow, Harry got the feeling that he was not going to enjoy the forthcoming conversation.

"Now listen here, boy," Vernon began, his face a particular shade of red that Harry knew meant he was towards the higher end of his lower range temper. Eskimos had a hundred words to describe snow. Harry had a hundred shades of red, ranging from dusky pink to a lurid purple, to describe Vernon's anger.

Settling his trunk and other items down, Harry prepared himself for what would no doubt be an exceptionally boring and often repeated lecture about how magic was abnormal and would not be tolerated in the Dursley household under pain of death. Vernon had just taken a deep breath in preparation to deliver his lecture when something very peculiar happened that stopped Harry from ever hearing whatever it was his uncle had to say.

The universe sneezed.

At least, that's the only way that those who experienced it could describe the sensation. If they had been fanciful people, which Vernon most certainly was not, they would perhaps have almost heard the universe going "Ah - ah - ah" as everything seemed to grow dim around them in the entrance hall. Then, with typical explosive suddenness, came the "Choo!"

The result, much to Vernon's surprise, was that Harry was suddenly lying sprawled on the house floor. His eyes were free of his glasses, which had been knocked askew and completely off his face as he fell, and he was staring blankly up at the ceiling. For a moment Vernon thought that something had happened and his nephew had dropped dead because of it. He didn't know whether to be worried or thrilled by this, but it proved to be a moot thought as he realized that Harry was still very much alive.

It was unsettling though, the expressions flitting over his face and in his eyes. They came and went with mercurial speed, barely long enough to be seen before melting away and being replaced by something new. At first Harry seemed to stumble back and forth between horror, despair, grief and a multitude of similar emotions. Slowly, however, this changed. Anger, fury and an undiluted hatred flickered in his emerald eyes, though his features had begun to settle into an implacable calm.

After nearly five minutes, in which Vernon could not bring himself to move, Harry's face was a blank mask that seemed to be almost carved from stone. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and appeared to stare into space for a long time, his eyes as blank and empty as his countenance, though they darted back and forth, focused on and following something that only Harry could see. Slowly, like a bank of thunderclouds gathering on the horizon, a terrifyingly hard and cold determination began to form and solidify in Harry's eyes.

When Harry finally turned his burning gaze towards Vernon, the stocky man unconsciously stepped back until he was pressed up against the wall behind him. This was the look of someone that could kill, who had killed. And when he did, it would be without any compassion, without any remorse and entirely without mercy. With alarming clarity Vernon realized that he was in the presence of a person that could calmly and efficiently kill him with complete indifference.

And then something even more alarming happened. A dark fire lit up behind Harry's eyes and his lips curved into a dangerous smile.

For the first time in his life Vernon Dursley was deathly afraid of his nephew.

And it had nothing to do with magic.

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
A Disquieting Reunion

Hermione was worried about Harry. Actually, just about everyone was worried about Harry, with Professor Snape being the only exception.

None of this was particularly unusual. After all, Snape had always hated Harry with a passion that bordered on obsessive, so it was no surprise that the potions master didn't give a right damn about Harry's well being. And, as Ron had pointed out so perceptively that morning, Hermione was always worrying about Harry. Though he joked that she spent more time worrying about him than she did visiting the library, Hermione couldn't help but admit that he was entirely correct.

She would never admit it to anyone, she barely admit it to herself, but Hermione had developed feelings for her best friend that were decidedly other than what a friend was supposed to feel. She could not pinpoint the exact moment when her perception of Harry had changed from close and dear friend to the desire for something... more.

In a way it seemed as if she had always felt this way about him. Perhaps the feelings had not been as developed or mature, but they had been there right from the start. It might have been a touch of hero worship at first, after all, it had been Harry who had tackled a mountain troll that was bigger than Hagrid. What girl could help getting a little starry-eyed about a boy who risked his life to save her own, especially when they had not been on the best of terms at the time. Of course, Ron had been there too, but it had not taken long for her to find out that it had been Harry that had dragged him along in search of her that night.

Over the years the act of worrying about Harry had become almost second nature to Hermione. Her friend had an unnatural ability to attract any and all manner of trouble, more often than not of the potentially lethal kind. Worse yet was that the challenges Harry found himself facing seemed to grow more and more dangerous with each passing year. Amazingly enough Harry always seemed to fight his way through whatever he confronted, emerging bruised, battered, but never bowed.

Until now.

Sirius' death had hit everyone hard, especially the children, bringing home the fact that a war was upon now them. Harry, more than anyone else, had been affected the most by Sirius' death and it had shown during those days before they had left Hogwarts and returned home for the summer. Some part of Harry, that last beacon of innocence that was carefully guarded within, had been snuffed out and extinguished that night. Whatever small hope he might have had for a childhood was gone, leaving behind someone who was now an adult in all ways.

"They'll be here any minute now."

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts and looked at her other best friend, fortunately one that she did not have any suspect feelings for. Ron had somehow managed to grow an inch or two during the month they had been apart, him at the Burrow, she at her home with her parents.

"Yeah," she answered quietly. "Any minute."

"What's bothering you?" Ron asked, looking at her curiously, having clearly picked up on her troubled and somewhat brooding mood.

"Harry."

"You shouldn't be worrying about him, Hermione. He's perfectly alright. You'll see."

Hermione looked at him, struggling to keep the pleading desperation out of her voice, "Will I? You saw how he was at the end of the year. He needed our help, Ron. Somebody to be there for him while he was trapped with those horrid Dursleys. And what did we do? We left him, Ron. All by himself. Alone."

A brooding expression of his own flickered across Ron's face, but was quickly hidden as he tried to assure her. "He'll be alright. He always is."

"Are you so certain of that?" she asked.

"No," he admitted after a long pause, his lips pursed thoughtfully.

Though clearly unwilling to admit it, Ron was just as worried about his friend as Hermione had been for most of the last month. The two teenagers had first started to grow concerned shortly after Harry arrived at number four Privet Drive to stay with his relatives, the Dursleys. His letters, which were delivered with monotonous regularity by Hedwig, were short and concise.

Still alive.
Nothing happening here.
HP.

It did not matter who he addressed the letters to, be it Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus, Tonks or any of the other Order members keeping watch over him. It was always the same, always those same six words. Hermione had even done a comparison between several of the letters and come to the conclusion that they were identical in every aspect, save the parchment they were written on. Every line, every curve and every quillstroke were duplicated with machine-like precision. It was as if Harry had a printing press hidden in his room and was producing the letters off a template.

Suffice to say, by the time Harry was due to arrive at the Order's headquarters, everyone was worried about the state he was in.

A muffled thump from downstairs caught their attention, signalling the entry of Nymphadora Tonks into number twelve Grimmauld Place. The currently lime haired Auror seemed incapable of making her way through the entrance hall without bumping into something along the way. And, right on schedule, this was enough to catch the attention of one particularly obnoxious portrait.

"HOW DARE YOU COME HERE, YOU BLOOD TRAITORS!! FILTHY HALF-BREEDS AND MUGGLE LOVERS ALL OF YOU!! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!! I WILL NOT ABIDE YOUR FOUL PRESENCE IN THIS NOBLE--"

"Merlin, can't anyone shut that bitch up?" asked Ron as they left the room and made their way to the stairs.

Hermione shook her head, "Sirius was stuck in here with her for all of last year. If he couldn't get rid of her in all that time..."

Ron grumbled unhappily, "Thank God Lupin got rid of that filthy Kreacher. At least now we don't have to put up with both of them this year."

"Hmmm," was Hermione's response as she hurried down the stairs, Ron's longer stride easily keeping up.

Kreacher had been the Black family's house-elf and had played a role in tricking Harry into believing that Voldemort had captured Sirius. Hermione had not seen hide nor hair of the treacherous little blighter since she and Ron had arrived at Grimmauld Place that morning. The only thing approaching an explanation was that people's eyes would shift briefly towards Remus Lupin whenever the house-elf was brought up. It did not take a great leap of deduction to work out what had happened.

Reaching the foot of the main staircase, the pair quickly hurried to the entrance hall, where they could hear Mrs Black's slowly diminishing tirade. From the sound of it Moody was growling over Tonks' clumsiness, whilst at the same time threatening the painting with a sticky end in a tub of magical paint remover. Tonks, for her part, was either apologising profusely or telling Moody put a sock in it before she cursed his magical eyeball out of his head. Trying to keep the peace between the two, as well as informing Mrs Black that she should shut up or meet the same fate as Kreacher, was Remus.

And in the middle of this, standing as calm as could be, was Harry.

Unable to help herself, Hermione spent several seconds gaping dumbly at him before charging forward to engulf him in the tightest embrace she could manage. As she expected he did not return the hug, something she had come to expect over the years. She supposed it had something to do with the way his Muggle relatives had raised him; completely devoid of any form of affection. As such Harry simply did not know how to respond to such a display. Hermione still hoped that one day, provided she did it often enough, he would hug her back.

"Hello, Hermione. It's good to see you."

Hermione released her hold on Harry and took a step back so that she could look at him properly. His greeting had alarmed her with its lack of tone and inflection. For all the emotion his voice had carried he might as well be commenting on grass growing, or paint drying.

As Harry turned to face Ron, who had come up behind her, Hermione quickly accessed her best friend's condition. Frankly Harry looked much the same as when she had last seen him, departing King's Cross station just one month ago. Practically identical, in fact. To her relief he was showing no signs of physical or mental abuse, which she had dreaded the Dursleys subjecting him to, and all-in-all seemed to be in relatively good health. True, he was as skinny and pale as ever, but that was also something she had come to expect over the years. There was something wrong, however, something disquieting about his appearance that she couldn't place her finger on.

There was a curious... lightness... in his stance she noted, as though he were feather-light and in danger of being blown away by even the slightest breeze. However there was no sign that he had lost any weight over the holidays, as he was wont to do under the Dursleys' miserly attitude. He just seemed almost insubstantial, somehow, like a ghost that had been given a solid form.

"Hello, Ron. It's good to see you."

Part of her made a note that Harry had, as in his letters, used the exact same words to greet Ron as he has used to greet her. However most of Hermione's attention was focused on Harry's face as he spoke. She had not been able to look at him when he had acknowledged her greeting. The sight was, frankly, an alarming one. Harry's features were as bland and lacking in warmth as his voice was empty of feeling. The closest she could think to describe his expression, such as it was, would be that of a guest trying to look politely curious as his host rambled on about something of absolutely no interest. It was the eyes though, those normally enchanting emerald green eyes, that caught Hermione's attention more than anything else.

Harry's eyes were normally very similar to Dumbledore's in a way; full of life and power and strength. They would twinkle when he was happy, burn dangerously when angry or glisten painfully when he was grieving. The wonderful expression Harry's eyes could convey, a glimpse into his soul, was one of the things that Hermione loved most about him, defeating even his rare, heart winning smile.

Now Harry's eyes were devoid of that sparkle of life, replaced by something utterly implacable. It reminded Hermione frighteningly of the pictures of Sirius and the escaped Azkaban prisoners that had been published in the Daily Prophet . It was somewhat similar, but different in a way that she again had difficulty describing. Taking in everything they saw, but returning not a glimmer nor a spark of the boy she knew him to be, his eyes were terrifyingly blank; as flat and unalive as a badly painted portrait.

And looking into Harry's eyes, Hermione knew that things were horribly amiss.

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Return to Hogwarts

"Hello, Hermione," Harry greeted, his expression was as calm and collected as his voice. "It's good to see you again."

Hermione looked incredulously at her friend. His words of greeting had been exactly the same as they had been one month ago on his birthday, when he had arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Even the inflection, or lack there of, was precisely the same, so much so that she would almost have thought she was hearing a recording. In fact, everything about Harry seemed identical to how he had appear when last Hermione had seen him before having to return home to her parents.

She had hoped, after seeing the state he was in at his birthday, that spending time with the Weasleys and various members of the Order of the Phoenix staying at headquarters would help Harry deal with what he was going through. Ginny and Tonks had promised to owl her as often as possible, giving updates on their progress in trying to make Harry "lighten up" and "live a little", a task they had taken upon themselves over the course of the party and having observed Harry's disappointingly reaction to their long planned surprise party.

The most they had been able to get out of him was a rather bland, "I've never had a birthday party before. Thank you very much," when they sprung the surprise and multiple instances of, "It's very nice. Thank you very much," whenever he opened one of his presents. It didn't matter if it was a box of Strudel (owled by Luna) or a set of books detailing how to duel and fight like an Auror (from Dumbledore). He would greet everyone in the exact same manner and thank them in the exact same manner (his thank you notes to Luna and Neville for their presents was identically to his verbal thanks) and succeeded in alarming even Dumbledore with his lacklustre expressions.

Molly Weasley was convinced the "dear boy" was in the process of starving to death and made her typically concerted effort to stuff as much food as she could down Harry's throat. As such, whenever she saw that Harry's hands were empty, she would hand him a plate with another slice of birthday cake. Harry, much to the amusement (and some concern) of everyone that noticed, would give Molly his now standard expression of thanks and then hold the plate (cake untouched) for a period of about a minute before discretely setting it aside. Hermione had actually seen Molly, apparently oblivious, hand Harry the same plate and slice of cake no less than three times in the course of ten minutes.

Actually, now that she thought about it, Hermione could not remember seeing Harry eat any of the servings that had been handed to him, not even the first one.

"Don't worry about it," Ginny whispered to her once Harry had moved away, pushing his trunk towards the train. "He says that to anyone he hasn't seen for more than a day."

"So he hasn't gotten better?" she asked in return as they followed after Harry and Ron.

Ginny shook her head, "Even the twins couldn't get a reaction out of him, and believe me; they used every trick in their arsenal - including a few that I think they made up on the spot. Nothing works."

Finding an empty compartment and storing their trunks inside, Hermione, Ron and Ginny left to report to the Prefects carriage at the front of the train. While they were all a bit nervous about leaving Harry alone, they were reassured by the sight of Neville Longbottom and his formidable grandmother arriving on the platform outside. Stopping briefly to exchange hellos and direct him to where Harry was waiting, the three prefects continued on their way.

This time round Hermione found the meeting rather boring, as it was nothing more than a rehash of everything they had heard the previous year. Ordinarily she would have paid greater attention regardless, but found herself preoccupied with worrying about Harry. The only fact of interest that she bothered to make note of was that Cho Chang, Harry's girlfriend the previous year, had been selected for the position of Head girl.

Eventually, after what seemed like a far longer period of time that it actually was, the meeting drew to a close and the three Gryffindor prefects were able to leave. They hurried back to the compartment they had left Harry in. Neville had, much to their relief, found his way to the room and settled in to keep Harry company. At some point Luna Lovegood had joined them and was at the moment reading through the latest edition of the Quibbler , which she was holding upside down for some incomprehensible reason.

"Um... nice necklace, Luna," Hermione found herself saying when the quirky Ravenclaw witch peered over the top of her magazine and greeted the newcomers enthusiastically.

Luna grinned broadly and fingered the item in question, "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

Ron looked at Hermione as if she were utterly insane, but for once actually managed to keep his foot out of his mouth by asking with fake curiosity, "What is it made of though? Those aren't butterbeer caps."

"They're from coke bottles," Hermione muttered to him.

"Yes," confirmed Luna, nodding her head so vigorously that her wand, which was tucked behind her ear, shot a few sparks. "It's a Muggle drink father and I discovered over the holidays. I don't know why we don't get it in Hogsmeade - it's simply delicious."

The conversation remained on various Muggle and wizarding sweets, as well as the merits each had over the other, until the door to the compartment swung open without any warning.

"Aw, no," groaned Ron, the first to recognise their visitor.

"Well, well, well," drawled Draco Malfoy, crossing his arms across his chest and sneering at them as he stood in the doorway to their compartment, "look who we have here."

Neville looked at him with narrowed eyes, "What d'you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy practically spat on the floor, "Nothing from you, Longbottom."

He took a step into the compartment, revealing the looming figures of Crabbe and Goyle behind him. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. His grey eyes glittered maliciously as he sneered disdainfully down at Harry. Apparently Malfoy had grown since they had last seen him, making him only a couple of inches shorter than Ron and a handful taller than Harry.

"Potter."

Harry's eyes swivelled to the Slytherin boy, the rest of his body remaining perfectly immobile. Hermione felt a flood of relief and small amount of apprehension when she saw his reaction. For the first time since his arrival at Grimmauld Place, there was more than blank indifference in Harry's eyes. There was intent. A purpose that had not been there a moment before.

Without so much as a flicker of expression, aside from the way his eyes focused and remained fixed on Malfoy, Harry rose to his feet and turned to face him. Hermione, as well as everyone else present in the compartment, also stood and stepped up to flank Harry during the forthcoming confrontation. If they knew anything about Malfoy, it was that he would not risk a fight when outnumbered and facing such a united front. Unless he chose his words very carefully, it was likely that quite a good number of curses and hexes would be flung his way before they reached Hogwarts.

"Malfoy," Harry responded blandly. Though there was a hint of something in his eyes, Harry's face and voice remained as politely blank and toneless as they had for the past few weeks.

"Still mingling with paupers and Mudbloods, eh, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his eyes briefly flicking away from Harry to glance over Hermione and the others standing in the compartment. His eyes returned to Harry and he sneered, "I'm surprised they're still willing to risk being in your presence. How much are you paying them to keep you company? You have to be paying them; after all, it wouldn't be worth their while to court death like this if you weren't."

Harry did not acknowledge the taunt, aside from tilting his head the slightest fraction to one side. He seemed to be considering Malfoy, weighing the other boy up and calculating his net worth. After several moments, in which Malfoy visibly began to grow a bit annoyed at the lack of prompt reply, Harry straightened his head and said, "I have been instructed to advise you to not cause any trouble during the course of this school year. Failure to comply will result in my being required to kill you."

Pretty much everyone stared at Harry and blinked in consternation.

He did not appear to notice their reactions.

Malfoy in particular seemed rather surprised by Harry's word, blinking several times before shaking his head. He glared at Harry and leaned in close to hissed, "Don't presume to think you can threaten me , Potter!"

"It was not a threat."

"Sounded like one," Malfoy countered. He paused, seeming to consider something, before looking to where Hermione was standing by Harry's side. He glanced between Harry and her several times, a calculating expression on his face, before deliberately running his gaze up and down her figure in a very suggestive manner. He smirked, "Better be careful, Potter. Threatening a Malfoy carries a high price and, even if she is a Mudblood, I think my friends and I would enjoy taking the payment out of Granger here."

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!" roared Ron, lunging forward at Malfoy. He was only just held back by Neville and Luna, who took firm grips around his waist and shoulders respectively. Even restrained like this, he struggled to free himself, shouting curses at Malfoy all the while.

Hermione, who by rights should have been more insulted by the insinuation than Ron, was just moving to draw her wand and show just how expensive such a suggestion might be when Malfoy took a step forward. The Slytherin elbowed Harry out of his way and reached out with one hand to grab Hermione by her upper arm as he pressed in close to her.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" he asked, looking over Hermione's shoulder at Ron. "Don't tell me you and your family have suddenly had such a windfall that you can afford not to pass the Mudblood around for a few extra Knuts each month? Or perhaps you prefer to keep it a family business, and pimp out the Weaselette instead?"

"MOTHERFUCKER!!"

Unable to turn around because of Malfoy's grip on her, Hermione could not see Ron's reaction, but she could certainly hear what he had to say about the subject. In fact, she was rather surprised that Neville and Luna still had enough of a grip on him to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy and beating him bloody. The only one of her friends that she could see was Harry, who was standing in place and watching the proceedings with the same damned detachment that he had exhibited since arriving at Grimmauld Place.

"Let me go," she said in as calm a voice as she could muster, trying to sound threatening.

"Why should I do that, Granger?" retorted Malfoy as Crabbe and Goyle gave voice to rumbling laughter. He smirked wickedly and leaned in even closer to her. He raised his other hand, clearly intending to grope her breasts, "Potter dared to threaten me, so now I'm obligated to exact payment for that threat... and you're it."

Harry acted so calmly, so deliberately, that nobody even realized he was no longer simply watching until his hand clamped down on Malfoy's wrist just before the Slytherin boy's hand could come into contact with Hermione's chest. Malfoy turned to sneer at him, doubtless about to order Harry to let him go. Harry, without blinking or changing his facial expression, deftly --and without any apparent effort-- twisted his hand in a practiced motion. Malfoy gasped in mixed shock and pain, releasing his hold on Hermione's arm with his other hand as a loud crack sounded in the compartment.

"I have been instructed," Harry calmly stated, as though he had not just broken Malfoy's wrist, "to advise you that keeping your hands to yourself will greatly extend your current life expectancy. Failure to comply will result in my being required to kill you."

This statement was delivered with such perfect lack of inflection that nobody present doubted that Harry would immediately and without hesitation do exactly as he threatened. Malfoy, cradling his broken wrist against his chest and looking paler than usual, stared at him with wide eyes as Harry remained utterly still and continued to regard him with a dispassionate curiosity that was incredibly unnerving. Swallowing hard, his cheeks beginning to tinge red, he glanced at Crabbe and Goyle and jerked his head in Harry's direction.

The brutish boys began to move and Hermione quickly drew her wand, preparing to hex them both into oblivion before they had a chance to reach Harry. Her efforts proved unnecessary, however, as Harry responded before she could even bring her wand to bear. His eyes did not leave Malfoy's, but his right arm disappeared in a blur of motion, which was followed a moment later by two loud cracks that sounded almost simultaneously. The movements had been too fast to follow, but the result was obvious as Crabbe and Goyle staggered back and fell out of the compartment. Their noses were bent crookedly and beginning to stream with blood. Malfoy looked at Harry, the slight blush of anger in his cheeks disappearing as he blanched.

Harry tilted his head again and said, "I will not repeat myself. And next time I will not be as gentle."

Hermione looked to where Crabbe and Goyle, slumped on the corridor floor outside the compartment, were cradling their broken noses and trying to staunch the blood flow. She then glanced at Malfoy, who was clutching his broken wrist to his chest as he tried not to wilt under Harry's fixed and unblinking gaze. A silent giggle almost escaped as Hermione wondered about Harry's definition of being gentle.

"If you value your life, I suggest you leave. Now."

This time, Harry's voice had a definite inflection to it. One of undisguised threat.

Malfoy didn't even bother trying to retort. Instead he stumbled out of their compartment at close to a run. He almost tripped over Crabbe and Goyle, but was too flustered to notice. As the two bleeding Slytherins tried to pull themselves to their feet, Harry reached out and closed the compartment door. Turning back, looking completely unruffled as not in the slightest bit perturbed by what had just transpired, Harry returned to his seat and closed his eyes as if nothing had happened.

"Bloody hell," breathed Ron and Neville in unison.

"I second that," agreed Luna quietly.

Hermione could only nod in agreement.

Harry said nothing.

***

The remainder of the train ride was uneventful, in that none of their other visitors had any bones broken. However the sheer volume of students that passed through their compartment, once news of Malfoy's fate spread, precluded the possibility of relaxing in each other's company. Except for Harry, who scarcely acknowledged the presence of anyone that entered, aside from those members of the DA that stopped by. Those, at least, he addressed by name when greeting them.

Everyone was effusive in their praise, especially as Harry had managed to inflict such damage to Malfoy and his bodyguards without even drawing his wand. While resorting to physical violence was generally frowned upon, considered to be more the forte of Muggles than wizards, the general consensus was that such actions were a perfectly suited manner for Harry to respond to Malfoy's actions towards Hermione. Those who had actually witnessed the confrontation, however, found the entire episode more than a little disquieting.

The sun was just dipping towards the horizon when the Express pulled into the station at Hogsmeade. Having donned their robes the, Ministry Crew --as the other members of the DA were want to refer to the six students-- exited the train and crowded into one of the supposedly horseless carriages. Luna and Neville spent several moments staring at the Thestrals which drew the carriages, creatures could only be seen by people who had seen someone die. Harry, for his part, ignored them entirely and stepped into the carriage without pausing to look or comment.

The journey from the station up to the school was made in silence. Hermione, who found herself sitting across from Harry, found it to be an uncomfortable silence. The fact that Harry was staring at her the entire time might have had something to do with her discomfort. After squirming under his gaze for several minutes, she began to realize that Harry was not really staring at her. He was simply staring straight ahead and she happened to be in his line of sight. She got the impression that, although aware of her, he was not even registering her presence. It was very disconcerting, particularly as Harry did not blink the entire time.

"Harry? Are you okay?" she asked as the carriage came to a stop and they disembarked.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he replied. "Thanks for asking."

The press of the students crowding through the doors and into the Entrance Hall prevented her from questioning Harry any further, but Hermione determined to speak with him later in the common room. Moving with the masses the group were soon in the Great Hall, whereupon Luna left them to sit at the Ravenclaw table while they carried on to the Gryffindor table.

Settling in their seats, Hermione sitting next to Harry with Ron and Ginny opposite them, they quietly waited for McGonagall to bring in the new first-years for their Sorting. The only interruption came when Colin Creevey, as eager as ever, came up to them with his ever ready camera in hand.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hello, Colin. It's good to see you again."

After politely greeting the fifth-year boy Harry glanced at the camera he was holding, and stated flatly, "I have been instructed to advise you not to attempt to photograph me or otherwise capture my image on film. Failure to comply will result in my being required to destroy your camera."

Colin was in the process of swallowing his tongue when the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Professor McGonagall came striding in, closely followed by a mass of nervous eleven-year olds. The hall immediately settled down and the students watched as the Deputy Headmistress led the first-years up to the staff table.

McGonagall stepped forward and placed the Sorting Hat, as ragged and tattered looking as ever, on the three-legged stool where the Sorting was to take place. Everyone quietened down to hear the Hat's traditional start of term song. Those in their second-year and above remembered the previous year's warning and were curious to hear what the Hat might have to say this year.

That is when it happened.

All of a sudden, an apathetic Harry seemed the least of everyone's worries.

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Disembarking

There was a strange sound, rather like something out of a cartoon, a spring of some sort, which coincided with about a dozen of the first-years yelping in surprise and pressing towards the front of the hall, as something quite inexplicable was in the process of appearing in the middle of the hall. It was very confusing, primarily because of the rapidity with which it took place, mostly the initial sproinging sound, which drew everyone's attention to a spot near the centre of the Great Hall where a ball of... something... had appeared.

It was about three yards across, maybe a bit more, and perfectly spherical in a way that neither nature, magic or machine could achieve. It hovered a scarce inch above the stone floor, its iridescent and reflective surface seemed to shimmer and shift, always in motion even though it gave the impression of great weight and solidity. The image reflected in its smooth surface, that of the Great Hall and its dumbstruck inhabitants, seemed to distort and twist around itself before reshaping to depict a scene that was completely different.

All told the entire sequence of events, from the instant the sphere appeared, lasted perhaps the span of one deep breath. Maybe two. By the time the students and teachers settled down from their initial surprised reactions, the sphere was hanging tranquilly in the air - reflecting on its smooth face the relatively innocuous scene of what looked suspiciously like a mid to upper price hotel room.

Harry, Hermione was slightly annoyed to note, had not budged so much as an inch.

Not even when nearly half the students had jumped to their feet and the rest were shifting uneasily about in their seats. Strange occurrences were par for the course at Hogwarts, not that any of the pure-blooded students would understand the reference. Having a massive ball of... something... pop into existence in the middle of the Sorting, however, was strange enough to alarm just about everyone present. After all, as of last year all doubt that Lord Voldemort had been resurrected had been rudely blown away during the confrontation at the Ministry and the Department of Mysteries. Naturally everyone was a bit jumpy and inclined to believe the worst was about to happen at any given moment.

The fact that even Dumbledore was visibly puzzled, if not openly alarmed, by the sphere's unexplained appearance, did little to assuage the fears currently running rampant through the student population. The fact that Harry did not appear even the slightest bit interested in what was happening did little to assuage Hermione's fear, which were beginning to run almost as rampant as the rest of the students'. The fact that Harry had not even blinked in reaction to the sphere's arrival and seemed almost to have been expecting it, did not help matters either.

"What the hell is that thing?" asked Ron, on his feet and gaping at the shimmering ball of whatever.

"It's moving!" shouted someone from the Hufflepuff table, which caused the students to stir in preparation to flee just in case this proved to be a devious attack of some sort.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, his aura of authority and power momentarily drawing all eyes away from the sphere and to him as his voice boomed throughout the Great Hall. "Students, remain calm. Do not attempt to leave the hall until told to do so."

Hermione glanced away from the headmaster, as did most of the students, and turned back to stare at the sphere which did in fact seem to be moving. It was only when it became apparent that the ball of, it must have been energy of some sort she thought, was not in fact moving that they realized that it was actually the reflected scene on the sphere's surface that was moving about. Something, it was hard to make out properly, seemed to be filling the scene and blotting out the view of the hotel room until a large wooden crate emerged from the sphere's surface with a wet slurp and dropped to the floor with a dull thump.

Naturally the first years began to move well away from the sphere, until they were pressing up against the staff table or blending in with the other students sitting at the house tables. Nobody, save Harry for some reason, seemed able to take their eyes off the strange sphere and the crate now resting at its base.

"It's some sort of transportation device," Hermione whispered to Ron and Harry, receiving only a slight nod of the head from her red-haired friend and absolutely no reaction at all from the Boy Who Lived.

The scene depicted in the globe's reflection once again showed the hotel room and its furnishings. Hermione tried to make out more detail, but could only conclude that it was a fairly nondescript room, which could have belonged to any reasonably priced hotel across the world. The only fact she could gather from the limited view presented to her was that wherever the sphere was connected to, it was somewhere a great distance from Hogwarts. There was light streaming through the windows and she could just discern a hint of sky that seemed incredibly blue. The hotel and its room were someplace where it was still day though night had fallen at Hogwarts over an hour ago.

Something else was moving in the reflection, growing large as it approached the sphere. A moment later, in identical fashion to the first crate to appear, a second wooden crate emerged and dropped to the floor next to the first one. This one was a fraction longer than the first, and had "FRAGILE", "HANDLE WITH CARE" and "THIS SIDE UP" stencilled on its side. Unfortunately it had dropped with a good thump, thus breaking the first two cautions, and had also landed with the arrow from the third label pointing down to the floor.

By now the idea that Voldemort was attacking the school was beginning to fade from the minds of the students as they began instead to wonder just what exactly was going on. If this was an attack, it was a strangely quiet one. Whispers and murmurs began to fill the air as everyone began to speculate, whilst several of the teachers abandoned the staff table and made their way towards where the sphere was hovering.

A third crate made its appearance, at about the same interval as the last two, and dropped to the floor in much the same manner. The only difference this time was that the crate turned out to be a large case of some kind, made out of what looked like some kind of metal and nearly four times longer than it was tall or wide. It looked not unlike the boxes you might imagine a broom company to use when transporting their product en masse. Only on second glance did the true nature of the box reveal itself, mostly to the Muggleborn students who were able to recognise the vivid yellow and black markings painted on.

Whatever it was, it's contents were labelled as being radioactive.

This caused quite a stir when the rapidly panicking Muggleborns tried to explain to the as yet clueless Purebloods exactly what it was that had dropped so unexpectedly at their feet.

"New-clear whazzits?" asked Ron over his shoulder, listening to the excited chatter as Dean Thomas tried to explain the concept to Neville and Ginny without much success, while keeping his eyes on the sphere in anticipation of seeing whatever would emerge next.

"Imagine a Reductor Curse that can level the entire city of London in a split second," Hermione said, more interested in observing the goings on than she was in cushioning her words.

Something else was emerging from the sphere now, something different, something round. It took her several seconds but Hermione recognised the large gas cylinder for what it was a moment before it dropped to the floor with a loud clang. It wobbled on the floor for a moment before rolling on its side, causing several anxious Ravenclaws to jump up onto their table in order to save their feet as it rolled up against the bench they had been sitting on.

The next item to emerge was rather innocuous and quite at odds with everything that had come before it. It was a large box, the kind used to deliver bulk to stores, which appeared to contain several cartons of Mars Bars. This, Hermione felt, was conclusive proof that whatever was going on had nothing to do with Voldemort. Not unless the dark lord had a secret craving for the Muggle sweet, which he now intended to use in an incomprehensible bid to capture the castle. The box was quickly followed by another three boxes, all containing nothing but Mars Bars, though the third box appeared to have already been opened.

"Mars Bars?" giggled Seamus, "Oh, Trelawney is going to love that."

"Be quiet, idiot," hissed Ginny, pointing at the shimmering orb. "Something else is coming."

Neville, scrutinising the sphere with narrow eyes, ventured, "I think it's a person."

Indeed it was. Though it was impossible to clearly make out the person's features, distorted as they were in the reflection, the shape approaching the sphere now could not be mistaken for anything other than a human being. Drawing closer it seemed to pause for a moment and, with an easy swing, tossed a bright blue and green coloured knapsack through the portal. It landed on one of the wooden crates, the one with all the warning labels.

Right then something happened that surprised the occupants of the Great Hall almost as much as the appearance of the sphere. Harry Potter rose to his feet and began to stride determinedly from the Gryffindor table to where this strange mode of transportation was hanging in the air. Several people, Hermione included, called his name, but he obviously chose not to listen to them. Even Dumbledore's stern order for Harry to halt was completely ignored.

Harry was just rounding the Ravenclaw table, which had been between the sphere and the Gryffindor table, when Professor Snape stepped in front of him. The dour potions master was practically livid.

"Potter!" he snapped angrily, "Get back to your table! Now!"

Harry stopped walking and regarded him for scarcely a second before reaching out with one hand and grabbing hold of the front of Snape's robes. Without so much as a twitch of effort or even a flicker of emotion on his face, Harry hoisted the man into the air so that his boots were a foot off the ground. Considering how much taller than Harry the potions master was, this was an act that almost defied belief.

"I have been instructed to report for debriefing," Harry told Snape in the same bare tone he had been using during his stay at Grimmauld Place. He continued dispassionately, "If you attempt to intervene, I will be required to kill you."

That said, in an amazing feat of sheer strength, Harry tossed the dangling Potions professor clear over the Hufflepuff table. Snape crashed into a heap with several Slytherin students, who had been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. Harry, for his part, continued on as if there had been no interruption at all. After a display such as that; nobody present would be suicidal enough to interrupt his progress again.

He came to a stop a dozen steps from the shimmering globe, just short of the first crate to have emerged from the sphere. Settling into a relaxed stance, his arms resting easy at his sides, Harry stood patiently before the sphere and waited calmly for whatever was going to happen next.

A moment later a reasonably tall and lean figure emerged from the sphere and casually stepped into the Great Hall with all the ease of someone moving from one room to another.

He was wearing plain jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, not buttoned up, that even Dumbledore would have considered dazzling. His midnight black hair was slightly longer and rangier than the figure standing immediately in front of him, curling over the collar of his shirt, and as wildly unruly as ever. He had clearly grown taller over the summer, wherever he had been hiding away, and had apparently matched Malfoy's own growth spurt and maybe exceeded it by a hair or two. His frame had filled out enough that he could now be described as slender, rather than skinny, the open front and short sleeves of his shirt revealing the sinewy definition of his muscles.

The slender rectangular frames of his new glasses gleamed silver in the torchlight, no longer overwhelming his features as the thick black frames of his old pair had. Behind the glass lenses his startling green eyes stared out at the world with wisdom and experience beyond his years and a hint of a challenge for the world to throw whatever it cared to at him so that he could meet it head on. He was also holding an apparently one-sided conversation with a small onyx ball, about the size of a gobstone, which was drifting idly in the air just above his right shoulder.

And there, half hidden beneath a fringe of hair, was a lightning shaped scar.

"Harry?" whispered Hermione, along with a dozen other people, in shocked recognition.

Without a doubt, save the fact that there was already one other Harry Potter standing directly opposite the newcomer, the young man who had just stepped through the spherical portal was none other than Harry Potter. To say the sight was disconcerting would be an injustice to the meaning of the word understatement. Hermione risked a glance at Dumbledore and saw that the headmaster was positively gobsmacked and apparently unable to hide the bewilderment he must have been feeling. This, at least to her, was much more disconcerting than having to deal with two Harrys.

The one whom she had first thought to be Harry, wearing his school robes and now standing a short distance in front of the new arrival, was focused solely on the second Harry and otherwise completely ignoring everything else that was happening around him. The second Harry, dressed in his Hawaiian shirt and looking much healthier than Hermione could ever remember seeing Harry look, was also ignoring his surroundings and continuing to argue with the black orb hanging by his shoulder.

"--don't know what you're complaining about," he was saying. "It's entirely your own fault. If you had woken me up on time we could've made the trip using smaller jumps."

He paused, appearing to be listen intently to some inaudible reply, before answering, "Please, Father. Don't tell me that we need to ration our power usage. You've just spent an entire week siphoning off all the excess geothermal energy from Mauna Loa. We're practically swimming with raw power at the moment."

Laughing at whatever reply he received, the newly arrived Harry stopped walking down the length of the Great Hall and found himself standing only six feet from the Harry which had made the trip to Hogwarts on the Express with Hermione and the other students. The newcomer raised his eyebrows and looked his counterpart up and down with a seemingly critical eye.

"Well, you certainly look familiar," he said with obvious amusement.

The smaller boy responded blandly and shocked everyone present by saying, "Doppelganger Unit One, reporting for debriefing."

"Hello, Unit One," Harry greeted with a satisfied and slightly smug smile. His eyes sparkled merrily as he regarded the slim figure waiting patiently in front of him. "It's good to see you again."

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
An Overdue Hello

"Not a bad likeness, I will admit," said Harry Potter, looking his... doppelganger... up and down with an appraising eye. The doppelganger, as he had described himself, stood perfectly still and waited impassively in front of the newly arrived Boy Who Lived, not reacting in the slightest to Harry's scrutiny or comments.

Everyone else, on the other hand, was most definitely reacting to the situation that had so unexpectedly developed in the middle of this year's Sorting. Furious whispers and murmurs broke out amongst some of the less dumbstruck students as they tried to make some manner of sense of what was happening. The teachers were all on their feet, with the exception of Professor Snape - who was still sprawled on the floor where the doppelganger had thrown him earlier.

Dumbledore had come out from behind the staff table and was closely watching the two nearly identical teenage wizards standing near the centre of the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were also on their feet, as was Ginny, the three Gryffindors staring at Harry over the intervening Ravenclaw table. Hermione examined the two boys critically in the near silence following Harry's arrival.

The first, who had only moments ago identified himself as Doppelganger Unit One (whatever that meant) was perhaps the most unassuming figure present. His trousers were faded and scuffed, obviously too wide around the waist and several inches too long in the legs. His shirt was also far too large for his skinny frame and, even from a distance, looked rather tatty under the black school robes. He was short for a sixteen year old and stood slightly hunched over, as if the world was weighing heavily on his shoulders, which only made him seem smaller than he already was. Not the image most people would have conjured up when thinking of a hero.

The other Harry, apparently the real one, stood in stark contrast to his counterpart. His jeans were vibrantly blue and went well with his shirt. At least, as well as anything could go with something that seemed to consist of almost every colour in the rainbow, plus a few extra. He was a good three or four inches taller, but it seemed more by the way he held himself, aided perhaps by the fact that his clothes actually fit him properly for once. His untamed hair was slightly longer than it had been when last Hermione had seen him. With the lines of his face no longer overwhelmed by the thick black frames of his old glasses, Harry looked considerably more in control of the situation than he would have otherwise.

Harry looked up from buttoning his Hawaiian shirt and glanced at the onyx ball hovering by his shoulder. "You can close the Gate now, Father. There's nothing else we need to bring through."

With a sucking sound that was vaguely reminiscent of water draining from a bath, the reflective sphere of shimmering energy that had brought Harry to Hogwarts shrank to a point and disappeared with a wet pop.

"Anything interesting to report, Unit One?" asked Harry, his attention back on the doppelganger now that he had finished straightening his clothes.

"Primary objective was completed successfully," replied the doppelganger, Unit One, his voice as impassive and emotionless as it had been the entire time he had spent as Grimmauld Place.

Harry smirked, a strange sight indeed, and noted, "In other words; nobody found out you're just a badly programmed impostor Father and I left behind to cover my absence during the summer."

The doppelganger nodded, "Correct."

"You didn't give him much of a vocabulary, did you?" Harry asked the black sphere that was now drifting near his right shoulder.

By now most of those present were beginning to realize that the Harry Potter which had made the journey with them on the Hogwarts Express earlier that day, and in some cases the Harry who they had spent the last half of summer with, was actually a fake of some kind. If this was true then it meant that the real Harry had apparently been running about by himself and doing only the gods knew what for the past month or more. This, more than anything else which had transpired over the past few minutes, worried them.

"Secondary objective was completed successfully," Unit One continued after Harry indicated for him to finish his report. Harry sighed fractionally in relief, an action noticed only by those who knew him well, but promptly tensed up as his counterpart added, "One attempted transgression was recorded."

Harry's stance instantly changed. His head dipped lower and his shoulders shifted beneath his colourful shirt. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms bunching into equally tight knots that were readily visible due to the shirt's short sleeves. These understated movements gave him a decidedly predatory aspect, one entirely unlike anything anyone had ever seen from Harry. In its own way it just as disturbing as the doppelganger's indifference had been.

It was Harry's expression, however, that caused the Great Hall to grow quiet once again. There was something terrifying in the lie of his face. A tiny furrow appeared between his eyebrows as his eyes narrowed and his lips drew themselves into a fine line. He stood perfectly still, but every aspect of his tensed body screamed with restrained energy, a predator coiled and waiting to pounce, as he matched his gaze with that of his substitute. After a long, tense beat, he spoke.

"Who?"

Not even Snape could sound so unequivocally dangerous with a single word.

The silence in the Great Hall was absolute as everyone waited with bated breath to hear what the doppelganger would say. There was hardly any doubt in anyone's mind that, once learning the name of whoever it was that had done whatever it was, Harry would promptly seek the poor fool out and rip him limb from limb with his bare hands. He certainly looked dangerous enough to do just that.

"Draco Malfoy."

If possible, Harry's features became even more forbidding. Those nearest to him, sitting at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, tried to edge away - they would swear later that they had been able to hear Harry's teeth grinding.

"Replay. Now. Verbatim," Harry demanded, his voice now filled with a colossal fury that seemed only a hairsbreadth from being unleashed. It was like listening to a natural disaster that had been given voice to proclaim its arrival. One of the less stout-hearted Hufflepuffs gave up on trying to edge away from Harry and simply climbed out of him seat and backwards over the table behind him, falling into the lap of one of his housemates.

Unit One blinked owlishly and tilted his head back slightly before speaking, his voice an eerie reproduction of Draco Malfoy's. "Well, well, well. Look who we have here."

If their eyes had been closed not a person present would have been able to tell him apart from the real Malfoy. They barely had a chance to grasp the meaning of this when Unit One spoke again, this time in the voice of Neville, "What d'you want, Malfoy?"

His voice then changed again, back to Malfoy, and he said, "Nothing from you, Longbottom."

Harry's grim bearing grew progressively darker as Unit One proceeded to recount, in explicit detail, the entire incident that had occurred earlier on the Hogwarts Express. The simulacrum somehow changed his voice to match that of whoever was speaking, using his own bland tones only when describing the participants' movements or his own words.

Ron turned a spectacular shade of red as Unit One gave voice to the screams, insults and invectives he had hurled at Malfoy during the encounter. There was little doubt in everyone's mind that he would be receiving a Howler from Mrs Weasley once she got word of this, although quite a few people (including some of the teachers) were immensely impressed with his creativity.

"Malfoy then attempted to place a hand on Hermione's left breast," Unit One finished off, his voice returning to normal and not seeming to notice the murderous glint that ignited in Harry's eye upon hearing this.

During the entire recital Harry had been focused exclusively on his double, but now he slowly turned that single-minded attention to one side. Towards the Slytherin table. Those Hufflepuffs seated between Harry and the Slytherins literally scrambled over each other as they hurried to get out of the way. The Boy Who Lived was looking more furious, more dangerous, than anyone or anything they had ever seen. Nobody wanted to be stuck between him and his... prey.

"Where is he?" Harry asked in a voice that demanded an answer.

Had Unit One been a wizard he would have shrugged in reply. Being nothing remotely wizard like, however, the doppelganger simply said, "Unknown. Though existing data suggests that he is currently located in the school's Hospital Wing."

Harry paused in his inspection of the Slytherin table and looked back at Unit One with a raised eyebrow. "The Hospital Wing?"

"Correct."

"What did you do to him?" he asked curiously.

"I broke his wrist."

Harry blinked and looked at Unit One in what seemed like surprise. "You broke his wrist?"

"Correct."

It might have been a play of the torchlight reflected in his eyes and perhaps those listening were imagining things, but Unit One looked and sounded almost satisfied. His eyes were as vacant and indifferent as ever, not a muscle had twitched to alter his blank expression and his voice was as neutral and unmodulated as ever. Still, the doppelganger seemed distinctly pleased with his answer.

Even Harry picked up on this, his incensed demeanour immediately beginning to lighten as he looked at Unit One with a quizzical expression. His lips quirked into a lopsided smile as he regarded his double for several moments, before glancing at the obsidian ball which had now shifted position from his right shoulder to slightly above and behind his left shoulder.

"Did you intentionally program him to dislike the Ferret?" he asked, "Or is Malfoy just so good at being an arrogant arse that even an emotionless drone can get pissed off with him?"

Whatever reply the orb made, only Harry seemed able to hear it, his eyebrows raising in obvious amusement. He shook his head before returning his attention back to the doppelganger. "All right, Unit One, you can stand down now," he ordered calmly, no longer looking in imminent danger of going on a murderous rampage. "Deactivate your tactile fields and disengage the holographic projectors."

"Compliance."

With an odd flicker not unlike a television shorting out, the doppelganger Harry disappeared, his robes, clothes and glasses dropping to the floor a moment later. All that was left, hovering at about head height, was a device that looked vaguely reminiscent of a Muggle video camera which had been crossbred with something straight out of a science fiction movie. It was clearly some sort of mechanical gadget - though how it was able to function at Hogwarts was a complete mystery. Ordinarily any electronic machinery would be rendered inactive by the vast amounts of magic which permeated the school and surrounding area.

The drone, which was clearly Unit One's true appearance, bobbed up and down for a moment before gliding forward and past Harry. He scarcely spared the drone a glance as it went by him and completely ignored it as the air around it shimmered before it, to everyone's further surprise, faded from sight with a soft whispering noise.

Harry for his part, was busy rooting through the now discarded bundle of clothing which was all that remained to show that Unit One had ever existed. He straightened up after a moment, holding up his wand with an air of satisfaction. He half turned and flicked it at the assembled items which had preceded him through the spherical portal which had deposited him in the middle of the hall. The crates, the case labelled as containing nuclear material, the large gas cylinder and the boxes of Mars Bars rose into the air and proceeded to float out the Great Hall, presumably heading to Gryffindor Tower to join the rest of Harry's possessions, which the drone had brought with it on the Hogwarts Express.

After watching the small procession depart Harry grinned happily and turned back to face the front of the hall, sticking his wand casually behind his ear rather than depositing it in a pocket. It was an action which immediately put those who knew her in mind of Luna Lovegood, who had much the same habit. Fortunately Harry was not as yet wearing turnip earrings or a necklace made out of Butterbeer caps.

Several moments of silence passed, in which the students and teacher began glancing between Harry and Dumbledore, waiting for the headmaster to speak. Dumbledore was about to do just that, having cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Harry, however, had been ignoring him the entire time and cut him off by striding down the length of the Ravenclaw table until he was standing before a very relaxed looking blonde witch.

"Norway."

"Pardon?" asked Luna, blinking languidly and looking up at Harry with some confusion. This in itself was something of an accomplishment, as Luna very seldom seemed surprised by anything.

"Norway," Harry repeated, grinning broadly at the dreamy-eyed girl with a mischievous expression that said he knew something she did not. He leaned closer and, with a perfectly straight face and a serious voice, said, "The Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. They live in Norway. Not Sweden. That's why you and your dad couldn't find any over the summer. You were looking in the wrong place."

Luna opened her mouth to make some sort of reply.

There was an expectant pause.

Luna, nothing coming to mind, closed her mouth.

Grinning mischievously again, in a manner not unlike the twins Fred and George, Harry moved past Luna and stepped up onto the table. He was clearly heading towards the Gryffindors, but was going over the Ravenclaw table rather than around it. He had arrived early enough into the Sorting that the feast had not yet begun, thus the house tables were not crowded almost to overflowing with all manner of food. This meant that he did not need to watch his footing and, with two quick steps, was over the table and stepped down on the other side.

"Mister Potter..."

It was like flipping a light switch. At least that was how Hermione, who was not far from where Harry was standing, compared it. It was difficult to describe how quickly he shifted from one stance to the other. One instant Harry seemed unbelievably carefree and playful, not in the least bit bothered by the concerns facing the Wizarding World. The next, after Dumbledore called his name, he was holding himself with the air of an embattled god. Death itself being granted mortal form would probably have been a more appropriate description.

It was even more frightening than his expression when hearing about how Malfoy had harassed her during the train ride. Then, when the Unit One drone had made its report, Hermione would have described Harry as looking righteously angry. Filled with a hatred that had simmered and bubbled just beneath the exterior, barely held down and in place even though Harry was visibly eager to unleash it in all its fury. His expression when facing Dumbledore, however, was almost the complete opposite.

A relentless determination seemed to have settled over Harry, encompassing him completely, as he finished stepping down from the Ravenclaw table. He turned to face Dumbledore, presenting Hermione with a much clearer view of his expression. She could see that her friend was favouring the headmaster with a look of such unadulterated and absolute contempt that she suddenly felt her stomach give a foreboding lurch. An icy resolve was burning quietly but fiercely behind Harry's eyes, the kind that would make him unstoppable in a fight should he or those he cared for be threatened. This was the aspect of someone who could take a life without hesitation or remorse.

It was a look she had never thought she would ever see from Harry.

"We will discuss this later, old man," Harry told the headmaster through clenched teeth, his tone of voice capable of turning Hell itself into a frozen wasteland. Nobody was quite sure if it was just their imaginations, but the Great Hall seemed much colder than it had been a moment earlier.

There was also a venom laced behind the frigidness of his voice, barely detectable but Hermione knew it was there. So did several others, if their reactions were anything to go by - those who knew Harry better than most. Ginny, Neville, most of the older Gryffindors and some of the teachers. Even those who did not know Harry that well were able to pick up on his sudden, but obvious loathing (there was no better word) for Dumbledore. It was shocking to see and even more shocking to hear.

Dumbledore, not to mention everyone else in the Great Hall, was simply too surprised by such a belligerent response too say anything further. He recovered quickly, but it was obvious that he was disturbed by what was happening. Harry did not seem to care, and beyond those tersely spoken words he seemed to completely disregard the headmaster after giving him a quick once over.

From her vantage point Hermione saw Harry rake his eyes over Dumbledore, a man considered by many to be the greatest sorcerer of modern times. It chilled her to see that he weighed up the older wizard's worth with a single glance and clearly found him wanting. Harry turned to where she and Ron were standing, dismissing Dumbledore as being someone completely insignificant and obviously not worth his time.

His eyes were glittering from under his shock of black hair as he stood by the Ravenclaw table, poised with a seemingly relaxed, but at the same time alert, elegance which he had not possessed before the summer. Simply seeing Harry assess Dumbledore with that gaze had sent shivers running up Hermione's spine. Seeing that gaze turn towards her was almost enough to cause her heart to cease beating.

Harry's eyes were such a dark shade of green at the moment that you could almost believe them to be as black as the night. Hermione, who secretly prided herself in knowing Harry better than anyone else, knew how his eyes could grown dark when her friend was angry. She could not recall, however, having ever seen him looking like this. This was something beyond anger. Something that, quite frankly, terrified her.

Yet at the same time it somehow thrilled her. It thrilled her to know that she was seeing Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, her best friend, even more so than Ron, the young man that a part of her yearned to be closer to, seeing him radiating such an air of power and authority that his mere presence was enough to focus every eye on him and him alone. She could only wonder what the sight would be like when the day came that Harry added his magical aura to the mix and completed the effect.

That was perhaps the most amazing thing of all; the realization that Harry was able to project this commanding presence without calling on his magic. Normally when he was angry, magic filled the air around him, making it seem heavy and loaded with potential - like the onset of an approaching thunder storm. All witches and wizards did as much when their emotions were forced into the fore, to greater or lesser degrees. Now, however, Harry was allowing not even a single iota of his magic to leak out. Such control was very rare in such a young wizard.

It was incredible to see.

Then it was gone. As suddenly as it had come the darkness left, leaving behind sparkling emerald eyes that were alight with a passion that Hermione had not seen in what seemed like forever. Not since before the beginning of their fifth-year. Maybe even longer. Yet there was also restraint, an iron willed discipline that prevented any of the emotion in Harry's eyes from reaching his face or body. Those burning eyes flicked between her and Ron as he strode to where they stood, Ginny and Neville standing opposite them on the other side of the table.

"Harry, mate, wha--"

Ron never got to finish asking his question. Harry had just hauled off and slugged him a blow to the jaw that lifted the lanky redhead clear off his feet and into the air. It was a good thing the feast hadn't started yet, or Ron's robes would have been covered in a spray of food as he crashed down on the Gryffindor table. As it was he scattered an impressive array of gold cutlery onto the floor upon impact with the wooden tabletop.

"Ow! What the Hell did you do that for?!" exclaimed Ron after several panic-filled moments in which half of Gryffindor (and possibly the rest of the school) had mild heart attacks. They had been able to accept Harry looking ready to eviscerate Malfoy. They had been able to accept Harry giving Dumbledore the cold shoulder - with spades. They simply could not , however, accept that Harry had just punched one of his best friends in the face for no apparent reason.

"That," Harry told Ron sternly, though his eyes had remained their normal bright green, "is for making Hermione cry."

"What?!" Ron asked incredulously, one hand on his rapidly swelling jaw. He shook his head, no doubt to clear away the Golden Snitches that must have been circling around it after receiving such a blow. "Harry that was nearly six years ago! I apologised already!"

"That wasn't for the troll in the bathroom incident, you git," replied Harry, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest. He continued to look at Ron with a severe expression. "It was for when you break up with her!"

"But I haven't even asked her out yet!"

These proclamations caused quite a stir amongst the other students, Hermione in particular. She looked from one boy to the other with wide eyes, scarcely able to believe what she had just heard. Up until this point she had never even considered the idea that Ron might like her in any capacity other than that of a friend. Truth be told she had been fairly convinced that the only reason he was her friend in the first place was because of their mutual friendship with Harry and the fact that he probably got some sort of enjoyment out of their perpetual arguments.

She did note, however, that Harry seemed rather surprised by Ron's shouted protest. He blinked several times and a strange expression crossed his face. Hermione, who still considered herself an expert on all things Harry - even if she was apparently blind to all things Ron, recognised it as the expression he often wore shortly after having made a stupid mistake. She could almost see the thoughts running through his head at that moment. If he were to verbalize them, the first word out of his mouth would probably have been oops.

"Ah," Harry said, a hint of embarrassment tingeing his cheeks. He cleared his throat, a cover which he used to regain his composure. Truth be told, Hermione was fairly certain that she was the only person close enough to see him lose it in the first place; he had hidden it so well. Harry scowled, obviously part of his act, and continued to speak with his original sternness as he wagged a finger at Ron in mock admonishment. "Which is exactly the reason why I'm smacking you now; so you'll know what's in store for you if you do it again, you silly prat."

Reaching down he grabbed Ron's free hand, the one not massaging his bruised jaw, and hauled his friend off the tabletop and onto his feet. Ron almost overbalanced, apparently Harry's sinewy frame was stronger than it looked, but managed not to topple over. Harry made a slight show of brushing off his friend's robes before surprising everyone, Ron especially, by engulfing him in a rib cracking hug that would have turned Mrs Weasley green with envy.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you alive and well, mate," he said in a quiet voice that was only heard by those nearby. "No idea.

"Er... right," replied Ron, wincing as Harry gave one last crushing squeeze before releasing him. He took a step back, giving Ron some space to breath properly once again, and nodded to Ginny and then Neville, who were watching with wide eyes from the other side of the table. Then, he turned his attention to Hermione.

This time, however, his gaze was not as direct as it had been with Ron. Instead Harry approached her slowly, glancing around and about rather than meeting her gaze directly. His smile was a shy and bashful one, which Hermione found strange to witness after his recent displays of authority and command. He looked very much as though he were nervously preparing to ask her out on a date.

She was about to chide herself for indulging in such hopeless fantasy --she knew Harry did not think of her that way-- when Harry finally raised his eyes to hers and held fast. Hermione gasped quietly, barely a whisper of breath, at the sight. He was staring at her with a strange, lost look in his eyes, and in that moment Hermione knew that something terrible had happened. Never before had she seen such raw pain and naked yearning, written clearly in his eyes for all to see, in Harry's expression.

He stood there, not even an arm length away, staring at her for what seemed like an age though was probably only a minute. At first Hermione could only see the anguish glistening in his eyes, but slowly she noticed something beneath that, something in the look he was giving her that was almost as wrenching to see.

It was the kind of look a holy man might get when whichever god he believed in came down from on high to personally deliver his latest set of commandments. It was the look of a man who was seeing something utterly impossible, something he never dared to hope he would ever see again. A miracle. And some part of him simply could not believe it.

Then, before Hermione knew what was happening, Harry was in her arms, clutching as tightly to her as a drowning man clutched to a life preserver. At first startled, Hermione soon returned the hug, realizing as she did that the young wizard in her embrace was trembling. The tremors were barely noticeable, Harry seemed to be holding them back to the point that nobody else would even notice, though it was obviously a struggle for him to do so. Hermione could not fail to feel the shivers wracking his frame, regardless of his efforts.

"Don't! You! Ever! Do! Anything! Like! That! Again! Hermione! Don't! You! Dare!" he exclaimed, sharply biting each word off in an attempt to drive their point home. His voice was raw, gravelled and unbelievably bleak, as though the words were torn from his very soul.

After this vehement proclamation Harry drew back, just enough to stare into Hermione's face, his hands retaining a bruising grip on her upper arms. He looked at her with eyes the colour of a storm-tossed sea, scrutinizing her with disturbing intensity. It was though he were memorizing every line, curve and plane of her face, almost as if he expected her to disappear forever at any given moment.

After perhaps a minute of this silent observation Harry seemed to become aware of just how intently he was studying her and, in literally the blink of his eyes, a mask slid over his face as he buried his emotions behind a cheerful faÃ§ade. He grinned broadly at her and released his hold on her arms, taking a step back as he told her jokingly, "If you do, I swear before heaven, hell and everything in between that I'll kill myself as well and follow you into the afterlife where I'll beat you senseless with a copy of Hogwarts, A History ."

There were a few twitters of amusement from those at the Gryffindor table who heard him clearly. Only Hermione could see that he was being deadly serious, that every word was spoken with total conviction. The moment passed quickly, however, as Harry stepped back and motioned in a gentlemanly fashion for Hermione to resume her seat next to Ron.

"Certainly seems rather lively, doesn't he?" Seamus mentioned further along the table, as Harry sat down beside her, taking the space the doppelganger unit had previously occupied.

"Of course he does," asserted Lavender. "What would he be if he wasn't alive?"

Harry spared her a wry glance and said, "Dead."

Those that heard the short exchange stared at Harry, trying to decide if he was still joking or not. Harry, for his part, lounged back in his seat like the devil at rest. Amidst the sea of black school robes his flamboyantly coloured Hawaiian shirt stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. Where once Harry would have been uncomfortable about being so conspicuous, he now seemed perfectly at ease with the situation - settling back and looking over the gathered witches and wizards with a bemused smirk.

"Well, get on with it!" he announced to all and sundry after nearly a minute, in which absolutely nothing happened. "I'm sure the first-years would like to be Sorted sometime tonight!"

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Opening Statements

The door to the office swung open, allowing the headmaster of Hogwarts to step in. Following closely behind him, albeit with obvious reluctance, was Harry. The pair made their way into the room without speaking, waiting until Dumbledore rounded his desk and settled down into his plush chair.

"Well, Harry--" he began, motioning for Harry to seat himself as well, but was cut off.

"Can we make this quick?" Harry interrupted brusquely. He folded his arms across his chest and remained standing, the Snitch-sized black sphere bobbing gently in the air just above and behind his right shoulder. "I'd like to get to my dormitory before the boys accidentally set off the nukes I brought."

Dumbledore looked at him with some confusion and asked, "Nukes?"

"They're a type of Muggle shoe," the young wizard replied after a moment. There was not any hesitation in his answer that Dumbledore could detect. He did seem somewhat bemused by his answer though. "Usually associated with sportsmen."

"Ah."

That was all Dumbledore could think to say on the matter. He knew for a fact that he had his own... foibles... but he had not expected Harry to start developing such eccentricities at such a young age. Then again, the young man standing opposite him was not the same young wizard he had last seen - during their confrontation at the disastrous end of the last school year.

There was a coldness to Harry's green eyes, a remoteness that had not been there before. His face, usually a wealth of information regarding his feelings --Harry would have been a terrible poker player before now-- was now schooled in such careful neutrality that the headmaster could not discern even glimmer of what his student was really feeling.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore decided to tentatively broach the subject that had been bothering him since Harry's rather, shall we say... unconventional... appearance in the Great Hall shortly before the start of this year's Sorting.

"I understand, from what you said when you arrived, that you spent your summer in Hawaii."

"Some of it."

"Some of it?" Dumbledore repeated, surprised. "You mean to sa--"

"I spent the summer visiting places." Once again Harry cut him off, the curtness of his voice perhaps the only clue as to his current state of being.

Raising his eyebrows in interest he asked, "Anywhere in particular? Besides Hawaii, I mean."

For the first time since entering the room Harry diverted his attention away from Dumbledore and began to make what appeared to be a vaguely disinterested examination of the office. He responded to the inquiry in an offhand manner that was casually dismissive.

"Here and there."

"Might I ask how you managed it?"

Now Harry returned his attention back to Dumbledore, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he peered at over the tops of his new glasses. "Managed what?"

"Moving from here to there," replied Dumbledore, injecting just the faintest of traces of humour into his voice. He wanted this meeting, unlike the last one, to be a relaxed one - though the tension had been mounting from almost the moment Harry had met him outside the Great Hall after the welcoming feast. "I know for a fact that no withdrawals were made from your Gringotts account and I very much doubt you had enough Muggle currency for such travels."

He realised that he had made a mistake the instant Harry's expression changed from one of schooled indifference to a slightly colder one. If he had learned anything during the previous year, it was that Harry did not respond well to people prying into his life. Keeping tabs on his bank account was something he would most emphatically disapprove of. Before Dumbledore could chastise himself further, Harry gave a curt answer.

"You saw how I arrived here, old man."

Just as his expression had grown cooler, so had his voice. It was nowhere near as chilling as that which he had demonstrated earlier that evening, but it was enough to let Dumbledore know that he was not happy. Even the portraits of the school's past headmasters were able to pick up the coolness in his tone and, remarkably, did not comment on it - aside from a quiet murmur or two.

Successfully repressing a wince, he tried to both agreed with Harry and at the same time prompt him on. To this end he said, "Yes, that rather peculiar bubble that appeared out of nowhere."

"They're called Gates," Harry grudgingly revealed.

"Gates?"

"Don't ask me why they're called that," answered Harry with a frown. He pushed his silver framed glasses up and once again crossing his arms over his chest. "I wasn't the one that named them."

"I see," said Dumbledore, being somewhat disingenuous as he did in fact not see. At least not very clearly.

Trying to pry some more information out of his wayward student, though as subtly as he could, he tried once again to prompt Harry into speaking up. "I am also somewhat curious as to the exact nature of that device you used to fool us into believing you had not gone anywhere. It fooled us rather well."

Harry gave him a sidelong look and, reluctantly, revealed, "I call it a doppelganger unit."

"An appropriate name," Dumbledore said, with a nod. He made particular note of the fact that Harry had said he called the device by that name - implying that he had created it himself, if his earlier statement regarding the Gates held true. He decided to test this inference by paying him a compliment. "A remarkable feat of magical engineering."

"Thank you," was Harry's dry reply.

So much for trying to get a response that way. Dumbledore switched to a different track and made a statement that was more of a question really. "It must have taken you some time to construct it - especially without triggering any of the Ministry's alarms for use of underage magic."

Harry seemed almost amused again as he responded, "Three and a half hours."

"Three--" Dumbledore was speechless with surprise, something that had not happened in a long, long time. He looked at Harry with wide eyes as his half-moon spectacles slid to the tip of his nose and almost fell off.

"I left it in place and Gated away from the Dursleys before sunrise on my first day back," Harry elaborated, a coldly satisfied smile on his lips as he revealed a fact that caused Dumbledore's heart to skip a bear. "I never even slept on that lump they call my bed."

Dumbledore could feel the blood draining from his face, both from the sound of Harry's voice as well as from the terrifying fact he had just revealed. He felt as though somebody, in this case Harry, had just dealt him a near mortal blow. It was a good thing he was already seated, or else his legs would have given out beneath him. It took all of his many years of experience to maintain his composure, though he knew that he was visibly shaken.

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat he sought confirmation of something he realized that he most likely did not want to know. "You didn't even spend a full day at your home?"

"Number four Privet Drive," Harry spoke the name with such derision and disdain that Dumbledore could not help but flinch, "is most certainly not my home."

"Harry, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation," he told the young man standing defiantly on the other side of his desk. He tried to put a sternness into his voice, but the shock he was still feeling negated most of his efforts.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to examine the nearest bookcase. "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself from any attack."

"You didn't even have your wand with you, Harry!" Dumbledore protested. "How could you defend yourself adequately without it?"

Harry's reply was succinct as he nodded his head in the direction of the onyx sphere that was now drifting near his left shoulder. "Father."

"Fa--" flustered by the answer Dumbledore sputtered for several moments before pausing to collect himself. Taking several deep breaths and reaching into one of his desk drawers for a lemon drop (to sooth his nerves) Dumbledore propped his elbows on the desktop and spoke in the grandfatherly tone he had mastered decades earlier. He also made a point of weaving some of his magic into the words, giving them an underlying hint of command and authority that very few people were able to resist. "I would appreciate if you would be so kind as to explain what happened after you left King's Cross, as well as everything that transpired over the remainder of your summer."

"No."

"Harry--"

"No."

"I don--"

"I will not repeat myself again, old man," Harry cut him off with a raised hand. His voice carried with it the same kind of underlying magic that Dumbledore himself had just been using, only laced through with an aura of chilling defiance and resentment that the headmaster felt as acutely as a physical slap to the face. "No - I will not explain what happened. Not now."

"Then when?" asked Dumbledore, more than a little flustered at having his own tactic turned against him.

Harry snorted, as though the answer were obvious. The lenses of his glasses flashed as he tilted his head down so that his piercing green eyes could peer over the rims. There was no magic this time, but his voice still held an arctic chill. "When I feel it is safe for me to trust you again."

This was something Dumbledore had been dreading, perhaps more than anything. He knew that sometimes Harry gave his trust blindly (particularly when he was younger) but losing that trust so abruptly was akin to yet another physical blow. At this rate he would not be surprised to wake the next morning covered in bruises. This was proving to be an exceptionally painful conversation, even more so than the last - though for different reasons.

That meeting, immediately after Sirius' death, had been an emotionally painful and trying experience. Harry had taken the revelations he had learned that night badly. So badly that Dumbledore had done what he had promised not to do - distance himself even further from the boy he considered a son. He had only wanted to give Harry the time and space he needed to grieve, knowing that he would need such distance before they could attempt to repair the damage that had been dealt to their relationship.

Harry's birthday, when he had been brought from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place, had been the time when he planned to sit down and try to talk to the younger wizard. Unfortunately he had taken Harry's apparent indifference (which he only now knew the reason for) as an indication that the boy was not yet ready, and thus he had put it off - hoping that by the time school started Harry would be ready to talk.

Now it seemed that Harry would never be ready, or willing, to talk to him.

"You don't trust me?"

"Not in the slightest," Harry replied immediately, without hesitation. He looked around the office one more time before clapping his hands together and turning on a heel towards the door. As he walked away, the black sphere trailing closely behind him, he called over his shoulder, "If that's all, I'll be off."

"There are things I still need to tell you, Harry," Dumbledore called out just as Harry reached the door.

Harry paused and half turned, presenting his profile. The motion seemed foreboding somehow, and his eyes glinted coldly. "There's nothing you can tell me that I haven't already found out, or worked out, for myself."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Harry."

"Oh really?"

Hearing the way Harry said that, Dumbledore knew he was in trouble. There was a grim certainty, a sureness about his stance as he turned away from the door. As he began to stalk --that was how Dumbledore's mind described it-- back towards the headmaster's desk he wondered why he had not left well enough alone and kept his mouth shut.

"What d'you still have to tell me then? Hmm?" asked Harry with a biting sarcasm that actually made Dumbledore wince. "What little, yet important, titbits have you been keeping to yourself?"

Dumbledore was searching for something to say, anything to say really, when Harry began to smile almost ferally. The cold fire in his green eyes suddenly became anything but cold, now blazing with a barely restrained fury that left Dumbledore rooted in place and unable to break his eyes away from Harry's gaze.

"That the connection between Voldemort and myself is only as strong as it is because he decided to use my blood to resurrect himself?" asked Harry, having now reached the desk. He set both hands, clenched into fists, on the desk top and leaned forward. His smile was not a pleasant sight as he continued. "That this year's Defence professor, Smythe-White, is also a qualified Healer from St. Mungo's that you hired to evaluate my mental state? That you've told the teachers to handle me with kid gloves?"

Dumbledore went into shock upon hearing this. Nobody, outside of a few select members of staff --namely the heads of the four houses-- knew what Harry had just revealed. It was impossible for Harry to know that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had been hired primarily in hope of helping Harry work his way through his grief. That he was a qualified Auror field medic had only secured his position.

But how could Harry know this? He had not, to Dumbledore's knowledge, come into contact with any of the professors during the summer...

"That you left me entirely alone during the summer," continued Harry, his voice laden with accusation, "leaving me to work on my Occlumency by myself, leaving me open to months of Voldemort's attacks, because you thought I needed 'breathing room'?"

Appalled, horrified, dismayed, Dumbledore listened to Harry's burning litany of things that should have been secret with increasing distress. How did he know these things? That he knew of his blood-connection to Voldemort was not too surprising. After all, it would not be difficult for a boy of Harry's intelligence to deduce such a fact.

His knowledge of Smythe-White's true purpose at Hogwarts was a mystery, true, but anyone with sufficient resources and persistence would have been able to access the public records at St. Mungo's and the Ministry and learn the new professor's occupation.

Knowing what Dumbledore had been thinking, planning, however, was something on an entirely new level. The few minutes before this tirade began had shown that Harry's Occlumency was such that even Dumbledore could not divine his innermost thoughts. Hell, for that matter Dumbledore had been entirely unable to perceive Harry's outermost thoughts - the young man's mind was so tightly shielded that any master of Occlumency would be jealous, or at least appreciative.

Now it seemed that Harry had progressed from Occlumency to the next level, Legimency, with such skill that he was able to peer into Dumbledore's mind without difficulty. Indeed, apparently without the headmaster even being aware that he was being probed. Dumbledore did not know if he should to be proud or nervous.

"That you have every intention of asking me to remain at the Dursleys next summer, even though the blood magic that supposedly protects me will not be as effective because I'll be of age?"

Calm; Dumbledore tried to remain calm. It was not easy, especially as Harry continued to reveal things he was not supposed to know yet. Worst of all, everything he had said so far was not only true, but also happened to be those facts that were most assured not to leave Harry in a good mood after hearing them.

"That you're going to convince McGonagall not to teach me how to become an Animagus because you feel it will be too dangerous?" Harry stepped back from the desk and crossed his arms again as he continued to pin the headmaster in place with his burning glare. "Because you don't want me 'gallivanting around without supervision'?"

Dumbledore was beginning to think that Harry had managed somehow to surpass even Legimency and become a true mind reader. It was outrageous, supposedly impossible, but considering the way Harry seemed to be reading him like an open book... no, Dumbledore did not want to even consider the possibility.

"That you've requested all the school portraits keep an eye on me and my activities? Even going so far as to hang some in the Gryffindor common room and the sixth-year boys' dormitory?"

By now Dumbledore was actually starting to feel physically ill, nauseous, as Harry continued to lay bare one plan after another. What more could he possibly know? Everything?

Harry turned to present his profile once again, looking at Dumbledore through slitted eyes and a cold expression that even Professor Snape would have been hard pressed to match. He hissed his next words, laced with barely suppressed fury. "That Lucius Malfoy and the Death Eaters we captured at the Department of Mysteries have already escaped from Azkaban, but the Ministry is keeping quiet about it - still pretending everything's just fine and dandy?"

It took every single year of Dumbledore's experience, nay, every single day, perhaps even the hours of experience, to keep himself from doing the sensible thing. Run off screaming. The shock he was feeling at this moment was possibly the greatest he had ever encountered, certainly the greatest in recent memory. It took all of his skills to keep it from showing, lest it ruin his hard-won, long-held reputation of being utterly unflappable.

"Have I left anything out?"

"H-how...?" he struggled to find words to express himself.

"How do I know all that?" asked Harry, finishing the question for him. Dumbledore nodded dumbly, which caused Harry to smirk and reply, "All things considered, do you honestly expect me to tell you?"

Dumbledore slumped in defeat. "N-no... no, I suppose not."

He looked up to see Harry smirking triumphantly at him, the kind of expression that one wore after successfully pulling an egotistical twit down a couple of pegs. Sadly, this time it seemed that Dumbledore was the twit. He had promised, just two months ago - and in this very room, that he would not keep any more secrets where Harry was involved. Apparently the worth of his promises was deteriorating as rapidly as his control over the situation.

"I'm sorry I tried to keep these things from you, Harry."

"No, you're not," Harry immediately retorted. "You're not sorry you kept all that from me. You're only sorry that I found out ."

Dumbledore hung his head shamefully. "I stand corrected."

"You're sitting," noted Harry, completely without humour. "No wonder the situation we're in is as bad as it is - you can't even keep the most basic and obvious facts straight. In that regard, you're almost as bad as that idiot Fudge was."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence in which Dumbledore regarded his hands - which he held in his lap. He wanted to look up, to gaze into Harry's eyes, for there was something about the way Harry had said that... or something the young wizard had said... He had a feeling Harry had just, inadvertently, revealed something but Dumbledore could not put his finger on what.

"Actually that reminds me," said Harry, suddenly speaking up. He immediately caught Dumbledore's attention with the way his voice was several octaves lower, with a distinct chill. His next words shocked the headmaster almost more than everything else that had been said. "I want you to remove Minister Fudge from office."

"Harry?"

Dumbledore stared incredulously at him and saw that he was deadly earnest.

"You heard me properly, old man," Harry told him. "I want Fudge out. I'll give you until Halloween."

"Even if I were inclined to do so, Harry, I very much doubt that I could," countered Dumbledore with a shake of his head. He had heard many things in his long life, but had never encountered a request, no, an order, such as this. "Ousting the Minister of Magic from his post in only two months? Impossible."

"You'd better. Or I'll remove him myself."

There was something about the way Harry said that which caused a shiver of alarm to race up the headmaster's spine.

"Forgive me, Harry, but it sounds as if..." he trailed off as he saw the dark glint in Harry's eyes which seemed to confirm his suspicions. He gaped stupidly for a second before exclaiming, "Dear Lord, Harry, you're talking about murder!"

"I have no intention of murdering him," replied Harry blandly. Dumbledore had just enough time to heave a sigh of relief when Harry delivered the killing stroke. "I am, however, perfectly willing to assassinate him if need be."

Suffice to say Dumbledore's relief evaporated faster than a snowball in hell. He was suddenly and appallingly aware of just how out of control everything suddenly seemed to be spinning. He knew, for years now, that Harry had little appreciation for the Minister of Magic. Truth be told, even he considered the man to be little more than a bumbling idiot - albeit a bumbling idiot with an unfortunate amount of political clout.

In fact this wasn't the first time Dumbledore had considered removing Fudge from his position and installing someone better suited for the job in his place. Never, however, had he been presented with the idea of getting rid of Fudge on such a very permanent basis. The thought that it was Harry suggesting this left him with a queasy stomach and a strong urge to start gibbering.

He was brought out of his musings, which must have taken longer than he thought they had, when Harry finally took up his earlier offer and sank into the plush chair opposite him. The hovering black ball drifted down with him, continuing to slowly circle around him.

"Professor," he spoke softly, for the first time sounding less than openly hostile to the headmaster, "d'you know the phrase, 'a casualty of war'?"

Somewhat surprised by this question, which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Sadly, yes,"

"Do you agree with it?" asked Harry, looking at Dumbledore's face as though searching for something he desperately wanted to find. "Do you agree that sometimes it just can't be helped? That people we care for will die?"

"Yes, though I wish it were otherwise." Dumbledore looked curiously at Harry, seeing how he had suddenly transformed back into the boy he had know two months ago, and wondered what had brought upon this change. He started to speak, "Harry--"

"If you believed one person was more important in the fight against Voldemort than another," Harry cut him off, leaning forward in his seat and asking intently, "would you sacrifice that other to protect the first? Would you accept their death as 'a casualty'? Would you?"

"Harry, if this is about Siri--"

"This has nothing to do with Sirius."

Dumbledore was very surprised by this admission. He had felt certain that Sirius, or more accurately Sirius' death, was the root of Harry's current difficulties. To learn that Harry did not consider this so, and was apparently talking about something else, proved once again this night that the headmaster was no longer in the loop when it came to Harry Potter.

"Sirius died because he chose to come after me. It was his decision," stated Harry, his voice as calm and collected as it had ever been. There was, perhaps, the faintest trace of pain to be heard - but it was deeply buried. Harry sighed tiredly and sank back into the chair. "I accept that."

This presented Dumbledore with something of a quandary. On the one hand he was pleased that Harry had seemingly worked his way through his grief and had come to terms with his godfather's death. On the other hand, however, it meant that Dumbledore had no idea whatsoever of where Harry was coming from with regards this discussion.

Harry peered intently at Dumbledore, clearly focusing everything he had on the headmaster, and asked, "What I'm asking is; would you leave someone to die, or worse, if you thought that attempting to rescue them would be too great a risk?"

It was not an easy question to answer. It was not an easy situation to resolve, either. During Voldemort's first rise to power, there had been several unfortunate incidents where Dumbledore had faced such a decision. Even before then, during the days of Grindelwald, he had been forced to make that choice more than once.

Now, as before, he gave the answer he had to.

"For the good of the whole - yes."

Not a single muscle in Harry's face moved. His expression did not change, or so much as even flicker, yet in that moment, Dumbledore knew that he had given the wrong answer.

"Then we have nothing further to talk about," Harry announced calmly. Too calmly. He rose from his seat opposite Dumbledore and gave him a polite nod of the head. "Good night."

It was tempting to speak and try to stop him from leaving, but Dumbledore had the feeling that this discussion was over. Harry was no longer willing to talk to him at the moment and would not continue regardless of anything that might be said to him. Indeed, the final words of the night were spoken with Harry not even bothering to turn around to face the headmaster. He paused at the door, one hand on the doorknob, and spoke in the same, soft, deadly voice he had used earlier.

"Remember, old man," he warned. "Either you get rid of Fudge, or I will."

***

"Ron, will you please either sit down or slow down, but for Merlin’s sake will you at the very least calm down?"

Hermione had never seen Neville looking quite so frustrated, but she had to admit that Ron's furious pacing, back and forth the Gryffindor common room, was beginning to grate on her nerves as well. Of the four students remaining downstairs, the rest having made a tacit agreement to go up to their dormitories early, Ron was certainly the most active. Neville, Ginny and Hermione were sitting relatively peacefully by the fireplace - though they were all slightly anxious as they waited for Harry to return from his meeting with Dumbledore.

"I am calm!" he snapped, not pausing in his pacing.

"Calm down some more then!"

Ron rounded on them all, sending a withering glare in Neville's direction before exploding, "Dammit! Aren't any of you even a little worried?! Something's wrong with Harry!!"

"We're all concerned, Ron," Hermione interceded, "but get frustrated like this isn't going to help."

"I'M NOT FRUSTRATED!!" he all but roared, his voice doubtless reaching every corner of the tower. He stomped up to the three of them. "YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY!"

"Don't worry about it," Ginny said dryly, "nobody does."

"You really need to stop getting so worked up about things, Ron," said Neville, after Ron sputtered for several seconds over Ginny's offhand dismissal. "It's not good for you."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Remember how temperamental Harry was last year?"

"He made Ron seem like a paragon of patience," Ginny needled.

"At least that was better than acting like some kind of abdominal snowman - like he's been the whole Summer," groused Ron, finally giving up his pacing and throwing himself down into the seat the others had saved for him.

Hermione considered correcting him for a moment. The abdominal snowman indeed. She dismissed the idea, knowing that doing so would only rekindle his agitation. Ron's temper had been on a short leash for months now, ever since recovering from the injures incurred at the Ministry by those brain tentacle creatures. The Healer from St. Mungo's that had been overseeing his recovery had warned that something like this might happen - a side-effect of Ron's disrupted brain chemistry. He was on medication for the condition, taking a small potion every three days, but the results were varied and the last batch had not been very effective in curtailing his temper.

In a way, she thought herself lucky. Her own injury from the disastrous battle at the Department of Mysteries was inconvenient, yes, but did not affect Hermione as a person. Her mind was still her own. She too was taking potions; a mild one every two days and one particular vile concoction every other week. Despite its obnoxious taste, and even worse aftertaste, it worked well enough and she hardly ever felt any pain in her chest these days. There was an occasional twinge, not unlike a combination of heartburn and being out of breath, but only when she exerted herself.

"Actually, I don't think that was Harry," she said, trying to divert the conversation to a safer course.

"You may be right," agreed Ginny thoughtfully.

"It can't be! No way some... thing... could trick us like that for an entire month!" Ron immediately protested.

Neville looked at the three of them in confusion and asked, "What are you talking about?"

Hermione knew that he and Luna were the only ones of the Ministry Crew that had not had any contact with Harry over the course of the holidays. "You know how Harry was acting on the train?"

"Uh huh," he nodded. His eyes lit up with comprehension, faster than she would have expected. "So you think that was some sort of impostor?"

"No, I don't."

Ron looked at her incredulously. "But you just said that wasn't Harry!"

"And it wasn't, but I don't think it was an impostor," she told him. She shifted back into her chair and explained, "I think it was a decoy."

"A decoy?" repeated Ron, dumbly.

"I get it," said Ginny. "Something to keep us occupied, so we wouldn't realize he wasn't actually there."

"And we fell for it. Hook, line and sinker," Hermione finished ruefully. She shook her head in disbelief at their gullibility, "It wasn't even that good, but we just chalked it up to him being moody again; depressed over Sirius' death. Gods we were so blind to the obvious."

Ginny nodded in understanding. "It looked like Harry, it sounded like Harry, so we thought it was Harry."

Neville considered all this and tried to sum it up. "So the real Harry was the one that came later? Through that ball thing?"

"Probably."

"How can you be sure?" asked Ron. He gingerly rubbed his jaw, which was swollen and starting to turn a fetching shade of purple. "He hit me!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "If I were Harry I'd have hit you more than once over the years."

Ron looked at her suspiciously and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't worry about it, Ron," Hermione soothed, sending a warning glance to Ginny - silently asking her not to provoke her brother for the time being. She had a feeling their imminent discussion with Harry was going to be lively enough without Ron's temper getting in the way. "It's not important right now."

"Why would Harry do that?" Neville asked, drawing their attention back to topic at hand.

"What? Hit Ron?" asked Ginny, slightly confused.

Neville shook his head before elaborating. "No, I mean, why would he leave and not tell us? Why go to all the trouble of making a decoy in the first place? I can understand him wanting to keep the Death Eaters off his trail, but the rest of us? At the very least I'd expect him to tell Ron and Hermione what he had planned."

"Exactly!" cried Ron, abruptly rising to his feet. To their dismay he immediately resumed his restless pacing, this time waving his arms around in agitation. "That's what I'm worried about! Maybe he's been cursed. If he were under Imperious or something, that'd explain why he's acting so... so..."

"Out of character?" supplied Ginny helpfully.

"Exactly!"

"I don't know if I agree with that," said Hermione. Seeing her three friends looking at her questioningly, she went into further detail, trying to explain her reasoning of Harry's behaviour. "Harry's fiercely independent at times. Not surprising, if you consider his upbringing. He grew up having nobody to rely on except himself. Not only that, but you all know how much he hates sharing his problems. He probably didn't tell us because he didn't want to bother us."

Ron objected loudly at this. "That's ridiculous! He knows he can tell us anything!

"You mean like last year?" asked Ginny, wryly reminding everyone of the distressing events that had led up to the incident at the Ministry of Magic.

"That's different!" Ron protested, but not as firmly as before.

The creak of the Fat Lady's portrait swing open to admit the person they had been waiting for brought any further discussion to an abrupt halt. Harry stepped into the common room, his brow slightly furrowed in what Hermione recognised as a mixture of worry and serious contemplation. He stopped when he looked up and noticed the state Ron was in.

"I'm not even going to ask."

"Probably a good thing," agreed Ginny amiably.

"Eh?" Ron looked between them in confusion.

"Nothing, Ron," said Neville, before adding with no small amount of exasperation, "Now will you please sit down again?"

Harry watched with a tinge of amusement in his eyes as Ron, grumbling under his breath, returned to his seat and dropped unceremoniously into it. Hermione, whose own eyes had not strayed from Harry since his entrance, counter pointed this action by rising from her chair, drawing Harry's attention to her before she spoke.

"Are you alright Harry?" she asked, concern in her voice. The troubled expression he had been wearing upon entering was gone, though not because his troubles had left. She restrained herself from immediately asking after him, almost desperate to find out what was going on, and instead remarked on his appearance. "You look a little... off."

Without responding Harry strode purposefully over to where Hermione was standing and engulfed her in a tight hug, much like the one he had greeted her with in the Great Hall shortly after his arrival. He held her close for a long moment, his breath warm and ticklish against the nape of her neck. Finally he released her, everything about him screaming a reluctance to do so, stepped back to regard her and the other three.

"Just tired, Hermione, that's all," he told her with a sigh. Truth be told, he did look tired as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. He shook his head and sighed again, "Dealing with the old man..."

"You mean Dumbledore?" asked Neville.

"Mmmm," was the only confirmation Harry gave, save for a brief flash of something in his eyes.

"I gather your meeting didn't go well," Hermione prompted.

"It went okay," Harry admitted, sinking into the vacant chair near the fireplace that they had saved for him. He leaned against the backrest and closed his eyes. "We were both still alive at the end of it."

"So," began Ron, drawing his wand from the folds of his robes and waving it in Harry's general direction, "are you going start explaining, or do I have to hex you?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only just. How Ron expected to intimidate Harry by waving his wand around, particularly when Harry's eyes were shut, she did not know. Besides which, even if his eyes were open and he could see Ron's gesture, it was doubtful Harry would have even blinked. Ron may have scored an Outstanding in his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., but that was mostly because of Harry's tutoring in the D.A. over the course of the year. Ron trying to threaten Harry with magic was akin to a lion cub challenging the leader of the pride.

There was also a spark of annoyed anger at her friend. If they had learned anything the previous year, it was that Harry did not react well to being pressured into a situation. Not to mention the fact that he had presented them all with a totally different aspect of himself upon his appearance earlier. Somehow Hermione had the feeling that this Harry, the one who nobody had seen in two months, would not take kindly to being threatened. With luck he would view Ron's attempt to do so with some form of humour, and not retaliate.

"After so many years, Ron, would it kill you to try and use some tact?" asked an exasperated Ginny.

"Yes."

"Gods, you wouldn't believe how much I've missed all of you," laughed Harry, surprising them all. He chuckled softly and murmured, more to himself than them, but they still heard. "I'd almost forgotten..."

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" she asked, worried.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm doing just fine."

"You sure?"

"Well, I must confess, I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm doing... yet," he admitted, reaching behind his head with one hand to scratch at the back of his neck in what looked like mild embarrassment, "but I think I'm doing a passable job of it."

Neville looked at him oddly. "Well that didn't make any sense."

"Does it ever?" Harry muttered.

"Harry..." growled Ron, but trailed off as Harry held up a staying hand.

"I'll explain everything, or almost everything, later," he told them. "In the Room of Requirements, after dinner tomorrow."

Ron was not entirely satisfied and persisted. "Why then? Why not now?"

"For one thing, Luna's not here. If anyone deserves to hear an explanation, it's her," Harry explained patiently. He stared into the fire for a moment and muttered to himself again. "After all, she the one that got me into this mess."

"What's Luna, of all people, got to do with this?" asked Ginny, puzzled.

"Everything."

Harry continued to stare into the fire as Hermione and the others exchanged puzzled looks. After several moments, in which nobody could decide on anything to say, Harry seemed to shake himself free of his thoughts and turned to face them, a wry grin on his lips.

"Or she will at any rate," he said, managing to confuse them even more. His grin grew into a mischievous smile as he added, sounding almost gleeful about the fact, "The other reason I want to hold off explanations is because we have double Potions first thing tomorrow morning and there's no way I'm going to stay up late and risk missing it."

This was something so out of character, Harry actually eager for Potions, that Hermione began to worry. From the looks on their faces, Ron, Neville and Ginny were equally alarmed by Harry's statement, looking as if they expected the apocalypse to begin at any moment.

"Are you trying to scare us, Harry?" asked Neville. "Because, if you are, you're doing a really good job."

"It's nothing like that, Nev," replied Harry, waving aside their worries. He leaned forward in his chair, the lenses of his new glasses flashing in the firelight as he moved. He propped his elbows on the armrests and held his hands up, just beneath his chin, with the fingers interlinked. The flickering light of the fire gave a slightly sinister look to his face as he spoke. "It's just that now is the time for Snape and me to put aside our differences. Time to forget our old feud..."

Harry's lips twisted into an evil smile. A purely evil smile.

"And start a new one."

TBC ...  

Backwards Compatible
Nonessentials

Severus Snape was about to have a very bad morning.

If he only knew how badly things were going to turn out, chances are he would have stayed in bed and given his first class of the new school year a miss. Advanced Potions with the sixth years, in which he had the dubious task of trying to prepare them for the N.E.W.T.s they would be taking the following year.

It would not be easy, as only a select few witches and wizards were ever any good when it came to brewing Potions. While most other fields of magic were simply that, fields, Potions was an art to those that studied it. Truth be told it was not unlike cooking - though if anyone were to liken Snape to a cordon bleu chef, they would most assuredly live to regret having done so.

It was because of this that Snape only accepted the best and the brightest into his N.E.W.T. course Potions classes, as he had no desire whatsoever to waste his time trying to teach people that had no idea what they were doing. The only thing worse, in his opinion, would be to teach students that did not have the proper appreciation for his craft.

This, more than anything, was one of the reasons why Snape bothered to get out of bed in the first place this day. Somehow, he suspected McGonagall had a hand in it, that insolent brat of Potter's had achieved an Outstanding in his Potions O.W.L..

Snape had only survived having The-Boy-Who-Lived in his class for the previous five years by constantly reminding himself that the boy was an idiot Gryffindor who had a snowball's chance in Hades of making it into Advanced Potions.

Sadly though, it looked as if he would have to suffer Potter's presence for yet another year. Perhaps, if he were lucky, the boy would fail miserably under the demanding workload. This hope, of getting the infernal boy out of his classroom once and for all, was what motivated the potions master to get out of bed. If he had to have Potter in his class, then he resolved to make him regret it from the very first minute.

He conveniently forgot how dangerous Potter had seemed after his unexpected arrival the previous night. Snape passed those actions off as simply another example of the boy's ever present hubris. As such he never paused to consider the possibility that maybe he should not provoke the young wizard - as doing so might prove hazardous to his health.

Of course, even if he did restrain himself, it likely would not have changed a thing.

***

Hermione was desperately wondering where Harry was. She was also wondering why she had thrown common sense out the window and come down to the potions dungeon early. Not to mention alone, especially considering her last encounter with Draco Malfoy, who was currently proving to be as much of a nuisance as ever - even with one wrist strapped up.

"So what d'you think, Granger?" the blonde haired Slytherin asked, leaning in close, as she sat waiting for the remainder of the N.E.W.T. Potions students to arrive. His smirk was both dangerous and --alarmingly-- lecherous "There's no Potter around this time - so why don't we make the best of it and enjoy ourselves before class starts? We still have a few minutes..."

"If you don't back off right now, Malfoy, I send you straight back to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey," Hermione told him flatly, making sure to keep any of her growing worry from her voice. More importantly, she made sure to keep both hands near her wand, should she need it.

This was unlike other years, when the Gryffindors and Slytherins shared their Potions classes with almost equal numbers. Now, thanks to Snape's stringent standards of admission, the only Gryffindors that would be attending were Harry and Hermione. Somehow her friend had managed to produce an O for his Potions O.W.L., something that flamed a spark of pride in Hermione - as she had been the one he had turned to for help in studying for that exam.

The only problem was that this still left them outnumbered by the Slytherins, at least until the other houses arrived. As the number of students taking N.E.W.T. Potions was so low, all four houses would be in a single class. And right now, faced with Malfoy's smirking face, Hermione would take any help she could get. There was something almost predatory about Malfoy this year, something that made her very uncomfortable in his presence.

From behind Malfoy appeared Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, both looking as malicious as ever. Parkinson leaned against him from behind and sneered over his shoulder. "Ooh, the little bucktoothed Mudblood thinks she can threaten a Slytherin."

"I thought we'd discussed this on the train, Granger," continued Malfoy, ignoring his compatriots, "threats like that always come with a price..."

Bulstrode laughed haughtily and leered at the both of them. "Don't know why anyone would want a piece of her, but if you want to have some fun, Draco, at least let the rest of us join in."

Relief appeared in the form of Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones and several other students. The group, most of which were members of the D.A., quickly made their way to where Hermione was sitting. The three Slytherins soon found themselves surrounded by a group of Hufflepuffs that were actually quite intimidating as they tried to interpose themselves between them and Hermione.

"What d'you lot think you're doing?" asked Ernie, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Nothing that concerns you, so back off little boy," countered Parkinson, pulling away from Malfoy so that she could turn to face him fully and sneer in his face.

"If it involves Hermione, then it concerns us a whole lot more than it does the likes of you, Parkinson," interjected Susan, who was visibly fingering her wand. Indeed, she seemed rather eager about it. "So why don't you 'back off' instead?"

"Not just yet, Bones." Malfoy shouldered his way past Ernie so that he was once again face-to-face with Hermione. He reached out with his uninjured hand and grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her to her feet. "Class hasn't started and mudblood Granger still has to pay up."

Amidst several loud protests from the Hufflepuffs, and one Ravenclaw who had just arrived, Hermione drew back her free arm in preparation to land a sharp left hook to Malfoy's jaw. While there were some things she could, and did, tolerate --such as being called a mudblood-- there were some lines that Hermione would not tolerate anyone crossing. The lewd suggestions and thinly veiled innuendos (some not veiled at all) were right on that line. Being accosted like this, actually having Malfoy put his hands on her, was a big step over the line and would not go without retaliation.

Her swing was halted in mid-motion as a strong hand settled on her shoulder. Hermione froze, unsure if it was a friend or foe that had come up behind her. The first was something she would welcome, though she would like to know who it was. The latter was something she did not want to consider.

As much as she wanted to find out, she remained perfectly still and kept her eyes on Malfoy the entire time. If he tried something while she was distracted...

"Problem, Hermione?"

A wave of relief swept over her as she recognised Harry's voice. She half turned, twisting in Malfoy's grip, until she could see Harry out the corner of her eye. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight. Harry was radiating the same quiet aura he had displayed upon his arrival in the Great Hall the previous evening. This time, however, a hint of his magic was seeping into the air around him and filling it with a crackling sense of barely suppressed power.

"Harry," she breathed.

Malfoy snarled angrily and tightened his grip on her wrist. "Potter!"

Harry gave Hermione's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, in response to her wince of pain, and stepped alongside her. He was so close that she could feel his aura ruffling her robes and tickling her bare skin. A thrilled shiver ran down her spine at the sensation - something new to her.

"If you don't let go of Hermione right now, Malfoy, I won't just break your wrist like my drone did. I'll rip your bloody hand clean off," threatened Harry, his voice a low and ominous growl.

"You wouldn't dare, Potter! Not here!" Malfoy snapped angrily.

"D'you really want to find out?" asked Harry softly.

He then shifted so that he was between Hermione and Malfoy - shielding her from the Slytherin boy. He seemed to loom over Malfoy, even though they were about the same height. Dressed in nothing more imposing than simple school robes he still managed to cut an intimidating figure, especially when he cracked his knuckles.

Normally Malfoy never seemed to know when to back down, continually antagonising his victims for as long as he could, but this time Harry was displaying enough raw antagonism of his own that even Malfoy could not fail to notice.

Having spent the Sorting in the Hospital Wing having his wrist healed by Madam Pomfrey, he had missed not only Harry's unorthodox arrival, but also the subsequent display of burning fury when the doppelganger had reported the incident on the train. He had also missed the icy menace which had come to the fore when Harry's attention had been drawn to the headmaster.

Now, finding himself on the receiving end of that frigid gaze which had stopped Dumbledore in his tracks --and promised great pain if its warning was ignored-- Malfoy immediately released his hold on Hermione and backed away. He tried to retain his usual attitude of smug superiority, but the loss of colour to his already pale cheeks gave him away.

"See you around, mudblood," he said to Hermione, his voice wavering slightly.

He quickly pushed his way out of the circle of Hufflepuffs surrounding them, Parkinson and Bulstrode following in his wake.

Susan stared at Harry with wide eyes and asked, "Damn, Harry. How do you do that?"

Harry, with all the composure that Malfoy had been struggling to find, gave her a look of complete innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You alright?" he asked as he turned back to Hermione.

"I'm fine, although I was starting to get a little concerned," she answered as he helped her back into her seat. Her legs felt like jelly, though she was not about to admit it.

"Don't worry, I'll be keeping a close eye on Malfoy this year," he assured her as he took his place in the isle seat next to her. He raised his voice enough to be heard throughout the classroom and stated clearly, "He touches you, I'll know. And then I'll kill him for it."

She glanced to where Malfoy was sitting and saw him glowering at Harry with a truly venomous expression. She did notice, however, that he seemed a little shaken, though he hid it well. In fact, from what she could tell, everyone in the room had heard Harry's pronouncement. The Slytherins were scowling angrily in their direction, whilst the other houses were looking on with expressions ranging from alarm to surprise to amusement to satisfaction. All-in-all just what she expected really.

She turned back to Harry. "I don't think it'll come to that, Harry."

"I'm afraid it will," he responded, folding his arms across his chest and leaning as far back in his seat as he could. There was a grim certainty, a finality, to his words. His lips twisted into a wry expression as he noted, "He discovered his hormones this year."

Ernie, who was sitting closest to them, nodded sympathetically and remarked that he had never known anyone as immoral and wouldn't have been surprised that the Slytherin boy would try to satisfy any urges he might have. Hermione, not voicing her revulsion at the idea of Malfoy trying to 'satisfy' himself with her, disagreed. After all, she felt that calling Malfoy immoral was somewhat akin to saying Snape had a cheerful disposition.

Further discussion was cut short and an abrupt silence descended when the door to the classroom swung open with a loud bang. Professor Snape stormed into the room, his robes billowing about him as they usually did. The potions master strode over to his desk without glancing the assembled students, his arms filled with several formidable looking tomes that he slammed down with a resounding thump that rivalled that of the door opening.

He waited by the desk, allowing the faint echo of his entrance to fade away before moving. Turning on the students with his normal flare for the dramatic, he considered them all for a brief moment. He folded his hands into the long sleeves of his robes and began to lecture, his voice sharp and lacking the deceptive softness it usually carried.

"Pay attention. This year you... will... be..." Snape trailed off as his eyes settled on Harry.

Hermione, puzzled by his reaction, turned to glance at her friend. So did the rest of the students. What they saw gave them pause. Harry was still leaning back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. What had caught Snape's attention was the seemingly demented grin of glee on his face.

It was the same kind of evil smile he had displayed the previous evening in the common room, something that would have sent even the most battle-hardened Aurors running for the hills, scared witless of whatever diabolical scheme Harry was cooking up. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to take the expression as a personal affront.

"Wipe that grin off you face, Potter. Potions is a serious class and I will not tolerate any frivolous behaviour while you are here," he snapped, drawing himself up to his entire formidable height. "Five points from Gryffindor."

Low snickers erupted from the Slytherin corner of the classroom and Hermione could see Malfoy grinning happily at Gryffindor's loss of points. Harry, however, seemed completely unfazed by the deduction - in fact, his grin somehow managed to grow even broader and more disturbing.

"That's nice. I'll consider it a going away present."

Suffice to say, Snape blinked in surprise while the Slytherins went from smug smiles to dumbfounded gapes. The rest of the class reacted in a similar manner, though slightly more nervous. After all, everyone knew how harsh Snape could be when a student talked back at him.

Even Hermione, who had known that Harry had something up his sleeve, looked to her side with growing alarm. What on Earth was he playing at? If he wasn't careful, Harry could be evicted from the class.

Seemingly finding his voice, Snape frowned and asked, "What are you babbling about, Potter?"

"It's quite simple really," replied Harry, unfolding his arms and sitting upright. He adopted an earnest expression, that Hermione knew was fake, and elaborated cheerfully, "I have absolutely no intention of continuing to take this worthless subject any longer. It's nothing more than a waste of my time - something I really can't afford this year."

The room was deathly silent save for the sound of Snape's eyebrows arching high, looking for all the world as if they were trying to jump off his face.

"Scarhead's giving up and quitting like the little girl he is," chortled Malfoy gleefully. He made a show of looking to the ceiling in mock rapture. "My life is finally complete. I can die happy now."

"Be careful what you wish for, Malfoy," warned Harry, not taking his eyes off Snape, "the universe has a way of being very accommodating at times."

Snape shook his head and asked, "You... are dropping Advanced Potions?"

"Yes."

A brief silence once again descended over the classroom as everyone absorbed this revelation. The very idea of what Harry had said and planned to do was beginning to sink in.

"Y'see, I came to a realization over the summer. An epiphany, if you will," Harry explained. "The so-called art of brewing potions is a... frivolous... pastime, that is of no use to anyone who is engaged in conflict against a dark arts practitioner, such as Voldemort."

"What? You, you..." Snape sputtered.

"Come on, I can't very well ask a Death Eater to stop cursing me and wait an hour while I brew myself a Strength Enhancement Draught, now can I?" asked Harry, the faux earnest expression back in place. He then snorted and said disdainfully, "It's like all that silly bowing everyone keeps insisting on doing when they duel. You're not going to stop and bow in the middle of a fight - so why bow at all?"

Harry rose to his feet and walked to the front of the class, brushing a reassuring hand across Hermione's back as he slipped past her. It was only now that she noticed that he did not have any of his things with him - not his potions kit, nor his school bag. He honestly did not plan to continue with his potions studies.

"If I need a potion for something then I'll make sure to stock up before running off on some damn fool idealistic crusade to save the world," he continued as he approached where Snape was standing. He smiled ruefully and shook his head, "If I'm in such a bad way that I need a potion that I don't have with me, then chances are I won't have the time or be in any condition to brew it - which means I'll have to solve the problem I'll be facing by more practical means."

Now Snape was normally a reasonably composed person, always maintaining a certain aloofness during his lessons. It did not take a genius to see that his composure was currently in the process of taking a holiday to Never-Never Land. If the blossoming purple tint to his cheeks was not enough to give this away, the look of sheer, unadulterated fury on his face certainly was.

"You impudent little brat!" he snarled at Harry, "How dare you try insult my craft and I in such a manner?!"

"It's not an insult; it's the truth," replied Harry sincerely. He gave a small shrug and smirked, "After all, you're not much good for anything else, are you?"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

Harry ignored this and continued in an offhand manner, "Sure, you knocked that bumbling twit Lockhart around during that farce of a duelling club a few years back - but then again, an untrained chimp could've done the same."

The red flush in his face receded as Snape went white with rage. "Detention, Potter, for the next month!!"

"Considering it's the first class of the first day of term, I'd hazard a guess that Gryffindor doesn't have fifty points for you to take away yet," Harry told him candidly, as if speaking to a slow child. "And, please, assign as much detention as you like. I won't show up - I have a great many other things I'd rather do with my time. Important things."

"I swear I'll have you expelled for this, Potter!" Snape hissed.

"You've made that threat at least once a year since I started at Hogwarts," noted Harry deprecatingly. "I can't help but notice that I'm still here."

"Get the hell out of my classroom!" bellowed Snape, literally spitting mad. He jammed a finger in the general direction of the door, behind Harry, and roared, "Out! Now! And never darken my presence with yours again! Ever!"

"No need to shout, I was going to do just that anyway," Harry replied. He looked at Snape and, sounding disturbingly cheerful, noted, "You should try to calm down, though. I don't think that particular shade of purple suits you."

"I will not stand for this... this insolence!"

"Then I think you should sit down."

This was all that Snape could take. His teeth bared in a silent snarl he reached into his robes. To everyone's horror (save perhaps the Slytherins), he drew his wand and lifted it up at Harry.

The moment Snape had begun to move, Harry's magic flared to the surface, as it had done in his earlier confrontation with Malfoy. That was the only indication that he was reacting to the potions master's movements. He did not move, remaining perfectly still, save for the narrow expression on his face.

As Snape levelled his wand at Harry's chest, the air rippled and seemed to pulse between them.

Hermione had no idea what exactly happened to Snape, but she did know one thing for certain. It must have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. One instant the red-faced man was aiming his wand at Harry, a curse or hex on his lips, the next he was flying gracelessly through the air. He smashed into one of the many ingredient cabinets that lined the classroom walls. The wood frame splintered, glass shattered and assorted bits and pieces sprayed in all directions - mostly all over his collapsing body.

"You know, there were times that I wanted to do that," remarked Ernie, breaking the silence as the class took in the sight of their potions master, sprawled out amidst the debris of the ruined cabinet.

"D'you think he's dead?" asked Padma Patil, leaning forward for a better look.

"Lord, I hope so," was Susan's bland response.

Hermione, seeing that neither Harry nor the rest of her classmates planned on doing anything, got up to check on Snape. She did not really care about the man, he was a certified bastard after all, but she felt she should at least assess how much trouble Harry was going to be in. Or rather, how much more trouble.

Stepping carefully over the shards of glass that littered the floor, and other things she really didn't want on the soles of her shoes, she appraised Snape's condition. He was still breathing, which meant that he was probably going to live. Whether this was good or bad she wasn't sure.

"Well, this is pretty much the exact opposite of what I originally had planned."

She glanced at Harry, who was now standing by her side. "Oh gods, Harry, why the hell did you do this? You're going to be in so much trouble."

"What else is new?" he muttered ruefully. "As for why I did it, I'll explain tonight."

"Better be one hell of an explanation."

Harry nodded and gave a weak smile, "It is... assuming you don't decide to lock me in St. Mungo's after hearing it."

Hermione looked at him in puzzlement, and a small bit of worry. "Why would we do that?"

"Aside from the fact that I wouldn't believe a word of it, if it hadn't happened to me?"

"This is going to be one of those days, isn't it?" she asked with a tired sigh.

"Actually, it's going to be one of those years," Harry replied grimly. He nudged Snape with a toe, seemingly trying to rouse the man, as he muttered more to himself than Hermione, "Unless I manage to pull off a miracle or two."

Snape groaned in response to the prodding. Hermione looked at him in surprise, having expected the need to drag the man all the way to the Hospital Wing before he regained consciousness. She voiced her surprise by commenting, "He's waking up. Odd - I thought you hit him harder than that."

"He always was a hard headed bastard," observed Harry.

There was something about the way he had said that which caused Hermione to look at him curiously. He ignored her for a moment, to give Snape another, firmer, nudge. Then he looked at her and motioned towards the desk she had been sitting at. "You should get back to your seat, Hermione, before he notices you."

"Why?"

"I don't imagine he's going to be in a very good mood after I leave."

"You're serious about that? You're really dropping Potions?"

"Ironic as it may sound - I don't have the time to waste," he confirmed vaguely. Seeing the puzzled look Hermione was giving him, he shrugged and told her, "You'll understand after I've explained."

Hermione frowned at him as she retreated to her seat. "I hope so. I don't like being left in the dark."

Harry nodded. "I remember."

"You... you attacked me. Attacked a teacher..." mumbled Snape, sounding as if he were in the process of still waking up. He managed, with a groan and hiss of pain, to push himself onto his elbows as he glared viciously up at Harry. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he regained his full wits and barked, "There's no way you can escape being expelled this time, Potter!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Snape," Harry replied with a hint of a smile, "but I didn't attack you."

"Wha?"

The entire class stared at Harry in disbelief. They had, not two minutes ago, seen Snape fly across the width of the classroom. And now Harry was declaring that he had not attacked him.

"One of the risks you face when teaching a temperamental adolescent wizard," he continued, the hint of a smile growing into a smug smirk. "Accidental magic."

"There was nothing accidental about that, Potter!" protested Malfoy.

"Prove it, Malfoy," countered Harry, barely bothering to spare the blonde a glance. He turned his attention back to Snape, who was gaping at him in shock. "I didn't draw my wand. I didn't say an incantation. I didn't even wave my hands. You can even check for residual magical energy... you won't find any."

"Nobody will believe--"

Harry cut him off, "I have an entire classroom full of witnesses."

Snape tried to protest, but trailed off, "But... "

"All of whom, aside from the Slytherins, like me more than you."

"I... you..."

With a cheeky grin, tinged with a mix of smug satisfaction, Harry left Snape sitting in the middle of the mess that was slowly spreading across the floor. As he walked he lazily waved at his classmates, ignoring their dumbstruck expressions. When his eyes locked with Hermione's as he passed, he sent a mischievous wink her way.

"See you around," he paused at the door to smirk. "Snivellus."

***

Dumbledore found Harry in the library, sitting in one of the more reclusive corners and reading a thick and ancient tome about the painfully precise and demanding subject of Enchantment.

Enchantment was briefly touched at towards the end of sixth-year Charms, but for the most part was only studied in any detail during the seventh-year N.E.W.T.s. To see a sixth-year student engrossed in the topic before even hearing about it in class, was remarkable. Especially when that student was Harry Potter, rather than Hermione Granger.

All the teachers at Hogwarts had seen that Harry's strengths did not lie in the area of theory, but rather in that of practical application. Yet, here he was, actually taking notes. Doubly surprising was the fact that he was using a Muggle pen and notebooks to do so, rather than a quill and some parchment.

Approaching from the side, Dumbledore was further amazed to see that Harry's notes comprised a mass of Arithmancy equations, all far more complex than a sixth-year student should be capable of. This should have been impossible, considering that Harry had never studied Arithmancy.

From what he could see with such a brief perusal, it appeared that Harry was applying the Arithmancy equations to an intricate pattern of Enchantments that Dumbledore could not make head or tails of.

Harry did not react outwardly, but Dumbledore knew the young man was aware of his presence.

"Don't you think that was a little excessive, Harry?" he asked as he reached the table, certain that Harry would know what he was referring to.

"No," Harry replied curtly, not bothering to look up. He turned a page and asked, "He's still alive, isn't he?"

"The board of Governors will not be pleased when they hear of this," Dumbledore said as he pulled out a chair opposite his student and sat down. "It will take a great deal of effort to prevent your expulsion. At the very least you can expect a term of suspension. If you were to make a formal apology..."

Dumbledore had trailed off suggestively, but Harry's only response was a snort of disgust.

"This is not something to be taken lightly, Harry. You assaulted a school professor--"

"Self defence."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Snape drew his wand. He was going to curse me. I stopped him before he could," finally Harry deigned to glance up from the book he was reading. He gave Dumbledore a challenging look and said, "Ask any of the students that were there."

Dumbledore injected a faint joviality into his voice as he gently contradicted, "The Slytherins will doubtless disagree."

"I don't include them as a part of the student body. They're all just baby Death Eaters in the making - waiting to step into their parent's shoes as soon as they grow up," was Harry's immediate reply.

Before Dumbledore could formulate a response Harry turned back to his reading and note taking. As he scribbled something on one of the notebooks, he muttered darkly, "If you had even a modicum of common sense you'd organise a cull and get rid of the whole lot of them. Permanently."

Dumbledore was appalled and gasped, "Harry?"

Harry did not raise his head, but his eyes flicked up to peer at the headmaster from over the rims of his new glasses. The same icy resolve which had been present during the Sorting and their later meeting in Dumbledore's office was present. His voice was equally cold when he spoke. "Prevention is better than cure, old man."

"Yes... quite..." Dumbledore stammered. He wondered, not for the first time today, what had happened over the summer to change the vulnerable boy he had known into this unforgiving young man. Shaking himself out of his musings, Dumbledore attempted to return to the subject at hand. "About Professor Snape--"

"I don't like him," interrupted Harry, this time with a curt hand motion to emphasise his words. "It's as simple as that.

"I understand that Severus can be abrasive at times, but...?" Dumbledore trailed off, hoping that doing so might prompt Harry to give at least a partial explanation of his actions earlier that morning.

"I don't like him, mostly because he doesn't like me."

"Mostly?"

"Very astute of you, old man," Harry nodded in something akin to approval, though grudging. He closed the book on Enchantment and pushed it to one side, finally devoting his attention to the headmaster. He nodded again and admitted, "Yes, I have other reasons for disliking him."

"I gather you don't plan on sharing those reasons." It was more a statement than a question, based on what Dumbledore had learned of this new Harry's attitude during their brief discussion the previous night.

"To you?" asked Harry incredulously. "Of course not."

Dumbledore was sorely tempted to grimace, painfully aware that had he better handled events of the previous year, then Harry might still have held some trust in him. It was only his many, many years of experience that allowed him to keep his neutral expression.

"In any event," Harry continued, starting to pack his things into his schoolbag, "I advise you to keep a firm hold on Snape's leash from now on."

Dumbledore repressed a sigh. Once again he tried to remind Harry that even if he did not respect the man, then he should at least respect the position. " Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry arched a wry brow and noted, almost scathingly, "Professor? The only thing that man has ever taught me is to question your judgement when it comes to trusting people."

"I understand that there is a great deal of animosity between you an--"

"There is no animosity, as you call it, between me and Snape," Harry cut him off yet again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "The only animosity that exists is that of his own making. Directed at me for no reason other than the identity of my father."

"Perhaps you are correct in that," allowed Dumbledore.

"Only time will tell," Harry readily agreed, "but I strongly suspect it will bear out my feelings on the matter."

Dumbledore sighed, resigning himself to the fact that any hope of Harry and Severus coexisting peacefully had died a long time ago. "All I ask, Harry, is that you try to be civil with Severus."

Harry looked pointedly at him and stated flatly, "I see no point in being civil towards an enemy."

Dumbledore blinked in surprise, not to mention a small amount of worry. He looked worriedly at Harry and said, "Harry, I know you dislike the man, but to call him your enemy..."

"Snape is most certainly not my ally. He has never done anything to prove otherwise."

"Harry..." he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"He's your pet project, old man. Trying to redeem him, reclaim him from the Dark and bring him back into the Light," asserted Harry, the disdain in his voice fully evident to anyone listening. "Just don't forget that the road to hell is usually paved with good intentions."

Dumbledore slumped slightly in his seat. "That's a harsh view to take, Harry."

"You may trust him, old man, but I never will. To me he is simply another enemy. It is only because of his possible use to your Order that I will not act against him. As long as you keep him out of my line of sight I will leave him alone," Harry warned him, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. He looked down at the headmaster and calmly stated, "Otherwise I'll deal with him in the same manner as I deal with all my enemies."

"How's that, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, almost afraid of the answer. He had a feeling that he was not going to like what he was about to hear. This conversation had taken on an aspect far too similar, for his liking, to the that their previous discussion regarding Minister Fudge.

"I'll kill him."

The words were akin to a death knell. Dumbledore could hear the resolve, the sheer conviction, in Harry's voice. There was no doubt in his mind, hearing what Harry had said, that the young man would carry out his threat without any hesitation.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for Charms class."

Harry walked away at a brisk clip, without any of the usual pleasantries and not even a backwards glance, leaving a pensive headmaster in his wake.

***

"I always thought Dumbledore was a little crazy," said Ron, as he and Harry settled into their seats for supper at the Gryffindor table. Hermione, Ginny and Neville had arrived earlier and saved them both places. "Now I know you're even crazier than he is!"

"Have been for years, old friend. Have been for years," Harry replied, sounding vaguely amused by the admission. "After all, in this business, it's a requirement."

Ginny, who was already eating, asked, "And what business is that?"

"One that I'm hoping to avoid this time round," answered Harry. There was a glimmer of something, something dark, in his eyes when he said this. He noticed the puzzled looks sent his way and told them, "I'll explain later, after we've met up with Luna in the Room of Requirements, when there aren't so many prying eyes and ears."

Neville shook his head as he helped himself to some more potatoes and said, "I still can't believe you did that to Snape. It almost makes me wish I was still taking Potion, just so I could've seen it happen."

Hermione frowned sternly from across the table, "Well, I think you might have gone a bit too far this time, Harry."

Harry promptly responded, "I think I might not have gone nearly far enough."

"Harry... you hit him hard enough to break bones - I heard them snapping," Hermione told him, her voice rising in pitch towards the end. She looked nervously at the staff table and then back at him, speaking in a low and worried tone, "If something had gone wrong; you could have killed him."

There was a pause in the conversation as glances were exchanged between the participants. Finally Harry said what he knew they all expected him to say. "I don't exactly see how that would be a bad thing."

Ron nodded and lifted his glass of pumpkin juice in agreement, "Hear hear."

Hermione shook her head and repeated what she had said earlier, in the potions classroom, "You're going to be in so much trouble."

"You don't think you'll be expelled, do you?" asked Ginny.

"Probably not," Harry told them, thinking back to the conversation in the library. The encounter, so soon after his confrontation with Snape, had not left him in a good mood during Professor Flitwick's Charms class. It had taken nearly an hour before he had been able to shake it off. "Dumbledore was worried that the school governors might suspend me though."

"Knocking Snape on his arse like that... I'd say being suspended is worth it."

"Ron!"

"Relax, Hermione," said Harry, trying to placate her concerns. "Nothing too bad is going to happen."

Hermione gave him another worried look and asked, plaintively, "Why did you have to provoke him like that, Harry?"

Harry sighed ruefully. He hated making his friends, especially Hermione, worry like this. Unfortunately his actions in potions had been almost entirely out of his control. The Great Hall, in the middle of dinner, was not the ideal place to try explaining this, so he temporized by admitting, "I wasn't planning to. It just happened that way."

"If you're going to do something wrong, might as well do it wrong properly," reasoned Ginny agreeably.

"I wish I could've seen his face," bemoaned Ron around a mouthful of sausage.

"Though I must admit," Ginny looked at Harry questioningly, "I'm surprised McGonagall hasn't called you to her office yet."

"She'll corner me after Transfiguration tomorrow," he said with certainty. Hermione, Ginny and Neville all gave him puzzled and curious looks, obviously wondering how he knew this.

Ron, however, remained oblivious to the subtle exchange. Instead he waved his fork in the air and jokingly lamented, "Pity. You'd think she would approve - everyone knows she doesn't like the greasy git any more than we do. Maybe she's going to award you back those house points he took away."

Hermione scowled at him, "Ron!"

Harry shook his head and told them, "She wants to talk about my lifetime Quidditch ban."

Again he found himself on the receiving end of three inquisitive gazes, which he made a point of ignoring. He silently chastised himself for not being more careful. It he didn't watch what he said, at all times, then chances were that he would slip up and reveal the greatest of his secrets. While he had no problem with his friends knowing, there were some people he would rather did not.

"You mean the one Uber-Bitch gave you?" asked Ron.

"You mean there was another one?" retorted Harry.

"I don't remember you being this sarcastic, Harry," Ginny commented with a slight frown.

"It's a habit I picked up over the years," he told her with a sigh. Yet another thing that simply could not be easily explained in such an open and public place as the Great Hall.

"Whatever," Ron waved the topic aside and returned to something he was more interested in. "This is great - with the ban lifted and your Firebolt back, you can be part of the team again! We're sure to win the Quidditch Cup this year as well! Heck, McGonagall might even be making you the Captain!"

"Hmm."

"What are you going to do now that you've dropped Potions?" asked Neville, leaning forward in curiosity. "Will they allow you to pick up another subject in its place?"

Harry nodded, "Probably, but I've got other plans for my time."

Ron looked at him in surprise, "Oh, what?"

"This and that," he answered with a mysterious smile - one that would have seemed more in place on Dumbledore than Harry. For once he had a chance to keep some secrets of his own. He knew that he only had until their meeting tonight, in which he planned to reveal most of what... happened. Thus he planned to enjoy it for as long as he could.

"You really do make a habit of getting into trouble, don't you?" asked Hermione, seemingly resigned to the fact.

"You don't know the half of it."

TBC...

Backwards Compatible
Future's History

The Room of Requirements was looking rather cosy, Harry assessed quietly. Something of a combination between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms. Of course, Harry had never actually been inside the Ravenclaw common room. He did know exactly what it looked like, however - thanks to circumstances that arose at the beginning of the summer. All in all he was rather pleased with the result produced by the room. Now if only this meeting with his friends would be as easy as creating the meeting place...

Settling into his seat, plush crimson coloured velvet with blue trim, he surveyed his five companions. They were arrayed in a semi-circle around the roaring fireplace (which was magically producing no heat). To his immediate right was Hermione, who was watching him intently. He could tell she was both nervous and anxious to proceed, worriedly gnawing her bottom lip. Next was Neville, who was absently looking around the room with mixed curiosity and approval.

To Harry's left sat Ron, on the edge of his seat and almost bouncing up and down like an impatient five year old. As it was he was tapping a fast beat against the royal blue carpet with his right foot. Next was Ginny, who was alternating between disapproval at her brother's impatience and curiosity about what Harry was able to reveal. Last was Luna, who was sitting calm as can be in her chair, humming a little ditty that was becoming annoyingly repetitive.

Clearing his throat, which caused all eyes (save Luna's) to focus intently on him, Harry decided to begin. "Before I start trying to explain, I need Hermione to do something for me."

Somewhat surprised Hermione sat up in her chair and asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"I need you to tell us everything you know about time travel."

" Time travel ?" she repeated incredulously. Or perhaps it was horrified disbelief.

"Mm-hm."

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "Harry... you haven't done anything that you shouldn't have... have you?"

"I haven't done a thing," he answered, more or less truthfully. Then he added, "Yet."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Ginny, waving a hand for them to pause. She looked at Harry and asked, "You're saying you've been time travelling? Over the summer?"

"Something like that," he agreed.

Ron, not surprisingly, gaped at him. "You're shitting us."

"Hardly," was Harry's understated reply. He grimaced. "I've never been more serious in my life. Now or later."

"You mean you're from the future?" asked Neville, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.

"But if you're from the future, then where's our Harry?" Ron immediately asked, almost rising to his feet. He was visibly starting to get excited, something Harry had been expecting. Those brain sucker creatures from the Ministry (nobody ever found out exactly what they were really called) had badly damaged the redhead's control over his emotions, something that would plague him for the rest of his life.

Harry shook his head and clarified, "I'm from right here - the present."

Ginny frowned in thought. "You mean you went forward in time? To the future?"

"Impossible," asserted Hermione. She shook her head and explained, "You can't travel to the future, because it hasn't happened yet."

"Close," Harry confirmed with a hint of a smile.

"Someone from the future, other than Harry, came back in time," declared Luna in her typical dreamy tones. She was not even looking at the rest of them, seemingly more interested in examining the room's elaborately carved ceiling - which Harry felt mimicked that of the Ravenclaw common room quite well. "Or they might have sent a message."

Harry nodded and, absently, clapped his hands a few times in congratulations. "Ten points to Ravenclaw, Doc. It was a message. Of sorts."

This caused Luna to turn her attention away from the ceiling and focus on him. "Doc?"

"You're commonly known as the 'Mad Scientist' by everyone in the future, so I call you 'Doc'," he told her, suppressing a wince as he recalled exactly why everyone referred to the... eccentric witch by that title. He gave her faint smile. "You'll consider it a term of endearment."

"You have to be making this up," declared Ron, slouching heavily in his seat.

"This does sound a bit... outlandish, Harry," Hermione agreed. She looked at him apologetically and asked, "I don't suppose you can prove it?"

Personally Harry would rather not, as he knew that doing so would not be a pleasant experience for any of them. Gritting his teeth, however, he rose from his seat and crossed over to where Luna was sitting. She watched him approach with a vaguely curious expression, which did not change until he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

He hated to do this, knowing that the news would be painful for her, but he needed someone that would believe him without reservation and Luna was the only one he knew he could convince with only a single word.

"You know?" she asked as he drew back, regarding him with wide eyes. He nodded slowly, careful to keep his face expressionless. Luna swallowed and asked, "H-how?"

"You told me at the funeral," he replied.

"Funeral." Luna repeated the word, more as a statement than a question. Harry could almost literally see the blood drain out of her face, leaving her almost as pale as one of the school ghosts. "No."

He closed his eyes and turned away from her, returning to his seat as he confirmed what he knew to be one of her greatest fears. "I'm sorry, Luna."

Ron looked from one to the other, clearly puzzled by their interaction, and asked, "What was that all about?"

"I believe him," Luna said softly, her head bowed and regarding her hands, which now sat limply in her lap. Ginny, who was closest to her, reached out a comforting hand and patted the other girl on the shoulder.

"Huh? Why? How?"

"Don't worry about it, Ronald," Luna told him, her voice stronger now as she visibly steeled herself and looked up. She smiled gratefully at Ginny and then looked at Ron. "It isn't pertinent to this discussion."

Perhaps sensing that a change of topic was required, Neville cleared his throat and asked, "What did the message say, Harry?"

"It wasn't just a message, Nev," Harry told them, settling deep into his chair and staring into the crackling flames of the fireplace. "No, it was much, much more than that."

"You mean that?" asked Ron, pointing at Father, who was hovering by Harry's shoulder. The pitch-black sphere seemed to bob up and down in reaction to having any attention drawn to it. "It's been following you around all day."

"Father is part of this mess," Harry acknowledge wryly, "the only part that was supposed to happen, actually."

"Father?" asked Ginny.

Harry shrugged. "That's what I call him. It."

Neville was looking closely at the hovering black ball. "It?"

"Your father is a machine of some sort," stated Luna, seemingly fully recovered by the bleak mood that had swept over her when Harry had revealed one of his exclusive titbits about what the future held.

"Take another five points, Doc," Harry confirmed with a smile. He nodded in Father's direction, now drifting just above and behind his right shoulder. "Father is a machine, though he's not really my father - that's just what I decided to call him. If he's anything - he's your son."

This caused Luna to blink. "My son?"

Hermione was the first to realize, "You mean Luna... created Father?"

"They don't call her the Mad Scientist because she walks around in a lab coat, cackling insanely all day." Harry paused to think about it and then shot Luna a slightly apologetic look, mixed with some guilt and no small amount of pity. "Well... not all the time."

"This is getting a little confusing," admitted Ginny.

"Only a little?" Ron asked.

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Harry," suggested Luna.

"If I knew which beginning to use, I might."

"Why don't you tell us what happened during the summer," Hermione prompted. "Where were you while that... doppelganger of yours was filling in for you?"

"Yes," he nodded in agreement. "I suppose that's as good a place as any."

Harry rose from his seat and started pacing back and forth. He found that it helped him think, or in this case organise his thoughts.

"It happened almost literally the instant I stepped through the front door of my Aunt's house. Incredibly timing, really."

"What happened?" asked Ron.

Luna admonished him, "Hush, Ronald, he's getting to that."

"It's almost funny in a way," Harry mused. "You see, all this - it wasn't supposed to happen. It's a mistake."

"Someone's been changing the timeline?" asked Hermione, sounding appalled at the idea.

"No... well, aside from me, no," he shook his head. He paused, near where Neville was sitting, and stroked his chin. For a moment he was distracted by the thought that he had forgotten to shave this morning. Then he remembered that he did not and would not need to shave for a couple more years. He grimaced at this and returned to the topic at hand.

"What I'm should have said is that Father wasn't supposed to arrive here. Now. Luna must have miscalculated somewhere, or maybe something interfered with the transport, but the long and the tall of it is that Father was only supposed to be sent back five years. We didn't have enough energy to send him back further... or so we thought."

"So how far back has he come?" asked Neville. "More than five years?"

"Much more. Father... and everything that came with him..." he paused dramatically for a moment before finishing, "is from twenty-two years in the future."

Ron's eyes grew wide and he exclaimed, "Bloody hell!"

The others, Hermione, Ginny and Neville, were likewise astonished by this piece of information.

Luna, however, was concentrating on what he had said earlier. She looked up at him, as his pacing had brought him past her chair by now, and asked, "I not only created Father, but also sent him back in time?"

"But why?" asked Hermione before he could answer. "Was it some sort of experiment?"

"Frankly we were clasping for straws at that point," he told them.

"Straws?" asked Neville, blankly.

"It's a Muggle expression," Hermione explained. "It means they were getting desperate."

"That about sums it up."

"What happened?" asked Ron.

"You know how we've been 'fighting' Voldemort since his return?" Harry asked in return. He waited for everyone to nod, ignoring the flinches at the mention of the dark lord's name. Having received confirmation from them all, he sighed and told them the bad news. "Well, two years from now that fight is going to erupt into a full scale war. A war that we are going to lose rather convincingly."

Ron stared at him in incomprehension. "Lose?"

Ginny looked appropriately horrified, already slightly pale at the thought. "You mean Voldemort's going to win?"

"Sweet Merlin..." whispered Hermione.

"No, I don't believe it - we can't lose!" Ron protested loudly.

"We did. We will."

"What happened?" asked Luna, seemingly taking it in stride.

"From what I remember; it's a long story," he answered.

"Remember?" repeated Neville questioningly. "I thought you said it was Father that came back, not you. How can you remember things that haven't even happened yet?"

"To understand that I have to explain Father to you," Harry said as he strode back to his seat and slumped heavily into it. Everyone leaned forward to listen, save Luna - who had resumed her examination of the ceiling. He propped his chin on one hand as he stared into the fire. "About thirteen years into the war Voldemort had... will... more-or-less achieve total control over the British Isles. Nothing official, just behind the scenes."

Even without looking away from the flickering flames, Harry could make out the winces and grimaces at that piece of information. He knew that none of his friends were particularly impressed with the Ministry, especially not after the mess they had suffered through the previous year, but this was not something they wanted to contemplate. An incompetent Ministry was bad enough. A Ministry controlled by Voldemort was immeasurably worse.

He was unable to hide a grimace of his own as he got to the crux of the matter. "Two years after that he'll develop a means of tracing Apparation and Portkey signatures and will arrange to have a tag net erected over the whole of Britain."

"Tag net? What's that?" asked Ron.

"Basically a security system he put in place. I don't know the details of how it will work, but the simple version is; if anyone who isn't authorised tries to Apparate or use a Portkey, the alarms go off and a minute later you find yourself up to your eyeballs in Death Eaters. Or corrupt Ministry Aurors, which won't be much better."

"That would make quick and easy travel almost impossible," Hermione quickly concluded.

"Not to mention effectively crippling any opposition," added Ginny thoughtfully. "Mobility is key to a successful campaign."

Harry nodded at their assessment. "Which is why we had to develop alternate means of transport."

"Hence Father," Luna summed up.

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"Don't you remember how Harry appeared in the Great Hall, Ronald?" Luna asked the lost looking Weasley boy. "Father is obviously a form of transport."

Harry gave an acknowledging wave of the hand towards her, "Developed and produced by our very own resident genius and mad scientist; Luna Lovegood."

"How does it work?" asked Hermione, her natural curiosity coming to the fore.

"Haven't got a clue," he shrugged.

"What?"

"Do you know how a car engine works, Hermione? Or a jet engine? Or a nuclear reactor?" he asked in retaliation. He looked at her and answered for her. "Of course you don't. Sure, you have a vague idea, but what's important to you is the results it produces, not the means by which it produces those results."

"You're right, I suppose," she reluctantly admitted, "but you must still have some idea - like you said."

"As best I can understand, from how Luna explained it, it involves gravity."

"Gravity?" echoed Ron, looking completely lost now. "What does falling have to do with anything?"

"Everything, apparently," Harry told him.

Luna nodded thoughtfully, "Gravity is one of the most constant and relentless forces in the universe."

Neville looked across at her. "What goes up must come down?"

"Warping space," said Hermione, suddenly comprehending. She stared at Harry for confirmation. "That's what Father does, isn't it? He uses gravity to warp space."

"Essentially, yes," he agreed with a nod. He smiled thinly and decided to confuse them a bit, just for the fun of it. "The process of creating a Gatekeeper, as they're called, actually involves less magic than you'd expect. Magic is used mostly as a trigger, while the rest is a... what was the phrase again? A lattice of quantum electromagnetic matrices, held by neutral magical suspension in a layer of positively recessed, negatively phased energetic space."

There was a long moment of silence as everyone blinked in incomprehension.

Finally Luna spoke up. "That sounds... complicated."

"Very," agreed Hermione.

"I hope not, Luna," Harry told her. He grimaced, something he had been doing a lot of lately. "Since you'll be the only person who knows to create Gatekeepers, I sincerely hope you find it less complicated when the time comes."

"That doesn't sound very smart," said Ginny critically.

"I agree," nodded Luna. "Why am I the only one with this knowledge? Wouldn't it make more sense to have others know the process?"

"It's like having all your eggs in one basket," agreed Neville.

"Don't look at me," Harry lifted both hands in defence. He shrugged helplessly, "It's not like I haven't... won't try. But convincing Luna to share the secret is impossible. After all, what mad scientist worth her salt does that? Show off her inventions, sure, but to explain how she did it? Fat chance."

Hermione scowled unhappily at him and demanded, "Please stop calling her that, Harry. It's derogatory."

"Sorry, but it's the truth," he protested in frustration. "Twenty-two years from now, Luna's got more bats in her belfry than Trelawney does. Frankly half the Order's more scared of her than they are of Voldemort! Nobody knows what she's going to blow up next."

"Personally I would have expected to find Mugabis in my belfry."

Ron looked at Luna incredulously. "What he means is that you're going to go nuts, Luna! Completely bonkers!"

Luna nodded complacently. "I know. That's what Mugabis do."

"How'd it happen?" asked Neville.

"You would be the one to ask, Nev," Harry sighed sadly, remembering all too clearly what lay in store for his friends.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Ginny softly, alternating worried glances between him and Luna.

Harry sighed again. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the chair's headrest and took a deep breath before answering. "Over exposure to the Cruciatus Curse."

"Oh God, no," he heard Hermione mutter.

"Oh dear, that does sound unpleasant," agreed Luna, not sounding the least bit perturbed about the news. Harry could not fight a small smile at that. After all, from her point of view, being tortured to insanity was not the worst thing that would happen to Luna. Not after what Harry had told her earlier.

"Unpleasant! Gods, Luna, it's terrible!!" Ron practically exploded.

"W-when?" asked a shaken Ginny.

"About fifteen years ago," answered Harry, opening his eyes. He almost immediately corrected himself, mentally chiding himself for letting his thoughts lose focus like that. Fifteen years ago. Hardly. "About seven years from now."

Luna, he saw, was staring off into space. Apparently lost in thought. She blinked several times before turning to him and noting, "I gather that I was not sent to St. Mungo's, like Neville's parents."

Harry shook his head, "Too dangerous. Checking a member of the Order into St. Mungo's was akin to a death sentence."

"That bad?" asked Hermione.

"In any case," Harry started, trying to get their minds off this morbid topic and onto something less emotional, "the Gatekeepers allowed us relatively safe freedom of movement again, though it was a year or so before Luna came up with them."

"They can't be traced? Magically, I mean," Ginny queried.

"Magic is used in their manufacture and nowhere else," Harry explained as best he could. As he had told Hermione, he only had a general idea of how they worked. "The Gates are created by the Gatekeepers using multiple Gee Emm fields focused around a point of space to create the warp. Since no magic is used in the process, it's essentially invisible to the tag net. Now, fifteen years before Voldemort comes up with the concept, there isn't a person, artefact or spell on the planet that can follow Father."

"Gee Emm?"

"Gravity Manipulation," elaborated Harry easily. Having been raised by the Dursleys, if you could call it that, he found Muggle terminology that inevitably crept into Luna's gadgets fairly easy to grasp. Pureblood wizards, on the other hand, almost always got mixed up when dealing with it.

Turning back to his 'history' lesson, he continued, "Unfortunately, by that point we were fighting a lost cause. Voldemort pretty much owned the Ministry - they were either Death Eaters, in his pocket or just too scared not to do what he told them to. Anyone that tried to protest was usually made into an example. Whole families, in some cases, were butchered because of it."

Ginny grew pale and whispered, "Dad? Mum?"

Instead of answering, as he knew the answer would not be well received, Harry continued, "It turned from a fight for freedom into a fight for our lives. In the end we decided to just try and take as many of them with us as we could... go out with a bang."

"What happened?" asked Neville.

"Luna came up with the most cockeyed plan anyone had ever heard of," Harry told them with a depreciating grin. "We were so desperate that we held off the suicide attack in favour of trying to turn the entire war on its ear... and maybe change the course of history."

"Send Father back in time," said Luna.

Hermione nodded slowly. "It makes sense. Space and time are closely interlinked and if the Gatekeepers can warp the one then it follows that they can do the same with the other."

"Partially," agreed Harry. "It has more to do with the way the Gatekeepers are built. They're little more than energy, existing partially in a fifth dimensional space. Since time is the fourth dimension, this makes them less confined by its boundaries, freer to move around in it. At least that's how Luna explained it, though she used bigger words."

"This is giving me a headache," muttered Ron.

"Of course it is," Ginny agreed dryly.

Ignoring the byplay between the siblings, Harry continued. "The problem is it takes a great deal more energy to warp time than it does to warp space. Luna did the math and found that we would only be able to send Father back five years, more-or-less."

Luna nodded. "Five years of intelligence data would make quite a difference."

"But it's just a machine, isn't it?" asked Ron, who had been glaring at Ginny. "How was it supposed to help? It's not like it can talk, can it?"

"You also said the Gatekeepers were mostly energy, so you couldn't just stuff it full of parchment," added Neville.

"Actually we could, in a way," Harry corrected them both. "You see, creating a Gate is a lot more complicated than it sounds. Warping the fabric of space to get from point A to point B requires enough calculations and computational power to beggar the best computers the Muggles will develop."

"Kom-pew-ters?" Ron repeated, butchering the word, as usual.

"Machines that can do millions of operations and calculations in a second," explained Hermione, possibly the only person in the room, other than Harry, who knew what a computer was. Harry sometimes wondered at the ignorance wizards displayed at things such as that. "They can also store vast amounts of information - entire libraries."

"More than just libraries in this case," Harry added. Seeing their curious expressions he elaborated, "The Gatekeepers make use of a simple form of AI, artificial intelligence, to control their GM fields the proper way to make a Gate. Unfortunately Doc got a little too enthusiastic when she started uploading information into Father's memory. She literally included every piece of info she could lay her hands on when she was compiling the data package. She even downloaded half the bloody internet - though what use she thought I'd have for so many porn sites, I don't want to imagine."

Hermione, Ginny and Luna visibly paused to consider this. Though it was doubtful that Ginny or Luna understood exactly what he was talking about, it looked as if they got the general idea. All three witches blushed to various degrees, Ginny the most obvious (being a Weasley). Ron and Neville, however, looked blankly back and forth.

Diplomatically ignoring their reactions, Harry pressed on. "Regardless of the junk data, we went ahead - we didn't have time to waste, odd as that sounds. The idea was that my Gatekeeper would be sent back and wind up with me - something about embedded local causality. Don't ask what that means, I don't know. From there he would dispense the required information and our past selves would hopefully be able to act on it."

"What went wrong?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "How'd you end up sending your memories back as well?"

"Damned if I know, but I have my suspicions."

"And those are?" asked Luna.

Harry hummed and hawed before answering, "I think the method of time travel we used had something to do with it."

"How did you do it, anyway?" queried Hermione with understandable interest. "The furthest anyone has ever been able to go back is one year - and that took nearly a dozen warlocks working together to cast the spell. Even the Ministry's best time-turners can only go back five days, at most."

"It's easier to send energy than solid matter - that's why we sent Father. But, as I said, it takes a lot of power to do even that. A lot of power. Since Father was, and is, tied directly to myself that made me the only available source for him to power the GM fields and create the time Gate."

"They drained your magic?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "Wrong kind of energy. What was needed was simple, raw, power."

Ron looked puzzled. "But if they didn't use your magic, then what?"

Harry's answer was succinct. "E = mc ²."

As he expected, only Hermione understood the reference. The others simply looked at him blankly.

"What does Einstein have to..." Hermione trailed off as understanding dawned. She stared at him with wide eyes, filled with disbelief. "No, you're not serious."

"The total conversion of mass into energy," Harry confirmed solemnly. He then smiled ruefully and asked, "D'you know how much energy is in seventy two kilograms of Harry Potter?"

"My God."

He nodded amiably at Hermione's summation of the idea. "I'm sure that's exactly what the Death Eaters thought the instant before they were reduced to their constituent atoms."

Ron shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Harry's entire body was converted into pure energy in order to power the time travel," answered Luna, cutting Harry off before he could explain. Clearly she had been able to work out what he and Hermione had been talking about. She waited a moment for this to begin to sink in before turning to Harry and prompting, "You mentioned Death Eaters?"

"We were cutting the timing fine, if you'll excuse the pun. Our hiding place had been discovered and several dozen Death Eaters had stormed the building," Harry revealed. Those 'memories' were particularly vivid. For some reason the worst ones usually were. He grinned happily as a thought occurred to him. "I imagine Voldemort would have been quite surprised when they, and everything in several kilometres, disappeared in a rather loud bang and bright flash."

"Everyone left behind would have been killed. Myself included," Luna agreed.

Hermione nodded, "It would have been like setting off a nuclear bomb and staying at ground zero."

"And that, I think, is the root of the problem."

"What d'you mean?"

"Something about the energy released," suggested Luna, twirling her wand like a cheerleading baton as she thought. "Since Harry was powering the time travel process and Father is made up of energy as well... it must have absorbed Harry's memories and experiences."

"And the moment it arrived at its destination, now, it dumped those memories and experiences into the same place it absorbed them from. My head." Harry ruefully rubbed his temples. "Hurt like a bitch."

"Leaving you with memories of everything that hasn't happened yet," concluded Luna.

"A history of the future," he said, summing it all up.

Feeling inexplicably restless, Harry pushed out of his chair and resumed his pacing from earlier. Clasping both hands behind his back he began to circle the room as he spoke.

"It took a while to assimilate it all. Twenty-two years is a long time, even when you're seeing as if it were a movie, rather than the actual experience."

"What d'you mean?" asked Ginny.

Harry continued to pace as he explained, "If I truly remembered everything, then I wouldn't need to be here, at Hogwarts, would I? After all, I'd already have all the knowledge I needed."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Have you ever seen a martial arts movie? Bruce Lee, Jackie Chang or the like?"

"Yes?"

"Did you consider yourself an expert at kicking arse afterwards?"

"Of course not.

"Same principal." Harry looked into the distance as he paced, letting his body walk around on automatic. It was doubtless the others, with their non-Muggle backgrounds, understood. So he elaborated. "It was like watching a movie - I can see myself learning spells, using them and on one or two occasions making some up. But without any practical experience that knowledge isn't much use."

Neville nodded in understanding and said, "So you ran off to have time alone to relearn everything?"

"Not really," Harry shook his head. "Mostly I left Privet Drive because I needed to sort everything out in my head. That and I needed to pick up a few things."

"What about that clone thing you left behind - which fooled us quite nicely, I'm ashamed to admit," asked Ginny, "Where'd you get that from?"

Harry paused in mid step to smirk, "Built it using a combination of the Dudley's video camera, his computer, a couple of radios, Aunt Petunia's microwave oven and a few judicious spells, charms and enchantments."

Ron gawked at him and protested, "That's impossible! The Ministry would've caught you for use of under-age magic!"

"Father's GM fields, combined with a few of his other functions, can form a localised null magic barrier. That's a story in of itself, but I'd prefer not to go into it right now. The result, however, is that Dumbledore himself wouldn't have been able to tell if I was doing magic, even if he was in the next room."

"But how did you come up with it? Especially in such a short time," asked Ginny. "That thing was one of the damnedest gizmos I've ever seen - I remember when dad was working on his car and it wasn't half as complicated looking. Getting Muggle technology to work with magic, not to mention work around magic, is a bitch of a problem."

"Luna, with some help from a few others, developed true Technomancy --the blending of magic and technology-- about ten or eleven years into the war," Harry explained patiently. Truth be told, he was rather proud of how he had managed to put the doppelganger together on such short notice, especially with no experience in the matter.

"Father has all the plans and stuff in his memory, thanks to Luna, and was able to talk me through it. We had to mix and match half a dozen different gizmos, as you call them, to put it together. It was something of a Frankenstein's monster, but I think it worked reasonably well."

"It did," Hermione grudgingly admitted.

"What about the rest of us?" Ron suddenly asked.

"Pardon?"

"You keep going on about Luna. Luna this. Luna that," Ron grouched, crossing his arms as he mock-glared at Harry. "I'd swear the two of you were married."

Harry warily shook his head. "No, we're not married."

He and Luna did have a relationship, of sorts, but that was a can of flobberworms he did not want to open right now. Besides which, it was going to be more an arrangement of convenience than anything else.

"Then why haven't you mentioned the rest of us?" Ron demanded with a huff. "Aren't you going to tell us what happens to us in the future? The only thing I know about me is that I asked Hermione out and then broke up with her."

"He has a point, now that he's brought it up," agreed Neville.

"I must admit, I'm curious to know what everyone else will do with their lives," admitted Luna, though with a hint of reluctance in her wide blue eyes.

He had known that sooner or later, having told them this much, that he would have to tell them the rest. Despite this, Harry would have preferred to put it off till later. Much later. His growing agitation at this line of questioning must have been obvious, as Hermione cautiously called his name.

"Harry?"

"I haven't spoken about the rest of you because none of you had anything to do with the development of the Gatekeepers or sending Father back in time," he temporized, running a hand through his mussed hair as he reluctantly walked back to where they were all sitting.

"So? We must have done something worth mentioning," insisted Ron.

"Yes, you did."

"Well?"

Pursing his lips, Harry revealed, "As of November tenth, 2018, the only people in this room that will still be alive are Luna and myself. The rest of you... are dead."

***

Hermione was surprised at how shocked she felt. It was strange, considering she had known the moment Harry told them that the war against Voldemort had been lost that some of them would have died during its course. It was obvious, really. People died during wars, it was unavoidable.

The thought that all of them were going to die, while Luna was driven even crazier than she already was, however, was still horrifying. This explained why Harry appeared so grim, so world-weary, since his return to Hogwarts. With the memories of the sole sane survivor jammed into his head by Father, it was no wonder that his outlook on life would have changed - even if he had not truly lived through the events he knew were coming.

The appalled silence that filled the room seemed to indicate that her companions were thinking and feeling much the same. The expressions on their faces, save Luna who seemed more curious than anything else, only served to confirm this.

"Dead?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"That... sucks," Neville summed up for everyone.

"When?" asked Ginny, her smattering of freckles standing out in stark contrast to her pale face. She swallowed and, with obvious reluctance, asked, "How?"

Harry slumped into his chair, which literally groaned in protest. Ignoring the chair's quiet mutterings about inconsiderate wizards, which was rather odd considering most furniture at Hogwarts did not speak, he gave Ginny a bleak look.

"D'you really want to know?"

"Not really."

"Bloody hell, of course we do!" insisted Ron.

Harry made a noise that might have been the beginning of a chuckle. "Funny."

Ron frowned and asked, "What is?"

"You were the last, about five years ago..." Harry's wan smile faded as he trailed off, apparently losing himself in the memory of whatever it was that had, or rather will, happen.

"Your tenses are all confused, Harry," Neville noted with wan amusement.

"The hell with his tenses," grumbled Ron. " I'm confused."

"Seventeen years from now. Not long after Voldemort had secured his position over most of Britain," Harry explained, his eyes once again focusing on the here and now.

Gently, seeing the pain in his eyes, Hermione asked, "What happened?"

Harry looked at Ron sadly. He spoke very quietly, just a touch above a whisper, but they could all hear him quite clearly. "You went on a homicidal rampage."

Suffice to say, nobody was quite sure what to make of that. Nervous glances where exchanged between the three girls, while Neville levelled a look of sheer disbelief at Harry. Ron, for his part, gave a bark of laughter that seemed very loud in the cosy room they were sitting in.

"Good one, Harry. Me? Homicidal? Right!" Ron chortled with a grin. "Next you'll be telling us that Malfoy's actually my long-lost twin brother!"

"Ah..."

"No. No! No, I won't believe it!" Ron denied upon seeing Harry's embarrassed expression. Everyone was looking at their friend in surprise, and some disbelief, but Ron was already overreacting. He pleaded with Harry, "Tell me you're joking, mate, please! Malfoy can't be my brother!"

"You're right, he's not your brother."

Ron sank back with a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin."

His expression carefully neutral Harry continued, "He's actually your long-lost twin sister."

"W-w-w-wh-wha-wha-what?"

"He is really a she," Harry told Ron, seemingly perfectly serious. Ron was buying it, though Hermione was sceptical and fairly certain that Ron's leg was in the process of being pulled. Harry shrugged and stated, "You'd be surprised what can be accomplished with magic."

Ron swayed back and forth, as if he were suddenly feeling dizzy, one hand at the side of his head. He muttered something incomprehensible just before his eyes rolled up into his head. Like an axed tree, he toppled over and fell from his chair to land in a heap on the thickly carpeted floor.

"That was entertaining, Harry," observed Luna.

"Yeah," agreed Ginny, seemingly unconcerned about her brother's condition. She stretched out a leg and prodded Ron in the ribs, getting no reaction. "I must admit, I'm impressed. That was a joke worthy of Fred and George."

"Who said I was joking?" replied Harry, still affecting a perfect deadpan expression.

Ginny laughed nervously. "Remind me to never play poker against you."

Finally Harry's expression cracked and he broke into a boyish grin as Hermione jumped from her seat and crossed to where Ron was lying. She shook his shoulder, trying to get a response, while glaring up at her friends. "Aren't any of you the least bit concerned about Ron? He fainted!"

"Get used to it," Harry told her, "it'll be happening a lot."

"Excuse me?"

Harry shrugged, "It's a side effect of his injury from the Department of Mysteries."

Ginny, now kneeling next to Hermione, frowned worriedly and asked, "Is it serious?"

"Not really. Just inconvenient."

"You mean he's going to faint a lot?" asked Neville.

"Not too often," Harry answered after a moment's thought, "only when faced with emotionally confusing situations."

"You mean like learning that Malfoy is his long-lost twin sister?" asked Luna in a sing-song voice filled to the brim with wry amusement.

"Yep."

"Why didn't anyone realize this earlier?" demanded Hermione angrily, pulling out her wand in preparation to revive Ron. "It's been months since it happened."

Once again Harry shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about Ron's plight. "In the original history we didn't find out until Halloween."

Neville, who like Harry had not risen from his seat, asked the question that entered everyone's mind. "What happened on Halloween?"

Harry smirked in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Malfoy. "He asked Mione out."

"You mean he found asking Hermione out so stressful that he fainted?" asked Ginny incredulously.

"Actually he only fainted after she said yes," Harry revealed.

Hermione was about to cast an Ennervate Charm, but stopped as she noticed Ron beginning to stir. He rolled from his side onto his back and blinked his eyes open, as if waking from a deep and comfortable sleep. "Ugh, what happened?"

"You fainted," she told him.

Ron frowned and immediately objected. "What? No way, I'm a bloke. Blokes don't faint."

Huffing with some exasperation at his stubbornness, Hermione relented, "Fine, you passed out."

"Much better."

With help from Ginny, Hermione pulled Ron to his feet and settled him back in his chair. Once certain that he wasn't going to topple over any time soon, they returned to their own seats.

"All right, old friend?" asked Harry.

"I think so..." Ron muttered. "What were we talking about again?"

"You were scoffing at the idea of your future self going on a homicidal rampage," Luna helpfully informed him.

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded as it all came back to him. Then he paused and asked uncertainly, "Malfoy's not really my twin sister, is he?"

"No," Harry chuckled and shook his head, causing Ron to slump with relief.

It was Ginny that brought the conversation back to the issue of Ron's rampage. "So, what happened? What set Ron off?"

Harry heaved a gusty sigh and turned his gaze to the fireplace. "Death Eaters raped and then killed your wife and twin daughters. They also killed your newborn son."

There was a deathly silence at this revelation.

"Gods," breathed Neville, his voice and face filled with horror.

"On second thought, I didn't really want to know," Ron eventually manage to blurt out, his face very pale beneath his freckles despite the warm glow provided by the nearby fire.

"You went catatonic when you arrived home and found them," continued Harry, his eyes losing focus as he apparently lost himself in his 'memories'. "The night after the funerals you disappeared. We only found out what happened about a week later, through one of our spies."

"I went after them, didn't I?"

Harry nodded tiredly, as if he were far too familiar to delivering bad new such as this. "According to Winter, one of our informants, you killed thirteen Death Eaters before they were able to take you down. The last three with your bare hands."

Ron stared blankly at his hands. He swallowed several times, trying to regain his composure, before looking up at Harry with a reluctantly curious expression and asked, "Who... who was she?"

"Who?"

"My wife, dammit!"

"I don't know if I should tell you."

This did not sit well with Ron and he jumped to his feet, hands clenched into fists, and shouted, "Why the bloody hell not?!"

"Because if I do, you might jump the gun," replied Harry, his voice suddenly cool and authoritive. He met Ron's angry gaze with his own, green eyes glinting darkly in the firelight, and explained his reasoning. "I don't know about you, but I do want to see my goddaughters be born. Something that might not happen if you screw up on your first date because you're over confident."

"Calm down, Ron, before you faint again," insisted Ginny. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down into his chair, which he fell into with a thud. "He's right."

"I know," Ron admitted, looking abashed by his outburst. He looked apologetically at Harry. "Sorry."

"Don't be, I understand you're still recovering from what happened at the Ministry," Harry waved it aside, glancing at Hermione after he did so. For a moment she thought he was staring at her breasts, but realized after a moment that he was focused instead on where she had been hit by Dolohov's curse at the Ministry. His eyes flicked up to hers for a second before he turned away, voice dropping a register as he muttered, "Some things take more time to heal that others."

"What about the rest of us?" asked Neville. He held up a hand to stall Harry's protest. "I'm not sure I want to know, but... in for a knut and all that."

Harry ran a hand through his hair again before nodding. "Ginny was... will be killed next year, a few weeks before the end of term." His expression became an introspective one as he added, "We'll lose a lot of good people in that fight."

Luna, inexplicably looking a little pale, asked, "Who?"

"McGonagall. Remus. Hagrid. A few other members of staff. A dozen or so students."

"Snape?" asked Ron, sounding disturbingly eager. Hermione could understand that, considering her own experiences in the man's Potions class. To Ron's disappointment Harry shook his head. Hermione, however, thought that he seemed strangely cautious, no, wary, as he did so. Naturally Ron was disappointed and voiced it by saying, "Bugger."

Harry gave a weak smile at the explicative. He frowned and then glanced past Hermione, "Neville will be killed in the line of duty six years later."

Luna blinked owlishly and repeated, "In the line of duty?"

"Please tell me I didn't get some clerical job in the Ministry," groaned Neville, looking thoroughly disgusted at the idea. This was not surprising as everyone present was somewhat disenchanted when it came to the Ministry. With idiots like Fudge in charge, and demented bigots like Umbridge setting policy...

"You were an Auror," Harry revealed.

"But that's impossible," Hermione immediately objected. "You need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to apply for Auror training, and Neville isn't in our Potions class."

"The Ministry changed their tune after the shit hit the fan."

Ginny looked surprised by this admission, apparently understanding the meaning behind the metaphor even though she probably did not know what a fan was. "They lowered the requirements?"

Harry shrugged and explained, "They were running out of Aurors and needed the replacements as soon as possible."

"An Auror. Heh." Neville looked somewhat taken by the idea, despite whatever feelings he might have with regards to working for the Ministry. The position was, after all, a prestigious one. "I'll bet Gran was pleased with that."

"You and Luna were captured together."

Neville’s bemusement immediately disappeared as the blood drained from his face. He looked at Harry, eyes wide, and stammered, "You mean... I was..."

Harry nodded unhappily. "Tortured to death with the Cruciatus Curse. Yes."

"Gods," cursed Ron.

"Don't worry," Harry reassured Neville, a dark gleam in his eyes. The light from the fire playing over his features, he looked somewhat menacing with that expression. "I killed her personally."

"Her?" asked Neville, puzzled.

Harry nodded and repeated, "Her."

A look of understanding came to Neville. "Lestrange."

"I returned the favour."

Hermione looked at Harry, her stomach twisting in a knot as the implications of that statement set in. "You used the Cruciatus Curse on her?"

Harry met her eyes with a steady gaze. "Eye for an eye, Mione."

"What about Hermione?" Luna suddenly asked, causing Harry to break Hermione's gaze with a flinch. He got up and began to pace yet again, the agitation he was feeling obvious in his posture. "What happened to her?"

"Harry?" Hermione asked, unsure if she really wanted to hear this.

"Come on, Harry. It can't be that bad," pressed Ron before hesitantly asking, "Can it?"

Ginny elbowed her brother and hissed, "Ron!"

Hermione, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, asked, "Harry, what happens?"

Harry turned his back to them all, regarding the crackling fireplace instead. Long shadows stretched out across the room, casting a sombre atmosphere over the previously comfy dÃ©cor. Everyone watched him closely, waiting both patiently and impatiently for his answer. Hermione held her breath as he lowered his head and answered in a hoarse whisper.

"You commit suicide on Halloween night, 1997. Next year."

Suffice to say, the room was very quiet after that.

Finally Hermione broke the silence with a gasped, "What?"

"Jumped off the top of the Astronomy tower," Harry continued dispassionately, not moving a muscle as he remained in place and stared into the fire. He could have been carved from stone he was so still. She had a feeling that he was holding onto his self-control with an iron grip to keep himself from losing his composure.

"But... but... no..." Hermione sputtered for several moments. She was either going into shock, or else was already experiencing it. Trying to gather her scattered wits, she asked, "Why? Why would I... kill myself?"

"I don't want to tell you," he said, sounding very reluctant.

"Tell me!" she demanded, rising from her chair and glaring at him. Since his back was turned it had no effect, but it did satisfy her sudden need to do something. Insistently she asked, "Why?!"

Running a hand through his hair and heaving a deep sigh, Harry turned to face them. He looked very grave, which was understandable considering the circumstances.

"Death Eaters will kidnap you when school breaks up this year," he began to explain, his voice utterly devoid of any emotion - as if he were reciting a weather report. "First day of the holidays, in fact. They'll kill your parents and use Polyjuice Potion to trick you into going with them when we disembark at King's Cross. You never even made it home."

"Kidnapped me? But... if... Mum... Dad? Wha... but... no, oh God, no." Hermione sank back down into her seat, a leaden weight settling in her stomach. Imagining her parents dying was as even worse emotional blow than learning of her future suicide.

"They kept you the entire summer. Used you as a plaything for their sick amusement," Harry continued, his eyes staring past those listening. A hint of brooding anger was seeping into his voice and stance.

Hermione was not known as the smartest witch in Hogwarts for no reason. She could read between the lines and had a pretty good idea of what Harry meant when he said the Death Eaters used her as a plaything. Almost unconsciously she crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and squeezed her thighs tightly together, even as she shivered at the thought of having men like Lucius Malfoy and Dolohov, probably their children as well, touching her in such a manner. There was no doubt in her mind that they not only made it as humiliating an experience as possible, but painful as well.

Harry, his hands clenched into fists, continued, "You were released on the first of September. A Portkey dropped you in the middle of the Great Hall, during the Sorting. Caused half the first years to faint and the other half to puke their guts out."

Hermione shook her head in denial and whispered, "No. Please, no."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. In a mixture of disgust and muted anger he confessed, "It was our fault you died though."

"Huh?" asked Ron, looking rather green.

"We assumed that all they had done was... physically abuse her. The Healers treated her for that as well as the expected mental trauma," revealed Harry. He grimaced. "We assumed wrong."

An almost hysterical calm seemed to descend over Hermione as she asked, curious despite herself, "What do you mean?"

Harry meet her questioning gaze with hooded eyes and explained, "The Dark Arts has a wide selection of spells designed to control a person, bend them to the user's will."

"The Imperious Curse?" asked Ginny.

"Similar, but not so obvious," Harry shook his head. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and seemed to glower at the floor. "They implanted control spells in Mione's psyche - spells that slowly and quietly drove her over the edge. After what they had done to her... she wasn't able to resist the compulsions. We didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. If we had... maybe we could have... I don't know."

"You said they... tortured... and... and I assume... they... they r-raped..." Hermione was having trouble getting the words out. Being tortured was something her mind shied away from, but the idea of being raped was a horror that left her feeling physically ill. Still, some part of her could not resist asking, "Do you... know the details?"

"They broke you," answered Harry, stepping over and kneeling down in front of her. He took her hands in his own, holding them tightly as he shook his head. "Body, mind and spirit. You don't need to know more."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron choked out.

Harry absently nodded, "You were."

Ginny, who was looking rather pale, shakily rose to her feet. "We have to... Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore."

"NO!" bellowed Harry, startling everyone with the vehemence of his exclamation. His hand blurred into his robes and in less time than it took to blink, his wand was levelled at Ginny. He glared at her, the raw fury in his eyes freezing everyone in place more than the threat of being hexed. His voice, in contrast, was colder than icy. "I'm not going to tell him anything! And neither will you, if you know what's good for you."

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, though it took several seconds before she reacted. She put a hopefully calming hand on his arm and said, "Calm down, Harry. She's right."

"On the contrary, Mione, she's never been more wrong," he answered, not taking his eyes off Ginny.

"I'm with Hermione and Ginny on this, Harry. This is... big," said Neville, carefully keeping his voice as calm as possible. "Dumbledore needs to know about it."

"No, he doesn't."

Ron tried to speak, but quickly trailed off, "Harry, mate..."

Hermione gently squeezed his arm with her hand, slightly surprised at the firmness of the muscle underneath his robes. She tried to show him that this was something they had do, hoping that emphasising that would cause him to reconsider his position and relent. "Harry, if we tell him, he will be able to prevent it from happening."

"No, he won't."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Rather monosyllabic at the moment, aren't you, Harry?" asked Luna, not sounding the least bit concerned.

"Luna!" snapped Hermione, giving the blonde-haired girl a look. Once she felt that Luna understood that this was not the time, she turned back to her best friend. "Harry--"

Harry interrupted with a curt shake of his head. "Even if he does find out, he won't do anything about it."

"What? How can you say that?" she asked, surprised by the certainty in his voice.

"Twenty two years worth of experience."

"Perhaps you should explain, Harry," suggested Luna.

Harry sighed and, with obvious reluctance, nodded, "Perhaps, I should,"

Ginny, who had not budged an inch since Harry had first moved, warily eyed his wand. She cleared her throat and made her own suggestion, "Perhaps you should put the wand down first."

Relaxing the firm grip he held it with --his knuckles were white-- Harry lowered the wand and grudgingly returned it to its place in the folds of his robes. He rose up from the low crouch he had been holding next to Hermione and resumed his place in the circle of chair around the fireplace.

Propping his elbows on the chair's armrests, he linked his hands together and perched his chin on them. He remained almost perfectly still, save for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, holding the pose for several minutes. Ron was the first to begin fidgeting impatiently and was soon followed by Neville and then Ginny. Finally, just when Hermione was getting ready to prompt him, he started to speak.

"It was a couple of weeks later... I got into an argument with Snape," he began.

"What else is new?" ask Ron jovially, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"I'd snuck out one night to confront him. I wanted the names of the Death Eaters that... did that to Mione," he continued, ignoring the interruption and Neville's slight snicker. He frowned, his lips turning down in a grimace of displeasure, granting him a vaguely sinister air. "As you can imagine, it wasn't a very civil conversation. Didn't take long before he got me good and mad. I was screaming and yelling at him fit to wake half the castle. It's a miracle I didn't blow up the dungeons with accidental magic."

"What happened?" asked Neville.

Harry's frown deepened. "He made a mistake. Let slip... something he shouldn't have."

When no further response seemed forthcoming, Hermione prompted, "What?"

"Dumbledore knew," he said, his frown turning into a smouldering scowl of anger.

He looked intently at Hermione and she could see the barely restrained fury in his eyes. His magic was simmering angrily just beneath the surface, much as it had when he had confronted Malfoy during Potions that morning. As he continued to speak both his ire and magic aura grew in intensity, just as the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach grew colder upon hearing what he had to say.

"He knew where you were. The entire time. Two months. The whole bloody summer - he knew where you were and what they were doing to you. The son of a bitch knew. And. He. Did. Nothing!"

"That's not possible," Ginny weakly protested. "I mean... he wouldn't just..."

"Abandon her? Leave her to them?" asked Harry bitterly. He finally broke the pose he had been holding, letting his hands drop and clench the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Oh yes, he did." He shook his head in obvious disgust and mockingly repeated words that he must have heard as an explanation for the headmaster's inaction. "'An acceptable loss'. 'A casualty of war'. 'Sacrificing one to save many'."

Ron slumped in his chair. "Sweet Merlin."

Luna nodded, seemingly in agreement, and asked, "What did you do next, Harry?"

"What else?" asked Harry in return, as if the answer should be obvious. He gave a curt nod and declared, "I killed the bastard."

"You killed Dumbledore?!?!" blurted Ron, almost leaping out of his chair as he jerked upright. He, and everyone else, stared at Harry with eyes as wide as saucers. Everyone except Luna, that is. The Ravenclaw witch merely blinked owlishly in reaction.

"Of course not," Harry immediately replied, as though the idea were utterly absurd. They did not even have enough time to breath a sigh of relief before Harry continued matter-of-factly, "I killed Snape."

"You killed him," repeated Hermione dumbly.

"He gloated over it," growled Harry darkly. His expression narrowed, apparently in memory. "He shouldn't have."

There was a lull in the conversation as everyone considered what has been revealed.

"So that's why you said he didn't die when Ginny did," Neville said, understanding in his eyes. "You'd already killed him."

"I used the Cruciatus Curse," said Harry, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Almost as an afterthought he added, "Didn't stop until his brains were oozing out of his nose and ears."

"But how?" asked Ginny. "I mean, Dumbledore wouldn't have just let you do that."

"Yeah," agreed Neville. "I'll admit Snape's a greasy bastard, but they wouldn't have let you do that without some kind of punishment."

Ron nodded, looking at Harry with wide eyes. "They would've locked you in Azkaban and thrown away the key!"

Harry gave a nonchalant shrug, before dropping his gaze. There was a hint of black humour in his eyes as he looked at them. "I might not have the best grades, but I'm far from stupid."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"Nobody knew I was with Snape at the time. Everyone thought I was fast asleep with the rest of the boys," he pointedly looked from Ron to Neville. "I knew the two of you would cover for me once I told you what I'd learnt. You did."

"So, how did you..." Hermione trailed off, again not sure if she really wanted to know.

"It was difficult, but I managed to sneak the body down to Hogsmeade and dump it in the village square. Rigged a delayed Dark Mark that would be set off after half an hour," Harry gave a professional, dispassionate, recounting of his future actions. "After that I returned to school and ran to the old man's office. Told him that I'd had a vision, through my scar, and seen everything. As far as anyone knew, Snape was tortured to death by Voldemort when his cover as a spy was blown."

He then snorted, rather disdainfully, and got up from his seat again. Hermione could not recall Harry ever being as restless as he had been during the course of this meeting.

"Won't matter either way," he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he resumed his pacing. He shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. "Everything will to hell a few months later. Right bugger up."

"But, if we tell Dumbledore--" a forbidding look from Harry quickly cut Ginny off. Visibly steeling herself, something that gave her a passing resemblance to her mother, she pressed on. "Harry, we have to! If we don't, how are we going to change anything?"

"I will," Harry said with absolute conviction. "I already have."

"Even the smallest actions can have far-reaching effects if given enough time," agreed Luna, placing a pacifying hand on Ginny's shoulder and preventing her from rising to confront Harry.

"Screw small - I'm going to do what Doc and I had planned from the start," Harry told them, that dangerous glint in his eyes as his smirked. "Turn this war on its ear."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, you're just one man."

Harry nodded agreeably, "I won't deny that."

"Then you agree that we should tell Dumbledore."

"No. I agree that I'm just one man and can't defeat Voldemort by myself," he countered easily, oddly enough keeping a very cool head as he spoke. This, a stark contrast to his short temper the previous year, brought home the fact that Harry had changed a great deal over the summer. Still smirking he added, "Yet."

"You have a plan?" asked Neville.

"Things are going to turn out differently this time," Harry declared, steel in his voice as he stopped for a moment to glare balefully at the fireplace. There was a hard set to his shoulders when he resumed pacing, his voice filled with a conviction that would refuse to waver in any way. "I'm going to stop Voldemort and save everyone that should never have died to begin with."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry paused in mid step to look at Luna in confusion. "For what?"

Luna, looking strangely serious, bowed her head. "If I'd only sent you back another month, or more, you'd have been able to save your godfather as well."

"No, stop. Stop," Harry scowled at her, "Luna, don't think like that."

"Like what?" asked Ron.

"An old friend of mine once gave me... will give me, some very good advice," Harry smiled wryly. He looked at Luna and gently told her, "No what ifs. You can't change what happened, only what can happen."

"Who told you that?" Hermione asked, thinking to herself that it must have been one of those present. It certainly was not the headmaster, as Harry did not sound bitter or angry, but rather melancholic.

Harry grinned, "Ron, strange as it may sound."

"Ron, dispensing some wisdom?" chuckled Neville, amused at the idea. "Rather odd that."

"Oi! I'll have you know--"

Harry deftly interrupted, "We were both drunk at the time, which might explain it."

Ron looked at Harry, feigning betrayal, "Harry!"

There was some light laughter and smiles, the break in the tension a much needed one. Harry returned to his chair, settling down in a much more relaxed manner than before.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ginny, sounding hesitant to bring the topic up again. "About Dumbledore. About... all this."

"As far as Dumbledore is concerned, I'm going to continue doing exactly what I have been doing since Father arrived," Harry told her levelly.

"Nothing."

"Not quite," he relented. "I'll share what information I deem relevant, but I will most definitely not be explaining how or where I got it."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Harry?" asked Neville.

"Withholding potentially crucial information might prove disadventitious."

Ron gave Luna an exasperated look and muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, "Does she have to always use big words?"

Harry scowled again and shook his head. "He's kept me in the dark about almost everything important since I first came to Hogwarts. I have no intention of allowing that state of affairs to continue."

"We understand that you don't like that, Harry. Neither do we," Hermione told him. She leaned forward and reached out to grab hold of his hand. "But you must know that there are some things he can't tell you."

"Even the things that involve me? That personally affect me and those around me?" he asked quietly, focusing on her hand gripping his own. "Are those also things he should keep from me? 'For my own good'?"

"What d'you mean?" asked Ginny, puzzled.

"Last year. The prophecy."

Ron blinked in surprise and asked, "You know it?"

Neville shook his head. "I thought it was destroyed."

"Dumbledore told me. After the Ministry," Harry admitted, his expression growing darker as he looked up.

Hermione swallowed. That same murderous, but icy, rage had ignited in his eyes again. His jaw was clenched so tightly that she could hear his teeth grinding together. This was obviously a sore point, if his reaction was any indication.

The small amount of nervousness she was feeling (Harry's magic was practically crackling around him) overwhelmed the sharp pain as Harry squeezed her hand. The pressure disappeared immediately when Harry noticed her pained expression. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment he visibly calmed himself.

"Well?" demanded Ron impatiently.

"It doesn't say anything we didn't already know," Harry said. He pulled his hand away from Hermione's and bunched it into a tight fist. "Everything we did. Pointless. Everything we went through. For nothing."

"What - what does it say?" asked Hermione, reluctantly returning her hand to her lap. It was throbbing slightly, but she would happily bear that pain if she could help Harry through his own.

"That Voldemort will kill my parents. That he will mark me as his equal with this damned scar. That in the end it'll come down to just the two of us," he revealed grimly. He turned to look at her, his normally bright green eyes darkened almost black with emotion. "Me and him."

"You and You-Know-Who?" repeated Ron, his voice rising to a squeak.

"Just like it's always been," Harry's voice regained that unnatural calm which Hermione recognised as happening when he was forcibly restraining his emotions. His eyes though, as always, betrayed the depth of his feelings. "Every time I've gone against Voldemort, I've done it alone. People would help get me there, help me reach him, but in the end I always face him by myself."

Ginny, looking hopefully, asked, "You mean it says you're going to kill him? Once and for all?"

Harry gave a curt shake of his head. "No."

"But you just told us..." Neville trailed off at the guarded expression that settled over Harry.

"It does not say who is going to win, does it?" asked Luna, who had apparently reached the same conclusion as Hermione and decided to voice it.

"No, just that we'll fight and one of us will die."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, looking at her friend and wondering just when life was going to give him the break that he so deserved. No wonder he had been so preoccupied after the fight at the Ministry before the summer.

"I'll admit, it was a shock - finally hearing it outright. Aside from that, the contents of the prophecy should've been painfully obvious to everyone who knew about it," Harry admitted with a gusty sigh. Then his expression darkened again, his voice filling with bitter anger. "The old man should have told me sooner. If he had... Sirius..."

Hermione wanted to reach out again, but decided against it. Harry had always been uncomfortable with physical encounters, no doubt due to his upbringing with the Dursleys. Instead, she tried to soothe him out of his anger. "Maybe he didn't want to worry with it. It is a burden, Harry, so maybe he just wanted you to enjoy your childhood while--"

"I spent ten years living in the cupboard underneath the Dursleys' stairs," Harry interrupted, the bitterness growing almost tangible. He looked at her unhappily and, almost caustically, said, "Forgive me if I'd rather forget ever having a childhood like that."

"Harry..."

"I think you need some time to think about all this. Let it settle in properly. Consider everything I've told you about what is going to happen," he said abruptly, getting up from his chair and walking briskly to the door. He paused when he reached it and, without looking back, told them, "If you want to tell Dumbledore, well, that's your choice. Not mine."

He departed quickly and without a backwards glance, the small black ball that was Father trailing close behind him. In his wake he left a confused Ron, a thoughtful Neville, a troubled Ginny, a pensive Luna (something extraordinary in itself) and a highly apprehensive Hermione.

***

Harry was walking from the Room of Requirements back to the Gryffindor Tower, brooding over those aspects of the future that disturbed him more than the others. He was no longer bothered by his reactions, having had two months to work through his feelings on the matter. Instead he was worrying over how his friends would react to the knowledge.

His greatest concern was that they would seek out Dumbledore and spill the beans. That would make his tentative plans all the more difficult to implement. His rather impulsive and idiotic "grand entrance" during the Sorting Feast had already thrown a massive wrench into the proverbial works, having drawn far too much attention to himself and Father.

Speaking of which, Father was once again questioning his decision to reveal the truth to his friends.

"I know, but if I can't trust my friends, who can I trust?" he countered vocally, a habit he was trying to break. Having a one-side conversation (as all of Father's communications were input directly into Harry's mind) would more than likely end in another newspaper article questioning his sanity. He had experienced more than enough of those the previous year and had no desire to encounter any more.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he further asserted.

He turned a corner, almost walking through the Fat Friar. For some reason the Hufflepuff ghost was wandering much further from the Hufflepuff dormitories than he usually did. After absentmindedly engaging in a short exchange of greetings, he continued on his way. Once he felt that the Fat Friar was out of earshot, he asked a question of his own.

"Did you deploy the drones like I asked?"

Father replied, perhaps a bit snidely. Questioning the sole Gatekeeper's abilities or competence was an assured method of rising its ire. For some reason it had developed an exaggerated sense of pride during the time Harry had known it, which the young wizard found rather odd.

Then again, considering the vast stores of knowledge held within its memory (including some of Luna's more dubious downloads) it should not have been too surprising.

The original Father, from twenty two years in the Future, had been only the most basic of artificial intelligences. From what Harry could 'remember', that Father had been very cool, possessing nothing remotely like human emotion.

It had been similar to the glowing red-light computer from that Muggle movie Luna was going to discover several years from now. What was it called again? 2002, 2010 or something like that? He couldn't remember the exact date, only that Luna had been excited to watch the film in comparison to what the Muggles had thought was possible by that time and what they had actually managed to accomplished after the years rolled by.

In any case, Father had originally been very remote and almost without a personality.

Everything had changed, however, after the time travel. As far as Harry could determine it was because of the energy which had lead to his future self's memories being brought back. Somehow Father had been affected and had incorporated both Harry's memories and the junk data Luna had stored within him.

The result was something that reminded Harry somewhat uncomfortably of a young James Potter, which led to his eventual naming of the Gatekeeper as Father.

Trying to ignore his musings, Harry turned his attention back to his and Father's current discussion. He was pleased to hear (so to speak) that Father had completed its assigned task during Harry's conversation with his friends.

"Good."

As Harry stood waiting for one of the moving staircases to finishing shifting from the third floor to the fourth, Father asked another silent question.

"Sometime this weekend, I think," Harry answered, beginning to climb the staircase. He mused over the question for a few seconds before deciding, "Maybe sooner, if the opportunity presents itself. Either way, I'm certain they'll be available for me to talk to."

Father sounded somewhat worried as it asked another question, related to the first.

"Trust me, they'll be more than happy to help. They've never turned down a chance at wreaking some mayhem," Harry replied with a smirk that would have unnerved anyone that saw it. "Besides, they're the ones that designed the bloody things in the first place."

Father gave an unconvinced reply that caused Harry to chuckle wickedly.

"What can I say?" he asked, as he walked down the corridor leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady. His smirk grew broader, now tinged with a hint of malicious pleasure. "They enjoy playing with explosives."

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Mixed Reactions

It was funny how the mind worked, mused Harry. Twenty years of memories that were his, yet not his. A length of time longer than he had been alive, yet he remembered it all. A life that was not his, yet was his alone. Things, terrible things, that had happened but had not yet come to pass. A history of the future.

Something that was more and more rapidly becoming useless to him.

Depending on who you asked time was either as steady as a rock and completely immutable - thus meaning that nothing you did could change things. Or, as others believed, time was exceptionally fragile - where everything you did, or will do, changes everything that happened or was going to happen.

Personally, Harry was leaning towards this second viewpoint, if for no other reason than he could already see the difference between the now and the then. Or whatever you preferred to call the events that his future self had experienced. The constant switching from present to past tense and back again and again and again was starting to give him a headache.

Fortunately there was nothing like a long soak in a hot, hot bath to sooth a troubled brow. This was something he had discovered several years ago, during a mission to Japan. Of course, that trip hadn't happened yet. Not for another ten or so years.

Yes, that headache was setting in to stay.

Hence the piping hot bath. Since the old man --as his future self, and now Harry himself, called Dumbledore-- had not made Harry a prefect, The-Boy-Who-Lived could not make use of the prefects' bath as he would have liked to have done. Of course, Ron or any of Harry's prefect friends would have gladly helped him out, but he wanted to be alone for the time being. Thus he did something that he had always been quite apt at doing. He improvised.

The Room of Requirements supplied you with everything and anything you require. And right now Harry required a comfortably large tub filled to the brim with hot, steaming water and the air scented with jasmine. The smell reminded him of Hermione.

Hermione. The reason he was enjoying this conveniently produced bath. Well, one of the reasons at least. Harry had so much on his mind that lately he was having trouble telling if he was coming or going. It was confusing as hell, mostly thanks to the mixed signals he was getting with regards to their relationship. Vacillating between friendship, a brother/sister relationship and the desire to explore the possibility of becoming something more than that, was making his head spin.

And these were only the mixed signals he was getting from himself!

And if he found it confusing then he could only imagine Hermione's thoughts on the subject. The sudden inconsistencies of how he was treating her must doubtless be causing her just as much of a headache as he himself was experiencing. That is, if she had even noticed. Oh, who was he kidding? This was Hermione - of course she noticed. Besides which, it would be rather hard for her not to, considering how he engulfed her in a hug every time he saw her.

Making sure she didn't slip away, like a ghost from a dream.

Yes, even Ron had noticed Harry's reactions to her and that was saying something. The only good thing about the situation was that his friend had yet to try dispensing some form of advice on the matter. Considering Ron's experience with relationships (which was even less than Harry's) this was definitely a good thing.

The biggest problem, on the other hand, was Draco Malfoy. If Ron had noticed Harry's preoccupation with Hermione, then doubtless Malfoy had as well. As of yet he had not acted on that knowledge, not even with something as relatively harmless as making a snide remark.

True, they had only been back at school for two days, but Harry did not doubt that the slimy bastard was already planning to move Hermione's abduction forward. The Christmas holidays perhaps? Or maybe even earlier, say, one of the Hogsmeade weekends? Halloween?

Harry needed some time alone, to think about it. To plan and strategise without distraction.

"Harry?"

Well, there went that idea.

"You know," he replied, closing his eyes and sinking up to his chin in the hot water, "it is customary to knock before entering, Mione."

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" he heard her exclaim. He could easily picture the look on her face right then; bringing both hands up in shock before clapping them over her eyes before she saw anything. "I didn't know you were - oh God, I'm so, so sorry!"

"I imagine this isn't what you were expecting to find."

"No! No, of course not," she squeaked.

Harry chuckled and opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him was that of Hermione, back turned and both hands over her eyes. He could not see her face, but he imagined that right now she was blushing fit to match anything an embarrassed Weasley could manage.

Of course, he was willing to bet that if he looked in a mirror right now he could easily be mistaken for a tomato. He was only a sixteen year old boy, after all, and not accustomed to having people walk in on him. Not just anyone, either, but the one girl he had a bit of a crush on.

Still, he was handling this potentially embarrassing situation better than Hermione was. Maybe that encounter with Moaning Myrtle in the prefects' bath, during his fourth year, had inured him to thing like this. At least partially.

"It's alright, Mione," he told her. "You can turn around if you want to."

"Are you dressed? Are you decent?"

"No."

"What?!"

She had begun to turn around and so promptly turned her back to him again.

"It's alright, Mione," he repeated. "There's lots of bubbles and foam and whatever, so you can turn around without feeling embarrassed about it."

"But you're naked!"

"Well, I am taking a bath."

As Hermione sputtered and stammered with embarrassment, Harry reached out to pick up his wand from where it was resting next to the tub, a Snitch sized onyx sphere alongside it. Since reclaiming the wand from the doppelganger unit, he had made a point of not letting it out of reach. It was not that he really needed it to defend himself, if he were surprised. Father's gravity fields were more than adequate for the task, as Snape had learned the previous morning.

He felt, so to speak, his Gatekeeper swell with proud smugness. Having incorporated most of Harry's memories into itself, Father had an almost pathological hatred for anyone it deemed as one of Harry's enemies. If it had not been for the fact that its power stores had been almost entirely depleted during the time displacement, Father would probably have rent the Dursleys limb from limb shortly after its arrival in the present.

Having just experienced its blossoming into true sentience, its newfound emotions had been completely out of control. It had taken several weeks before Father learnt the restraint to manage its quicksilver moods. As it was, the Gatekeeper had managed to put the fear of God --and by association Harry-- into Harry's family before they had departed Privet Drive.

With a wave he conjured himself a pair of black swimming trunks.

"Okay, I'm decent," he said. "You can turn around now."

"You certain about that?"

Glancing wryly down at his new trunks, Harry chuckled, "Pretty certain."

Hermione cautiously turned around, her cheeks still a bright red and her eyes fixed upon her shoes. She was fidgeting, either from being nervous or embarrassed, wringing her hands together.

"Maybe I should go," she said. "We don't have to talk here, maybe in the common room? I mean, there will be other people there, so we will have to be quiet, but if we keep our voices down, then we shouldn't be overheard, even though I really wanted to talk to you in private, but this is embarrassing and I really, really am sorry and I shouldn't disturb you like this when I know you probably wanted to be alone and didn't want any interruptions and... I'll be going now."

Harry knew Hermione had a tendency to babble some times, something she had demonstrated the first time they had met, actually, but this was impressive even for her. She had not paused to take a single breath throughout her little speech and had somehow managed to string everything she had said into a single sentence.

She had turned to leave, very hurriedly, when he called, "Don't go."

"I don't want to disturb you," she replied, pausing at the door and nervously hopping from one foot to the other.

"It's a little late for that, Mione," he told her. On an impulse that he would never understand for the rest of his days, Harry waved his wand in her direction.

"Harry!" she squeaked, almost hitting the ceiling as she jumped in surprise.

He had just transfigured her robes, and the clothes beneath, into a bright red and gold string bikini. It fit her very well, he noted absently as he suddenly realized just what he had done. A blush graced his cheeks and he made a point of looking away as another part of him noted that Hermione filled the Gryffindor coloured bikini in ways that should have been illegal, as they were more than likely to cause cardiac arrest in any elderly males that might be present.

If Harry had blushed red, then Hermione was fairly glowing. She scrambled about madly for several moments before grabbing one of the large, fluffy towels that were hanging on a rack by the door. Quickly wrapping it around herself, she took several deep breaths to regain her composure before levelling a look at Harry that put him very much in mind of his head of house, Professor McGonagall. Suffice to say any rising ardour he might have been feeling quickly disappeared.

Mostly.

"Harry Potter!" she screamed at him, "change my clothes back! Now!"

"No," he replied, swallowing nervously as she glared violently at him. Apparently that had been the wrong answer. He swallowed again and explained, "Now that you're appropriately dressed, I was thinking you might join me. I've been wanting to talk to you as well."

"Harry," she ground out, looking as if she were actually angry with him, "Change. Them. Back. Now."

Fighting down his blush, which was beginning to hurt his cheeks with its heat, he asked her, "Mione, we're friends, aren't we?"

Hermione, securing the towel more firmly in place, glared at him. "Yes, but if you don't change my clothes back quickly, I might change my mind."

"Friends trust each other," he said quietly, dropping his gaze and staring at the steaming water he was submerged in. He knew Hermione well enough that he wasn't afraid that she would stop being his friend because of this, but he was scared of the thought that this might strain their friendship and make things awkward. When no immediate answer came, Harry glanced up to see that Hermione was calming down. Slightly.

"I do trust you, Harry," she told him earnestly, "but I think this is a bit much."

It was a bit much, he silently admitted to himself. A bit much and a bit too soon for his liking as well, but impulsive actions like this had been coming more and more common for him over the past two months. Harry had a few suspicions as to why this was so, but nothing particularly concrete. Perhaps he could try and explain the situation to Hermione once she had settled down and was willing to listen.

"It puts us on an even footing," he replied, trying to sound light-hearted about it. He waved a hand to indicate first himself and then her. "I'm wearing some trunks and you're wearing... that."

"Exactly. I'm worried we won't get through this conversation without being... distracted."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" he asked quietly.

He somehow knew that she would not leave, and was unsurprised when Hermione slowly approached the tub. He did not expect her to join him, as he had suggested. Instead he thought she would use his wand, sitting to one side again, and use it to transfigure her clothes back. Which is why he almost swallowed his tongue when Hermione quickly discarded the towel and clambered into the tub.

As she sat herself down opposite him, he heard her mutter, "I must be out of my mind,"

Harry sat perfectly still, faced with a problem that was entirely his own making. After all, he was the one who had changed Hermione's clothes into that very, very revealing bikini. The damned thing seemed almost painted on her. He had just been presented with a fairly close-up view of Hermione's various attributes as she joined him in the bath. It was a sight which, in his opinion, would have caused a statue to sweat blood. Not to mention one particular reaction that he desperately hoped she did not notice.

"Hot."

"Yes," Harry said, having started slightly at Hermione's appraisal of the water temperature. He made an effort to focus solely on her face and not allow his eyes to dip. "I find it more relaxing this way."

Of course, that depended on the company, said a small voice in the back of his head. His memories of the future, where he had acquired the idea and urge to try this, had not indicated that he ever did this with anyone other than himself. Not even Luna. It was a far from relaxing experience to find himself sitting opposite a practically naked Hermione.

Hermione, who was still blushing slightly, seemed to be avoiding his gaze. She was looking around the room, as if searching for something to concentrate on. "You do this often?"

Harry laughed weakly and replied, "I will."

"You okay?" Hermione asked, finally looking directly at him. Harry was relieved to note that she was looking him in the eyes, and thus unlikely to notice his... problem. She continued, "I - we're all worried about you."

" I'm worried about me," he told her honestly.

"Harry."

"I don't know, Nee," he told her, shrugging helplessly. "I honestly, don't know."

Hermione looked at him and arched an eyebrow in what seemed like amusement. "Nee?"

Harry smiled bashfully, "Well, we are down to the bare essentials."

He indicated their current states of dress, or rather undress. Hermione giggled, something Harry found unaccountably charming and responded to by chuckling lightly. He had never noticed how cute her laughter sounded. For that matter, he had never before associated the word cute with Hermione. Obviously an oversight on his part.

"Seriously, though," she insisted after a minute or so, "are you all right?"

"Seriously?" he asked in return. He shook his head to express his bewilderment when it came to how he felt. "Like I said before. I don't know."

"I can understand that."

"You can?" he asked in disbelief.

Hermione nodded and said, "After what you told us last night... well, I'd also be a little confused if it was me that it had happened to."

He shook his head and corrected her, "That's not quite it."

She puzzled over this for a few moments and then asked, "What's the problem them?"

"All those memories I've gotten from Father, they're not much more than extremely detailed documentaries. They don't really bother me. Why should they?" he tried to explain. He made an effort not to grimace too severely. He did not want to make her worry more than she already was. "It's my reactions that are making me nervous."

"Learning that everyone you know or care for were killed or worse..."

"Not those reactions, Nee." he told her. "Those I can understand. The horror, the disgust, the fear, distress, worry... the anger, the fury, bitterness, hatred, loathing... all perfectly natural emotions for me to feel."

Hermione frowned, most probably at the thought that Harry considered those emotions (none of which were particularly appealing) to be normal. "What's the problem then?"

Harry smiled wryly and said, "I'm sure you've noticed how I insist on practically crushing you every time I see you."

"You're worried about your reactions to people," she deduced after thinking about it.

"Actually, I can sort of understand my reactions," he said, sinking low in the water. "I wasn't feeling particularly charitable to Dumbledore after last term, I've never been on good terms with Snape, and I've always had a soft spot for you, Nee."

"So your feelings towards us have become..." she searched around for a word, "amplified?"

"More like completely out of my control."

"That's usually the way feelings work," she noted sardonically.

Harry shook his head, "This is different, somehow."

"How?"

"I think it's... what's the word? Feedback. Yes, that's it. I'm getting some kind of feedback from the memories Father brought back," he tried to explain. It was difficult finding words for something he had difficulty understanding, despite Father's attempts to explain. "It doesn't happen often, in fact I wasn't even aware of it until I returned to Hogwarts."

"Can you describe it to me? That way I might be able to help."

"I don't think anything short of professional counselling can help, Nee," he said. He was touched by her offer, once again reminded of how selfless Hermione could be. He sighed dejectly, allowing himself to wallow for a moment in the various troubles that filled his life. "I've got more mental problems than a dozen other people combined."

Hermione looked at him, frowning slightly, and offered, "Maybe I can't help in that regard, Harry, but perhaps I can help you understand what you're going through."

Harry considered the idea. Hermione was, after all, the smartest person he knew. Others, mostly the professors, might know more than his friend, but there was a difference between wisdom and knowledge. And if there was one person in the world he trusted implicitly, it was her.

"Worth a shot," he conceded.

"So, what's this 'feedback' you're experiencing like?" she asked, sitting up and leaning forward eagerly.

"Remember when I Gated into the Great Hall, during the Sorting?" he asked, silently wishing that she had not just done that. It had drawn his attention to Hermione's chest and her breasts in particular, which hung just above the water as she sat there. When did she get those... and how did she hide them for so long?

Hermione, however, seemed unaware of his distraction. He belatedly realized that she had nodded to the question he had asked and as waiting for some clarification. He sighed and deliberately closed his eyes. Hopefully that would prevent him from staring blatantly at her. It almost worked, save for the fact that his mind's eye conspired against him.

"Well, I was doing fine until Dumbledore spoke."

"I remember that clearly," Hermione said with conviction. Though his eyes were closed, he knew that her expression was a faintly worried one. "You looked positively murderous."

"I've become very familiar at being in a rage."

"It didn't look like a rage. It was--"

"Cold," interrupted Harry. He opened his eyes and looked into her eyes, pinning her in place with his gaze. "Dumbledore doesn't send me into wild, burning rages, Nee. Instead his presence brings out a rage so cold that it burns more dangerously than any fire. It's as if I become so angry that my very emotions are burnt away, leaving behind nothing but bitter cold."

"Apparently the feedback has also made you poetic," she noted dryly.

"This is serious, Hermione!" he snapped.

"I was just trying to break the tension," she said apologetically, breaking eye contact and staring down at the steaming water. After a while she looked back up. "I think I understand now. Let me guess; whenever you're around Snape, it's much the same as with the headmaster."

Harry nodded, "Yes, but the underlying emotions are different."

"So it was the feedback that caused you to provoke him?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, I wasn't planning on tossing him around like a rag doll," Harry agreed, relieved that she knew what he was saying, even if he was stumbling for words. She had always been the one that understood him, whatever the situation.

He thought back to his encounter with Snape the previous morning. His original plan had been to walk into the Potions classroom, calmly inform Snape that he would no longer be attending, and then depart before the greasy git could say anything on the matter.

Instead he had been brought to an emotional boil when Malfoy tried to harass Hermione again. He had somehow managed to keep from vaporizing the little bastard, but the encounter had brought his 'memories' into stark relief. Once Snape came billowing into the classroom, it was inevitable that things would get... heated. Especially as Father seemed to feed off his emotions and respond appropriately.

In truth Harry considered it a minor miracle that he had not, as he had done in the future, drawn his wand and used the Cruciatus Curse. He had wanted to, though, and that scared him.

"How did you do it, by the way? Throw him across the room like that? You didn't use your wand, so barring wandless magic..." Hermione asked, trailing off expectantly.

"Father's GM fields can be used for more than simply creating Gates," Harry answered. He turned thoughtful as he delved into his future 'memories'. "Oddly enough nobody in the future ever thought of that. They never used their Gatekeepers for more than what they were originally designed for."

Hermione seemed curious to pursue that line of thought, but returned to the original topic and asked, "D'you think the feedback could cause trouble?"

"More than it already has, d'you mean?" he countered sarcastically. He sighed, sank back into the water and stared up at the ceiling. "That's one of the things I'm worrying about. I'm worried that I might lose my sense of self, have my personality overwritten by that of my future self. That what I'm feeling isn't what I would feel. That what I'm doing isn't what I would do."

"Have you done anything you don't think you would normally do?"

"I don't know."

"You refused the Quidditch captaincy."

That was something which had caused quite a stir amongst the Gryffindors when Harry mentioned it in passing. As he had predicted, Professor McGonagall had kept him behind after class to discuss the lifting of his Quidditch ban. He had thought she was going to have a seizure when he turned down the position she had offered.

It was a good thing he had decided not to turn down his reinstatement as the team Seeker, an idea he had toyed with on and off over the summer. He was going to need all the time he could lay his hands on if his plans for fighting Voldemort were to go smoothly. Oddly enough, it had been Father that suggested he continue to play Quidditch, stating that Harry would need some form of distraction and relaxation when things became stressful.

He shrugged, "Didn't want it."

"I thought it was one of your dreams."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "it's one of Ron's."

Hermione looked a little confused by this answer, which led him to explain further.

"Remember the mirror of Erised?" he asked.

"From our first year?"

"When Ron looked in the mirror, he saw himself as the team captain. He saw himself as a prefect, as head boy. He won't be, you know. Next year. I thought I might as well give him two out of three. He wants that. I don't. Not anymore, if I ever did."

Harry shook his head again and half muttered to himself, "All I want is a family of my own."

He bit back a grimace when he realized that he had said that last bit out loud. He knew that Hermione would not pity him, at least not verbally, but he hated seeing that look in her eyes. She would look as if she were about to burst into tears, which left him feeling guilty for some reason.

Looking up at Hermione, who was watching him expectantly, he continued, "I'm content with what I have. I'm happy being just the Seeker and teaching the Defence Association."

Hermione blinked with surprise and asked, "You actually want to continue it?"

"Don't you?" he countered.

"Of course I do," she confirmed. "I just thought I'd have to twist your arm about it."

"You won't have to," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. He gave a decisive nod. "We need this. The students need it. So, I'm going to make sure they get it."

"You've grown up, Harry," Hermione told him after a few moments consideration.

He glanced down at himself, slightly embarrassed that she was mentioning the subtle and not-so-subtle changes his body had been through over the summer.

Harry knew he had grown several inches and was no longer the shortest boy in their year. He also knew that his build was a tad broader and firmer than before, thanks to the rÃ©gime of callisthenics he had started practicing, but he still felt that he was too skinny.

Hermione laughed at his reaction. "Not just physically, emotionally."

"Having twenty years of nightmarish memories dumped into your head will do that," he said somewhat sadly. And that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

"Especially with all the other crap I have to deal with as well."

***

Hermione had to remind herself that she was wearing a bikini. A skimpy bikini at that. Otherwise she would have been sorely tempted to move across the large tub and grab Harry in a comforting hug.

She had grown rather fond of the frequent displays of affection he now showed whenever greeting her, and felt that reciprocating the gesture would be a good way of dealing with his current melancholic mood. Still, however much she wanted to do so, there was no way she would attempt it while clad in such an exposing garment. That would likely lead to a situation that would embarrass the both of them.

Thinking of a compromise she shifted close enough to him so that she could stretch out and take hold of his hand. She gave an encouraging squeeze and a half-smile.

"About that..."

"Yes?"

"We talked at lunch, while you were with McGonagall," she said, planning to tell him about the decision the other members of the Ministry Crew had reached concerning what he had told them the previous night. She did not think that the news would brighten his mood overly, but she hoped that it would assuage any concerns he might have about letting them in on so many of his secrets.

Harry looked at her expectantly and, after a bit of a pause, prompted, "And?"

Hermione frowned slightly, still of two minds about it. Still, she had to admit that maybe Harry had the right idea about keeping certain things to themselves and not involve the staff or the Order. "Ginny doesn't like it, and neither do I really, but we'll keep quiet about what you told us yesterday."

"You don't have to like it, Nee, and neither does Ginny," he told her, sounding surprisingly reasonable about it. He had clearly developed a semblance calm when dealing with such matters. A definite improvement over last year. "All I want is for you to accept it."

"Given your explanations I understand where you're coming from. So does Ginny," she told him. Admittedly she had been a little doubtful, but after what they had just spoken about she was more willing to let the matter drop.

Harry's faith and trust in Dumbledore, and anyone associated to him, had been gravely damaged during their fifth-year and the events following the debacle at the Ministry. Going to the headmaster, without Harry's permission, would only serve to damage the trust and faith he had placed with her and their friends. That was something Hermione was not willing to risk, even if she felt that doing so would be in his best interests.

Tentatively she broached the subject by suggesting, "But you know what happened last year because Dumbledore wasn't talking to you. D'you really want to risk something even worse happening because you're not talking to him?"

"I want to talk to him, I really do. I just can't," Harry replied, traces of despondency in his voice. He looked very tired right then, the responsibilities resting on his shoulders visibly weighing him down. He shook his head and explained, "The moment I step in to the same room as him it's all I can do not to spit in his face and start damning him for abandoning you like he did - will - whatever."

"I - we could try and explain it to him for you," Hermione timidly offered, not wanting to make Harry feel as though she were pressuring him.

"I appreciate the offer, but no," he refused, a familiar glint of determination entering his eyes as he sat up straighter. "This is something I need to work through by myself."

"Okay, but if you need help..."

"I know who I can rely on," he said with a soft smile.

Hermione ducked her head and released her hold on is hand. "I hope so."

"You've always been here for me, Hermione," Harry acknowledged, reaching out to grab her hand before she could withdraw it fully. He held it tightly in his grip and said, with unwavering conviction, "I know I can rely on you, more than anyone else. Even Ron."

They sat there for a few minutes, holding hands and looking everywhere except each other. Harry's grip was almost crushing at first, but quickly eased up. Hermione would occasionally glance up to look at him, the now damp curls of her hair obscuring her vision as they fell past her face before she brushed them aside with her free hand.

"I'm scared," she admitted suddenly.

Harry looked at her, an expression of confusion on his face. She could understand that, after all. Being one of Harry's friends meant that she had a great deal to be frightened of. Especially now that she knew what might happen to her in the future.

"Of what?"

"My parents."

"Ah." Harry nodded in comprehension. "Don't worry, they're safe."

Hermione began to wring her hands together as she thought about what she had learned last night regarding a future that not yet come to pass. God willing it never would, if Harry had his way, but the idea alone was very unsettling for Hermione to even contemplate.

"You said the Death Eaters kill them at the end of this year. Just thinking about it scares me more than anything else you told us."

"They're safe, you have my word on it," he promised solemnly.

"But Harry, they're in London and you're here, at Hogwarts!" she argued, some of the same hysteria she had felt yesterday returning. She pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shiver, despite the near scalding heat of the water. "How can they be safe if nobody's looking after them? If you told Dumbledore, not everything - just enough so that he can arrange some wards--"

"Hermione, listen to me," Harry interrupted, crossing over to her. To Hermione's surprise he enveloped her in a hug, much like the one she had wanted to give him earlier. It was different from the other hugs he embraced her in, its purpose being to comfort her, rather than reassure himself. She could not help but admit to herself that it felt nice. Better than she had imagined.

One hand traced soothing circles on her back as he held her close to him, softly reassuring her. The conviction in his voice was absolute and eased her fears even more than the embrace. "Your parents couldn't be safer if they were sharing dormitories with us."

Tremulously she asked, "How?"

Harry replied simply, "Father."

"He can get Mum and Dad out of danger?" Hermione tried to look up at him, but he was holding her too close. "But how will you know they're in danger in the first place?"

"Dumbledore doesn't need to ward your house," he drew back enough for her to see his face. His glasses, so different from the old frames, were slightly fogged up with steam from the bath. He worked his way around this by perching them on the tip of his nose and peering over their silver rims. The conviction held in his voice was nothing compared to the passion burning in his eyes. "I've already seen to it."

"You know how to cast protection wards?" she asked in surprise.

Harry smiled mysteriously and said, "Something like that."

The casting of wards, especially active ones, such as would be needed to protect a home, was a subject only briefly discussed during seventh-year Charms class. Anyone that wanted to learn more had to either enter a training program under the Ministry's supervision or attain an apprenticeship in a company that specialized in ward placement.

Hermione doubted that Harry had managed to do either over the summer holidays. He certainly would never have gone to the Ministry to learn and it was unlikely that anyone else would have taken him on for an apprenticeship when he had not even received his O.W.L. results yet.

Even then, it was not something anyone could learn in a mere two months. According to the career choice pamphlets Hermione had read several years ago, Ward Casting required a decade of study before a person could even consider themselves adept at it.

The only possible explanation was that Harry had arranged protection for her parents and their home that had nothing to do with wards. But how?

"How?" Hermione asked. She answered her question before he could. "Father."

"My marks may not reflect it, Hermione, but I'm really quite clever when need be," Harry told her, his smile growing a tad mischievous. "However, as I'm usually more concerned with saving the world and rescuing the odd damsel in distress, I don't have much time to study how to enchant a pair of knitting needles."

"And I'm a damsel in distress?" she asked teasingly, her spirits inexplicably rising almost as quickly as they had fallen. She gently eased herself out of Harry's embrace, but only enough that she could look at him properly. "Thank you."

Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a simple and innocent kiss, only lasting long enough for her to brush her lips against his before she pulled away to observe his reaction.

"M-mah--" Harry stammered dumbly, his glasses slipping off his nose and hanging lopsidedly from one ear. If Hermione weren't blushing as furiously as she was, it would have been very funny to look at. He recovered quickly, all things considered, and repositioned his glasses. He looked at her, his face redder than anything any Weasley had ever produced, and squeaked out, "My pleasure."

Hermione, convinced that she too was blushing bright enough to rival a small sun, cleared her throat. She tried to sound as calm as possible as she spoke. "This is something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Your parents' safety?" he asked, his voice still several octaves higher than normal.

"No," she shook her head. "Us."

"Us?"

"Us."

He looked at her, a strange expression on his face. When he finally spoke he sounded vaguely suspicious as he asked, "Us, how?"

"Harry," she practically growled, slightly annoyed that he was being difficult about this. Here she was, trying to start a conversation about something that left her more nervous than she had ever felt before, and he was playing dumb about it.

"Sorry, it's just..." he trailed off reluctantly, bowing his head almost shamefully.

Hermione could feel the knot in her stomach growing tighter. Admittedly he hadn't said very much, but what he had said did not sound promising. Swallowing her nervousness she asked, "You don't want to try? See if maybe--"

"No!" Harry cut her off with a loud exclamation, looking up at her with wide eyes. For just a moment Hermione thought he was rejecting her, but that thought died only half-formed as he calmed somewhat and continued, "I mean, it's not that, N - Hermione."

"You can call me Nee, if you want to," she told him, slightly worried that he thought he had to stop using that rather odd abbreviation of her name.

Her parents, when not using some silly baby name, usually called her Mione, as did a scarce number of her friends - namely Lavender and Parvati. Ron would occasionally use Herm, which annoyed her for some reason, during their quarrels, but for the most part that was it. Oh, and there was Hagrid's 'little' brother Grawp, who insisted on using that ridiculous Hermy of all things. Other than that she could count the number of people that did not use her full name on the fingers of one hand.

She had hoped that his using a pet name for her indicated that Harry was possibly open to starting a relationship beyond their friendship. Now she wasn't so sure.

Harry looked at her sombrely and said, "This is a serious conversation, Hermione."

"All right," Hermione nodded in tentative agreement. She had to admit that a discussion of their future, one where they were more than just friends, deserved to be treated seriously. Still, she did hope he would continue to call her Nee once the talk was over. "What's the problem then?"

"I don't know."

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately, Harry," she noted with some wry amusement and a fair bit of exasperation.

"That's not what I mean," Harry protested unhappily. He leaned back, propping his chin on a clenched fist, as he stared pensively off into space. He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know if what I feel for you is real or not."

Hermione was slightly confused. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry's reply was a succinct, "Father."

It took some time to work out what he meant by that, but Hermione had a knack for understanding Harry. Most of the time. Still, it only took a few moments before she realized what he was talking about.

If the 'memories' brought back by Father were affecting him to the point where he was openly hostile towards Dumbledore, even when he wanted to speak to the old wizard, then how could he be sure that they were not also causing him to feel these feelings towards her.

She nodded thoughtfully, "I think I understand."

"Do you?" Harry asked sceptically. He lifted his chin off the fist propping him up and used that hand to wave in her direction, "Before Father arrived and dumped all those memories in my head, you were just Hermione. The smartest witch in all the world. My best friend. I'd never thought of you like that. Like this."

"I don't know if I should be complimented by the 'smartest witch in the world' comment," she responded, pleased to hear in words some of what he thought of her, "or insulted by the fact that you never realized I was a girl until then."

"I knew you were a girl, Hermione," he informed her dryly. He gave a wry smirk as he elaborated. "That particular fact was blatantly obvious to every male at the school after the Yule Ball in fourth year."

Hermione was slightly surprised and repeated, "Every male in the school?"

Harry's gaze turned towards her and swept over her from head to toe and back up again. There was a look in his eyes that made her wish she had more clothes covering her than a barely-there bikini. A lot more. Preferably lead lined as well, she wondered with a gulp, never before having felt so naked under a person's stare. Especially when that person was Harry Potter. He was eyeing her the same way Ron would his dinner!

"For pity's sake, Hermione, you're gorgeous," Harry said as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. He gestured at her again as he teased, "And when a man sees a gorgeous woman, the first thought that goes through his head is, 'Where is my club?'."

"Excuse me?"

"It harkens back to the good old days," he explained with a slightly lecherous grin, "when we used to bash you over the head and drag you by your hair back to the cave so we could have our wicked way with you."

Hermione felt the blush heating her cheeks. It wasn't just the startlingly vivid images of what Harry's wicked way with her might be, though it certainly was enough to elicit another physical reactions - admittedly far more embarrassing than a mere blush.

Sinking up to her chin in the water, so as to prevent Harry from noticing, she marvelled at the idea that Harry found her attractive enough to consider calling her gorgeous. She was certainly no Cho Chang, thankfully, but even against other girls, such as Lavender and Parvati, she felt rather plain by comparison.

"Then why didn't you ever think of me like that?" she asked, wondering why he had never said anything. She had never, before now, thought that he looked at her in any way other than his purportedly sexless (according to some of the more vocal Slytherins) best friend.

"I don't really know," he answered with a shrug. His cheeks flushed for some reason and he seemed to be trying to say something, but was having trouble getting the words out. Finally, after a deep breath, he muttered, "They say love is blind. I don't have much experience with love, thanks to the Dursleys, so I can't really say if that's what blinded me."

Hermione was stunned at the possible implications.

"You love me?"

"Again, I don't know," he said, still muttering and avoiding her eyes.

"What do you know?" she asked gently, moving closer to him again. He still refused to look at her, but she caught his chin with one hand and turned his head to face her. "I need to know, Harry."

He grimaced, clearly displeased and unwilling, but eventually nodded his consent. She had released her hold on him and was planning to return to her seat opposite him, when she was startled to feel one of Harry's hands settle on her waist. She nervously let Harry position her so that she was sitting by his side as he began to talk.

"In the future, I was going to ask you out. I wanted to try and see if maybe... we could be something more than 'just friends'," Harry recounted, staring into the distance as was his habit when searching his future 'memories'. "But you'd just had that bad break up with Ron that Christmas. This Christmas actually. I decided to wait and let you get over it. I planned to ask when we saw each other again at Grimmauld Place, during the summer, but..."

"I was kidnapped," she finished for him.

"Yes," he confirmed in a near whisper.

"And I imagine any thoughts of dating me went out the window after I was raped," she determined, focusing on Harry's expression as she spoke. That way she did not think to much about the subject.

"They hurt you so badly. Madam Pomfrey said you'd never be able to have any children after that," he told her, speaking so softly that she had to strain to hear the words.

Hermione swallowed convulsively upon learning this particular piece of information. She had known, or rather suspected, that the Death Eaters had injured her terribly during her abduction. Having those suspicions confirmed did nothing to settle the queasy feeling that formed in her stomach whenever she thought about it.

Harry continued, not noticing her reaction, an expression of helplessness forming on his face as he spoke. The despair in his voice was wretched enough that Hermione could not help but reach out and slip an arm around his shoulders.

"I didn't want to... you were so scared, but I... I decided to wait until you'd had some time to... I waited too long."

"You don't have to wait this time," she told him.

"Yes, I do," he insisted, actually raising his voice a little.

"Why?"

"I think I became more than a little obsessed with you, after your death," Harry ruefully admitted. He shook his head and scowled unhappily, his helpless expression changing into one of frustration. "I need time to know if what I'm feeling is real or the self deluded memories of a man that, quite frankly, scares the hell out of me."

Hermione let her arm slid down from his shoulder and come to a rest around his waist. She forced herself to grin wryly and lightly quipped, "Most girls would be flattered to hear that a boy was obsessing over them."

Despite her hopes of lifting his mood, Harry's scowl only intensified. He turned to look at her, his eyes burning dark with emotion as he asked, "Have you ever heard of the Shade Mentalis Potion?"

"The name sounds familiar," she admitted, searching her memory for where she had heard the name before. They had learned hundreds of potions over the years, but this one, she felt, was not covered in the school syllabus.

"It's a type of memory potion," prompted Harry.

"Yes, that's it," Hermione said as the information fell into place. It had been during their second year, whilst brewing the Polyjuice Potion, that she had read about the potion Harry spoke of. Her small grin of satisfaction at having remembered abruptly vanished as she recalled exactly what the potion did. "It makes a person relive their worst memories."

"It'll take me three years to modify it to my satisfaction," admitted Harry.

"Modify it? How? Why?" Hermione asked, even though she had the feeling that she did not really want to know.

"Why? For revenge," Harry answered, his voice growing cold and flat. "How? By binding it to a lock of your hair that I'd kept."

"You mean you used it on Death Eaters?"

"Only the ones that had..." He trailed off, but shook himself back to attention a moment later. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he looked at her. It was the expression of a fanatic. "It took a while, but I'll manage to find out exactly who raped you. Each and every one of them. After that, I'll make sure the punishment will fit the crime."

Hermione thought over what he had said. It seemed as if he had given her all the clues and was waiting for her to put them together. It had something to do with her hair, she knew, but how? Like with the Polyjuice Potion, using her hair would have personalized the potion, but to what end? It was designed to reawaken memories, particularly traumatic memories, but what could her hair have to do with another person's memories? Unless....

It was a terrifying idea, now that she thought of it. Brilliant, but terrifying. As Harry had said, it was a punishment that more than fit the crime. In fact, in essence it was a repeat of the crime.

"By binding the potion to me...," she spoke slowly, voicing her deductions, "you force them to... relive what they had done to me?"

"From your perspective," he confirmed.

"God."

"Less than half of them will survive the experience sane," Harry informed her with a grim, but satisfied smile. His eyes, almost black with emotion, glittered in the low light like polished onyx rather than their normal emerald fire. "I'll make sure they live just long enough to regret having done so. The others I will put down, like sick dogs."

"I think you're right," she said, swallowing audibly. "Your future self is rather scary."

The was a brief lull as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. Harry reached up and draped his arm across Hermione's shoulders as she hugged herself to him, using the arm she had slung around his waist. It was comforting, being this close to him, even if the air was thick with less than healthy emotion. Or perhaps it was the steam, which was filling up the room to the point that she could only just see the door.

Cuddling into him, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles. A lifetime of deprivation with the Dursleys had left Harry with little else but muscle, hardened and toned from his Quidditch training and whatever other exercise he had done during the summer. It must have been her imagination, but his skin felt hot to the touch, despite the already almost scalding water they were immersed in.

The mood began to lighten, the tension in the room dissolving away, as they sat quietly in each other's arms. Harry, much to Hermione's surprise, planted a brief and hesitant kiss on the crown of her head. She glanced up at him, pleased to see a faint smile of contentment on his lips and his eyes sparkling their usual bright green.

Deciding to try and brighten the mood more fully, she jokingly observed, "Y'know, in a way it's a good thing Ron and I broke up - will break up."

"Why's that?" asked Harry.

"You've shared a room with him for five years now, going on six. You ought to know how loudly he snores," she teased, grinning impishly up at him. "Could you imagine spending your entire life listening to that racket every night?"

He looked at her suspiciously and asked, "How would you know that Ron snores?"

"Madam Pomfrey left him in the bed next to mine after we were brought back from the Ministry last year, remember?" she reminded him, light-heartedly. It was rather flattering to think that he might possibly have been getting jealous at the thought of her and Ron. "Besides, I've heard Fred and George teasing him about it."

She felt Harry relax in what looked like relief, further supporting her notion that he was jealous. He chuckled, whether at her comment or his reaction she did not know, and said, "He is rather... loud, isn't he?"

Hermione laughed and nodded in agreement. Ron, as her mum would say when talking about her dad, snored like a chainsaw wielding lumberjack in the middle of a forest.

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked after their laughter had died down.

"I don't know," confessed Harry. He raised a silencing finger to her lips before she could speak and said, "And yes; I do say that a lot."

"There's a Hogsmeade weekend just after Halloween," she suggested tentatively. Swallowing her nervousness and trying to gather all of her supposed Gryffindor courage, she shyly asked, "Maybe... maybe we could go together? See what happens?"

"Risky," Harry muttered, more to himself that her, but she heard him anyway.

"I'm already at risk, Harry," she told him, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes. "If just being your friend wasn't enough, I'm certainly in even more trouble since you started hugging me in public at every opportunity. I don't think going out on a date could make it any worse."

"I know that," he admitted wearily, as if he had heard it many times before. He had, of course, but sometimes repetition was the best way to impress a lesson upon someone. Especially someone as stubborn and hard-headed as Harry. He continued, a faint frown creasing his brow, "I was talking about how it might affect our relationship if things... don't go well."

"Harry..."

"You and Ron barely spoke to each other after the break up," he explained unhappily, seeming to get upset with just the idea. "I don't want that to happen between us."

"It won't," Hermione assured him, filling her voice with the same confidence he had used when assuring her that her parents were safe.

"How can you know that, Nee?" he asked her. "Nobody can see the future."

Hermione smiled playfully and asked, "Not even you?"

Instead of smiling at the tease, which she had hoped he would, Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Not where it concerns us."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tried to placate his fears. It would not be easy, she knew, especially since she herself harboured similar insecurities. "Even if we break up, it won't damage our friendship, Harry."

With honest curiosity he asked, "How do you know?"

She smile and told him simply, "You're not Ron."

Slowly, Hermione leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss against Harry's lips. It was soft, gentle and lasted much longer than the first kiss she had shared with him - this time filled with emotion.

It was a chaste kiss, though Hermione hoped it might lead to something more... intimate. She had, over the pass few years, read quite a bit on the subject and was unaccountably eager to experiment with some so-called French kissing.

To her mild surprise Harry slipped both arms around her waist and pulled her close, maintaining the kiss throughout. Hermione delighted in the warmth of his embrace and the gentleness of his touch. She had hoped, but only half-heartedly, that he might take the initiative.

At which point the door swung open.

"Harry? Hermione? What on earth?"

Hermione almost had a heart attack at the sound of Remus Lupin's voice. She gave a startled shriek and spun away from Harry, causing a tidal wave of wave to splash over the rim of the tub. It was only Harry's hands, which were suddenly gripping her shoulders, that kept her from leaping to the ceiling.

Remus, who was waving his way through the thick clouds of steam as he stepped fully into the room, the door swinging closed behind him, seemed positively baffled as he stared at them.

"Next time I'm hanging a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door to this place," declared Harry, his face turning a fetching shade of red. "That and a tonne of Locking Charms."

***

Remus Lupin stared in unabashed incomprehension at the young witch and wizard sitting before him. He had been ready to face just about anything coming into this room. Anything from Harry blowing things up in a fit of anger, to Harry curled up in the corner and bawling his eyes out, to Harry diligently practicing his duelling in preparation for his next inevitable encounter with Lord Voldemort.

This, however, was something he would never have expected.

Harry... and Hermione... together... snogging... in a bath tub?

He shook his head, hoping to clear it in case this was a delusion of some sort. There had been a full moon last week, so perhaps this was a hallucination brought upon by the combined stress and exhaustion. If so, it was very vivid.

Harry was sitting at the back of the tub, both hands on Hermione's shoulders, holding her in place. He was blushing such a furious red that he looked as if he had spent a week under a scorching sun. Hermione, however, was staring at Remus with a "God take me now" expression on her face, which was flushed red enough that she was giving Harry a run for his Galleons.

Clearing his throat, Remus decided to ask Hermione for an explanation. After all, he knew she was the most reasonable of the two and most likely to give a coherent answer. One look at her face, however, convinced him that now was not the time to ask questions. If ever.

"Harry?" he asked expectantly, turning his attention to his young charge. He had been declared as Harry's guardian in Sirius' stead shortly before the boy's birthday. Only it would seem that Harry had not been the one to receive that new, but rather some sort of doppelganger that Harry had made and sent in his place.

He waited for several moments, crossing his arms over his chest, but received no reply. Both Harry and Hermione were still blushing fit to rival any Weasley and seemed incapable of speaking, though Harry's mouth had opened and closed several times.

"Care to explain what the two of you are doing?" he prompted.

"Taking a bath?" answered Harry uncertainly.

"Together?"

"Water shortage?"

"This is Hogwarts; there's never a shortage of water," Remus countered, a hint of humour seeping into his voice. It was a struggle to keep from breaking into a grin, but somehow he managed to maintain a stern expression. "Try again."

"Um..."

"It's not Harry's fault, Professor Lupin!" protested Hermione, finally breaking free from her mortified stupor. She sat up so abruptly that Harry was almost knocked over, only his Quidditch honed reflexes keeping him upright.

"Please, Hermione, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" asked Remus with a tired, but patient smile. "I'm not your professor any more. Call me Remus."

Hermione would probably have blushed some more, but she was already so red that it likely would not have shown. She ducked her head down and muttered, "It's still my fault."

Remus looked at her curiously and asked, "And how is that?"

Harry, he noticed, also seemed rather interested in hearing her explanation and angled his body to look at her from where he was sitting by her side.

"I walked in on him."

"And how did that lead to you joining him for this... bath?"

Now it was Harry's turn to try and deepen his blush, which he did a remarkable job of attempting. He shifted about nervously as Hermione sent a somewhat heated glare in his direction. Nervously scratching at the back of his neck with one hand, he explained, "I, uh, transfigured her robes."

Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Really."

"It's all my fault," insisted Hermione, her apparent ire at Harry already gone.

"I see," said Remus, nodding in understanding. He paused for a moment and allowed a thoughtful expression to flit across his face before shaking his head in confusion. "No, wait. I don't see."

"Remus--"

"I need to talk to you, Harry," interrupted Remus, deciding to get to the crux of the matter. He glanced at Hermione, and emphasised, "Alone."

"Nee, if you please," said Harry. It took a moment for Remus to realize that the young wizard was in fact addressing Hermione. "I'll talk to you later, in the common room."

"Are you sure?" she asked worriedly, glancing between her friend and Remus.

"Don't worry about it," Harry assured her with a grin, "I'm sure Remus isn't trying to have us expelled."

"All right," she accepted, though obviously reluctant. She began to rise out of the bath, but abruptly froze in place. She looked at Remus and pleaded, "Um, Profe-- Remus, could you turn around for a minute?"

"Certainly, Hermione," he acquiesced diplomatically.

Turning his back to them, so that he was facing the door leading out. He waited as patiently as he could, listening to the sounds of Hermione climbing out of the large tub. There was some frantic whispering, which he could not quite make out, but seemed to involve Harry restoring her clothes in some manner. There was a whistling rustle, which Remus identified as the sound of clothing being transfigured, and them Hermione hurried past him.

"I'll see you later, Harry," she said, pausing at the door, looking rather damp. She glanced at Remus, blushed once more and muttered a good night before fleeing the Room of Requirements at what was practically a run.

Despite the pall of grief he had felt ever since Sirius' death. Despite the hundreds of pranks over the years that should have inured him to something like this. Despite having spent most of his life acting as the straight man. Despite all this and more, Remus began to laugh so hard he nearly fell over.

Harry, who had remained in the tub, glared unhappily at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and growled, "I fail to see what's so funny."

"Oh, Harry, how can you not?" asked Remus, gasping for breath as he clutched the side of the bathtub in order to remain upright. He barked with laughter and spoke the first thought that came to mind. "Sirius would have killed to see something like this."

This killed the mood more effectively than a Killing Curse.

Remus silently cursed himself. Bringing Sirius into the conversation before they had even gotten properly started was not the best way to have a heart-to-heart with Harry. It would only serve to put the young man on the defensive right from the start, instead of slowly easing him into the topic. The pain was too raw, he from his own experience, to discuss the events of last term so bluntly.

They sat silently for several minutes, Remus chastising himself for the slip and Harry obviously brooding. He hated to admit it, but Remus was pleased to see the play of emotions over Harry's face.

The doppelganger had been perfectly polite during its stay at Grimmauld Place, but had the same emotional depth of a brick wall - which is what trying to have a talk with it had felt like. Everyone had assumed that Harry had been repressing his emotions, holding them inside rather than let them out for all to see. It was a relief to see this Harry, the real one apparently, was not retreating into an emotionless shell as they had feared he would.

"You all right, Harry?" Remus finally asked.

"What?" Harry looked up from his silent contemplation.

"Are you all right?" repeated Remus.

"Yeah," replied Harry, sounding a bit listless and not altogether certain. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Harry visibly considered his answer for a moment or two before shaking his head. "No."

Pulling himself out of the tub, Harry reached for a nearby towel, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Remus was reassured to see that the youngster was wearing a pair of black swimming trunks. He did not think Harry would be reckless enough, or forward enough, to do anything of the sort with Hermione, but the situation he had found them in had caused some doubts to surface.

"Why can't I have an ordinary life, like everyone else?" Harry asked as he dried off with the towel. He looked ruefully at Remus and elaborated, "You know; worrying about classes, not doing my homework, Quidditch practice, peer pressure to drink or smoke, problems with girls... that sort of thing."

"From the look of things when I arrived, I'd say the last item on that list is something you won't need to worry about," Remus countered with a grin. He was glad that Harry was obviously well enough to joke about the insanity that was his life at the moment.

"I'm considering Hermione as a potential girlfriend," Harry informed him, "if that's not a problem, what is?"

Discarding the towel, Harry began to dress. A flick of his wand and a quick Switching Spell changed him out of the still dripping trunks and into a pair of blood-red silk boxers. He tucked his wand behind his right ear and pulled a plain white t-shirt from a neatly folded pile of clothes on a nearby wooden bench.

"Seriously, Harry, are you okay?"

"You know, I just had this conversation with Hermione," Harry informed him lightly, poking his head through the neck of his shirt and arching a wry eyebrow.

"Don't worry, I promise not to kiss you," Remus teased, grinning wickedly.

"Remus!" exclaimed Harry, looking both embarrassed and scandalized.

He chuckled softly and pressed, "Answer the question, Harry. You know I'm not going to stop asking until you do."

Harry tugged on a loose pair of jeans, glancing up at the ceiling as he did so. It was only the years of experience he had dealing with James and Sirius' constant joking around, that prevented Remus from jumping out of his skin as the small bath house they were standing in disappeared. He had forgotten that they were in the Room of Requirements, which was how Harry had just now managed to provide them with a comfortable looking sitting room to have their discussion in.

"I'm doing better than I thought I would be," Harry admitted softly, taking a seat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the crackling fireplace that had appeared. He began pulling on a sock as he asked, "What about you?"

"As well as can be expected," Remus answered, dropping into the other chair.

"That's good to hear."

"I'm sorry we never got to have a chance to speak sooner than this."

Harry looked up from putting on his other sock and smiled apologetically, "Don't apologise, it's my fault for disappearing over the summer."

Remus gave him a firm look and prodded, "Yes, I must confess I'm curious."

"Careful, Remus," Harry cautioned. "Remember the lesson the cat learned the hard way."

If it had been anyone else, anyone other than Harry, Remus would have considered that a threat. The tone of voice used, not to mention the hooded look from behind those new glasses, were clearly a warning against prying to hard. Leaning back, so as to appear less insistent, Remus held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

"At least ease my mind and tell me where you were."

"That might take a while," replied Harry, "I visited quite a lot of places, though I only stayed a few of days at each, except at the end when I was in Hawaii."

"A lot of places, huh? Anywhere I know?" asked Remus, curious both for himself and because that was one of the reasons Dumbledore had asked him to speak with Harry. Despite the his good health, it was agreed that they needed to know the details of Harry's disappearance over the summer.

"I spent several weeks on the Continent, some more in the States," Harry informed him with a nonchalant shrug. As if it were nothing to cross from one side of the world to the other with no apparent means of transport or funding. "Stopped by most of the major cities. Saw the sights."

Remus shook his head in wonder. "My, you were busy."

Harry shrugged again. "I needed some time away from everything."

"I can understand that."

"I thought you would."

"Molly's furious," Remus informed him, watching to see what Harry's reaction would be. Seeing what looked like a barely restrained wince, he elaborated with a grin, "You're lucky she hasn't sent you a Howler. Arthur talked her out of it."

"I imagine she's not the only one that's displeased," he muttered.

"Not as much as you'd expect," replied Remus with an easy smile. "Tonks was a tad upset, but calmed down once she heard you were okay. Arthur is more concerned than anything else and the twins seemed to think the idea of you tricking us all with the doppelganger for a whole month is absolutely hilarious."

Harry laughed and shook his head at the twins antics. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they're trying to make one of their own."

"How did you know?" Remus joked, secretly agreeing that Fred and George were probably doing just that. He could only imagine the havoc it would cause if they succeeded. "Kingsley was a bit annoyed, mostly I think because he didn't catch on to the fact that it wasn't really you."

"What about Moody?" asked Harry, a look of concern furrowing his brow. "He was the one I was really worried about, considering that eye of his."

"Apparently your doppelganger was so convincing he didn't have a clue - which impressed him more than I can say. Kept going on about how he could take over the Ministry if he had a dozen Aurors as resourceful as you."

"So the holographic bones, muscles and internal organs fooled him," Harry muttered to himself, though Remus was just able to overhear the words. Not for the first time since learning about the doppelganger's existence, he marvelled at the work that had gone into the device that had fooled so many of them for so long.

"He asked me to enquire what it would take to get his hands on three or four of those doppelgangers. Seems to think they'd be right handy."

Harry smirked and offered, "If I have the time I'll build him one. Maybe for Christmas, if he's a good boy."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that," he answered dryly. He gave Harry a penetrating look and brought up one of the topics that had been discussed during an Order meeting the previous evening. "He was disappointed to hear that you've dropped Potions."

"I don't need it and I especially don't want to spend any time with Snape that I don't absolutely have to," Harry countered, waving a hand dismissively.

"I can understand your animosity towards Severus, particularly after hearing of your experiences trying to learn Occlumency with him," agreed Remus, though grudgingly. "But, Harry, without Potions you won't be able to enter Auror training."

"I don't want to be an Auror," Harry stately flatly.

Remus was slightly surprised by this admission. He knew, from talks with Sirius, McGonagall and several others the previous year, that Harry had been eager to pursue that profession. "Oh? Why ever not?"

Harry looked at him incredulously, "You actually have to ask?"

Thinking about it, Remus decided that he already knew the cause of Harry's change of mind. He waved for him to continue, just so that he could have confirmation.

"Fudge and the Ministry spent almost all of the past year trying to drag my name and reputation through the mud. Quite successfully as well," Harry bit out scathingly, his resentment for such treatment audible. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms defiantly. "D'you honestly think I'd even consider working for them after that?"

"I suppose not," Remus agreed, "but to demand that we get rid of Fudge altogether..."

"Dumbledore told you then?" asked Harry, clearly surprised.

"Yes," he confirmed, "he held an emergency meeting after your unexpected arrival during the Sorting."

Harry smirked sardonically, "I imagine he was rather perturbed."

"That's putting it mildly," Remus muttered, wondering at the wording Harry had used. Perhaps he had been spending so much time with Hermione that his vocabulary had expanded to accommodate - but that was unlikely seeing as Harry had only turned up two days ago. Putting these thoughts aside for another time, Remus continued, "Of course the rest of us were equally perturbed, as you put it, when he explained that you'd actually threatened to kill Fudge if we don't get rid of him by Halloween."

"I would have preferred sooner, but decided you might need the extra time," Harry said, his voice perfectly even and with so little inflection he might as well have been talking about the weather.

Remus looked at him dubiously and said, "Excuse me for saying so, Harry, but I never imagined you could be so ruthless."

Harry immediately countered, perhaps a tad sharply, "Respectfully, Remus, you don't know me well enough to imagine what I would or would not be capable of."

He winced at the truth of this. Dropping his head to stare at his hands, which he held loosely in his lap, he sadly agreed, "No, I don't suppose I do."

He heard Harry sigh softly and gently offer, "If we have the time, I'd like for us to change that."

"I'd like that," he accepted, looking up and managing a smile, which Harry returned. "By the way, I'm curious--"

"Tread carefully, kitty cat," Harry warned, though his tone was a joking one.

"If we don't manage to get Fudge out of office by Halloween..."

Harry's eyes went flat as Remus trailed off and his voice was chillingly cold as he stated with absolute certainty, "Then I will."

Remus look at him worriedly, "You'll kill him?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Dumbledore seems to think you could actually do it," Remus revealed, "though I don't really see how."

"I have my ways," Harry answered, with the same utter conviction. He peered over the silver frames of his glasses and stared at Remus, his eyes glinting in the firelight, as a small onyx sphere rose into place by his side. "If I wanted, Fudge would be dead in less than an hour - and I would not even have to leave this room to do it."

"Well," Remus paused to wet his lips, "well, we'll just have to see that it doesn't come to that."

"I hope so, for all our sakes," agreed Harry, the dark expression that had overtaken him lifting as quickly as it had settled. He grinned boyishly and admitted, "I don't really want to kill him if I can avoid it."

Remus laughed, mostly with relief, "That's good. We don't want you to kill him either."

Trying to keep the mood light-hearted, Remus concentrated and was pleasantly surprised to see a coffee table appear between them, compliments of the Room of Requirements. A moment later a tray of tea popped into existence, the silver tea pot steaming with what smelled like Earl Grey.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Please."

Remus leaned forward and quickly poured them both a cup, hesitating briefly as he realized he did not know how Harry liked his tea. "Er... Harry? Ho--"

Harry smoothly cut him off and answered, "Two sugars, please, Remus, and a spot of milk."

Finishing up quickly, Remus handed Harry his cup and settled back in his chair. A cautious sip revealed that the tea was piping hot and required a minute or two to cool. Lowering the cup and saucer to his lap, Remus warily asked something that had been bothering him.

"Harry, do you really think you could kill Fudge? Not the physical act, I mean. Could you commit what amounts to cold-blooded murder?"

"After Voldemort killed my parents, do you know how I spent the next ten years?"

Remus blinked at the apparent non sequitur, but replied, "I know that you were left with the Dursleys."

Harry grimaced unhappily, "Abandoned would be a better description."

"Harry--"

"The cupboard under the stairs," Harry interrupted harshly. He looked up from his cup of tea, which he had been glaring at, and bitterly explained, "That was the address given on my first Hogwarts letter. Harry Potter, the cupboard under the stairs."

There was not even enough time for Remus to comprehend the meaning of the words before Harry set his cup down on the coffee table and shot to his feet, pacing around the room in obvious agitation.

"I lived in a cupboard for ten years , Remus," he ground out through clenched teeth. He came to a halt by the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames, and sighed gustily. "There are times, at least once a day, that I can understand exactly why Tom Riddle became what he is. Times when I understand why Voldemort hates Muggles. Times when I think that what he's doing isn't really such a bad thing, if it rids the world of people like the Dursleys."

He turned around and picked up his tea before resuming his pacing. "I have a dark side. It lives inside me, sometimes buried deep, sometimes rising to just beneath the surface. It's waiting, waiting for the time to come when I won't hold it back any more."

Taking a sip of his tea he glanced at Remus, "You should understand what it's like," he said, "to have a beast lurking in your very soul. Hiding in the shadows of your mind."

"Yes," Remus acknowledged weakly, thinking of his Lycanthropy. Yes, he understood all too well what it was like to have a wild animal as a part of himself.

"It's a given, Remus, there is not question about it," Harry told him, sounding remarkably calm. "Sooner or later I'm going to give vent to everything I've kept bottled inside of me all my life. I don't have a choice. I have to let it out, or it will destroy me."

Harry paced around the room for a minute or two, sipping at his tea as an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Finally he returned to his seat, dropping into it with enough force that it creaked in protest. Gulping down his tea, Harry set the empty cup down and stared across at Remus.

"You want to know if I can kill in cold-blood?" he asked, leaning forward. He matched gazes with Remus, his eyes burning unnaturally bright in the firelight, and asked intently, "What do you think?"

The intensity of Harry's gaze and the forthrightness of his question were enough that Remus needed a moment or two to compose himself. He sat silently, trying not to fidget. It was unnerving how Harry, someone he still thought of as a young boy, could have such a penetrating stare.

"I think," he reluctantly concluded after several minutes of contemplation, "that you are willing to kill, if the need calls for it."

***

Saturday morning saw Harry finishing his breakfast in a hurry. He wolfed down his food, barely pausing to chew and not bothering to even attempt tasting anything. Everyone was worried at first, until they saw his Firebolt resting in the place beside him. It had been returned to him yesterday, finally liberated from former Professor Umbridge's care by Professor McGonagall.

Washing his bacon and eggs down with an entire goblet of pumpkin juice, consumed in a single go, Harry dashed off to the Quidditch pitch before anyone else had finished.

This was essential to his plan's success.

Arriving at the pitch he ducked into the Gryffindor team's changing rooms and had Father deploy the second part of his plan. The drone, a smaller and sleeker version of his first attempt at such a creation, bobbed lazily up and down in the air before him. A few quick commands and he found himself face-to-face with himself.

Nobody would be able to tell Doppelganger Unit Two apart from the real thing, unless they tried to have a conversation with it. And as the drone was programmed to spend the next few hours flying a hundred feet in the air, following a dizzying aerial route that Harry had planned, that was unlikely to happen. He stayed just long enough to watch his duplicate become airborne, using its own holographic broom (Harry was not going to risk his Firebolt).

A moment later he arrived in Diagon Alley.

Fred and George were understandably alarmed by his sudden appearance and had their wands drawn and pointed at his chest in less time than it took to blink. They may have been jokers before anything else, but they did know how to handle themselves in a fight.

"Is this any way to greet your business partner?" he asked dryly.

"Harry?"

"Fred," he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Harry?"

"George," he nodded at the other twin.

"Harry?" they chorused.

Harry shook his head, "Sometimes, I worry about you two."

Fred and George looked at each other and beamed with delight. "Harry!"

"Yes. Harry," Harry repeated impatiently. "Now that we've established my identity..."

"Bloody incredible, old chap!" exclaimed Fred, pocketing his wand and rushing to shake Harry's hand.

"How did you get here? You're supposed to be at Hogwarts," asked George, grabbing the other hand and shaking so hard he was in danger of ripping the arm from its socket.

"My friend arranged transport," Harry answered, somehow managing to extract himself from their grips as he indicated the onyx sphere hovering by his shoulder. He looked pointedly at them both and said, "And as far as anyone is concerned, I'm still at Hogwarts. Understand?"

"Crystal."

"Quartz."

"Diamond."

"Ruby."

"Sapph--"

Harry cut them off by grabbing them both in a hug. Again, as had happened so often lately, it was not an action he had complete control over. He knew, all too well, what would happen to them in the future. While not as grim as the others, it upset him to think that following Ginny's death they would change their joke shop Weasley's Wizard Wheezes into what amounted to a profession armoury; Weasley's Wizard Weapons.

"Damn, it's good to see the pair of you again."

"Er, Harry, chum..." George nervously pry himself away, Fred doing the same.

"Don't worry, I haven't suddenly developed a leaning of that sort," Harry reassured them with a grin. His grin turned into a frown as he recalled his encounter with Hermione the night before. "In fact, I'm currently having girl trouble."

This proved to be the absolutely wrong thing to say. Particularly in front of the twins.

"Our ickle Harrikins? Having trouble with girls?" asked Fred, grinning maniacally.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived, or the Casanova-That-Shagged?" asked George lecherously.

"You two are impossible," said Harry, throwing his hands up in despair.

"Of course we are!" exclaimed Fred.

"Especially when we have--"

"--a home field advantage."

"So, who are the lucky ladies competing for your affections?" asked George. He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, "Are we, perchance, likely to become uncles any time soon?"

"No, not any time soon," Harry asserted. "In fact, Ginny's one girl I'm not having trouble with."

"Aw," they chorused, pouting in mock disappointment.

Harry smirked and ignored them in favour of looking around the store. He had to pretend this was the first time he had seen everything, which was true in a way. Physically he had never been inside their shop, even though he had the memories of being given the 'guided tour' from the memories Father had supplied him with.

"So... this is the shop?" he asked rhetorically.

"Product of our labours--"

"--result of our toils--"

"--child of our blood--"

"--our sweat--"

"--and our tears of laughter," finished Fred.

"Whatcha think?" asked George expectantly.

Harry grinned broadly and summed it up with a single word.

"Brilliant."

"Want a guided tour?" asked Fred.

"Maybe later," Harry told them before adopting a serious expression, "but first I have a job for you."

"A prank?"

"A date?"

"A trick?"

"A surprise?"

Harry interrupted before they could really get going. "Serious business."

George pouted. "Oh pooh.

Fred hurried to the front of the shop, which was fortunately empty, and shut the door, hanging a closed sign in the window. Returning to the counter where they had been standing, he and George lead Harry into the back room. This was where the twins kept their stock and worked on designing and developing new pranks. It looked a lot like their room back at the Burrow, only larger and filled with a great deal more explosive substances than Mrs Weasley would tolerate.

Harry reached out and seemed to pull several rolled up sheets of paper from thin air. In actual fact he had merely put his hand out to grab the papers as Father brought them back into phase with what amounted to real time. This was something Harry and his Gatekeeper had discovered over the summer. Father mostly existed in a fifth dimensional space, using its gravity fields it could 'shunt' various objects about. It was a primitive version of the method of used to create the Gates, but used almost no energy to achieve or maintain.

Objects within Father's GM fields could be shifted slightly 'to the right' of where they had originally being. Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but understood that the technique would render any object of a reasonable size both invisible and immaterial. There wasn't much application to it beyond being a nifty means of storage, but it did allow him to carry around what would normally be unfeasibly large amounts of material.

"Where the...?"

"How the...?"

"Trade secret," Harry told the goggling twins. He guessed, from their expressions, that they must be thinking that he had either conjured up the plans he was now holding, or used some other kind of magic to produce them. "Now, before we start, I need a promise from you."

"Anything," they chimed.

"What I'm about to ask of you doesn't leave this shop," he told them, looking them in the eyes, trying to impress upon them the severity of what he was asking. "Nobody is to know about it, except the two of you."

Fred meet his gaze, his normally laidback expression turning equally serious as Harry's own, and asked, "What about the Order?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "I don't care if Voldemort resurrects Salazar Slytherin himself to torture and kill our entire family. This does not go beyond the three of us."

He immediately began to mentally chide himself for his choice of words, but was pleasantly surprised when the twins both broke into broad grins. Out of all the Weasleys, including their parents, he had always gotten on best with Fred and George. Even Ron had not been as reliable as these two.

"'Our' family, huh?" repeated George, sounding pleased with the idea.

"What d'you need, little brother?" asked Fred.

"I need you to build something," Harry told them, unrolling the papers he was holding and spreading them out on one of the large tables where the twins usually planned out their newest gimmick. "We can discuss funds and material once you have a finished working model."

"Can do," agreed Fred readily.

"If we can, that is," added George.

"If we can't, we'll try anyway," Fred assured him.

"You can do it," Harry said without any doubt. He literally knew they could, seeing as they were the ones that had drawn up the plans in the first place, albeit about fifteen years from now. "I know that without a doubt."

George grinned eagerly. "So what requires the skills of master craftsmen Gred and Forge?"

"This."

Harry waved for them to look at the displayed plans. The twins immediately began to pour over them, jostling each other for the better position. As several minutes passed, Harry watched with interest as Fred and George conversed in hushed whispers and the occasional silent exchange that only twins could manage.

It had taken some time for him several weeks before he had been able to find a Muggle printer capable of recreating the designs, Gating into the building after hours and using Father's ability to generate electromagnetic fields to interface with the rather primitive computer system. Once that was accomplished it had taken less than an hour to reproduce a small cache of designs and plans for all kinds of weapons and other equipment that had not even been conceived of in the present.

Finally the twins seemed to conclude their examination of the plans and turned to face each other, curious expression on their faces.

"Fred?"

"George?"

"What d'you think?"

"Same thing you thunk."

"Thought so."

They turned to Harry, grim determination in their normally jovial eyes. Getting straight to the point, Fred started by asking, "What exactly do you need?"

Harry pointed at the plans behind them, "You understand what that is?"

George nodded solemnly, "It's the magical equivalent of a Muggle gun."

"Only it's not designed to shoot billets," put in Fred.

"Bullets," Harry automatically corrected. There were times, usually moments like this, when he had to wonder at the ignorance of wizards in general. They could perform complex and intricate magicks without trouble, but could not remember simple Muggle words and concepts that most five-year-olds had a firm grasp of.

"Harry, this thing's dangerous," Fred cautioned.

"You use this, you're going to kill someone," agreed George.

Harry nodded unhappily, thinking of the reason he was having them put together this particular weapon. He knew the prophecy said he had a power Voldemort did not, but he would prefer to have something more concrete on his side when the time came. Besides which, in all twenty-two years of future memories, he could not remember discovering or using anything capable of stopping Voldemort.

"That's why I'm going to need them."

"Them?" repeated George, looking alarmed at the idea.

"How many are you talking about?" asked Fred.

"Enough to put the fear of God into any Death Eaters I meet," Harry assured them with a smirk. He did not want to give them an exact figure, at least not until they had a chance to recover from their current surprise.

"Just looking at the plans--"

"--puts the fear of God into us."

"You sure about this?" asked George, looking sharply at him.

"Voldemort," Harry paused as they winced, "is going after my family this year. Our family."

The twins considered this, exchanging a rapid series of looks before turning to answer.

Fred started, "If nothing goes wrong--"

"--and if the plans are accurate--"

"They are," interjected Harry.

"--then we should have a working prototype--"

"--ready by Halloween," finished George.

"Maybe sooner," offered Fred.

George looked back at the plans laid out on the table. "It won't be easy though."

Fred nodded in agreement, "Yeah, some of the enchantments used are... ouch."

"Whoever designed this was a genius."

"Yes, they are," Harry smiled, wondering what his friends would say when the day came that he could tell them that they were the principle designers. Admittedly Luna had helped a great deal, but Fred and George had done the bulk of the work.

"Well, you can trust us to do the job," Fred told him.

"Mum's the word too," confirmed George.

"If anyone finds out about this--"

"--it won't be from us."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thanks guys."

Fred grinned modestly, "No problem Harry. What are friends for?"

Never having had any friends even remotely like the twins before, Harry was not quite sure how to answer that. Still, he did know that he could not have entrusted this to anyone more suited to the task.

He just hoped they didn't blow up the shop in the process.

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Introductory Classes

Monday came soon enough, the weekend spent in preparation for those classes that had not yet been attended. The first lesson of the day, to the students' anticipation, was Defence Against the Dark Arts. After the farce they had to endure the previous year, under Professor Umbridge's tutelage, all were eager to see what the new professor could do.

Gathering outside the Defence classroom after breakfast, the sixth-year Gryffindors waited impatiently to enter, with the exception of Harry. He had woken up that morning with a throbbing headache which seemed to be trying to squeeze his head until it popped. It was very distracting, a result of which was that he had forgotten to bring his things down from Gryffindor Tower and had rushed to fetch them before class began.

After dashing madly through the corridors, almost trampling Dennis Creevey underfoot in the process, Harry skidded to a halt just before turning the corner leading to the Defence classroom. Pausing to catch his breath and wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, he composed himself and quietly made his way to where his housemates were waiting. He found it a bit odd that they were all still outside the classroom, rather than having already entered.

"I wonder why Harry isn't here already, he left breakfast before we did," he heard Ron comment to Hermione and Neville as he approached from behind them.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have expected him to be late for Defence," agreed Neville.

Harry stepped up, right behind the two boys and asked, "Who says I'm late?"

Both Ron and Neville practically hit the ceiling of the corridor as they jumped with fright. Hermione, who had been the only one of the three to see Harry sneak up on them, smiled wryly and shook her head at their antics. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had been watching the group, twittered and giggled at the extreme reaction.

"Bloody hell, Harry, don't do that!" yelped Ron in surprise. He clutched at his chest and panted, "You just about gave me a heart attack!"

"Do what?" Harry asked innocently.

"I don't know how you could be surprised, Ron," stated Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the redhead a slightly smug look. "Harry was standing behind you for nearly half a minute before he spoke up."

"Bloody hell," repeated Ron.

"You're good at that, Harry," commented Neville, looking at Harry with some envy.

Harry leaned close, pitching his voice so that only they could hear him, and said, "Not as good as you will be."

Neville looked surprised for a moment, before remembering what Harry had told him the night after they arrived. He grinned happily and practically crowed, "Wicked." He paused for a moment and then asked, in a normal tone of voice, "Did you take a course in advanced sneakery over the summer?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Harry nodded. Remembering that Neville had not yet had much contact with any member of the Order of the Phoenix, he mischievously suggested, "Remind me to introduce you to Tonks when she visits."

This was a bit of a joke, as Tonks regularly tripped over her own feet on a daily basis. Some would even say it was an hourly occurrence. Her natural clumsiness prevented her from being even remotely sneaky and she had almost failed her Auror stealth training because of it.

Neville, unaware of this, eagerly asked, "Tonks? Is she an Auror?"

"Yes," answered Hermione, giving Harry a disapproving frown, "and a rather clumsy one at that."

"Spoilsport," he countered, tempted to stick his tongue out at her, but deciding against it. It seemed a rather childish thing to do, and that part of him from the future rebelled against it. Looking to the nearby classroom door, he motioned for everyone to follow him as he walked up and pushed it open. "Come on, let's go inside."

The other sixth-year Gryffindors followed on his heels and crowded into the classroom, spreading out to take their seats. By unspoken agreement the front row of desks were open for the four members of the Ministry Crew, who seemed a bit self-conscious by the decision, with the sole exception of Harry. All but throwing himself into his seat, a habit he had picked up over the summer, Harry motioned for his friends to join him.

He was both disappointed and relieved when Hermione sat at the other desk, with Neville, allowing Ron to take the seat next to Harry. The two teenagers had barely spoken to each other since their... conversation in the Room of Requirements the previous Friday.

He wasn't sure about Hermione, but felt that his own reluctance to approach her stemmed from a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty. Hopefully they would get over it soon, but for the time being they were dancing on eggshells around each other. It did not, however, stop him from engulfing her in a hug when greeting her.

"I hope this new bloke knows what he's doing," said Neville, looking around. The classroom did not seem all that different from the previous year, aside from several new bookcases that were jammed almost to overflowing with reference books.

"He does, for the most part," Harry answered absently.

He let his future 'memories' regarding their new professor bubble to the surface. Rhys Pisqual Smythe-White, despite his aristocratically hyphenated name, would prove to be one of Harry's more competent teachers. This did not say much, if you paused to consider Quirrel, Lockhart, the Moody impostor and Umbridge. Harry did not consider him on par with Remus Lupin, being perhaps slightly biased in the werewolf's favour, but would agree that Smythe-White did know what he was talking about.

His training as a Healer and later experience in St. Mungo's mental wards, allowed Smythe-White to 'play the crowd', so to speak. He would get along very well with most of the students, bar the Slytherins of course, and had eventually befriended Harry. It had taken most of the school year, but Harry had gradually opened to the charismatic wizard and unloaded some of his problems to the other man.

This time round, however, Harry knew that Smythe-White had been hired specifically for that task; to try and bring Harry out of his depression over Sirius' death. Suffice to say, he was not pleased with the knowledge that Dumbledore and Smythe-White had not revealed this until after Harry had already bared many of his feelings and insecurities.

Now, knowing what he did, Harry wasn't sure what to do about it, though he was hoping that he did not start hexing the professor the moment he stepped foot in the room.

"You know him?" asked Hermione, obviously aware that Harry must, thanks to his 'memories'.

"I've heard of him," Harry replied, aware that his housemates were listening. He phrased it so that he would be able to drop a few facts without sounding as if he had actually met the man. He shrugged and elaborated, "Tends to focus more on defence than offence, but that's not really surprising all things considered."

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

"He used to be an Auror, but a field Healer," answered Harry. "Never really got into the thick of things. Stayed on the sidelines."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione commented. She looked at him and warily, obviously not wanting to set him off by saying the wrong thing, offered, "We would've been a lot better off over the years if we'd known some healing magic."

Harry shrugged, "Maybe, but I prefer to hit my enemy before he hits me."

Parvati interjected, "As long as he's better than that hag we had last year, I couldn't care if he makes us do finger painting."

"Nobody could be worse than Dumbridge," asserted Ron.

"Snape," countered Harry.

"Well, almost nobody."

"Why don't we reserve judgement until after he's taught the lesson?" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and giving her friends an admonishing frown.

"Always a good idea."

Everyone, with the exception of Harry, jerked upright in surprise as Professor Smythe-White stepped into the room. The only reason Harry did not react was because he had known the professor was going to enter at that moment. An advantage of already knowing what was supposed to happen. Shifting languidly in his seat, he considered the new arrival.

Rhys Pisqual Smythe-White was a middle aged, tall and broad-shouldered man. His dark brown hair, beginning to go grey at the temples, was cropped close to his head. A thick, but neatly trimmed beard, shot through with streaks of grey, covered his round and smiling face. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown and seemed to have a similar twinkle to that of Dumbledore's, only without the impression of latent power behind them.

"Good morning, young witches and wizards," he greeted with a broad and inviting smile as he walked up to his desk at the front of the classroom. He leaned back against it, casually propped up with his arms, feet crossed at the ankles, and introduced himself, "I'm Professor Smythe-White, but I'd prefer for you to call me Rhys."

"Rice?" asked Ron, blinking in surprise.

"Rhys, Ron," corrected Hermione, clearly exasperated. "Honestly, do you ever not think with your stomach?"

"Only when I'm not hungry."

"Which is never," noted Neville.

"I'm a growing boy!"

A clearing of his throat drew all eyes back to Smythe-White, who appeared to have found their brief interaction quite amusing if his broad grin was any indication.

"We'll get started as soon as I've finished taking the roll," he told them, pulling out a sheaf of parchment from his robes. He glanced over it briefly before looking up at them. "I'd like to know more about you than just your names and faces, so when I call your name will you please stand up and tell me a bit about yourselves."

Smythe-White started going through the role, beginning with Lavender Brown. Harry was more focused on trying to ignore his headache, paid little mind to what his classmates were saying, save for Hermione. There was a slight ruckus when she mentioned that she enjoyed reading, whereupon Ron commented on her fascination with Hogwarts; A History.

It was perhaps a good thing that Ron was sitting next to Harry, otherwise Hermione would probably have bruised his ribs with a well placed elbow. As it was, she settled for a scathing glare that caused Ron to cringe down into his seat.

After Parvati sat down, having just delivered a gushing account about her love of all things pink or pastel and her admiration for Professor Trelawney, Smythe-White called out Harry's name.

Harry remained seated and stated, "Trust is earned, not given."

"Excuse me?" asked Smythe-White, blinking at the slightly hostile tone that had managed to creep into Harry's voice despite his efforts to remain neutral.

"Why should I give information that could potentially be used against me," asked Harry, "to someone I only met ten minutes ago?"

"Well, Harry--"

Harry interrupted, "I don't believe it proper for a teacher and student to be so informal, Professor."

The other students were staring at him, something he tried to ignore as he matched gazes with the professor. He was peripherally aware of Ron and Neville looking at him with wide eyes. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking worriedly back and forth between him and Smythe-White.

Smythe-White smiled at him and gestured with his arms, encompassing the entire room with the motion. It was supposed to be a placating and inviting gesture, but Harry thought he could detect a hint of falseness in the smile. Whether it really was a mask, or simple distrust on his part, he did not know, but Harry did not relax as intended.

"I want to promote an open atmosphere in this class, Harry."

"You can be open without using my given name, Professor."

"Harry--"

"Professor Smythe-White, I don't know you," Harry interrupted again, this time a bit curtly. He tilted his head so that he could peer at the professor from over the rims of his glasses. "Until I do, I'd prefer for you to call me; 'Mr Potter'."

"It's a little early to say you don't trust me, don't you think?" asked Smythe-White, sounding rather amused by Harry's announcement.

Some part of Harry felt the amusement and accompanying smile was a tad condescending, but he could not be sure. His future self and Smythe-White had not parted on the best of terms. It was possible that his 'memories' were colouring his judgement in this case, which is why he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being.

Keeping his voice level, Harry calmly informed, "I don't trust anyone I don't know."

Smythe-White actually blinked at this bold statement. His jovial mask had started to crack and some concern was visible as he looked at Harry. "The world is filled with people you don't know."

"Which is why I never go anywhere without my wand and other assorted weaponry," Harry smiled, lifting his wand into view and giving it a deft twirl - sending a spray of red and glow sparks into the air.

"You're armed?" sputtered Smythe-White in alarm.

Father bobbed into view, the gleaming black sphere drifting back and forth behind Harry's shoulders. The Gatekeeper had been keeping a low profile, since Harry did not want more attention directed at him than necessary. Acting on its own initiative, thanks to its evolved AI, Father gathered its GM fields. The air around Harry seemed to shimmer and pulse with power, though in truth it was merely an advanced optical illusion caused by gravity distorted light.

Harry smirked, "I'm the most dangerous person in this room."

"Er, yes... quite," the professor muttered. Shaking it off, he looked back to the parchment in his hands and finished the roll call, ending with Ron who was so distracted by Harry and Father's earlier display that he completely forgot to mention the Chudley Cannons.

"Well, this was most informative. Thank you," concluded Smythe-White, trying to hide a worried glance at Harry before continuing, "Now let me tell you a little about myself."

The professor then began to list his qualifications and the various fields of experience he had talent in, carefully omitting any mention of his being a practicing psychologist. Harry, who had heard it all before during the first time he had lived this, found it boring to tears.

Instead, he decided to see if he could spook the man by staring stoically at him while he spoke. His eyes took on an icy expression and he followed Smythe-White's every moment. To compliment the forbidding look he allowed a small, slightly evil grin to stretch his lips as he propped his elbows on the desk and folded his hands just below his chin. If the professor had any sense, he would have started sweating.

Smythe-White seemed slightly put out by Harry's unblinking stare, and quickly wrapped up his little speech. Clearing his throat again he visibly forced himself to smile cheerfully. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"Finally," muttered Harry. He leaned closer to Ron, breaking his pose, and whispered, "I'd forgotten how much he liked to talk."

Ron, who had actually edged away from Harry during the professor's talk, looked at him with wide eyes. Apparently Harry's intimidating stance had worked not only on the professor, but on his classmates as well.

"From what I am given to understand, your education in the Defence Against the Dark Arts has been rather... inconsistent up till now," Smythe-White commented charitably as he began. Then he started to list some of the problems they had faced over the years. "A different professor every year, people with dubious qualifications, lack of any true experience, or in Dolores' case, a lack of any common sense."

"You knew that bi- er- witch?" asked Seamus as the students reacted with surprise.

Smythe-White nodded ruefully and admitted, "Much to my displeasure. We were in the same year at Hogwarts, though in different houses, thankfully."

Harry, suddenly remembering something, checked the time on his new wristwatch. It was a replacement for the one that had been damaged beyond repair during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had acquired it over the summer, during a brief stop over in San Francisco, and hoped that it would survive the rigours of his life.

"As I was saying, your studies have been haphazard, which leaves me with little idea of what you do and do not know," Smythe-White continued, circling his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchment and handed it to Neville. "To remedy this, we'll be using this first lesson to determine what you have covered before now."

"I don't understand, Professor--" Hermione began to ask as Neville took one sheet of parchment and handed the remainder of the stack to her. She was interrupted, however, by Smythe-White.

"Rhys," he corrected, reminding them of his earlier request.

"...Rhys," finished Hermione, clearly uncomfortable with the informality of it all. She passed the stack of parchment over to Ron. "Wouldn't the O.W.L.s give an indication of what we know?"

"Yes, Hermione, in some ways they do," agreed Smythe-White with a nod, "however the O.W.L.s tend to focus almost entirely on your spellwork and not on those aspects of Defence that I consider just as important."

"Like what?" asked Dean.

Before the professor could begin to answer, Harry stuck his hand up in the air. All eyes immediately centred on him, no doubt wondering what he had planned.

"Five, four, three," he counted down on his fingers, "two, one, now."

A moment later a low, but loud boom rocked Hogwarts. One could almost imagine the castle trembling from the noise, but it would take much more to do that. Several students shot to their feet and looked around wildly.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" shouted Ron, who had drawn his wand and aimed it at the classroom door, just in case something dangerous was coming.

"I don't know," said Hermione, one of the few students still sitting.

"It's You-Know-Who!" cried Lavender dramatically. "The castle's under attack!"

"Don't be daft!" scoffed Dean.

"Well, what else could it be?" asked Parvati, standing next to her friend, wand also drawn.

Harry, who was struggling not to laugh, bit back a guffaw. His chuckles were enough to centre all attention back on him, reminding them that he obviously knew what was going on. Stifling his laughter as best he could, he explained in a good attempt at a calm voice, "One of the Muggleborn Hufflepuff first-years decided to get Shakespearian during his first Potions class."

"Shakespearian..." muttered Hermione, trailing off as her eyes grew round as realization dawned. She looked incredulously at Harry and stated, "You have got to be joking."

"As the explosion we just heard will testify," he confirmed dryly, "eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, do not a safe potion make."

"Oh dear, Professor Snape is not going to be happy."

"Look on the bright side," Harry cheerfully informed her, "your Potions class is going to be cancelled for today

"How do you know this, Ha-- Mr Potter?" asked Smythe-White, catching himself from using Harry’s given name just in time. He too was looking at Harry with a bewildered expression.

"I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry answered, as if it were obvious, "I know everything."

Suffice to say, Professor Smythe-White was a little nonplussed by this answer. He blinked several times in quick succession before shaking his head and trying to restore the classroom to some semblance of order. "Uh, well... yes, I suppose... ahem," he cleared his throat and tried to smile brightly, "Let's carry on, shall we?"

The lesson continued peacefully after that, without any further interruption. The professor explained his lesson plan for the year as the Gryffindors worked through the short test he had handed out. Harry was pleased to note that any members of the DA should not have any problem answering all questions asked, and that they had even managed to cover several of the topics Smythe-White planned to teach them later in the year.

Professor McGonagall made a brief appearance to pass on the information that, while nobody had been seriously injured, the Potions dungeon had been rendered temporarily uninhabitable and that Potions classes would be put on hold until repairs had been finished. Apparently there was an ungodly amount of extremely sticky and foul smelling purple slime coating just about every available surface.

Finally the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Smythe-White quickly gathered the completed tests as the students got up to leave, heading to their next classes. Harry planned to visit the library, as he had dropped all his classes other than Defence, Transfiguration, Charms and Care of Magical Creatures.

The first three were subjects he considered not only useful, but necessary for his upcoming battles. The fourth he kept out of loyalty to his first ever friend, Hagrid. Everything else was no longer of any use or interest to him at present. He had a war to fight, after all.

"My, how time flies when you're having fun," he commented as they packed away their things.

"We were having fun?" asked Ron jokingly.

"You two are incorrigible," observed Hermione teasingly.

Ron looked at Harry and then at Hermione. "If I knew what that meant, I'd probably be insulted."

Neville laughed and patted the redhead on the shoulder in commiseration. "For your own peace of mind, I think you should take it as a compliment instead."

Ron shook his head. "No, I'm sure it was an insult."

"It was both," Hermione informed him.

The group made their way to the door, where Harry was waiting for them. He had finished packing away before anyone else by the simple fact that he had not unpacked to begin with. He had already known that they would not be needing anything other than their quills, to fill in the questionnaire. Harry himself had used a Muggle ballpoint pen.

Motioning his friends through the door, Harry glanced back at Professor Smythe-White, who was watching them depart with an unabashed expression of bewilderment. Clearly they were not what he had been expecting.

"Just thought you might want to know, Professor; this isn't a school, it's a lunatic asylum," Harry told the professor before stepping outside. "And the inmates are in charge."

Smythe-White, who was still uncertain how to react to Harry, could only nod dumbly.

Shortly after lunch, which did not last as long as Ron would have liked, the sixth-years gathered by Hagrid's hut. Their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year was about to begin.

Several students had dropped the subject after having taken their O.W.L.s, which led to the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs being combined into a single class. None of the Slytherins had continued into the N.E.W.T. class, which suited Ron down to the ground. It meant he wouldn't have to see Malfoy's ferret face during any of his classes.

As he, Harry, Hermione and Neville stood in a group near the door to Hagrid's hut, Ron could overhear the other students speculating as to what their half-giant professor had planned for them this time. As Hagrid had the unfortunate habit of finding the most vicious beasts known to wizards to be "cute", everything from dragons to griffins were being considered as possibilities.

"I don't suppose you plan to share?" asked Neville suddenly, directing the question to Harry.

"What d'you... Oh, yeah," Ron looked to his best friend as he realized that Harry must have memories of this class. He was listening to the guesses and rumours with a smug expression on his face. Clearly he knew something. "You know what Hagrid's new pet is, don't you?"

"I might," Harry smirked.

"Is it bad?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally and said, "Depends on your point of view."

"If you're trying to ease our fears, you're not succeeding, Harry," Hermione told him.

"Probably because your fears are justified," confirmed Harry.

Ron groaned and gave into the urge to hide his face in his hands. In a muffled, defeated voice, he asked, "Just tell us, is it worse than the skrewts?"

"Well..."

Harry trailed off as the door to Hagrid's hut swung open and Hagrid himself emerged, his cowardly boarhound Fang following on his heels. A lead weight seemed to settle into Ron's stomach at the sight of the delighted grin on Hagrid's face. It was the same, eager smile he had worn two years ago, just before introducing his students to the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"'Lo there, 'Arry! Ron, 'Ermione, Neville, good ta see yeh," Hagrid boomed, lumbering over to the four Gryffindors. He beamed happily down at them and asked, "'Ave a good summer?"

"It had its moments," replied Harry with a sly smile. Everyone knew that Hagrid was simply terrible at keeping secrets, something the Gryffindor Trio had often exploited, so there was no chance of Harry telling their friend any details about his summer activities. "Good to see you too, Hagrid. How's your brother?"

"Great, thanks fer asking. His English is getting better every day."

"Please tell me he's not still hiding in the forest," pleaded Hermione.

"Nah, Professor Dumbledore arranged a place for him ta stay in a valley east o' here," Hagrid told them with a shake of his shaggy head and a wave in the mentioned direction. "Great man, Dumbledore is, great man."

"That's nice, Hagrid," Ron said diplomatically. He could all to clearly remember Harry and Hermione telling him about their first encounter with Grawp during the Quidditch Final the previous year. He would not say anything about it, but he was secretly relieved to learn that the giant was no longer staying near the castle. "You'll have to introduce us to him some day."

"'E'd like that, Grawp would. I think 'e gets a bit lonely, all by 'imself."

Ron silently thought that if anyone had to keep Grawp company, he'd rather it were not him. His friends might not be bothered by the idea of spending time with a giant, but they were Muggleborn. Or, in Harry's case, had been raised by Muggles. Ron, on the other hand, had grown up hearing horror stories about giant savagery. He did not want to come across as prejudice or the like, but the thought of being near Grawp filled him with trepidation.

"Alrigh', you lot," Hagrid hollered, capturing the other students' attention. It was time for the lesson to begin. He began to walk towards the lake. "Follow me."

"Uh, Harry?" asked Neville as they trailed after Hagrid, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. "If you're going to tell us what he has planned, now would be a good time."

"What, and ruin the surprise?" teased Harry.

"Yes!" insisted Ron with a vigorous nod.

"Okay, I'll give you a few clues," Harry relented. He assumed a thoughtful expression and finally said, "It's big."

Ron grumbled upon learning this. "Somehow I was expecting that"

Harry grinned and continued, "It's scaly."

"Oh gods, he's got his hands on a dragon," lamented Neville.

"It's called 'Mister Green Turtle'."

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione incredulously. Her expression exactly matched how Ron felt.

"A turtle?" repeated Ron, looking at Harry with confusion. His over active imagination had been expecting something akin to a Chimaera or a Nundu. Not some waterborne tortoise. "But turtles aren't magical."

Harry's eyes gleamed with mischief, putting Ron in mind of Fred and George right before they pulled one of their infamous pranks. He grinned and elaborated, "I said its name is Mister Green Turtle, not that it is a turtle."

By now the group had arrived at the lake shore, preventing any further questions. Ron peered around, hoping to catch an early glimpse of Hagrid's latest pet, but aside from the Giant Squid floating in the distance, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

Hagrid, water lapping at his heels, called out, "'Ere we are, now gather round, gather round!"

"I hope my mum's paid up my medical insurance," Ron heard Dean mutter.

"I'd be more worried about my life insurance," countered Justin Finch-Fletchley just as quietly, none of the students wanting to upset Hagrid.

"I'm sure we're not in any danger," Ernie Macmillan assured them all.

Terry Boot, who was practically twitching with nerves, looked at the Hufflepuff incredulously and asked, "Have you forgotten who our professor is?"

"Settle down, settle down," Hagrid interrupted, "We don't want to scare 'im off now, do we?"

"Scare him off? Scare him off?" repeated Ron, looking at his friends with wide eyes. Neville was the only one that seemed to share his apprehension. How Harry and Hermione could remain so calm was a mystery to him. "We haven't even seen him yet and I'm ready to be scared off!"

Hagrid, oblivious to his students' mounting alarm, said, "'Ere, let me call him for yeh."

He strode off to one side, where a large wooden bucket was sitting. Calling it a bucket was a bit of an understatement, as most normal sized people would have considered it large enough to bath in. Lifting the container off the ground, Hagrid carried it to the water's edge and dumped the contents into the lake.

"Is that... blood?" asked Susan Bones, positively appalled.

"I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Ernie thickly, looking a bit green.

A loud, warbling noise drew their attention away from the spreading pool of red and back to Hagrid. He had put the bucket back down and cupped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to make what Ron assumed was a call to draw his pet's attention. It sounded vaguely like a tortured rendition of Scotland Forever played on a ruptured set of bagpipes. If it attracted anything aside from a lovesick banshee, Ron would be surprised.

Hagrid continued his horrendous bellows for a minute or two until he abruptly dropped his hands and cried, "There 'e is! Comin' right ta daddy!"

"Daddy?" asked Hermione, looking at Hagrid as if he had lost his mind.

"He's having flashbacks to when he had Norbert," Harry explained.

"Holy shite!" exclaimed Seamus, "Look!"

Everyone stared where the Irish wizard was pointing and reacted to various degrees. A large dark shape was approaching the shore from beneath the water. It was easily as big as the Giant Squid and Ron almost thought it was the squid, had it not been for the fact that he could still see squid lounging in the shallows of the lake's far side.

Terry spoke in a hushed voice, "Gods, what a monster!"

"It's big. And scaly," groaned Neville.

"It's a sea serpent of some sort," decided Ernie, edging back.

Hannah Abbot shook her head and looked thoughtfully at the lake. "Actually, it looks more like some kind of wingless dragon."

Dean looked at her and snorted, "Don't be daft, it's a crocodile."

"Wait a second, I know what that is..."

Everyone looked at Hermione as she trailed off with a look of recognition in her eyes. Nobody bothered making any other guesses as to the breed of Hagrid's pet. If Hermione thought she knew what it was, then nothing they could come up with would be closer than hers.

She looked accusingly at Harry and said flatly, "You have to be joking."

Harry shrugged, "Nope. It's times like this that I wonder about Hagrid's sanity."

"Everyone, I'd like yeh to meet Mister Green Turtle!" announced Hagrid happily, bouncing on his heels as he stared at the approaching creature with something akin to rapture.

It was at this point that the assembled students noticed that Mister Green Turtle had begun to emerge from the lake. How Hagrid had come up with such a name would forever remain a mystery. Mister Green Turtle was most certainly not a turtle, in fact it wasn't even green and if there was a way of determining its sex, Ron couldn't see it.

Suffice to say, a minor amount of panic ensued.

There was a mad scramble as everyone, save Hagrid and Harry, tried to put some distance between themselves and the lake. Justin had the misfortune of slipping and landing face first in a stretch of mud, injury promptly being added to insult as a few students clambered right over him without stopping. Several other students tripped over each other, and in a couple of cases tripped over their own feet, but still managed to retreat a dozen or so paces from the lake.

Hagrid, who had been too busy watching Mister Green Turtle to notice, seemed quite surprised when he turned around and found his students to no longer be in the immediate vicinity. He looked at them in genuine puzzlement and asked, "What yeh all doin' over there?"

Neville, who had actually drawn his wand, gestured at the creature, "Hagrid, that's a bloody dinosaur you've got there!"

"Actually, it's a water wyrm," corrected Hermione, somewhat unsteadily. She looked slightly flushed, though if this was because of exertion of fleeing the lakeside or indignation at the identity of Hagrid's pet, Ron couldn't tell. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she assumed what everyone recognised as her professor-giving-a-lecture stance and gave some more details, "Rather like wingless dragons, only without the ability to breathe fire, they're generally found in large, deep fresh water lakes. Some have even been spotted by Muggles in Scotland. They call them the Loch Ness Monster, or Nessie."

"Right as always, 'Ermione," congratulated Hagrid, "Five points to Gryffindor!"

"Hagrid, are you sure it's safe; having one of those at Hogwarts?" asked Susan, eyeing the creature nervously. It looked much bigger on land than it did when it had been underwater. The rows of glistening white teeth, which were displayed as it threw back its head to repeat the call Hagrid had used to summon it, were even less encouraging.

"Course it's safe," Hagrid assured them, sounding sceptical that anyone could consider such a beast dangerous. He turned to regard his pet and smiled warmly at it, "Mister Green Turtle's as harmless as a puppy."

Ron goggled at him in disbelief. He looked at his friends and stammered, "Harmless? Harmless?! How can he consider something like that harmless?"

"We're talking about a man who named a giant, three-headed dog, Fluffy," said Harry, who had only now joined them at their safer distance from the lake. He had not participated in the mad scrabble, opting instead to let everyone else pass before lazily following them.

"Oh, right," agreed Ron, as if that explained everything.

Perhaps it did.

Hagrid clapped his hands enthusiastically and rubbed them together before reaching into his pockets. After searching about for a short while he withdrew a long length of rope that looked thicker than Ron's arm. It was attached to a large, studded collar that would not have looked out of place on the aforementioned giant, three-headed dog.

"Righ', now let me jus' put 'is leash on," he said.

"It has a leash?" asked Seamus incredulously. "What does he do, take it for walks in the evening?"

"I can't believe this, I simply can't believe it," stammered Hermione as Hagrid approached Mister Green Turtle, clearly planning to slip the collar around the beast's long neck.

"Don't worry, it's only for a couple of months," Harry assured them. He was watching with thinly veiled amusement as Mister Green Turtle objected to Hagrid's plan and tried to shy away. "He'll have something new for us to 'play with' before Christmas."

"Do we even want to know?" asked Neville.

Harry thought about it for a moment, while Hagrid leapt forward and began wrestling with the wyrm in an attempt to leash it. Finally he said, "Well... they are harmless. Sort of."

Ron focused on the last two words and turned to Harry. "What d'you mean, 'sort of'?"

That same mischievous expression from earlier cross Harry's face. With an innocent look, totally betrayed by a quirky grin, he elaborated, "They don't have any teeth."

"That's good, but it still doesn't explain 'sort of'," persisted Ron.

"Let's just say, we're going to have our hands full."

"Harry?" asked Hermione.

"There's not much we can do about it, Nee," Harry answered. He watched intently as Hagrid managed to pin Mister Green Turtle's long neck under one knee and clipped on the leash. The mischief in his eyes, as he turned to face his friends, was almost a palpable thing. "We can only hope that all our tribbles will be little ones."

The Gryffindor common room was sparsely occupied late that night, after dinner, most of the house having already gone to bed. The few students present were working on their homework, the fifth and seventh-years in particular having a large number of assignments to wade through.

Harry and Hermione were sitting at their usual table, several books and rolls of parchments scattered about. Or at least Hermione was surrounded by parchment. Harry had apparently abandoned the traditional wizarding writing material and was transcribing his Charms assignment into a Muggle notebook.

It certainly looked easier to use, as the paper was both lined and considerably simpler to organise than multiple sheets of loose parchment. Hermione wondered why she had never thought to do the same.

She and Harry not spoken since Ron and Neville had retired. Ron had departed first, after beating Harry in three straight games of chess. Apparently having access to a super-computer Gatekeeper did nothing to improve the Boy-Who-Lived's skills in that area. Half an hour later, Neville had finished his Herbology assignment and retired upstairs as well, leaving them to their own devices for the past hour.

Hermione glanced up at Harry, who was bent over one of his other notebooks and writing in another. Ever since she had burst in on him during his... soak... last Friday, she had barely been able to look him in the eyes. Whenever she did, memories of that form-fitting red and gold bikini came back to her. Not to mention those tight black swim-trunks Harry had been wearing, as well as how wonderfully warm and comfortable it had felt to be held in his arms. She looked back at her own assignment, Potions (ugh), and hoped Harry did not notice her sudden blush.

She paused halfway through writing the word 'infuse' as something strange occurred to her. Looking up at Harry again, this time for longer, she silently considered him. Something about him was bothering her, but she didn't know what. He looked positively adorable in the low firelight, but that wasn't it...

She paused again and wondered how and why that particular thought had popped into her head. Shaking off these disturbingly amorous thoughts, Hermione turned back to Harry and tried to focus on what he was doing, rather than his current appearance.

His new silver-framed, rectangular glasses were perched on the tip of his nose. Nothing unusual there. He was gently tapping his right foot on the floor, in a measured rhythm that was probably a tune of some sort he had recently heard. Nothing unusual there either. He was tracing his progress through one notebook with the index finger of his right hand, while scribbling untidily in the other with his left hand...

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for an hour or so.

"Sure, why do you ask?" he responded, pausing in his writing and looking up at her. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"You're writing that assignment with your left hand," she pointed out. This is what had been bothering her, since Harry was most emphatically right-handed. He always wrote with his right hand, held his wand with his right hand, and even caught the Golden Snitch with his right hand. That he was apparently using his left hand all of a sudden was a definite sign that something was off.

For a moment, Hermione considered that perhaps Harry had pulled off another disappearing act and left new version of the Doppelganger Unit to take his place. If that were true, then it was certainly a better fake than the first one had been.

"Not writing the assignment, just copying it," Harry corrected.

"Why?" she asked, puzzled as to why he would do such a thing as copy his own homework out twice. Harry had never shown much interest or dedication to his schoolwork over the years. Probably due to Ron's influence, he seldom did more than the bare minimum needed to complete whatever was asked of him.

"A few years from now I'm going to break several knuckles and other bones in my right hand. It'll be a couple of weeks before I can get it fixed, by which time the bones will have started to heal incorrectly and the Healer with have to re-break them," he informed her, laying down the pen he had been writing with. "I was almost totally unable to use my wand during that time."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "So you're practicing with your left hand."

Harry shrugged and settled into a more comfortable position in his chair, "I don't know if you can train yourself to be ambidextrous, but I'm going to try."

"How did you break your hand?" she asked.

"I'll be interrogating a Death Eater and will get so... enthusiastic... that I'll stop using my wand and start punching him," he answered in the same, calm, deadly voice he used whenever one of the more disturbing events from the future came up as a topic of conversation. "By the time Ron pulled me off, I'd caved his head in and broken my hand."

Appalled and a little horrified, Hermione gaped. "You were beating him?"

"He'll have information I want," Harry countered. His expression turned dark as he looked narrowly at her, "The names of all the Death Eaters that took turns with you."

"Funny, how we seem to keep getting back to that," Hermione noted after a long silence, during which they watched a seventh-year witch leave the common room and climb the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.

"Back to what?"

"My... abduction."

"Makes sense, actually," Harry informed her, his expression no longer as dark as it had been. Now, instead of slightly menacing, he looked somewhat thoughtful.

Hermione looked at him for an explanation and asked, "How so?"

Harry smiled slightly, shifting in his chair and asked in return, "Have you ever heard of the Butterfly Effect, Nee?"

"Yes," she nodded. Though she had never studied the idea in any depth, she did have a general idea of what the concept involved. "Basically; a butterfly flapping its wings can be the cause of a storm on the other side of the planet. The smallest action can have great and far-reaching consequences."

"Your... abduction, as you call it, is something much more important than a butterfly."

"I still don't think I understand what you're trying to say, Harry," she admitted, shaking her head. "I know it must have been traumatic, for all of us, but--"

"It cost us the war," Harry interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"They tortured, raped and essentially drove you to suicide," he told her, staring off into space, "and we lost the war because of it."

Hermione looked at him, hating to see how blank his eyes grew when he delved into his memories like he currently was. He had, as long as she had known him, taken things personally. "Harry..."

Harry's attention suddenly focused on her, his eyes dark. "I spent years hunting after Death Eaters, looking for revenge. If I hadn't done that, maybe I could've taken care of Voldemort before it was too late."

"I don't know, Harry," she whispered, ducking her head to avoid his intense stare. There was also a slight blush, which she could feel rising to her cheeks, that she did not want him to see. The idea that he considered her important enough to put his battle against Voldemort on hold set her heart aflutter. "I'm not that important."

"Yes, you are," he countered immediately, reaching across to hold her hand. "To me, you are."

"Thank you," she said, her blush deepening and growing almost painfully hot. Daringly Hermione leaned forwards and kissed him on the lips.

Fortunately the common room was practically empty, and those students still present were too busy with their homework to notice. Otherwise, the rumours already spreading around Hogwarts would finally have some proof to back them up. Harry's insistence on greeting Hermione with a hug each time he saw her, had not escaped anyone's notice.

As with all their prior kisses, it was short and chaste. Still, when they broke apart, it did leave them both blushing a furious red and panting lightly.

"You really ought to stop doing that, Nee," Harry told her as he settled back in his chair. His eyes were wide and slightly unfocused. "Otherwise you'll scramble my brains beyond repair."

"You mean you like it?" she asked timidly. Harry was the only boy she had ever kissed, the only boy she had ever considered kissing truth be told.

"Quite a lot, actually," he admitted. He fingered his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face as he murmured, "Though it does seem a bit strange when I think about it."

"Strange? How?"

"I can't put my finger on it, but I'll let you know when I do."

They sat comfortably together for a while, ignoring everything else in favour of simply holding hands and occasionally stealing glances at the other. After the comfortable silence had stretched on for a minute or two, Hermione looked up at Harry with a bit of a smirk and asked, "Scramble your brains, huh?"

Harry laughed and nodded, "You're good at that."

"That's nice to hear," she replied with a pleased grin. Giving his hands a gentle squeeze she leaned forward and asked another question on a related topic. "Have you thought about what I asked?"

"About what?"

"Our first Hogsmeade weekend this year," she elaborated. "About going together."

Harry visibly considered this for a minute, staring up at the ceiling in thought. Finally he turned his gaze back to he and asked, "Would it be all right if the others come with?"

"Well, I'll admit that I'd prefer to go alone," she admitted, wondering why she had ever hoped that Harry would react in a romantic manner to the suggestion. He had been raised by the Dursleys, who had doubtless stunted his social growth, but she had not thought he would request they have company during what amounted to their first date. "It's rather difficult, I imagine, to have a proper date with four other people joining you at the table."

"If things get out of hand we'll need all the help we can get," Harry muttered darkly, more to himself than to Hermione.

"It's our first date, Harry," she noted, a small amount of exasperation in her voice. "Somehow I don't think we're going to need chaperones."

"I'm talking about Death Eaters trying to either kidnap or kill the both of us," he replied, giving her an incredulous expression, clearly wondering what she was thinking. Evidently his thoughts regarding their date were on a completely different track to her own. "I'd rather not risk being caught alone if there's trouble of some kind."

"Do you really thing Voldemort will risk attacking you during the day, in the middle of an entire village of wizards?"

"Things have changed since last year, Nee," he explained patiently. "Then he was keeping a low profile, taking advantage of the fact that almost nobody believed he was back. Using the Ministry's idiocy while he secured a power base. He's not going to be hiding in the shadows for much longer."

"Neither of us are slouches in a fight, Harry," observed Hermione, thinking back to the disastrous episode in the Ministry of Magic. True, they had nominally lost that fight, but when six students could hold off a dozen fully-trained wizards for as long as they had... that was an accomplishment of note. She then indicated the black ball that was resting on the table, next to three of Harry's Muggle notebooks. "And even if they did somehow manage to capture us, couldn't Father get us out?"

"I'd rather not risk it," Harry shook his head. Sighing deeply he continued, "Voldemort was willing to wait, first time round, but things are different. He must know about Father by now, or at least he knows that the status quo has changed. He might decide to come after me before I can go after him."

"You're expecting him to try something, aren't you."

"It's not just Voldemort that I'm worried about."

"Who else could it be?"

"Malfoy," Harry all but spat the name, his voice filled with a venom that would have made a Basilisk jealous. "It would be quite a feather in his wizard's cap if he could catch the 'famous Harry Potter's new Mudblood girlfriend' and deliver her to his master."

Hermione thought about that for a moment or two, thinking about the tone Harry's voice had taken and his reaction to Malfoy since the start of term. She did not like the conclusion she reached and immediately checked with Harry. "He was one of them," she said with certainty, "Wasn't he?"

"I'm going to kill him, Nee," Harry said plainly. "Again."

"He might not this time," she offered, not sounding very convinced.

"Even if he doesn't lay a finger on you, I'm going to kill him just for thinking about it," he asserted, such grim and assured certainty in his voice that Hermione had no doubts that Harry meant every word.

A slightly uncomfortable silence stretched on for a minute or two, both teenagers sitting in silent contemplation over Harry's assertion. The conviction and determination in Harry's voice drove home even moreso the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived had changed greatly over the summer.

He had always possessed an unwavering sense of conviction in what he believed was right as well as an unrelenting determination to achieve his goals, but now... Hermione could not help but think that the experience of merging with his future self's memories had a more profound impact on Harry than any of them had thought.

He was certainly far more ruthless than he had been, though who was to say that part of that was not an offshoot of Sirius' death at the Department of Mysteries? Harry had always, for the most part, been willing to give the benefit of the doubt to those who supposedly desired a second chance.

Witness his persuading Sirius and Remus to spare Wormtail's life during their encounter inside the Shrieking Shack during third year.

Hermione frowned as a thought occurred to her. It was odd that she had never noticed it before, but somewhat understandable considering how stressful things had been at the time. Harry had not spared Pettigrew out of any sense of mercy or desire to see justice done in proper fashion.

He did it so that Sirius and Remus, his father's friends, would not stoop down to the same level as the man who had betrayed them. He did it, because some part of him had considered simple death to be far too kind a punishment for the man that had cost him his parents. Hermione could vaguely recall him muttering something about feeding the treacherous rat to the Dementors - a fate practically everyone agreed was worse than death.

Harry had always had a dangerous side, she began to realize. Certainly she had always known, it would be impossible for him not to be that way, considering his upbringing by the Dursleys. What he had suffered through during his childhood, if the word could apply, would have either broken him or tempered him.

Obviously Harry had not been broken. Instead he had been forged into someone capable of doing things that ordinary people would shy away from, capable of doing whatever he deemed necessary to achieve his goals.

And now this part of him had been brought to the fore. An aspect of his personality that had previously been hidden underneath the veneer of a somewhat shy, quiet young wizard, only glimpsed at during times of duress or danger.

Thinking back over the years, Hermione could easily recall the times this most dangerous facet of Harry had come forth to save the proverbial day. Whether it be against trolls in the bathroom, giant snakes in the basement (so to speak), dementors on the grounds, Death Eaters in a grave yard or even the Ministry's own High Inquisitor.

Thinking back to more recent times, in particular those since Harry's return from his sorjourn over the summer, Hermione paused to consider the events of that morning.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Why were you so defensive in Professor Smythe-White's class today?" she asked.

Harry shrugged and replied, "Feedback."

Hermione sighed and settled back in her chair, gracing her friend with a wry smile of understanding. "Well, at least you didn't throw him across the room like a rag doll."

"He isn't just a field Healer for the Aurors," Harry revealed after a moment, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "He's a practicing psychologist from St. Mungo's, or whatever the wizarding equivalent is called. Dumbledore hired him to keep an eye on me this year."

"But, that's good isn't it?" she asked, her smile turning into a puzzled frown. She knew that Harry was incredibly stubborn when it came to talking about his feelings, but even he had to admit that he sometimes needed to do just that. "Having someone to tell your troubles to."

"Not under false pretences," he fairly growled.

"False... you mean he didn't tell you?" she asked incredulously.

Harry sighed and nodded in confirmation. "I only found out a couple of years later. Broke both his arms and never saw or spoke to him again."

She shook her head in disbelief, appalled at the thought. Still, she could possibly see the need to do so, considering Harry's unwillingness to discuss such matter when prompted. "I can't say I agree with his deception, Harry, but his intentions are good."

"Road to Hell, Hermione, road to Hell."

There was another subdued pause in the conversation, the somewhat uncomfortable silence lasting a minute or so until Harry visibly brightened.

"I don't need Smythe-White to tell my troubles to," he told her, leaning forward and kissing her briefly on the lips, followed by a peck on the tip of her nose before backing away. "I have you."

Hermione stared at Harry in frank astonishment, both at his words and his actions, as he quickly packed away his things. She had thought he would have been more willing to speak to Ron, his best friend, rather than her. And the fact that he had just taken some measure of initiative and actually kissed her, rather than the other way around... well, it was a struggle not to break into an ear-to-ear grin.

His school things gathered up, Harry made his way to the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories. He paused at the foot of the staircase and looked back at Hermione, who had been watching him with wide eyes and a slight blush.

"Now I know what feels so strange about kissing you," he told her.

"What?"

"It's not so wet," he said, grinning boyishly, "and you haven't burst into tears yet."

He vanished up the stairs, climbing them two at a time, leaving Hermione to her own devices in the near empty common room. She mulled over what he had just said, quickly making the connection to Harry's brief relationship (if you could call it that) with Cho Chang.

The laughter that followed filled the common room, and prompted those Gryffindors still present to cautious'y back away from the delighted sixth-year witch.

TBC ...

Backwards Compatible
Business as Usual

Breakfast that Saturday morning was as busy as always. As they were less pressed for time over the weekend, most students were taking their time to assemble in the Great Hall. The only table that looked almost fully occupied was Ravenclaw, who were most likely eager to get on with their day and begin studying. The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables were, at most, half full - their students more willing to meander their way down to breakfast.

Hermione, Harry and Neville arrived together, nearly a whole hour later than they normally would during the week. This was one of the rare times that the boys had the opportunity to wait for Hermione, rather than the other way round. It was not often that she indulged herself with a prolonged soak under a hot shower, but this morning she had decided to 'do herself up' as Lavender and Parvati would say.

Today, after all, was a special occasion. The first Defence Association meeting of the new school year. While she normally would settle for being simply presentable, this was an occasion that called for a bit more - especially as they had a fair number of new members looking to join. General consensus amongst the previous members was that Harry would continue in his capacity as their nominal leader, with the members of the so-called 'Ministry Crew' acting as his assistants.

Her idle musings over what Harry had planned for the evening DA class were abruptly derailed as she and her two companions stepped into the Great Hall. The sight which greeted them from the Gryffindor table brought her to a standstill and caused Neville to miss a step. Only Harry did not show any reaction.

"Am I imagining things, or is Ron actually studying?" she asked.

"Without having a big test the next day?" asked Neville.

"It's not so much studying as it is... mmm... research."

Hermione looked at Harry suspiciously. "Meaning?"

"Well, I might have let slip the fact that Colin is going to ask Ginny to Hogsmeade the weekend after Halloween. As a result; Ron might have decided to act the part of overprotective big brother, at which point he might have gone looking for something to make him even more intimidating than he already is," Harry explained as they resumed their course to their house table, where Ron was sitting. "Of course, that's just a theory."

"So, he's looking for a way to scare Colin off?" asked Neville, shaking his head. "Poor lad."

"Poor Ginny," corrected Hermione, "how can he do that to her?"

"Don't worry, I have something planned," Harry told them both.

The trio sat down next to Ron, who had his nose buried in a rather large book. They waited for several moments, but got no reaction from their red-haired friend. From the look of things, he was completely oblivious to their presence, so engrossed in his reading material that he had not even touched the plate of bacon, eggs and sausages piled in front of him.

Eventually Neville tried to catch his attention. "Hey, Ron."

Ron's reply was a mumbled, "Mmm."

"Talkative this morning, isn't he?" Neville observed wryly.

"Watch this," smirked Harry, turning to his best friend. "What're you reading?"

"Mmph."

"Must be very interesting, right?" he asked.

Ron nodded dumbly and turned a page. "Uh-huh."

Harry's grin was contagious, Hermione discovered, as he began to barrage Ron with question after question. "It's totally captured your attention, hasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So you'd rather read that than eat breakfast with the rest of us?" asked Harry, eyeing Ron's untouched breakfast with a sneaky expression. Hermione immediately realized what he was planning to lead Ron into.

"Mmhm."

"Suit yourself," accepted Harry happily. He reached over and grabbed the plate of food, lifting it from Ron's side of the table and setting it down in place of his own breakfast. "Here, let me help you with this. I'll eat it for you."

Ron waved a hand vaguely and nodded, "Thanks."

Hermione exchanged a look with Neville, who was visibly struggling to keep a straight face. She had to admit, she knew how he felt. Who would have believed that Harry, or anyone else for that matter, would ever be able to steal Ron's breakfast out from under his nose without him noticing.

"While I'm at it, can I have your orange juice too?" Harry asked shortly after securing Ron's plate. He began to reach across the table before Ron even answered.

"Uh-huh."

"Thanks again," said Harry, snagging the drink with the same aplomb that he had the food. Setting the orange juice by Ron's former plate, he picked up his fork and speared a sausage. Lifting it up and waving it about in a vague manner, he spoke in an offhand manner, "Oh, by the way, I got a letter from Lucius Malfoy this morning, asking if I want to be adopted into the family. I'm thinking of saying yes."

Ron, still focused solely on the contents of the book he was reading, bobbed his head up and down and muttered, "Great."

Neville was going red in the face as he tried to repress his laughter and Hermione was giggling in a way that would have doubtless worried Ron more than Harry's supposed adoption. Again, it was only Harry that was not reacting to the redhead's token responses, save for a broad and mischievous grin that would have done the Weasley twins proud.

"Glad you agree, old friend. Your support means a lot to me."

"Mmhm."

Harry gave his friends a knowing look and a wink, before saying with perfect nonchalance, "Say, here comes Colin--"

"Where?!"

The reaction was immediate as Ron abruptly dropped the book he had been reading and began fumbling through his pockets. He looked frantically about for several seconds before managing to draw his wand, by which time he began to realize that Colin was nowhere to be seen.

Harry took a sip of his orange juice and nodded amiably to the befuddled Ron. He raised the glass up in a salute when Ron finally turned to face him. "Nice of you to join us for breakfast, old friend."

"Huh?"

Hermione could feel her mouth twitching as she struggled not to laugh. The confused expression on Ron's face was simply too much to ignore. He actually looked rather cute that way - something he would no doubt find rather insulting to hear.

"Now that we've got your attention," continued Harry, "Good morning, Ron."

"Morning, morning, yeah, uh..." Ron looked at the three sitting opposite him, becoming properly aware of their presence for the first time since their arrival. "When did you lot get here?"

"We just sat down," Hermione informed him, laughter threatening to bubble out.

"Really? I didn't notice."

This proved to be the last straw, as Hermione could not stifle a giggle at his reaction. This caused a chain reaction as Neville to burst into laughter. Hermione quickly followed him from giggles into full fledged laughter, which was the trigger that set Harry off. It did not help that Ron looked even more confused by their reaction.

"What? What're you laughing at?"

"N-nothing, Ron," she managed to choke out, "nothing at all."

"Come on, it can't be nothing," he insisted. "Tell me; what's the joke?"

"It's one of those, 'you had to be there' jokes," explained Neville, clutching his sides as he continued to chortle at Ron's cluelessness.

"Oh, okay," Ron accepted. Hermione guessed that he had decided it was easier to do that that continue asking. He tucked his wand back into a pocket and then looked down to see that his plate was missing. "Hey, where'd my breakfast go?"

Naturally this set Hermione, Harry and Neville off again.

"What?"

Unfortunately Ron's clueless expression only served to extend their mirth, which prompted Ron to grow increasingly flustered as his friends practically howled in laughter at his expense.

"Did you guys eat any of those sweets Fred and George sent?"

His attempt to explain their seemingly odd behaviour spurred their good humour on. Neville was almost out of breathe, his arms pressed tightly to his sides as he struggled not to fall from his seat. Hermione was slumped against Harry, her face buried in his shoulder as tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks.

"Come on, stop will you?" Ron pleaded anxiously, looking both worried and embarrassed. He cast a nervous glance around the Great Hall and complained, "People are looking at us funny!" When this did not produce any discernable results, aside from some more giggles on Hermione's part, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear him. "They've gone barking mad."

Finally the laughter began to die down, much to Ron's obvious relief. It took several minutes, interspersed with the occasional bout of giggles, but eventually they returned their seats and resumed their breakfasts. With the spectacle apparently over, those students and teachers that had been watching the encounter, turned back to their attention to their own tables and continued their business as usual.

Business as usual, in the Ministry Crew's case, did not last long. Hermione had just finished piling several steaming rashers of bacon onto her plate when Ginny hurried into the hall. The red haired witch all but ran straight to them, a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands.

Dropping into the seat next to Ron, she eagerly waved the newspaper in front of her. "Harry! You won't believe what's happened."

"Somehow I doubt that," was Harry's calm reply.

"What?" Ginny paused and looked across the table at him for a moment before recalling Harry's experience at the start of the summer, wherein he had gained 'memories' of everything that happened for the next twenty-two years. It was unlikely that anything appearing in the Prophet would be a surprise to him. "Oh, yes, of course."

"So what happened, Gin?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Someone tried to assassinate the Minister of Magic!" Ginny practically crowed, pushing aside a plate of sausages (despite Ron's muffled protest) and set the newspaper down for all to see.

"ATTEMPT ON MINISTER'S LIFE!" read the headline in big, bold print that took up nearly the entire top half of the page. Below the text was a picture of Fudge hurrying into the Ministry building, head down and one hand holding his bowler hat in place as he was jostled between what appeared to be four or more Aurors.

Ron stared with wide eyes and half a sausage sticking precariously out of his mouth. Biting down on the half that was in his mouth, letting the remainder fall to his place, he quickly chewed and swallowed before asking loudly, "What?!"

Neville leaned forward for a better look and asked, "Did they succeed?"

Hermione felt this was a bit of a stupid question, but didn't say anything. If the attempt had been successful then it wouldn't have been called an attempt, would it? And there certainly wouldn't have been a picture of the Ministry scurrying through the doors leading into the Ministry under, presumably armed, escort.

"No, but it was close!" Ginny answered.

"Pity."

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, looking at her best friend in disbelief.

"Well, it is," Harry protested defensively. He waved his knife at the newspaper and continued, "The man's a bumbling idiot that's causing more trouble than he's worth."

"Maybe so, but you really ought not say things like that in public."

"Why not?" he asked, looking a little annoyed. He viciously stabbed a sausage with his fork and grumbled, "He kept saying I was a raving loon all of last year, and nobody slapped him on the wrist for doing it in public."

"Harry--"

"Hold on a second, Nee, I just remembered something," he interrupted, snapping his fingers. Setting his knife and fork down on his plate, Harry took a short gulp from his glass of orange juice and then rose from his seat. "Be back in a minute."

Hermione exchanged puzzled looked with Ron, Ginny and Neville as he walked away in swift strides. The four watched as he made his way over to the Ravenclaw table, heading straight to a bob of... blue hair?

It took several seconds before she realized what she was looking at, but when she did, Hermione struggled to suppress a groan. It was Luna. And for some incomprehensible reason she had somehow dyed her hair blue. Not just any blue, no that would be far too simple. It was Blue, with a capital letter. A brilliant electric blue that seemed to almost glow in the dark. Considering it was morning, that was something of an accomplishment.

"Hey, Luna," she heard Harry greet the... eccentric Ravenclaw. Fortunately the ambient chatter in the Great Hall was fairly low this morning, allowing his voice to carry better. "Might I have a word?"

"Good morning, Harry," Luna returned, turning to regard him with a hazy smile. "What can I do for you?"

"This is for your own good, Doc," Harry informed her seriously. He then reached down and, to Hermione's horror, hoisted Luna into the air. Swinging her up and around he slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder, ignoring her startled squeak, and then proceeded to march back to the Gryffindor table. Fortunately Luna was wearing a pair of slacks this morning, rather than a dress or skirt.

Absolute silence dominated the Great Hall as everyone, student and teacher, watched in shocked amazement. Even the Slytherins failed to make any of the expected snide comments. Harry had been acting a little out of character over the past two weeks, but this was extreme even for him. The situation lasted until Luna apparently recovered from her surprise and said the first thing that came to mind.

"You have a nice arse, Harry."

She emphasised this remark by reaching down and giving the aforementioned arse a pinch. Harry froze in place, a blush rising to his cheeks. Hermione, even though she wasn't involved, felt her own cheeks grow warm for some reason - though she hoped to cover up this fact by adopting a disapproving glare in the general direction of Harry and his cargo.

Harry recovered from Luna's observation by returning the favour and lightly smacking her arse, eliciting a squawk of protest. "So do you, luv, so d'you."

In short order Harry had returned to the Gryffindor table and deftly deposited Luna next to Ginny. After making sure she was steady on her feet, he crossed back to Hermione's side of the table and resumed his place by her side.

"You smack hard, Harry," Luna observed, ruefully rubbing her rear.

"You like it that way," he countered.

Luna seemed to consider that for a moment, shooting Harry an indecipherable look, and nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Take a seat, Doc," Harry said, gesturing at the empty place next to Ginny.

"Er, Harry, not that I'm complaining or anything," said Ron, who had completely abandoned his breakfast in favour of staring alternately at Harry and then Luna, "but why'd you carry Luna here?"

"I want her to have breakfast with us."

"We more or less gathered that much, Harry," Hermione sniped, unable to resist the surge of irrational jealous. She knew that Luna was the only one of those present, aside from Harry, who had survived all twenty-two years of the future Harry remembered. She had been worried that this might affect how he related to the Ravenclaw girl and now those doubts were beginning to rise to the surface. "What we want to know is why you invited her to breakfast."

"She's an interesting conversationalist."

"I am?"

"You have no idea," Harry chuckled, "Now sit down and start eating, Doc, we have a busy day ahead of us."

Luna finally demurred, sweeping her shocking blue hair back, and settled into place next to Ginny. Harry grinned and quickly heaped a small tower of bacon and pancakes onto her plate - apparently he knew what she liked for breakfast, much to Hermione's displeasure. He hadn't filled her plate when they had sat down, though to be fair he had been busy annexing Ron's breakfast at the time.

Picking up the copy of the Prophet that she had set down earlier, Ginny turned and displayed it to her newly arrived companion. "So, Luna, what d'you think about the assassination attempt on the Minister?"

"Poorly executed, from what my father says," Luna assessed, reaching for a jug of syrup which she proceeded to pour over her stack of pancakes.

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione, looking at her in disbelief.

Luna glanced up, the normally faraway expression gone and her blue eyes glinting like chips of artic ice. "A well executed assassination attempt would have been successful."

"I can't believe you just said that," Hermione shook her head and dropped her knife and fork to her plate. "You sound as if you're disappointed it failed."

"I am."

Even Ginny seemed alarmed by this admission and exclaimed, "What?!"

"Minister Fudge is incompetent," Luna explained, her voice never wavering. She could have been talking about the weather she was so calm. "Unless he is removed from office, the Ministry is unlikely to operate as efficiently as it could. Since he obviously refuses to stand down and let someone more competent replace him, forcibly removing him seems to be the simplest and fastest option available."

"That - that's a rather cold view to take, Luna," stammered Ginny. "I never thought you could be so ruthless."

"We're at war, in all but name, Ginny," Luna asserted, turning to look at her friend with possibly the most serious expression any of them had ever seen from her. "If the Minister has to be sacrificed to save a hundred lives, so be it."

"I can't agree with that," Hermione protested.

"Why not?" asked Luna, turning her attention to her. She arched an eyebrow, also dyed electric blue, and stated, "One of the lives saved could be your own. Or your parents. Or Ginny's."

Further conversation was not possible as Colin Creevey chose this moment to appear from behind Ginny and Luna. Completely oblivious to the mounting tension, not to mention the oddly eager expression on Ron's face, he launched himself to the fore with his usual cheer and enthusiasm.

"Hi, Harry!" he greeted with a beaming smile. His hero worship all but blinded him to Hermione and Neville's presence on either side of Harry. In contrast, he almost immediately noticed the red haired witch that he was almost leaning over. "Hi, Ginny."

Right then Ron jumped to his feet, waving his wand in front of his face. A moment later Ron's head exploded in crackling red and orange flames, the skin and flesh melting away to leave only a charred black skull.

"IF YOU TOUCH MY SISTER, I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER!! YOUR LIFE WILL BECOME HELL ON EARTH!!" the newly appeared flaming demon skull head roared in a voice that echoed throughout the entire castle and caused the cutlery on the table to rattle. Ron bore down on the petrified fifth-year and demanded, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING, CREEVEY!? DO YOU!?"

Colin reacted intelligently and fainted.

"Ron, you egotistical prat!" shouted Ginny, jumping to her feet and smacking her brother on the top of his head, ignoring the blazing fire that enveloped it. It was obviously a magical illusion, so she had no reason to fear being burned. "What the devil did you do that for?"

"He was coming on to you!" said Ron, defending his actions even as his voice and head returned to normal. The dancing red flames remained for a moment before dissipating, making it almost seem that his hair was alive.

Ginny stomped a foot and crossed her arms. "He was not!"

"Well, he would have!"

Hermione, who was watching with as much fascination as everyone else in the Great Hall, leaned close to Harry and asked in a soft whisper, "I gather this didn't happen originally?"

Harry smirked in response, "It might have. Who really knows?"

"Nice illusion, Ronald," complimented Luna, prodding Colin's unconscious form with her foot. "Good result."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" grinned Ron, ignoring his sister's protestations to the contrary, and returned to his seat before digging into his much neglected breakfast.

"Wha? What happened?" groaned Colin, who was starting to come around. He raised himself up onto his elbows and looked blearily around, apparently confused as to how he had ended up on the floor.

"Something rather like this, Colin," explained Luna, drawing her wand from where it was tucked behind her ear. With an abbreviated wave she somehow managed to duplicate the same effect Ron had used only a minute ago. Blazing blue-white flames erupted around her head, which was quickly reduced to a charred skull that glared down at young wizard, who was now frozen in place with expression of terror on his face.

"LAY SO MUCH AS A FINGER ON GINNY AND YOU WILL SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY!!" she bellowed in a credible imitation of Ron's earlier earth shaking roar. "IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR, YOUNG MAN!?"

Colin once again reacted intelligently and fainted.

"Oh god, Luna," moaned Ginny, dropping her head into her hands, "not you too."

"He was going to come on to you," explained Luna, dissipating her Ravenclaw coloured version of the flaming demon skull head. Howls of laughter followed on her statement, mostly from Harry and Neville, who were almost falling out of their seats. Even Hermione, who was trying to be sympathetic to her friend's situation, could not keep all her giggles quiet.

Ron, who had paused in the consumption of his breakfast, looked at Luna with an uplifted expression and mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "I think I'm beginning to like that girl."

-oOo-

Albus Dumbledore nodded his thanks when the Minister's secretary, Miss Lemon, informed him that he could go right through. He had known her since the days she had studied at Hogwarts, through all her years as Cornelius Fudge's secretary and the years before that when she had served in a similar capacity for the previous Minister of Magic.

"Ah, Dumbledore, good of you to come," Fudge greeted him, rising up from behind his desk and coming round to give Dumbledore's hands an enthusiastic shake.

"Cornelius," he acknowledged, not for the first time wondering why he had to put up with this. "I trust you are well. Not too unsettled by yesterday's experience?"

"A bit rattled, I must confess," Fudge admitted, returning to his plush seat. He waved an accommodating hand at the almost equally plush chairs opposite him and offered, "Please, sit down."

"Thank you."

Dumbledore graciously settled into the chair on the right, trying not to groan as his aching bones protested the motion. While still quite spry for a wizard his age, he had to admit that he was not half as flexible as he had been even a decade earlier. Truth be told, he felt as though he had aged those ten years in the last year alone.

Fudge continued his blustering speech once Dumbledore had seated himself. "Yes, as I said; yesterday's incident was rather off putting, but isolated incidents like that are one of the perils one has to face when assuming such a role as that of Minister of Magic."

For several moments the aging headmaster considered changing the plan and simply killing the Minister outright. After all, would anyone really miss the man? He had been under more stress, mostly self imposed, in the last year than during the entirety of Voldemort's last reign of terror. He, albeit grudgingly, had to admit that removing Cornelius Fudge from the equation would cut that stress by half.

Sadly though, common sense prevailed and he decided to continue with the plan he and the Order had concocted shortly after hearing Harry's demand to have Fudge removed from office.

"And what of the other attempt on your life, on Thursday evening?" he asked, keeping his voice level and innocent while watching Fudge's expression closely. "Another isolated incident?"

"What?" Fudge started, looking at him in shock. "How do you know about that? I thought we'd managed to keep what happened quiet."

"You did, but I have my means."

"But how?"

"When you live as long as I have, Cornelius, you just know," Dumbledore demurred, not wanting to let on the real reason how he knew every single detail about both attempts on the Minister's life. "That and I can see the Auror's report on your desk in front of me."

"Ah, well, yes..." Fudge stammered, flushing red as he hurriedly grabbed the offending report and dropped it into the nearest available drawer. Clearing his throat and trying not to look as flustered as he no doubt felt, he continued, "I trust you will be discrete about Thursday's events."

"Of course," Dumbledore inclined his head.

"Good, good, I knew you would understand."

"Yes, we certainly wouldn't want the public knowing such things."

"Exactly!" Fudge exclaimed, sitting up straight and bobbing his head up and down. He looked every bit the pompous ass that Dumbledore knew him to be. "Why upset them unnecessarily?"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, his host completely missing the sarcasm as he spoke. "Quite true. Heavens forbid they ever lose faith in the Ministry's ability to protect its own."

"So, Albus, what brings you to my office?" asked Fudge, lazily settling back in his chair. "Surely you are not that concerned about my safety, regardless of this morning's article in the Prophet."

"As a matter of fact, Cornelius, I fear your safety is the very reason I'm here," he responded with as much gravity as he could muster, which was considerable.

"What?" Fudge asked, sitting upright again.

"It has come to my attention that Lord Voldemort-- oh, for... really Cornelius, I am very much beginning to tire of how people are so utterly terrified to speak or hear his name," Dumbledore complained, his attempt to follow the script lost as his annoyance made itself clear.

"He is the greatest dark wizard in centuries! A healthy dose of fear is only fitting!" protested Fudge hotly.

"Voldemort," he paused to allow Fudge time to recover from the inevitable flinch, "may be a formidable dark lord, but he is still as human as the rest of us."

"He cheated death! How human is that?" Fudge immediately countered. He waved his arms about in emphasis, almost knocking a pile of parchment over as he did so. "You were there when he appeared in the Ministry three months ago - did that, that thing look human to you?"

Sighing in defeat and acknowledgement that this old argument was not getting anywhere, Dumbledore decided to conceded for the moment. This was not the reason he was here for. Gathering his calm and finding his centre, something any accomplished Occlumens could do, he adopted a reasonable and conciliatory tone of voice. "Whether he is human or not is irrelevant at the moment, Cornelius. We have far greater concerns to deal with."

"Yes, yes, quite true, quite true," Fudge agreed with a brisk nodding of his head. Dumbledore found himself stifling the small amount of annoyance that rose up at how often the Minister repeated himself. "So, what were we talking about before that disturbing topic?"

"It has come to my attention that the Dark Lord," he did not say Voldemort's name so as not to upset Fudge again, "is behind the recent assassination attempts."

Dumbledore took a small amount of satisfaction in watching the blood drain from Fudge's face as that statement sank in.

Fudge swallowed convulsively and whispered, "What?"

Nodding gravely, part of the act, Dumbledore confirmed the information he had just imparted. "My agents have reported that he wishes to bring about your death."

"But, but why? Why me ? What would he gain by killing me ?" asked Fudge, the panic already beginning to rise as he stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes.

"Apparently he hopes that killing you will produce something of a power struggle within the Ministry, allowing him an opportunity to seize power," Dumbledore suggested, making sure to present an aura of unswayable calm to contrast against the Minister's sudden turmoil. "At the very least, it will destabilize any efforts against his second rise to power."

"This... this... but..." Fudge trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. He swallowed again before taking a deep and steadying breath before asking, "Are you sure?"

"Fairly." Dumbledore resisted the urge to smirk. Considering who it was that had organised the attacks, it would have been rather hard for him not to be certain about it. "I find it rather an odd coincidence that you find yourself the target of two assassination attempts in less than a week when prior to now, you have never once experienced anything of the sort."

"You... you could be right."

The two sat in silence for several minutes as Fudge mulled over this revelation. Dumbledore spent the time mentally cataloguing the various pairs of socks he had. His attention returned to the Minister as Fudge began to shift in place. Watching closely he was surprised to see him nodding thoughtfully.

"It does make sense, doesn't it?" Fudge asked rhetorically. He pulled nervously on his lower lip as he continued, "I can't believe I didn't realize it before now, though I did suspect... It's not surprising really, considering the importance of the position I hold."

Outwardly Dumbledore was the picture of serene agreement, but mentally he was repeatedly banging his head on the desktop in front of him. He should not have been surprised, he supposed, but he had not thought Fudge's capacity for self delusion would be so completely without bounds.

Having begun to shake himself free of his earlier discomfort, Fudge gestured at the silver tea set sitting to one side of his desk. "Tea? Crumpet?" he offered.

"Just tea, thank you," Dumbledore accepted, the sinking feeling that he would have to go to plan B settling into the pit of his stomach. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. It was far too risky for his liking.

"You take it with honey, am I right?" asked Fudge.

"Indeed. You have a good memory," Dumbledore complimented.

"Naturally," Fudge smirked, almost literally swelling with pride, "it's one of the requirements for the job. A necessity, really. One of the many abilities that no doubt cause the Dark Lord to consider me a threat to his schemes."

Taking the offered cup of tea, Dumbledore watched patiently as Fudge settled his own cup down and reached across to take one of the dozen odd crumpets sitting next to the teapot. His voice dry enough to make a Muggle martini, Dumbledore commented, "I had a feeling you would think that."

"But of course," Fudge readily agreed. "Great minds think alike, after all."

"How true."

Dumbledore silently considered the fact that he and the Minister thought nothing alike. Thankfully. The man's ego was on par with his ability to delude himself.

Fudge sipped from his tea and asked, "You realize what this means of course?"

"Please, enlighten me."

"I shall not bow down before him. I shall not yield!" Fudge exclaimed, smacking the top of his desk for emphasis. "Here I am and here I remain!"

Mentally cursing Fudge's mule-like stubborn streak and pride, Dumbledore kept the grimace from his face and tried to look moderately impressed by the Minister's statement. "That's a very... determined stance for you to take, Cornelius."

Fudge nodded authoritively. "Of course! I'm the Minister of Magic, not some low-level clerk that caves in at the slightest hint of a threat."

"The voters will undoubtedly be impressed by you dedication," Dumbledore supplied, having a sneaking suspicion to the real reason for the Minister's determination to weather what was to come.

"I certainly hope so, it's elections next year," Fudge agreed, taking another sip of his tea. He settled the cup down and regarded Dumbledore intently. He honestly believed what he was saying. "The people, witches and wizards everywhere, need to know that they can rely on me to look after their interests in such matters. If the Minister of Magic can't make a stand, who can?"

"Commendable."

"We need to send a message to the Dark Lord, Dumbledore. Show him that we're willing to oppose his machinations," Fudge declared, picking up his tea and taking another sip. Keeping the cup in his hand he thoughtfully mused, "Perhaps a press conference..."

"I think that's a terrible idea," Dumbledore deadpanned.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" asked Fudge, curiously.

"The Dark Lord does not appreciate defiance of any sort," warned Dumbledore sternly. "If you oppose him publicly, he will redouble his efforts to have you dealt with."

"Perhaps, but now that I know his plan, I can make preparations," Fudge argued. He picked up the crumpet he had selected earlier and held it up to take a bite. "Increased security, more Aurors in my entourage..."

Dumbledore immediately leapt into action, jumping up from his seat with all the energy and speed his aged body could muster. Stretching across the Minister's desk, he swung his hand and knocked the crumpet away from Fudge's mouth, sending it flying across the office.

The action, so abrupt and unexpected, startled the Minister even more than the supposed revelation that it was Voldemort seeking to assassinate him. Jerking back, Fudge upset his teacup, which spilled into his lap, causing him to jump to his feet and gasp as the hot liquid scalded his crotch and thighs.

"Dammit, Dumbledore, what did you do that for?!" he bellowed angrily, swabbing at his soaked trousers with a handkerchief he drew from his suit pocket. He glared across the desk and demanded, "What the hell are you playing at?!"

"I am playing at saving your life, Cornelius, that's what!" Dumbledore snapped, the adrenalin from his rushed movements causing him to momentarily lose his normally collected aura. His statement brought Fudge to a halt and left the Minister staring at him in surprise, his dripping trousers forgotten.

"Ex - excuse me?

Dumbledore motioned at the fallen crumpet, now located on the other side of the Minister's office, and then at the others still on the tray. His explanation was succinct. "Poison."

Once again the blood drained from Fudge's face. "P-poison?!"

Drawing his wand from within his robes, Dumbledore waved it over the tray of crumpets. He made especially sure to speak the incantation out loud, so that Fudge would know what he was doing. After the crumpets began to glow a soft, but bloody red, he lowered his wand and allowed the spell to dissipate.

"Very devious. You're lucky I was here, otherwise..."

"But, but poison? In a crumpet?" asked Fudge, apparently having trouble believing it.

Dumbledore shook his head and indicated the empty cup that had fallen to the floor near Fudge's feet. "No, not just the crumpets, but in the tea as well."

Fudge's eyes grew so wide with alarm that they threatened to almost pop out of their sockets as he stared at Dumbledore in horror. "The tea! But we've already--"

"Calm yourself, Cornelius, there's nothing to worry about," Dumbledore skilfully interrupted, not want to have to deal with a completely panicked Minister. "Well, besides the obvious, of course."

"Nothing to worry about!" Fudge shouted, "We could both be dying this very moment!"

"Not unless we eat one of the crumpets," he said calmly, hoping to forestall Fudge's imminent panic attack. He already had a slight headache from all the yelling. Fortunately, the comment was enough to slow Fudge's mounting tirade.

"The crumpets? I don't understand."

This was something Dumbledore did not find very surprising. If fact, he wasn't too sure that Fudge would understand even after he tried to explain. Still, he supposed he had better get to it, before the Minister started losing what little calm he had.

"A binary poison, Cornelius," he started, moving back to his chair and slumping tiredly in it. "Two elements, both of which are perfectly harmless on their own. It's only lethal when they are combined..."

"By drinking the tea and eating a crumpet!" Fudge exclaimed, smacking a fist into a hand as he made the connection.

"Precisely," confirmed Dumbledore.

"But how?" asked Fudge, visibly puzzled. For a moment the headmaster thought he was referring to how the poison worked and was preparing himself for a lengthy explanation, when Fudge continued, "My secretary always brews my tea herself - and I can't picture her as a Death Eater."

"No, I too doubt it was Miss Lemon that applied the poison, but that would not be hard to get around," Dumbledore immediately agreed. He did not, after all, want to falsely implicate an innocent bystander in this scheme. "Your fondness for crumpets with your morning tea is well remarked upon, Cornelius. You are, in fact, the only person on this floor that has them on a regular basis. As is the fact that you always use the same tea set."

"It was my grandmother's."

"Something not too difficult to find out," he continued, accepting the slight interruption with a deferring nod of his head. "Doubtless the poison was applied to the teapot, or possibly the teacups, sometime during the night. Lacing the crumpets would have been just as easy."

"The butter!" exclaimed Fudge, once again smacking his fist into his open palm. He stepped around the desk so that he was standing by Dumbledore and excitedly explained, "I always have fresh butter with my crumpets - they could have added the poison to that at the same time when they poisoned the tea!"

"In all likelihood."

Fudge returned to his side of the desk and slumped into his chair, his tea drenched trousers completely forgotten. He was frowning heavily as he regarded his grandmother's tea set and the tray of crumpets. "This... this was a close one."

"No doubt there will be even closer ones, Cornelius," Dumbledore advised, trying to stress the fact that Fudge's life was on the line. He hoped this might be enough to dissuade the Minister from his planned stance of open defiance.

"You think so?" asked Fudge, tugging on his lower lip as he considered it.

"Voldemort is not know for giving up, Cornelius," Dumbledore reminded him. The fact that the Dark Lord had nothing to do with this was not important, only that Fudge believed so. That the Minister was so preoccupied that he did not even flinch at the mention of Voldemort's name, was hopefully a good sign. "He will try again. As often as necessary, until he succeeds."

"Well..." Fudge licked his lips nervously before leaning forward and placing his palms flat against the top of his desk. His eyes held an almost admirable determination and an unexpected bravery as he nodded decisively. "Well... let him try."

Either that or he was just to proudly stupid to know better. Dumbledore found himself silently cursing this turn of events and wondering if just maybe it was time to retire.

-oOo-

Harry was both surprised and relieved as he took in the sight of the Room of Requirements. He was surprised, because he had not thought the room could make itself as large as it had, nearly as big as the Great Hall. He was relieved, because right now he really needed the room to be that size, if only so that everyone could have enough room to practice in.

It was half an hour after dinner and the first DA meeting of the school year was about to begin. They had gathered in the Room of Requirements, coming in groups of twos and threes and sometimes more.

There were a good many more people than there had been the last year, nearly thirty in all. The increased attendance had come about through an idea he had proposed the previous week. All the newcomers had been brought by previous members, chosen because they were trusted. Naturally there were no Slytherins present and, despite the Sorting Hat's wishes to the contrary, Harry doubted there ever would be.

"Quite a turn out," he observed from where he was standing near the door of the room, he and his friends gathered in a loose group to greet the various newcomers as they arrived.

"You sound surprised," commented Hermione.

"There weren't this many the first time."

"I wonder why," pondered Neville, who was looking over the small mob of witches and wizards that had gathered here for instruction.

Luna, whose hair was still as electrically blue as it had been at breakfast and who had been talking in a hushed voice with Ginny, spoke up, "No doubt due to Harry's influences on the timeline."

Ron looked at her in confusion and asked, "What d'you mean?"

"My knowing things about the future has changed the present," explained Harry.

"If last year was anything to go by, you probably weren't very eager to continue the DA this year," said Ginny, nodding in understanding.

"Only this time you were," added Hermione.

"And you asked people to bring friends," summed up Neville.

"Yeah, you're right about that," Harry agreed, still gazing over the crowd. Despite the fact that he had known there would be more, he was still a bit surprised by how many students had decided to join up. "First time round, it was the same crowd from last year."

"What about Cho Chang?" Luna suddenly asked, making a show of looking around for the Ravenclaw Seeker and this year's head girl. "I don't see her anywhere."

"Good thing too," declared Ron staunchly. He folded his arms across his chest, a scowl marring his brow as he grumbled dangerously, "If she was here, I'd toss her out on her arse."

Hermione turned to the redhead and pointed an angry finger at him as she admonished, "Ron! She's the head girl!"

Ron matched her disapproving gaze with a defiant one of his own and countered, "She also brought that little snitch into the club last year. What was her name? Marie?"

"Close enough," said Ginny, easing her way between the two.

Hoping to help head off one of the almost inevitable fights that occurred whenever Hermione and Ron got going, Neville pointed at his risk and asked, "I think it's about time, don't you, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't get a chance to watch his friends have one of their spats. The feedback from his future 'memories' always left him feeling happily nostalgic whenever they did. Besides which, Hermione seldom looked better than when she was worked up. Glancing down at his gleaming titanium wristwatch, he confirmed that half an hour had passed since the close of dinner. "Time to get started."

Reluctantly, but knowing he had to, Harry separated from the rest of the Ministry Crew and began to make his way to the 'front' of the Room of Requirements. The room, unlike the Great Hall, was perfectly square, so none of the side was distinguished from the others, but the end opposite the entrance had had been declared the nominal 'front' of the room.

As he walked, quietly slipping between the scattered groups of students, he could overhear snatches of conversation as he passed by.

"So, how did you get involved in all this?" he heard one Ravenclaw ask another.

"Lovegood," came the reply, spoken with a weary resignation.

"Ouch," winced the first Ravenclaw and patted the second on the shoulder.

Harry almost paused to ask how Luna had talked the poor girl, whose name he thought was Lydia, in coming to the meeting. He was sure, knowing Luna, that it would no doubt prove highly amusing. In the end, however, he continued forward with nothing more than a slight pause to indicate that he had been eavesdropping.

Reaching the front of the room, he pulled out his wand and fired some bright red and gold sparks into the air. A few loud bangs, rather reminiscent of Muggle guns being fired, completed the effect and ensured that he caught everyone's full attention.

"Can everyone settle down, please?," he requested as all heads turned in his direction and an excited rush of whispers spread across the room. "We're ready to begin."

Slowly a quiet, but still excited, hush fell over the students, who had crowded around where he was standing. The only ones not pressing towards him were the Ministry Crew, as well as one or two of the older students, especially those who had been in the group the previous year.

Staring at the veritable sea of eager faces waiting for him to do something, Harry found himself wondering why he hadn't tried to talk Hermione into doing this part. He hated having the attention of so many people focused on him like this, despite the fact that he seemed destined to live his entire life in the spotlight.

"Welcome to the first DA lesson of the year," he began, trying to project his voice so that everyone could hear him and hoping that he did not sound as reluctant as he felt. With a fake smile plastered on his face he matched eyes with several old members of the DA as he spoke, "To those who were with us before; welcome back." Keeping his mask in place, he made a point of then gazing over those faces which had not been here before. "To everyone joining us for the first time; glad you could be here."

Surprisingly enough his opening statement was greeted with a loud and enthusiastic applause, which caused him to glance at his friends, seeking guidance. He did not consider himself a natural leader and nor did his future self. It was a burden he would be happy to do without.

Unfortunately his friends in the Ministry Crew seemed to think he actually knew what he was doing, and merely responded to his glance with gestures of encouragement. Hermione smiled happily at him and nodded her approval of his speech. Ron was grinning broad enough to show his molars, giving him a thumbs up, while Luna settled for an exaggerated wink.

With no help coming from that quarter, Harry decided to do the gracious thing. He would ignore the applause, which was already tapering off, and carry on as if nothing had happened.

"For those of you who are new, I'm going to explain a few things before we begin," he continued, reaching down to dig around in his trouser pocket. Finding what he was looking for he pulled it out and held it up above his head so that everyone could see. "Each member of the DA has a fake Galleon, courtesy of Hermione, which we use to pass on the date and time of the next meeting. It's a lot easier than posting notices or relying on word of mouth."

"More discrete as well," piped an older Ravenclaw he didn't recognise.

"That too," he readily agreed, glad that they didn't expect him to do all the talking. Returning the fake Galleon to its pocket, he carried on, "Anyway, Hermione's going to be taking a list of all our new members during class and will make your Galleons before the next lesson."

"Actually, Harry, I have an idea about that."

"Oh?" Harry looked at Hermione in surprise when she spoke up. She had not mentioned anything to him earlier, so he was curious to hear what she had planned.

"I don't think we should be using Galleons," she said.

"Why not?" asked Ron, looking at her with a combination of confusion and frustration. "I like having a Galleon on me, even if I can't ever use it."

Hermione huffed and adopted the stance Harry immediately recognised as the one she used whenever getting ready to deliver a lecture of some sort. "Galleons aren't the most convenient thing to carry around all the time. If it's not actually in your pocket, chances are you're going to miss any messages that come through."

"But it gets hot when there's a message," protested Neville.

"Which isn't much use if you're not holding it," countered Terry Boot, who was nodding thoughtfully, along with several other Ravenclaws standing around him. "Hermione's right about that."

Hermione smiled, happy at the quick acceptance of the point she had made, and then elaborated her plans. "I was thinking of making something we could always have on us. A necklace maybe."

Ron glared at her, crossing his arms and scowling, "I am not going to wear a necklace!"

Luna put a calming hand on Ron's shoulder, preventing him from getting too excited over the idea. It was something she and Ginny had been doing on a regular basis since the start of term. "Calm down, Ronald. I'm sure we can think of something."

"Maybe a bracelet or a ring?" suggested Neville helpfully.

"It would have to be discrete too, otherwise people might notice," put in Susan Bones. "I mean, if all of us started wearing the same kind of jewellery..."

"We can discuss it later," Harry declared, causing everyone to focus on him once again. He did not really want to be the one leading the night's discussion, but felt that they should be talking about matters slightly more important than how they would keep in touch with each other. After all, Umbridge's reign of terror and incompetence was over, so the need for secrecy was somewhat superfluous.

"Now, originally we formed the DA as a study group to combat that cow Umbridge and her idiot book and theory only teaching method," he said, giving a short history of the group for anyone who hadn't been told it already. He noticed most of the students quietly grumbling at the mention of Umbridge's name. He then moved on to address one of the concerns that had been brought up about running the DA this year. "Our new Defence professor; Smythe-White, will certainly be better than Umbridge. But, as the saying goes, practice makes perfect."

Most of the Gryffindors were nodded in perfect agreement, as well as a few of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Whether they were agreeing that Smythe-White could not possibly be worse than Umbridge, or agreeing that practice did indeed make perfect, he could not tell.

"Umbridge didn't teach us anything--"

"Yeah, she did - that the Ministry are a bunch of twits!" shouted someone in the back of the crowd, eliciting a few laughs and calls of agreement.

"--and I have a feeling Smythe-White is going to be concentrating mostly on defensive magic," Harry continued, ignoring the slight interruption.

"What's wrong with that?"

"A good offence is often the best defence," Harry answered with complete sincerity. This was something he believed in more than anything else. After all, if you spent all your time defending yourself instead of fighting back, you were unlikely to turn the battle around in your favour.

"The idea I'm proposing is that the best way to survive a fight is to know how to fight. You don't need to be good at it. I don't expect you to give the Aurors a run for their Galleons. I don't expect each of you to bring down a dozen Death Eaters without breaking a sweat. I don't expect anything so unrealistic."

Feeling restless, Harry began to pace back and forth. Fortunately the room was large enough to provide him with a nice, large stretch to pace around on.

"I don't expect you to help me save the world, though I'd appreciate the help," he told his audience, not really watching to gauge their reactions. "What I'm aiming for is giving you enough of a chance to save your skins when the shit hits the fan. Knowing what to do in a fight is the first step in surviving that fight."

"You want us to run away?" someone asked incredulously.

"Sometimes that's the best option," he replied, not pausing in his pacing. He stopped and swivelled on a heel, beginning the return journey to where he had started from. "If a dozen Death Eaters are trying to kill you, standing your ground and trying to fight back is only going to get you killed. The first thing you need to know about fighting is choosing which fights to take part in - when to fight and when not to fight."

"But what if you're not alone? What if they're after your friends as well?"

"Yeah, should you still run then?"

This time Harry did pause, actually coming to a complete halt as he considered it. His attention was entirely focused on the patch of carpet just in front of his left foot. Considering the carpet, or at least appearing to, his mind's eye brought back images of the future, of Dumbledore telling him that attempting to rescue Hermione from the deprivations of the Death Eaters would have been too great a risk.

Yet despite the hatred he held for those words, despite the pain they had caused him, he understood the necessity of it. Decisions like that were not taken lightly, nor made easily, nor forgotten during the night. It was hypocritical of him to judge Dumbledore for deciding to leave Hermione to her fate. He knew this because, at one point or another in the twenty-two years to come, he had made that same decision himself.

His hands impulsively clenched into tight fists, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms. Clenching his jaw and steeling himself against the turbulent emotions caused by this topic, he looked up and stared blankly ahead. He could vaguely make out that the assembled students were watching him closely, obviously confused by his reaction and waiting for an answer.

"Sometimes..." he began, the words almost sticking in his throat, "Sometimes you need to know when to cut your losses. You have to be able to assess a situation and realize that nothing you do will help - that trying will only endanger your own life. Better one of you makes it out alive than none of you."

A sombre silence greeted his proclamation. Harry finally turned his attention to see that he was being regarded with a variety of expressions, ranging from understanding, to shock, to horror and a whole gamut of other emotions. Deliberately avoiding looking in the direction of the Ministry Crew, he waited for someone to say something.

"Would you really do that?" asked one young Hufflepuff witch.

Harry did not answer for a long time. He did not know what his answer would be. When he did finally speak, the word was all but whispered and only those closest to him had a chance to hear it.

"No."

He stood tall and looked out at his fellow students, a determined expression settling over his face as he decided that this time, he would not accept a compromise.

"I live by a simple rule; everybody comes home or nobody comes home," he stated calmly, remembering how his future self would one day say something similar. This time he intended to keep to his word. His voice was steady, starting out quiet and soft, slowly rising in volume and intensity as he spoke. "I'll die before I leave anyone behind. If they're too injured to walk or run on their own feet, then I'll carry them myself. If they're captured, then I'll move the heavens and the earth itself with my bare hands in order to rescue them. No one is expendable! No one is an acceptable loss!"

It took a moment before Harry realized exactly what he had just said, not to mention how he had said it. Hoping that he had not just made a complete ass of himself, he looked at the crowd of students that were watching him avidly. To his surprise, they were exchanging glances and apparently nodding in approval of his words.

He almost cussed at the realization that he had probably just undone his earlier words of caution with the little speech he had just given. He could already see the looks of determination settling in place on one face after another. Most would not hold onto this resolution for very long, but it was disturbing to know that they might try.

Harry knew, more than any of them, how greatly outmatched they were in relation to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It was a lesson he had learnt most painfully and at great cost that night the Department of Mysteries. Regardless of what his friends told him and his acceptance of it, some small part of him still blamed himself for Sirius' death. He did not want more guilt weighing on his shoulder, should anyone else be hurt, or worse, as a result of his fight with Voldemort.

A glance at his friends in the Ministry Crew was enough to make him forget chiding himself. Only they knew the true meaning behind his word, how much they meant to him. Hermione more than the others, thanks to their budding relationship and the few conversations they had surrounding it.

Giving a brief smile to let her, and the others, know that he was okay, he cleared his throat and spoke up in a brisk voice designed to capture everyone's attention. "Enough of all the depressing stuff," he declared once all eyes were focused on him again, "You came here to learn something, so let's get cracking."

He went on to explain that he planned for this meeting to be used mostly for evaluation purposes. From this he would decided how to structure following meetings, grouping people of similar skill and ability together. This had not been necessary last year, with the DA being as small as it had been. Now it had more than trebled in size, including not only more people, but a good number of younger students as well.

Grouping second and third year students with sixth and seventh years would simply not work. Harry might have managed to learn and master the Patronus Charm in his third year, but with all due modesty, he had to admit he was better at things like that than most other wizards. He could not expect the younger members to do the same.

After having everyone split up into groups of five or six, he then assigned the original members of the DA to work in pairs with each group. They were to start off by talking, finding out what the newcomers knew or thought they knew. From there they would proceed onto the more practical aspect, the groups having mock duels amongst themselves as the more experienced members supervised.

Only Harry did not have a partner or a specific group. Instead he wandered from one group to another, looking to gain a more general idea of the DA's overall abilities.

It did not take long to organise and, to his surprise, everything went quite smoothly. He spent most of the first half of the session with those groups made up from younger students, the few second and third-years that had braved joining.

This time was used making sure they didn't feel out of place, or as if they were intruding, in a club made up mostly of older students. He also gave short summaries of what he planned to teach them; everything from simple Summoning Charms to the far more daunting Patronus.

"Harry, do we really need to know the Patronus Charm?"

"Hopefully not, but it's better to know it and not need it than need it and not know it," he answered the second-year Gryffindor witch that had posed the question.

"Dementors are just as dangerous as Death Eaters, Keegan," added Neville. "Maybe even more so."

"What d'you mean?" asked a third-year Ravenclaw boy.

"A Dementor's mere presence can be enough to render you helpless," answered Ginny, who was partnering Neville as this group's supervisors.

"Ginny's right," Harry elaborated, seeing that the younger student's weren't quite following. "You can dodge or block curses and hexes. You can't dodge the feelings Dementors make when they're nearby."

A bright flash of violet light to one side, accompanied by a crack like thunder, brought the discussion to an abrupt halt. Harry turned to the source of the disturbance and quickly identified it as the group of fourth and fifth-years than Ron and Luna had been assigned to. Somehow he had a feeling he knew what had just happened.

"Harry!" cried one of the students, sounding a little panicked.

Harry walked over to where the group was standing, Ginny trailing behind him. He could tell that Luna was doing all right, as her blue hair was rather hard to miss. It was Ron's mop of red that he could not spot. The reason for this became apparent when he joined the small circle of students clustered around Ron's prone body.

Ginny gave an alarmed gasp and dropped to her knees by her brother's side. "Ron?"

Harry looked around for and explanation and asked, "What happened?"

"Luna," chorused six voices as their fingers pointed at the blue-haired witch.

"Nice shot, Doc," Harry complimented wryly.

"Thank you," Luna acknowledged in a sing-song voice, stepping up and kneeling down so that she was pressing against Ginny's back. She leaned over and bopped Ron on the head, attempting to rouse him.

"I think she killed him," muttered someone.

Luna looked up and gave a brilliant smile that was at the same time somewhat smug and satisfied. Her voice lost is sing-song quality and assumed an almost seductive purr as she placed both hands on Ginny's slender shoulders. "One down, five to go."

Harry looked at her, understanding the meaning behind her words. He had started things this morning, when he had carried Luna across the hall to join them for breakfast. He had suspected, after the revelations of what was to come, that she would decide to be aggressive in her pursuit. Though he had not thought she would declare war on all six of the Weasley brothers.

A low groan from the floor signalled Ron's return to consciousness. Pushing up on his elbows, he looked around with a slightly dazed expression and shook his head as if to clear out the cobwebs. "What hit me?" he asked, before he spotted Luna peering at him from behind Ginny. "Oh yeah, you did," he groaned and slumped back to the floor. "I think I have a concussion."

"Here, let me," offered Luna, drawing her wand from where it was tucked behind her ear and levelling it in Ron's general direction. The eager gleam in her normally faraway eyes was impossible for anyone to miss.

"NO!" exclaimed Ron, apparently having enough of his wits still about him to realize that Luna's help would most likely prove to be anything but.

"I might be able to help," Luna protested, pouting slightly.

"That's what scares me," he grumbled, staggering to his feet.

"All right, all right," Harry announced, grabbing his friend by the elbow to steady him as the redhead was swaying about somewhat drunkenly. Whatever Luna had hit him with, it certainly packed a punch. "Ron, come with me. You can swap with Ginny."

Dragging Ron away from Luna, who was grinning madly, Harry motioned for Ginny to remain where she was and take her brother's place as Luna's partner. Approaching the group he had been with earlier, who had all been avidly watching the encounter, Harry handed Ron to Neville with a cautionary note not to lay him out cold.

Keegan turned to Ron, who was leaning heavily on Neville, and asked, "Is she always like that?"

"Don't encourage her. It only makes it worse," grumbled Ron.

"She's just... committed," Neville offered by way of explanation as Harry departed.

"She ought to be committed... to St. Mungo's!" Ron countered unhappily.

Harry was still chuckling over the exchange when Hermione stole up alongside him and gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs with an elbow. "You knew Luna was going to do that," she accused quietly, the mirth dancing in her eyes belaying the sternness of her words. "Which is why you partnered her with Ron."

Ducking his head low, he confessed, "Guilty as charged, Nee."

"That wasn't very nice."

"No," he grinned, "but you have to admit; it was funny."

-oOo-

Remus Lupin was wondering what great evil he had done in his life to deserve the punishment currently being forced upon him. Doubtless, if his expression were anything to go by, Professor Snape, who was sitting in the seat next to him, was asking much the same question.

Gathering in the main study of number twelve Grimmauld Place, the varied members of the Order of the Phoenix were ready to begin the weekly meeting. Remus and Snape had been the next to last to arrive and were unable to find anywhere to sit other than right next to each other. It would be a good night if they managed to make it through the meeting without ending up at each other's throats, albeit verbally rather than physically.

They were waiting, however, for the only unaccounted member to arrive before the meeting could begin. They had been waiting nearly ten minutes and still no sign of her. Her partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had already been waiting when Remus arrived, so he had to wonder what was keeping her.

A moment later Tonks stumbled into the room, almost tripping over her own feet in her hurry to enter.

"Sorry I'm late!" she apologised breathlessly.

"Don't worry, we're used to it," excused Snape with a snide drawl. His scornful expression changed into one of outrage when Tonks gave the side table next to him a solid bump as she hurried by, upsetting his cup of tea and spilling its contents into his lap. Roaring with indignation he jumped to his feet and swatted at the scalding liquid, shouting as he did so. "Clumsy trollop!"

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" apologised Tonks profusely, holding her hands up in defence as the Potions Master gave her a glare that could have melted stone. "It was an accident! I swear."

Remus, however, had the feeling that she had deliberately knocked the table, using her normal clumsiness as an excuse to get the man back for his earlier comment.

Snape bared his teeth in a silent snarl as he used his wand to clean up the mess and dry his robes and trousers, grumbling under his breath as he returned to his seat. "Even more annoying than that mangy cousin of yours."

"I swear, it was an accident, Sev," Tonks repeated, finding a perch on the armrest of Remus' chair, seeing as no other seats were available.

Eyeing her with a disdain usually reserved for things that had crawled about inside sewerage drains, Snape heaved a long suffering sigh at the nickname and asked, "You live to torment me don't you, Black?"

Tonks levelled a flat stare at Snape, visibly annoyed at being referred to by the name of her mother's family. "No, not really Sev," she replied in a perky voice that belied her narrow expression, "that's just a... positive side effect of our relationship."

Turning away before Snape could reply, Tonks surveyed the room for the first time. She paused upon catching sight of Dumbledore, who was pacing impatiently back and forth in front of the fireplace. Leaning close to Remus, who had been quietly gloating over Snape's aggrieved expression, she asked, "What's bothering the boss? He's going to wear a hole in the carpet at this rate."

"Look closer," piped George Weasley, who was sitting on Remus' other side.

"He already has," finished Fred, with a grin.

"He's been like this since we arrived," added Kingsley in a deep rumble.

Tonks blinked and asked, "How did you get here ahead of me?"

Kingsley just chuckled by way of reply, leaving Tonks to huff indignantly at being left out of the loop. Before she could press the issue, Dumbledore stopped pacing. It was such an abrupt movement, or lack thereof, that all eyes immediately locked on the aged headmaster, without him even requiring to speak a word.

"Nymphadora," Dumbledore began, sinking slowly into the chair that had been left open for him, "You have something interesting to impart?"

"It's not my fault I'm late this time," Tonks started, pausing to give Snape an offended look. She leaned forward, her hair cycling from neat auburn to long blonde curls and finally settling on a short, unruly black mop that would not have seemed out of place on Harry's head. "Madam Bones had all the Aurors called in for a meeting about some new security procedures they want to implement in the Ministry building."

"So our latest ruse worked?" asked Arthur Weasley, sitting by his wife Molly, who was absently knitting something while she attended the meeting.

"Yes," confirmed Kingsley, settling back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. He inclined his head, the light shining on his bald scalp, and added, "Minister Fudge was rather... insistent... about it."

"Worried, is he?" rasped Mad-Eye Moody, sipping from his silver hip flask.

Professor McGonagall, sitting to Dumbledore's right, primly said, "I should hope so, considering the trouble we went to."

Remus nodded in agreement. "Arranging these mock assassination attempts was not easy."

"I don't know whether to feel bad for almost killing him," said Tonks, leaning back and draping an arm along the back of Remus' chair, "or good for performing what amounts to a public service."

Oddly enough there were quite a few nods and murmurs of agreement, Mundungus Fletcher being the most vocal of the lot.

"Three attempts on his life in as many days," mused Arthur, "He ought to be nervous."

"Do you think he might step down soon, headmaster?" asked Molly, pausing in her knitting for the first time. From the look of it, she was about halfway through one of her famous Weasley sweaters. It was probably for either Harry or Hermione if the large letter H on the front was any indication.

"Unfortunately, no," Dumbledore answered somewhat curtly.

"What? But why ever not?"

Dumbledore sighed and seemed to sink further into his chair as he answered, "It would appear that Cornelius has decided to make a stand against Voldemort."

Groans of annoyances and disappointed greeted this admission from all corners, save Snape, who settled for an irritated sneer.

"Wonderful time for him to discover his backbone," commented Bill Weasley, dropping the thick sheath of parchment he had been holding on to the side table next to him.

"Any idea why he would do such a thing?" asked McGonagall.

"It's elections next year."

"Oh--"

"--joy," chimed the Weasley twins, dropping their heads into their hands.

"Bloody idiot," snorted Tonks, crossing her arms and almost slipping from her perch as she attempted to lean back. She grabbed hold of Remus' shoulder in a bid to retain her balance.

A loud thump from Moody's direction, he had stomped his wooden foot on the floor, drew their attention to the grizzled old Auror. His scarred face was twisted in a horrible scowl that matched anything Snape could manage as he thumped his armrest with a fist, "Then we'll just have to try again."

George looked at him incredulously and asked, "How many times do we have to almost kill him--"

"--before he catches on to the idea that we want him out of office?" finished Fred.

"Hopefully not too many," answered Arthur, also looking displeased at the news. He turned to look at a tattered calendar pinned to one wall of the study. "We don't have that much time left."

"A month--"

"--and a half."

Remus frowned and muttered, "Then it'll be Harry's turn."

Tonks looked worriedly at him and asked, "You don't really think Harry could kill Fudge, do you, Remus?"

"Quite the contrary, Tonks," he replied, "I think Harry could easily kill Fudge if he thought the situation called for it."

"And right now, he believes the situation calls for it," confirmed Dumbledore.

"You can't honestly mean that, Albus!" protested Molly.

"I'm afraid I do, Molly," Dumbledore sighed, sinking, if possible, even further in his plush chair. He shook his head and continued, "Harry was absolute in his assertion that Cornelius be removed from his post as Minister of Magic. If we fail to accomplish this, he most certainly will. And I doubt we would be able to stop him."

"Preposterous!" objected Snape. "Potter stands as much of a chance of killing the Minister as he does of acting responsibly for once!"

"I do not doubt his resolve in this matter, Severus."

"Whatever his resolve, headmaster, the fact remains; Potter is nothing more than a schoolboy, one with average grades and an inflated ego," said Snape, his words snapped out hard and sharp. "How does he hope to get within a mile of Fudge without every Auror between Hogwarts and London seeing him coming?"

Dumbledore peered over the rims of his half-moon glasses and calmly asked, "Have you forgotten the events of this summer, and the Sorting Feast, so easily?"

Remus noted that Snape was barely able to prevent himself from wincing. Everyone present had heard how Harry's Doppelganger had thrown the Potions Master across the Great Hall during the Sorting Ceremony. They had also heard how Harry had somehow blown Snape clear across his potions dungeon, breaking three of his ribs in the process, without drawing his wand, or even touching him.

Still, the spy pressed on and asked, "What does his running away have to do with anything?"

It was Harry's head of house, Professor McGonagall, that answered. Her lips were pursed as she spoke, "Harry has changed greatly over the summer."

"Which brings us to the next subject I want to address," said Dumbledore, picking up where she left off. He turned to face his colleague and asked, "Minerva? What do you have to note about Harry's behaviour?"

"It's quite disturbing, Albus," she replied after a moment to collect herself.

"He's not causing trouble in class is he?" asked Molly, her knitting abandoned.

"No, quite the opposite in fact," McGonagall said, a hint of surprise and a tiny smidgeon of pride in her voice. She shook her head and elaborated, "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was Miss Granger's long lost twin. His concentration and focus is frighteningly single-minded."

Snape snorted in disbelief, receiving a number of glares in return. Naturally he ignored them, though Remus wondered if he would be able to ignore any of the several dozen curses that came to mind.

Ignoring Snape's non-vocal commentary, McGonagall continued, "The two assignments he's handed in so far... they're of a quality that even Hermione would have difficulty matching. Sharp, concise and to the point. Only..."

"Only what, Minerva?" asked Remus as the professor trailed off uncertainly.

"You know how assignments are structured, Remus. The students are expected to give practical examples concerning the topic of discussion," she began to explain.

"That's standard for all classes," agreed Snape, with what could almost have passed as faint interest in his voice and posture.

McGonagall waited until Remus gave a nod of understanding and then continued, "All of Harry's examples are of a decidedly... aggressive... nature."

There were several long moments of puzzled silence before Arthur spoke up, "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Do you remember the principles of conservation of momentum versus displacement of mass?" McGonagall asked in what everyone present recognised as her lecturing voice.

"Just that the speed and direction of an object is not affected when it's transfigured," answered Molly, surprising those people that did not know her well. Despite her occupation as a housewife, something she was quite proud of, Molly was very skilled at Transfiguration.

"Simply put," McGonagall acknowledged, "but essentially correct."

By now Dumbledore was leaning back in his seat, hands steepled in front of him. He had a look of extreme attentiveness on his face. "I gather Harry's example was somewhat different for the norm."

McGonagall shook her head again and sighed, "That is putting it mildly, Albus."

The brief explanation that followed, wherein the professor quoted from Harry's assignment, left Remus wondering if he should be proud of the lad, or worried. In the end he settled for a bit of both, especially as McGonagall went on to mention the practical application that Harry had given as an example.

The concept was not a new one, having been used by witches and wizards in battle for centuries. It was something that made sense when you thought about it, though most people never did. Harry's application of the principle, however, was decidedly brutal - designed to cause the maximum of damage to anyone it was applied against. Not how your average sixth-year was supposed to think.

"Well, nobody can say the lad wouldn't be resourceful in a fight," decided Moody, seemingly pleased by the news. He had been obviously disappointed when he heard Harry no longer wanted to be an Auror. This seemed to make up for it in some way.

"I rather expected as much," said Dumbledore, tiredly. "Filius and Rhys have mentioned much the same."

"Rhys? As in Rhys Smythe-White?" asked Kingsley, looking surprised.

"Yes, he is this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," confirmed Dumbledore.

"You sneaky bastard."

"Kingsley! Such language," protested Molly.

"Smythe-White was an Auror field Healer, Molly," Kingsley explained, though looking a little embarrassed at being chided by the Weasley matriarch. He gave Dumbledore a narrow look and added, "Albus must be using him to assess Harry's mental state."

Remus looked askance at the headmaster, "Please say you told Harry about this beforehand."

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore admitted. He heaved a massive sigh and let his hands drop to his sides. "Worse yet, he somehow found out before term even began."

"Really Albus," said Molly, giving him a disapproving scowl.

"About time someone tried to set the boy right," muttered Snape.

Dumbledore must have heard the Potions Master's quiet remark, for he rounded on the man with a furious expression and barked, "Severus!"

A startled silence filled the room. Nobody could remember the headmaster having ever been so short before. Very few in the Order had ever seen him in anything approaching a bad mood, so this outburst was very unsettling.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in a visible attempt to collect himself. Not for the few time in recent years, Remus found himself noticing just how tired the old wizard looked.

"My original concern was that Harry would need help following on Sirius' death and subsequent events at the Ministry," Dumbledore began to explain after regaining his normal calm air. "I did not intend to withhold the true nature of Rhys' occupation from him, but felt that it would be beneficial to give him some time to open up before explaining."

"And we know how well that approach worked last year," observed Remus, a tad sarcastically.

"Sadly yes," admitted Dumbledore. He sighed again and ruefully shook his head. "It appears that old dogs, such as myself, have difficulty learning new tricks."

"I'm curious how he knew what you had planned," commented Moody, his fake eye twirling about merrily.

Dumbledore actually shrugged as he said, "That I cannot even begin to speculate upon."

Bill appeared uneasy with such an admission and prompted, "Surely you must have some idea."

"I'm afraid that the 'new' Harry is an enigma, even to myself."

"Have you tried legilimency?" suggested Snape in that smooth, oily tone of voice that was so uniquely Slytherin.

"How could you possibly suggest such a thing?!" cried Molly, jerking upright and glaring at Snape with all the fury of a mother protecting her child. That Harry was not of her own blood was of no importance to her. "To invade the boy's mind without--"

Snape interrupted, "Letting him keep secrets from us in a fit of childish pique is not--"

"His occlumency is flawless."

Snape broke off abruptly and turned to stare at Dumbledore with an expression that could only be compared to that of a fish. Remus would have found it very entertaining, had he not been focused on the headmaster as well. His mouth opened and closed several times, not producing a sound, before he blurted out, "What?"

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation, "I am completely unable to enter Harry's mind."

"Impossible! The boy was utterly useless at the subject!"

"Possibly because you tuition was sorely lacking, Severus!" snapped Dumbledore, apparently not in possession of his much remarked upon patience. He closed his eyes and took a short breath to calm himself. Opening his eyes and continuing as if his brief lapse had never happened, he elaborated, "Apparently he found someone more willing and able to teach him during the summer. I would now rate his skill as equal to that of a grand master in the art."

"Then we should force-feed him Veritaserum--"

Remus jumped to his feet, snarling, "Absolutely not, you miserable--"

He was not the only one, as almost everyone present rounded on the Potions Master for making such a suggestion. The only ones that remained seated were Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Moody and Mundungus.

Snape weathered the barrage of protests by shouting his own trite beliefs in return. It seemed that violence was imminent, especially when Remus noted that the twins had drawn their wands, when Dumbledore rose from his chair.

"Enough!"

The full weight of the headmaster's magic must have been backing his displeasure, for silence fell faster than an executioner's axe.

Dumbledore stood before them, radiating enough sheer power to leave Remus' throat dry, looking as if he were sorely tempted to hex them to oblivion and back. He was glaring at them from over the rims of his glasses, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Will you all please sit down and shut up!"

Everyone sat down so quickly, practically scrabbling into their seats, that it was almost funny to see. Clearly their leader was not in a good mood.

Dumbledore remained where he was watching over them, as if waiting to see if they were going to dare speak up. A long minute of uncomfortable silence filled the room before he nodded in tired approval.

"Good. Now," he turned to regard Snape, "Severus, I find your attitude towards Harry Potter to be needlessly aggressive, not to mention adversarial. I had hoped that someone in your situation, with your experiences, would be able to handle it in a more mature manner. Clearly I was mistaken."

"Albus--"

"No more excuses, Severus!" Dumbledore cut him off with an angry gesture. "Harry Potter is just that - Harry, not James. So will you kindly lay your grievances with his father to rest and get on with your life!"

"But he--"

"Damn it, I am tired of your excuses - and so, for that matter, is Harry!" Dumbledore snapped, clearly at the end of his rope when it came to Snape's baseless dislike for Harry. "He's already informed me, quite candidly, that while he does not consider you an enemy, he does not consider you an ally. If you do not make an effort to stay out of his way and stop this childish antagonism, that status will change. And not for the better."

Snape folded his arms across his chest and sneered, "What's the worst he could do? Throw a temper tantrum?"

Dumbledore levelled him a steady gaze and stated seriously, "He will label you an enemy and then deal with you in the same way he deals with all his enemies."

"And that is?"

"He will kill you."

"Harry wouldn't..." Molly began to protest, trailing off uncertainly.

"A year ago, I would have agreed with you," said Dumbledore, backing away from Snape and returning to his seat. "Now, I am not so sure. He told me so himself."

The silence that followed was an ominous one. It was Kingsley that finally broke it, clearing his throat as he leaned forward and asked, "Not to disparage him in any way, but do you really think he would do that, sir?"

Remus answered before Dumbledore, "He would."

"You seem rather certain of that, Remus," observed the headmaster.

"Remember what I told you about our meeting in the Room of Requirements?"

"Ah, yes," agreed Dumbledore, settling back into his chair.

"What?" asked Tonks, prodding Remus' shoulder expectantly.

Sighing heavily, Remus rose to his feet, almost upset Tonks from her perch, and began to pace much Dumbledore had been doing earlier. It took a while for him to collect his thoughts before he began. "You know how Harry was raised by those Muggles?"

Tonks nodded uncertainly, "Yes."

"No, you don't."

"What do you mean, Remus?" asked Arthur.

"They locked him in a cupboard for ten years, Arthur," Remus said, locking eyes with the wizard who's family had practically become Harry's own. "It wasn't until he received his Hogwarts letter that they gave him his own room."

"Dear Lord!" exclaimed Molly, lifting a hand to her mouth.

McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore, her features livid, and spoke in clear accusation. "I told you, Albus, I told you!"

Dumbledore sank his head into his hands, unwilling or unable to reply.

"Now think about it, just think about it," continued Remus once the mutterings had died down. He held up a finger as he made his point. "A boy raised by people, if you can call them that, who literally hated him for no reason beyond the fact that he had been born. Shown no love, affection or even simple friendship for the first decade of his life."

As he spoke, Remus noticed that Fred and George were looking particularly sombre. This did not surprise him, seeing as, out of the entire Order, the twins had spent more time with Harry than any of the others. They had been to school with him for five years, well, four and a half actually. Out of everyone in the Order, they were closest to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"As I see it, one of two things could happen," he went on, still pacing back and forth, taking a small amount of please in seeing how it annoyed Snape each time he passed by. He paused just as he was passing Dumbledore and quietly said, "First, it could break him."

"Harry is not broken! I won't accept that!" shouted Molly, jumping to her feet. It was only the intervention of her husband, Arthur, that stopped her from marching across the room to where Remus was standing and letting him have it.

"I never said he was, Molly, but you have to admit the possibility that it might have happened if he wasn't as strong as he is," said Remus, holding up his hands in appeasement.

"And the second possibility?" asked Moody

"Second... it made him hard as steel."

"But he's just a young boy!" Molly protested, struggling against Arthur and Bill's attempts to return her to her seat.

Moody sat and considered Remus' words before finally nodding in agreement. He turned to Molly, who was huffing unhappily, and held up a clenched fist as he spoke. "Steel covered in velvet, woman, that's what he is."

Seeing that Moody had caught Molly's attention, and that she was once again in her chair, Arthur returned to his own seat and asked, "So... you're saying he was always like this?"

"How couldn't he be, after the way he was raised?" countered Remus with a sweeping gesture. He resumed his pacing and scowled unhappily at the thought. "He merely hid it so that we never noticed."

"And what makes you an expert on Potter's inner self, Lupin?" asked Snape in his usual snide tones, although sound slightly more subdued than he had earlier.

"I know what it's like to present a happy face to the world," Remus answered curtly.

Tonks, having slipped into his vacated seat, shook her head and protested softly, "That's different, Remus."

Remus looked at her and asked, "Is it?"

"It just doesn't seem possible that he could have hidden this from us," commented McGonagall in obvious disbelief. "To change his manner so completely..."

"We all wear masks, Minerva. We wear them to show people what we think they want to see. And people are all too ready to accept what they see at face value, which is why they are fooled so easily... and sometimes, we even manage to fool ourselves."

The sombre silence from earlier returned as everyone sat back and obviously re-evaluated what they thought they knew about Harry. With the exception of Snape, who was merely scowling as he always did, nobody seemed pleased with what they were learning.

Clearing his throat to draw their attention, Dumbledore sat up straight and spoke, "Regardless, we have just more than a month and a half to remove Cornelius from office before Harry does so himself. Doubtless in a more permanent manner than we would like."

"It won't be easy if he's decided to entrench himself," observed Bill.

"We'll just have to up the stakes then," said Kingsley, who had been the mind behind the second so-called assassination attempt.

"What happens if we accidentally kill him?" asked Tonks, shifting to the side as Remus came to reclaim his seat. Seeing as she did not give the seat up, he took her place on the armrest.

"That would be bad," said Fred.

George thoughtfully added, "Could be good, as well."

Fred regarded his twin for a moment before bobbing his head in agreement. "Depends on your point of view."

"Perhaps we can bring about some kind of internal pressure?" suggested McGonagall as she picked up her, until now untouched, cup of tea and took a sip.

"Possible, I suppose," mused Arthur thoughtfully, running a hand through his thinning hair. He had been the one that laced the Minister's teapot with the first half of the binary poison that had been this morning's attempt at scaring Fudge from office.

"Best leave me out of that," grumbled Moody.

Molly looked at him and asked, "Why's that, Alastor?"

Moody gave what either an ugly grin or a disgusted sneer (it was hard to tell) and replied, "I've never liked any of this political intrigue and infighting. I learned how to do it, of course, and was pretty good at it in my time. But it's been years and I'm a bit rusty..."

"Oil yourself then."

"You must be tired, Albus," laughed Moody, turning to the headmaster. "Your jokes are worse than usual. Too sarcastic."

"What about Potter? What do we do about him?" asked Snape, apparently having not learned his lesson and still obsessing over Harry.

Dumbledore stared at the spy for several moments, probably wondering if it were worth speaking to him about his attitude again. In the end he simply replied, "I think it would be best to leave him be for the moment."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Snape insisted. "Giving him free reign to cause even more trouble than he normally does?"

"I doubt we could do much to stop him without getting in his way," Dumbledore declared wryly. He shook his head in disappointment, most like with himself. "His trust in us, in me, has taken a severe blow recently. Perhaps it is time we put our trust in him and his friends."

"I only hope this doesn't prove to be a mistake," grumbled Snape as he finally let the matter drop. As he leaned back in his chair, Remus heard him mutter, "He's up to something. I know he is."

"Perhaps he is," Remus readily agreed, "I think, however, that he's more apt to be up to something that would cause problems for the Dark Lord, rather than us."

Snape glared hatefully and hissed, "You seem to be forgetting who my other employer is."

It was now that Tonks joined in, speaking in a teasing tone of voice that was usually reserved by adults for when they conversed with small children. "Don't tell me that big, bad Sev is afraid of little ol' Harry."

"Potter is incapable of staying out of trouble," Snape complained, "I don't want to be dragged into any with him."

"I'm sure Harry knows what he's doing," said Arthur, who had also been listening.

Remus leaned close to Tonks and whispered, "I wish I knew what he was doing,"

-oOo-

"I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

The judicious use of a Silencing Charm prevented Harry's announcement from disturbing the slumbering forms of the other boys in the sixth-year dormitory. He usually stayed up another hour or two after his friends finally turned in, using the time to work on the various projects he had under development.

Since he still had not broken himself of the habit of talking to Father out loud, rather than silently, he used the Silencing Charm to stop his late night ramblings from disturbing Ron, Neville and the others. For that matter, he also did not want to risk anyone overhearing some of his more... dangerous... plans.

Like this one.

Spread out on the bed in front of him, was a partially dismantled nuclear weapon.

Naturally Harry was a tad leery when it came to playing around with the bloody thing. Accidentally reducing Hogwarts and the surrounding countryside into a radioactive crater, was something he hoped to avoid. And speaking of radioactive...

"If I start glowing in the dark..." he trailed of ominously.

Father, gently bobbing up and down on the opposite side of the bomb casing, responded in its usual manner. It's reassurances did little to ease Harry's mind.

"Hope you're right about that," he muttered, thinking about some of the Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons he had sometimes seen Dudley watching. "I do not want to become something out of a comic book."

Not bothering to comment on that possibility, Father simply directed him back to the task at hand.

Harry nodded, conceding the point, and leaned in close to the waiting bomb. He searched for the small removable panel Father had instructed him to open and finally found it. Just to be safe about it, he asked for confirmation and pointed it out, asking, "This one, right?"

The reply he received caused him to freeze in place. Swallowing nervously at the close call, Harry cautiously backed his hand away. "Right. Don't touch. Got it." He then focused on the correct panel, which was to the immediate left of the one he planned to avoid in the future. "The other one then."

Selecting the appropriate screwdriver from the set hovering near his right knee, courtesy of Father's GM fields, he began to remove the screws holding the panel in place. The first was quickly removed and he smoothly moved onto the second, which proved to be screwed in tighter than the first and he had to strain before it started to turn.

"Are you sure this thing will work?" he asked as he started on the third screw. "It's a great plan on paper, but unlike everything else we've put together, nobody in the future was crazy enough to make one of these. Not even Luna."

Father replied, sounding somewhat aggrieved at the idea that anybody would doubt its abilities. If there was one thing the Gatekeeper had gained in its sudden sentience, it was an ego. So far, to Harry's relief, that ego was proving to be well earned, as Father had yet to steer him wrong. For the most part.

"I don't like the idea of completely theoretical," he countered, explaining his reasons for doubting the reliability of particular plan. "Okay, I've got the panel off. What's next?"

He listened intently as Father guided him through the required task, step by step. It was nerve wracking work, but Harry's hands were steady in their movements. While following the Gatekeeper's instructions, he wistfully commented, "It's a pity we can't open a Gate from here and drop these off on Voldemort's lap."

This was the crux of the matter. Voldemort was practically immortal. True, having a nuclear bomb go off in his face would vaporise his body (not to mention everything else for several miles) but it would not be enough to destroy the Dark Lord's essence.

The nuclear explosion would only reduce Voldemort to little more than a wraith, much as he had been after that fateful Halloween night that changed Harry's life. This, Harry felt, was unacceptable. Which was why he and Father were altering the bombs into something a little more useful.

"Okay, it's done," he said with relief. "Time to close her up."

The first in many steps to change the nature of the weapons was finished. Harry put the panel back in it proper place and began screwing it down. He glanced to his left, where the second bomb he had acquired over the summer lay. Unlike the one he was currently working on, it was fully assembled and as yet untouched.

"I think I'll do the other bomb tomorrow night, I'm a bit shaky after doing this one," he decided, finishing up with the panel and returning the screwdriver the set he had taken it from. As he began to slide the outer casing back in place, he asked, "You sure you can override all this?"

This was the other problem facing him. Even after the modifications were complete, the bombs would have to be delivered personally. This was because the only way to arm and detonate the weapons was by using a combination of gravity and electromagnetic fields to bypass the various security measures - which they had not been able to obtain.

While Father could easily open a Gate to any location on the planet using those same fields, the truth of the matter was that the fields had a range of only ten metres. Harry had considered the possibility of having Father arm the bombs and then send them through a Gate. That idea proved unfeasible when Father revealed that it had to be in constant contact with the bombs until the counter hit zero, otherwise the built-in safeguards would abort the detonation.

In other words, Harry would have to be at ground zero when the bombs went off.

Father, again sounding a little offended by his doubts, assured Harry that it could easily override such simple technology. Of course, compared to Father's space/energy matrix, every piece of technology on the planet was primitive.

"You better," Harry demanded, "because without the arming codes and other stuff, the only way I could use these to hurt Voldemort is if I hit him over the head with them."

The comment that followed was crude, crass and entirely in fitting with Father's character.

"Ha ha ha. Very funny," responded Harry. Having finished closing the bomb's casing, he signalled for Father to lift it off the bed and shift it back into its subspace storage pocket. Without comment the second bomb was raised and removed from sight in identical fashion.

Harry yawned deeply, reaching his arms above his head and stretching out with a groan. "I'm beat. Anything else you want to discuss before I pass out?"

Not expecting a proper reply, Harry was caught by surprise when Father replied. He looked at the drifting black sphere opposite him, listening to what it had to say. Once Father had finished there was a minute of silence, as Harry sat and tried to process what he had just heard. Finally, an eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

"You're kidding."

The black sphere shivered indignantly and Father loudly asserted that it was not, in fact, kidding. Harry winced at the volume of Father's mental yelling, which threatened to set off a headache, if not a migraine.

Once the Gatekeeper fell silent, Harry settled back against his pillows and stared up at the canopy above his bed, considering the idea. It would be easy to pull off, he knew. After all, considering the fact that he had managed to steal a pair of nuclear weapons without anyone being the wiser, this new idea was a piece of cake.

"But once we have it, what will we do with it?" he asked, dropping his gaze back to Father. "It's a little large to store in subspace, don't you think?"

Father staunchly declared that it was perfectly able to store the item in question.

"Father, we're not talking about a few drone units here, we're talking about something that must weigh over ten tonnes!"

Once again Father insisted that it could do it. It went on to give a short lecture on how the only energy expended in shifting objects into subspace was during the actual shift. Once that was done, the object would remain in place indefinitely, waiting until Father shifted it back into normal space. And since Father currently had energy to spare, having siphoned off a week's worth of geothermal energy... well.

Harry nodded in concession to the point, scratching the back of his neck as he thought about it. "Well, it would certainly scare the stuffing out of any Death Eaters," he admitted, rather liking the idea. He could almost picture the expression on their faces. Something else occurred to him, as he recalled his original plans, and he asked, "Won't the plasma rifles render its presence redundant?"

Father replied by mentioning that it was only the two of them, so to speak, against Voldemort and all his Death Eaters. As such they could use all the help they could find, borrow or steal.

Mulling over the concept for a minute or two, Harry had to admit that the idea was beginning to grow on him.

"Don't they have guns as well as the cannon?" he asked, thinking about it. "Maybe we could convert those, or replace them with plasma rifles."

Thoughts of a similar nature must have been going through Father's mind, because a moment later, Father made a counter suggestion. Although the scale was somewhat grander.

"Replace the cannon? With what?"

A small, multifaceted crystal, about the size of a gobstone, phased into view and smoothly glided in front of him. Harry watched as a holographic projection shimmered into view above the crystal, first showing a series of schematics and then a rotating three dimensional model.

"An ion cannon?" Harry asked, after reading the text accompanying the construct hanging in the air. He looked at the Gatekeeper in puzzlement, not having heard the term before. He could guess at its purpose though, especially considering its name. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and asked, "Is this another of Luna's theoretical models?"

Father elaborated, spending several minutes explaining the nature and workings of the ion cannon. It became quite enthusiastic in its impromptu sales pitch, going so far as bringing up the weapon's energy output and projected damage figures.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, wondering why Father hadn't brought it up sooner. It seemed almost as good an option as the phased plasma rifles. True, its rate of fire was much lower, but it made up for that in sheer firepower. "Hmm. Not bad," he finally decided, "but I think, if we go through with this, that sticking with the original cannon would be better. We could use some explosives to go with the energy weapons."

The projection crystal shifted back into subspace as the Father's sphere dipped low. Harry knew the artificial intelligence well enough to tell that it was moping a bit.

"Don't sulk. It was a good idea, we're just splitting it into two parts," he said, hoping to cheer the Gatekeeper up. He grinned as an idea occurred to me. "We'll see about building some independent ion cannon platforms, similar to what we have planned for the pulse rifles Fred and George are going to deliver."

Asking a question, the despondent Gatekeeper bobbed to and fro uncertainly.

"I don't know. Ten? Ten's a nice, round number."

Father seemed to like that idea, seeing as the sphere rose up high again.

"So, which army base do you think we could steal a tank from?"

-oOo-

It was a dark and stormy night. The perfect time, Voldemort felt, for a meeting of his Death Eaters. He sat in what he privately referred to as his throne room. Or perhaps, audience chamber would be a better description.

The room was impressively large, the largest in the building, nearly half the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall. Voldemort supposed he could have held the meeting someplace else, but did not feel the need to stray too far from his current lair.

Reaching out with his senses, those attuned to the flows of magic, he could feel the arrival of his servants outside, waiting for him to grant them entrance. It was not easy to separate their auras from the surrounding magic, his lair was even older than Hogwarts and its magic deeply entrenched in the very stones themselves. But Voldemort was skilled enough to count all twelve of those he had summoned.

"Enter."

The doors at the far end of the chamber swung inwards, activated by his command. The ancient iron hinges were completely silent, magicked to never wear down. He thought it a pity that, since a spine-chilling screech as the doors opened would have added nicely to the room's sinister atmosphere.

He remained in place as his Death Eaters quietly entered, not deigning to turn and face them. As they approached, stopping at a respectful distance, he remained perfectly still and watched their flickering shadows play across the stone wall in front of him. There were only six torches lighting the room, barely enough to allow a person to navigate about.

Once the Death Eaters were in place, they dropped to their knees, waiting for him to speak. The only sound in the chamber that of the torches crackling He did not. And so they waited.

This was a favourite game that Voldemort played. He had great patience, when he needed it, and his time as a disembodied spirit had only increased his patience. Should any of his followers move before he gave them leave, then they would pay for their insolence in the currency of pain. All of those present were old hands at this game and knew the rules, having learnt them during their early years of service.

An hour passed, before Voldemort moved.

"My loyal followers," he said, turning to face them. He gestured for them to get to their feet. "I have been expecting you. Rise. Tell me what you have learned."

The Death Eaters stood, several betraying the pain of cramped muscles. Voldemort watched closely, but none dared step out of place. Instead they bore the pain in silence, knowing that any breech of etiquette would only bring even greater pain.

Voldemort's eyes, which seemed to glow in the shadows, glided over the twelve witches and wizards standing in front of him. He finally settled on the one nearest the middle of the half-circle.

"Lucius."

The wizard in question stepped forward and bowed in deference. "My Lord."

"What has your son to report?"

"Peculiar happenings at Hogwarts, my Lord," Lucius informed him in his usual smooth and cultured tones. "Involving Harry Potter."

"Oh?"

Lucius nodded in confirmation and continued, "The details are still unclear, but it appears that Potter has been acting rather strangely since returning to Hogwarts."

This was something of interest and Voldemort asked, "Strangely? How so?"

"From what Draco says, he's been very aggressive in all his dealings with the Slytherins, as well as the staff. He apparently put Snape in the Hospital Wing shortly after declaring that he no longer wished to take Potions as a subject."

"He dropped out of Advanced Potions?" Voldemort asked sharply.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius nodded again. "The only classes he is currently taking are Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures."

Voldemort turned to one side, presenting his profile to his servants. He thought about this news, wondering why the boy that had constantly thwarted him in the past, would do such a thing. He knew, from what Severus Snape had reported, that Potter saw himself as a future Auror. With such a limited subject choice, that would not be possible. Why?

Then the answer came to him. He recalled all that he knew of the boy, knowledge compiled over the years that Potter had come to Hogwarts.

"So... he prepares to fight me, does he?" he muttered to himself, wondering what to make of it. He turned back to Lucius and asked, "Anything else?"

"By all accounts he has taken an interest in his mudblood friend; Granger," Lucius reported distastefully. "He even went so far as to threaten Draco while defending her."

"Interesting," Voldemort agreed. "How much of an interest?"

"He has been seen, on several occasions, greeting her in rather intimate embraces."

"So, little Harry has a girlfriend. That will prove useful in the future," he decided, thinking that Potter's infatuation with his friend would be the perfect means to an end. Shelving that idea for later, once the meeting was over and he had returned to his private chambers, Voldemort asked, "Anything else?"

"A suggestion by my son--"

Voldemort immediately interrupted, his voice soft, sibilant and overflowing with danger. While not opposed to receiving suggestions from his servants, he would be a fool to not, the dark lord did not want them to think they were indispensable.

"The boy dares to presume he can offer me advice?"

"N-no, my Lord, never," stammered Lucius, bowing low and visibly trembling. Even the most loyal of Voldemort's servants had felt a taste of his capriciousness and none desired to repeat the experience. Fear was the best means of ensuring loyalty, after all.

With a waver in his voice, Lucius said, "It is more an observation than anything else."

"Hmm," Voldemort hummed, eyeing his quivering servant for a long minute. Letting the man sweat it out. Finally he decided to prompt him on. "Well?"

"Draco believes that if we were to take the Granger girl, then Potter would doubtless try and rescue her, much as he did with Black."

"A good point, but lacking in scope."

"My Lord?"

"While I certainly want Potter to fall into my hands, I'd much prefer to teach him a lesson before then. A painful one," Voldemort explained. Normally he would have punished Lucius for daring to ask such a question. "The mudblood might prove useful in that regard."

"She is not unattractive. For a mudblood," Lucius offered.

"I shall consider it."

Dismissing Lucius, who stepped back into place, Voldemort proceeded to question the other Death Eaters. All of those reporting to him tonight had children currently attending Hogwarts. Children with orders to pass on anything they thought might be of importance.

"Are you certain of that, Nott?" he asked, when something quite surprising was brought up. He was surprised and annoyed that Lucius had not mentioned it. Apparently Draco was not a reliable source of information. "He managed to transport himself directly into the Great Hall?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Could it have been a Portkey of some sort?" Voldemort asked, thinking of the only possibility he knew of that could explain Potter's arrival at the start of term.

"If it was, my Lord, then it is not any kind of Portkey I've heard of," Nott answered. "My son described it as a large, shimmering ball of energy that Potter stepped through. A portal of some sort, by the sound of it."

"A portal? Hmm," Voldemort paused to consider this. Portals were ancient magic, a lost art. Complex and difficult to create, they had not been seen in since the age of the Founders. Even Voldemort, powerful as he was, did not have the knowledge or the means to create a portal. "Continue."

The next four Death Eaters had nothing new to report, only repeating what Nott had passed on. There were a few minor differences, but nothing noteworthy. All agreed that Potter had appeared out of a ball of something, probably energy of some sort, bearing various items that none of the Slytherins could identify.

The seventh Death Eater to report was Aloysius Parkinson, whose daughter, Pansy, had something interesting to impart. Again, Voldemort found himself wondering how it was that nobody else had reported this item beforehand. Perhaps using children was not the best way of gathering information from Hogwarts.

"An illusion? How could that manage to fool anyone for more than a second?" he asked, checking to see if perhaps this was merely a flight of fancy on the Parkinson girl's behalf. If it was, then Aloysius would be the one to be punished for it, seeing as she was his daughter.

"Apparently, my Lord, this illusion not only spoke and interacted with the other students, but was solid as well," Aloysius reported steadily, obviously certain of his words.

"Solid?" asked Voldemort, surprised.

"Yes," confirmed Aloysius. He glanced towards Lucius, in all likelihood a smug look beneath his mask, and added, "It managed to break Draco Malfoy's wrist while guarding the Granger girl."

"A corporeal illusion. I had no idea Potter was strong enough to cast such a thing," Voldemort muttered to himself. "And the Granger girl again. Interesting."

Casting illusions was an easy task, provided you had enough skill to envision it clearly enough. It was putting enough power behind the illusion to make it solid that was no easy task. Indeed, only one wizard in twenty could manage it and even then only for a short while. That Potter could do so, and maintain the illusion for several hours --at a distance-- was disquieting.

The reports that followed did not contain anything else of import. Having gleaned all he could from them, which wasn't as much as he had hoped for, Voldemort dismissed them. He briefly considered punishing them for failing to bring him anything particularly useful, but decided to wait for the next full meeting.

As they filed out of the audience chamber, Voldemort turned away and considered the shadows playing across the back wall, calling for one of them to remain. This was the only Death Eater who had not been called upon to speak, having no connections at Hogwarts. He was here for a different purpose.

"Things do not proceed as I had foreseen," he muttered, mostly to himself, but just loudly enough for his cringing servant to hear him.

Yes, this particular Death Eater did not have any contacts to make at the school, but he did possess several talents that Voldemort could find a use for.

"I need to know what is really going on inside Hogwarts, not these incomplete second and third-hand reports," Voldemort declared, rounding to face the cowering figure that all but prostrated itself before him. "You will assist me in this matter."

Visibly suppressing the urge to gibber in terror, the man stuttered, "H-how, m-my Lord?"

"There are two kinds of people in this world; those I have a use for and those I do not."

Voldemort smiled wickedly, a sight that caused the man at his feet to shiver in fear. When the Dark Lord smiled, it was more often than not a bad thing.

"Congratulations, Wormtail, you have become useful to me again."

TBC ...  

Backwards Compatible
Growing Complications

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...  

Backwards Compatible
Return Encounters

It had been two weeks since Harry had stormed out of Hogwarts and disappeared to parts unknown. Everyone had expected him to return to the school within a day or two, but it became clear, after the first week, that Harry was obviously troubled by something greater than a simple disagreement with his friends.

Life at Hogwarts had continued as normal for the most part, barring the fact that Hermione was so upset that she became almost hysterical at times. This was because she had, through some strange convolutions of logical, come to the conclusion that she alone was responsible for Harry leaving.

Of course the other members of the Ministry Crew; namely Ginny, Luna, Neville and Ron, would try to remind her that Harry was not the kind of bloke to hold grudges like that. Their reassurances would usually last for an hour or two, the record being nearly six hours straight, before the idea that it was entirely her fault crept back into Hermione's skull.

Professor Smythe-White had tried to talk to her in his professional capacity as a Healer, but had quickly stopped trying after she had burst into tears and fled his office at a dead run.

This morning was one of those times that Hermione was particularly depressed. It was Halloween, a time she had always regarded fondly, ever since Harry and Ron had stormed into the girls' bathroom to rescue her from the mountain troll Professor Quirrel had loosed into the castle.

Professor Flitwick, assisted by Hagrid, had once again transformed the Great Hall with the appropriate decorations. Black and orange banners hung from the walls and ceiling. The torches and fireplaces were all specially charm to produce bright orange flames. Giant pumpkins, provided from Hagrid's vegetable patch, had been carved into grotesque pumpkin heads and arrayed about the hall. Black cats, with orange stripes, darted from one table to the next and several swarms of bats circles above them.

It was, Hermione felt, very well done, but a tad much for breakfast.

The rest of the students, however, were content to enjoy the festive atmosphere. Luna in particular had come prepared and fully dressed for the occasion. She was wearing luminous orange clothes, a blouse and skirt combination, under her black school robes.

Hermione was feeling too depressed to enjoy herself like the others. She was picking at her breakfast, a cheese omelette on toast, and listening with half an ear to the conversation around her.

"That's Neville for you," said Seamus, who was having a lively discussion with Dean about the Quidditch trials that had been held the previous weekend. Everyone had been surprised when Neville had turned up, Cleansweep in hand, and made an attempt for the position of one of the team's Beaters. "If it can fly; then he can crash it."

"You have to admit, though, he's got one hell of a swing," replied Dean, around a mouthful of bacon, "and a good aim to go with it."

"Yeah, almost killed Sloper with that Bludger."

"I got a great picture of that!" piped Colin Creevey, who was sitting several seats further down, but had still been following the conversation.

"Pity he only drifts around most of the time," sighed Dean, referring to the fact that while Neville was more than able to smack the Bludger in all directions, his flying skills were as dismal as they had been during his first year.

Seamus nodded and shrugged, "Still, if worst comes to worst, he could fill in..."

The Ministry Crew, who had been sitting around Hermione, turned to a blushing Neville.

"Seems you've earned a name for yourself on the Quidditch pitch, Neville," commented Ginny teasingly, nudging him with an elbow.

"Yeah, too bad it's for putting my own team in the Hospital Wing," he muttered.

"It was only overnight," Ginny consoled him.

"Hey," said Ron diverting attention away from Neville and to the staff table, "look who's come down from the Bat Cave."

This was a rather badly made reference to the Muggle comic, Batman , of which Dean Thomas had developed a liking to over the summer and thus brought several volumes to school with him.

The other four members of the Ministry Crew turned to see the person in question, which happened to be the school's Divination professor, Sybil Trelawney. Actually, it was only Hermione, Ginny and Neville that turn to look where Ron was pointing. Luna was apparently too interested in watching the flock of bats that was currently circling above the Gryffindor table.

"Trelawney? Here, at breakfast?" asked Neville incredulously. "That's odd."

"Perhaps she Saw something with her Sight," suggested Ginny mockingly.

"Her, See something?" ask Ron, even more incredulous than Neville. He snorted and shook his head. "Even with her glasses on, she's blind as a bat."

"Actually, bats can see perfectly fine," commented Luna, still staring at the bats above. "The problem is, they fly around during the night and can't see all that well in the dark."

Everyone who heard that comment, not just the Ministry Crew, paused eating their breakfasts and stared at Luna. Even though she had started taking her meals at the Gryffindor table, a little over a month and a half ago, the Gryffindors were still trying to get used to her somewhat unusual turns of conversation.

After a while, in which Luna ignored the stares and continued watching the bats, the Gryffindors turned back to their meal and resumed their conversations. This lasted until Neville noticed something that startled him even more than Professor Trelawney's descent from the North Tower.

"Merlin's ghost!"

"What?" asked Ron, looking up.

Neville was simply too stunned to speak and could only point in the general direction of the staff table. His shocked tone of voice had captured the attention of several others, all of whom turned to see what was the matter.

"What?" repeated Ron, looking at the staff table. He paused and narrowed his eyes when he spotted the cause of Neville's outburst. "Snape? What's he doing here? He's supposed to be suspended!"

"He looks different somehow," commented Ginny. Snape's appearance in the Great Hall this morning was the first time he had seen by the students since the night of Harry's disappearance, when Dumbledore had been forced to suspend him.

"I think he's washed his hair," noted Luna absently, having only briefly glanced at the staff table and then turned her attention back to the fluttering bats, which had since migrated to above the Hufflepuff table.

"Impossible!" Ron blurted, almost falling off his seat.

Hermione, who had turned away after confirming Snape's presence, turn back for a second look. Sure enough, it seemed that Snape's hair was not only newly washed, but also neatly groomed. For the first time in all his years as a professor at Hogwarts, Snape actually looked respectable.

"Snape washed his hair!" exclaimed Dean in awe. He paused to consider the implications of this and then asked, "When did the pod-people invade?

"If ever there was a sign of the apocalypse, this is it," acknowledged Seamus.

"Professor Trelawney must have foreseen this!" declared Lavender.

"We're doomed," whimpered Colin melodramatically.

"His suspension hearing with the school board of Governors is this morning," explained Hermione, who had been informed of the appropriate date and time by Professor McGonagall earlier in the week. While she was not expected to actually testify, McGonagall had requested that she write a testimonial.

Everyone stopped to stare at her, since this was the first time she had spoken since coming down to breakfast. Since it became obvious that Harry was not returning immediately, Hermione's participation in conversation had dropped to next to nothing. With the exception of her friends in the Ministry Crew, she only spoke when spoken to, which some of the less charitable people seemed to prefer.

Ron gleefully asked, "You mean today's the day he's going to get sacked?"

"We could never get that lucky," said Neville.

"Come on," pleaded Ron. "How could they not?"

"He is the best potions master in Britain," said Luna, earning several dirty looks from those Gryffindors that liked Snape even less than Ron did.

"He's a bastard!" grumbled Ron, turning back to his bacon and eggs.

Further conversation was prevented as Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones arrived at the table. While it was not uncommon for members of other houses to visit the Gryffindor table, it was not often that they would approach the spot where the Ministry Crew commonly sat.

Ernie cleared his throat, "Hey, Hermione?"

Resisting the urge to sigh, Hermione turned to face them. "Yes, Ernie. Hi, Susan."

"Sorry to bother you, Hermione," said Susan, "but is there going to be a meeting this evening?"

Hermione fingered the necklace she was wearing under her blouse, the replacement for the specially charmed Galleon that had been used the previous year. Everyone in the Defence Association had a similar one, or a ring or bracelet version.

"Why shouldn't there be?" she inquired. "We're still holding meetings every night."

"Yeah," agreed Ernie, "but Harry's still missing--"

"He'll be back," Hermione cut him off.

"It's been two weeks since he left and we're wondering--"

"He'll be back," Hermione interrupted again, this time with a hard edge to her voice. She levelled a dark stare at Ernie, daring him to argue the point and disagree with her.

Hermione had found herself nominally in charge of the DA, following Harry's unexpected departure. While all the members listened to her with the same respect that they did Harry, there was still the unspoken admission that she was only filling in until Harry came back. Indeed, attendance had dropped considerably after that first week and now the various members were attending only half as often as they did when Harry was present.

"Come on, Ernie," said Susan, grabbing Ernie by the elbow and leading him back to the Hufflepuff table. "Sorry for bothering you, Hermione."

Hermione was relieved to note that along the way they intercepted Terry Boot, who was heading towards her, doubtless for a similar purpose. She turned back to her breakfast and stared listlessly at it.

"Hermione?" asked Ginny, after a minute passed and Hermione had not resumed prodding her omelette with her fork.

"He will come back, right?" she asked quietly, not sounding as sure as she had when telling the two Hufflepuffs the same.

"Of course he will!" declared Ron staunchly. "Harry always comes back!"

"Though usually he spends a night or three in the Hospital Wing when he does," observed Neville jokingly, managing to relieve the tension which had settled over the group.

Luna laughed loudly, startling several second-year Gryffindors sitting nearby, and said, "I rather expect that Harry will manage to avoid a prolonged visit to Madam Pomfrey's domain this year."

Hermione sighed wistfully, "I just wish Harry was here."

"I am."

Hermione, Neville and Ron jumped a foot into the air, letting out startled screams, as an unexpected voice spoke up from behind them. Even Ginny and Luna, who were facing them, reacted with surprised yelps and stared at Harry, who's sudden appearance brought all conversation in the Great Hall to an equally sudden halt.

Everyone present was staring at the small group of Gryffindors, and one Ravenclaw, wondering how Harry had managed to appear out of nowhere so effortlessly. They were also wondering if it was safe to be in the same room with the famous young wizard and his friends, or if they should hide under the house tables before the curses started flying.

For her part, Hermione wasn't wondering anything. She was too busy enveloping Harry in a rib-cracking hug that knocked the wind from his lungs and almost toppled them both to the floor.

"Harry! You're back!"

"Wow, Ron," muttered Ginny, "you really are a master of the obvious."

With his typical tenderness, Harry managed to pry Hermione off him, holding her at arm's length. He smiled softly at her, reassuring her that all was well, and then nodded to their friends.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologised, "but I had some problems I needed to address before coming back."

"You're really back?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

Hermione released the firm hold she had on him, took a step back and then swung her right arm with everything she had.

"Ow! Damn!" Harry yelped, reaching up to grab his left bicep. He rubbed the injured limb, where she had hit him, looked at her incredulously and asked, "What the devil did you do that for?"

"You idiot!" she cried, the unshed tears in her eyes making it hard for her to see. She held up a finger and poked him in the chest, glowering fiercely. "That was for scaring me like that!"

"All right," he said uncertainly, "I promise I'll never sneak up on you again."

"Not that you prat!" she fairly shrieked, hitting him again, only this time on the other arm.

"Gah! Hermione!" protested Harry. He dropped his hand from his bruised left arm and then switched across to his newly injured right arm.

Hermione jumped forward and latched onto him again, squeezing her arms around him tightly enough that his ribs creaked under the pressure.

"Don't leave us like that again," she whispered. "Don't leave me."

"I'll try not to," he assured her, patting her back.

"Mister Potter."

The sound of Dumbledore's voice so close by was almost enough of a startle Hermione into releasing Harry. She twisted to one side, still clinging to him, and saw that the headmaster had descended from the staff table. Professor McGonagall, cane in hand, was standing by the elderly wizard's side.

Harry released his hold on Hermione and turned within her embrace to face Dumbledore. For a moment she was worried that he was going to lay into the headmaster, considering that he had not been in the best of moods the last time she had seen him. She was bracing herself for the arctic cold personae that he unconsciously donned whenever facing Dumbledore.

To her surprise, he inclined his head and greeted, "Headmaster."

From the look on Dumbledore's face, Hermione was not the only one surprised by the cautious respect Harry was displaying. He blinked once and recovered quickly, inclining his head in return. "It's good to have you with us again, Harry."

"It's good to be back."

"Might I ask where you have been these past two weeks?"

"I needed some time to myself."

"I see," Dumbledore sighed, looking sadly resigned to the fact. He spoke, not a question, but a statement. "You're not going to tell me."

"Not just yet, no," confirmed Harry quietly. Hermione was further surprised to hear what sounded like the smallest traces of regret.

Dumbledore must have picked up on it as well, for he managed a tired smile and asked, "Will you, at least, give some warning before you leave school grounds again?"

Harry nodded and, with a hint of humour, agreed, "I'll try."

"Very good," accepted Dumbledore. "I expect I shall see you later."

"Perhaps."

"Well, have a good morning then."

"You as well, sir," said Harry.

Dumbledore departed, his bright orange and pale yellow robes, under a vermillion cloak, sweeping behind him. Hermione was about to turn back to Harry more fully, intent on congratulating him on how well the conversation had gone. She stopped mid-motion, however, when she noticed that Professor McGonagall had not left with the headmaster.

Instead she had remained in place, leaning on her walking stick, and was glaring unhappily at Harry. She peered at him from over the rims of her glasses. "Mister Potter," she said in the ominous tone of voice that was reserved for when she was displeased about something.

"Hello, Professor," greeted Harry, suddenly sounding nervous.

"You do realize that you were absent from classes without permission," McGonagall stated sternly, arching an inquiring eyebrow as she regarded Harry.

"Um..."

"I shall have to punish you for such flagrant disobedience."

Harry sighed and nodded in resignation. "You probably should."

"House points, detention," listed McGonagall, "perhaps even suspending you from the house Quidditch team."

"PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL!!" yelled Ron from where he was sitting with the others. He leapt to his feet and crossed to where the professor was standing, his face flushing almost as red as his hair.

"Call yourself, Mister Weasley. It was only a suggestion," ordered McGonagall.

"Damn right it was!" Ron snapped, clearly too excited to realise that he was almost nose-to-nose with his head of house. "We need a Seeker and Harry's the man for the job."

"Ginny--" Harry tried to say, but was cut off.

"--is one of our new Chasers!" barked Ron, turning his back to the professor and rounding on Harry. "And you've missed not only our try outs, but also the first week of training! You're going to have to work damn hard to pick up the slack! Our first match is in less than a week and I'll be buggered by my own broomstick if those slimy Slytherins beat us because you've been lax in you training!"

Hermione wondered at Ron's outburst, thinking that he was acting rather like how Harry's first captain, Oliver Wood, would have behaved. This was odd since this year's Quidditch captain, following Harry's refusal to accept the post, was Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original team that had served under Wood.

Harry raised his hands in an attempt to placate the steaming redhead. "Calm down, Ron, before you faint."

"I AM NOT GOING TO FAINT, POTTER!!"

"If you keep this up, you will," muttered Hermione.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, stalling further discussion. Seeing that Ron's tirade against Harry's tardy Quidditch training was temporarily on hold, she started announcing Harry's punishment. "Seventy house points will be deducted from Gryffindor, Mister Potter. Five for each day of your absence."

Ron stared at her in disbelief and then bellowed, "SEVENTY POINTS!!"

" Silencio ."

The Silencing Charm was slapped over Ron before he knew what was happening, effectively distracting him before his agitation caused another fainting episode. Hermione, Harry and McGonagall turned to face the source of the spell, while Ron sputtered soundlessly for several seconds.

Standing on the opposite side of the Gryffindor table, Luna was tucking her wand back into its customary place behind her ear and had a rather disturbing --or perhaps disturbed would be a better way to describe it-- grin on her face.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood. Five points to Gry-- er... Ravenclaw," said McGonagall, stammering over the last bit where she almost called Luna a Gryffindor. It was understandable, seeing as the Ravenclaw witch spend most of her time these days at the Gryffindor table.

"My pleasure, Professor," said Luna cheerful. She waved a hand at Ron, ignoring his glare, and called, "Come sit down Ronald, your breakfast is getting cold."

Neville rose from his seat and grabbed Ron, who's face was almost the same shade as a ripe plum, and dragged silently protesting redhead back to the table.

"As I was saying, Potter, seventy points from Gryffindor," McGonagall continued once Ron was seated. "And two weeks detention with myself each evening after dinner."

"I understand, Professor," said Harry. He bowed his head and offered, "I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Just don't do it again, Harry," McGonagall told him, her stern visage softening just the slightest. "I've become very attached to that Quidditch trophy and would hate to lose it because you were unavailable to play."

"Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall nodded briskly and walked back to the staff table, her cane clicking against the stone tiles. Harry shared an amused look with Hermione, who shook her head. They would not have believed, in their first year, that their head of house would have a soft streak.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry lead them both (Hermione still had on arm around his waist) to the Gryffindor table. Taking a seat between her and Neville, he started loading his plate with food, pausing occasionally to respond to the greetings from his housemates.

Ginny was the first of the Ministry Crew to welcome him, "Like Dumbledore said, it's good to have you back, Harry."

"Yeah, everyone's missed you, mate," agreed Neville.

"Thanks," replied Harry, grabbing a few rashers of bacon.

"Just don't stay away for so long next time, okay?" Ginny suggested with a grin.

"I didn't plan on taking so long, but things came up," Harry told them as he poured himself a large glass of guava juice before tearing into his breakfast in a manner not unlike how Ron normally ate. In less time than it took to describe, he had consumed one slice of bacon covered toast, which he washed down with juice, and was moving onto some eggs.

"What happened?" asked Hermione

Harry shook his head and said, "I'll tell you after dinner tonight."

"Why can't you tell us now?" asked Neville.

"I'd rather not have anyone hear," he explained, speaking softly so that only their small group could hear him. Clearly, whatever he had to tell, it was not for public consumption.

"In that case, I promise not to listen to a word you say," announced Luna, still grinning at Ron, who sat in his seat and glowered unhappily.

"Thanks, doc."

Neville was looking at Harry in astonishment as the newly returned wizard wolfed down his breakfast in great gulps, barely chewing his food before swallowing. "Looking a bit hungry there, Harry," he observed.

Harry nodded and poured another glass of juice, "Starving."

"You haven't been eating?" asked Hermione, suddenly worried that he had not been taking proper care of himself during the time he was away.

"Junk food," Harry mumbled as he shovelled more food into his mouth. The words were badly muffled and sounded more like something a troll might say, but she was able to interpret them.

"Junk food?" repeated Ginny, clearly confused.

"I'll explain later," Hermione told her.

"Ah, Muggle concept?" asked Ginny, with an expression of understanding.

"Where is he putting it all?" wondered Neville.

By now Harry had devoured several fried eggs, sunny side up, enough rashers of bacon to make half a pig, two slices of buttered toast, and enough guava juice for the giant squid to swim in. Even more amazing was that he was not showing any sign of slowing down or stopping.

Even Luna, who had been alternating between grinning dementedly at Ron and staring with rapt fascination at the circling bat, was now watching him with amazement. "You should slow down, Harry, before you choke," she cautioned, her normally wide-eyed expression even wider-eyed than usual.

Harry paused and looked around, noticing that most of the nearby Gryffindors were staring at him. He chewed several times and swallowed before resuming his breakfast at a fractionally slower pace. He could have still rivalled Ron for speed and nobody seemed willing to risk their limbs by reaching for any of the platters near him.

"Are - are you coming - to classes today?" asked Hermione, having found that her own appetite had returned alongside Harry. She was attacking her omelette and toast, which were cold by now, with almost as much gusto as Harry was displaying.

"I think I will," said Harry after musing over the idea for a moment or two, "but I think I'll have to stop by the tower before then. I need a shower and some clean clothes. And I have to pick up my books and stuff."

"Can I come with you?"

Harry stopped eating to consider this, but eventually shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm already in enough trouble that being a few minutes late won't make much of a difference. You, on the other hand..."

Hermione looked pleadingly at him. "But I want to go with you."

"Hermione," he started, pausing to turn and face her fully. He put down his knife and fork so that he could take both her hands in his. "Nee, I'm not going to disappear into thin air."

"You did before," she said in a small voice.

"Yes," he agreed with a smile, "but this time I'm not in the process of tossing my toys out of the cot."

Reassured by this and content that all was once again right in her world, Hermione returned to breakfast. Conversation was light and revolved around the Quidditch trials, with Neville's attempt for a place on the team being mentioned several times.

Soon it was almost time to go to classes. Harry quickly finished the last of his toast, this time with honey, and washed it all down by finishing his drink in one gulp.

"That was good," he declared, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I'll see you in class," he said as he rose from the table, preparing to head up to the tower to collect his things. "We have Defence first this morning, right?"

As he started to walk away, Hermione grabbed his hand, stopping him. "Harry, I-- I'm so very sorry. For what I said about... everything."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Nee," Harry told her, gently removing her hand from around his wrist. He smiled down at her and said, "We can talk about it later, after dinner."

He was just about to leave, having taken several steps, when something obviously occurred to him. He stopped in place and turned to face where Luna and Ginny were sitting. He regarded the blonde-haired Ravenclaw for a moment and then said, "Luna, there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up."

"Quite right, Harry," agreed Luna brightly.

"Who dares; wins."

Luna blinked several times and then tilted her head to one side, looking back at him in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Go on... ask."

With that and a smile, Harry turned and left, his long strides leading him quickly out of the Great Hall. Everyone looked after him, more than a little confused by the exchange. Hermione did notice, however, that Luna seemed to have understood whatever it was that he had told her.

"Ask what?" repeated Ginny, looking perplexed. "For that matter, ask who?"

Luna blushed red, almost enough to match a highly embarrassed Weasley, and stared down at her plate. She mumbled something under her breath that nobody could hear.

Neville looked at her curiously and asked, "What was that?"

"I want to ask... someone... to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"Oh?" asked Ginny, clearly surprised. Then a broad grin broke out on her face and she eagerly enthused, "Luna, that's wonderful! Who is it?"

"I'd rather not say," Luna replied quietly, not looking up.

"Come on, you have to," insisted Ginny. Luna shook her head, refusing to answer. Ginny huffed and tried to prompt her to give them something to go on. "At least tell us if the lucky bloke knows you're after me."

Luna finally looked up and in a manner completely unlike her normal self stammered, "I... I..."

She was saved from having to answer by Ron, he had rounded the table to where she and Ginny were sitting. He pushed his way between the two younger girls and started waving a large sheet of parchment in front of a visibly relieved Luna.

"Ron! You're interrupting!" snapped Ginny, shoving her brother out of the way.

"Hey, mate, calm down," said Neville.

Ron was practically bouncing with agitation, his arms swinging about as he gesticulated wildly. The parchment he was holding was little more than a blur.

Luna, having regained her normal colour, asked, "What's wrong, Ronald?"

Stomping his feet angrily, Ron waved the parchment under her nose, but was still shifting about too fast for her, or anyone else for that matter, to read it properly.

"Dammit, Ron, will you stop acting like the village idiot and tell us what's bothering you?" demanded Ginny, hands on her hips as she rose up to confront him.

"I think that is what's bothering him," said Hermione, who was fighting a strong urge to giggle. It had not taken her long to work out what was causing Ron's agitation. She had the sneaking suspicion that Luna knew as well, but was deliberately pretending otherwise.

"What?" asked Ginny, eyeing Ron as he continued to pester Luna.

"The Silencing Charm from earlier," she clarified. "Nobody's taken it off."

Ron threw his hands up into the air in relief as silence fell over the group. Ginny and Neville exchanged sheepish looks while Luna adopted an innocent expression that was painfully fake. Now that Ron was no longer jumping around, it was easy to see what he had written on the parchment he had been waving about.

Printed in large, bold letters, was, "TAKE THE SILENCING CHARM OFF ME! NOW!"

"Oh," said Ginny with a wince.

"Right," agreed Neville, snapping his fingers, "I'd forgotten about that."

Ron angrily stomped his foot again, clearly trying to urge them to stop talking and get on with removing the charm. All eyes turned to Luna, since she was the one that had cast the spell in the first place. Of course, any of them could have removed the charm just as easily, but it seemed appropriate for it to be her.

Luna looked from Ginny to Ron and back several times before asking, "Do I have to?"

"He can't go to class if he's unable to speak, Luna," said Hermione, her voice choked with effort not to burst into laughter. This was one of the funniest things she had seen in weeks and coupled with the relief of having Harry back at school, she couldn't help herself.

"But I like him better this way," pouted Luna.

-oOo-

Shortly after Harry departed for Gryffindor Tower and breakfast ended for the other students, the teachers gathered in the staff room for a quick meeting to discuss the Boy-Who-Lived's sudden return.

"Well," began Dumbledore as he took his seat, "it would seem that we can call off the search."

"Thank heavens he's all right," said McGonagall with a sigh as she and the other professors settled down in the plush chairs surrounding the headmaster.

"I'm not so sure about that, Minerva," said Smythe-White with a trouble expression.

McGonagall looked at the Defence professor in surprise. She had watched Harry closely the entire time he had been in the hall and was certain that the young man was doing just fine. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Smyth-White frowned. "I didn't get a close look, but I'd say he hasn't been getting much sleep."

"That's normal," dismissed Flitwick.

"Filius?" asked Dumbledore, prompting the small professor to elaborate.

"Harry looked that way most of last year," supplied Flitwick, receiving nods of agreement from most of the staff. He considered his words for a moment and shrugged, "Of course, it might have been stress over the O.W.L.s, but..."

"Yes," Dumbledore acknowledged, "I see your point."

"What should we do then?" asked McGonagall.

"Just keep an eye on him," Dumbledore advised. He was thoughtfully stroking his moustache. "If you can, try to broach the subject of where he had been. Remember to be subtle about it and do not, under any circumstances, try to pressure him about answering."

Smythe-White spoke first and said, "He has class with me first, I'll see what I can do."

Dumbledore nodded, but cautioned, "Be careful, Rhys."

"Always, Albus," the professor assuaged, "it's all part of the service, after all."

Rising to his feet, Smythe-White exited the staff room at a brisk clip, as did most of the other professors. They did not have much time to reach their rooms before classes started.

"I'm his head of house," said McGonagall, who had also risen but paused at the door to glance back at Dumbledore. "Do you think I should say something?"

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore said with a shake of his head. He sighed and explained, "You're an authority figure, Minerva, and as such, Harry will not open up to you. If he does, it will be because he comes to you, not the other way around."

McGonagall nodded and left, the door swinging shut behind her. The only two people left in the room were Dumbledore and Snape, who had been standing quietly and unobtrusively in a corner.

"Aren't you going to punish him?"

"Punish who?"

"Potter, of course," Snape clarified, leaving his place in the corner and approaching where Dumbledore was seated. His voice was subdued, but the headmaster could still detect some underlying animosity. "He's missed nearly two weeks of school, without consent from his guardian or yourself."

"I do not need to punish him," Dumbledore said. He indicated the door of the staff room. "Professor McGonagall, as his head of house, has already done so."

"She punished him, yes, but not severely enough."

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow at the implied criticism. It was subtle, to be sure, so he questioned, "Are you suggesting that she is displaying favouritism?"

Snape barely nodded, "Yes, I am."

"You believe it is because he is," he searched for the right words for a moment before finding them, "'the golden boy', I believe is how you refer to him?"

It was only his long experience that allowed the headmaster to see the minute wince his words precipitated. This worried him, since such a reaction was practically a nervous tick for someone of Snape's refined movements.

The ability to keep absolutely steady under any pressure was the hallmark a fine potions master, and Severus Snape was one of the finest. It was also one of the skills which had severed the man so well in his role as a spy within the ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters. That his control was so worn away...

"You can't deny," Snape said after a short wait, "that you are not punishing him in the same manner you would if it were another student."

"No, I can't deny that."

"Why?"

"Because, Professor Snape," Dumbledore made a point to use the potions master's title, "if this war against Voldemort is to be won, it will be Harry who will lead the light to victory. It would not do for us to antagonise him unduly."

"Potter? Lead us to victory?" Snape asked disbelieving. He shook his head and said, "I hardly think he could replace you as our leader."

Dumbledore sighed tiredly and sank deeper into the plush cushions of his chair. "I am old, Severus. Perhaps too old."

Snape frowned. "That has never been an issue."

"Sadly, it has become one."

"I don't believe that," Snape countered staunchly.

"My mind and heart are willing, to be sure," Dumbledore admitted, heartened by the support, "but I'm afraid the rest of me is lacking."

"Albus--"

"Enough of an old man's ramblings," he deftly interrupted. Getting up from his chair, Dumbledore lead the younger wizard to the door. "You have a hearing to attend to and I am required in the Potions classroom."

"But--"

"You have more important things to concern yourself with, Professor," Dumbledore reminded the potions master, giving him a penetrating stare from behind his spectacles. "Harry is not one of them. Let it go."

Snape took a deep breath, doubtless preparing to argue, but let it out in a resigned huff. "I... shall try, headmaster."

"Severus," called Dumbledore as Snape made to leave. The professor paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at the headmaster. "Good luck," he offered.

"Thank you, sir," Snape accepted. A charitable person would have described his expression as a rueful smile when he replied, "I expect I shall need it."

Dumbledore watched as the potions master stepped through the door, letting it swing slowly shut behind him. It was going to be a long morning, he felt, for the both of them. Severus' career was hanging in the balance. And Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts after a leave of absence to only he knew where.

Yes, a long morning.

"I expect we both shall need it."

-oOo-

A nice, piping hot shower and a much needed change of clothes, left Harry feeling both refreshed and passably civilized. His little hideaway over the past two weeks was equipped with most of the expected amenities, but had lacked a change of wardrobe. Wearing the same clothes for two weeks, even if he had dipped them in the bathtub several times, did nothing for one's appearance.

With his school bag slung over his shoulder, Harry made his way down from the tower and to his first class at a nice, relaxed pace. He chatted briefly with Nearly-headless Nick and several portraits along the way. He was in no great hurry.

A few years earlier he would have made the entire trip at a sprint, but not any more. After all, he was already ten minutes late, an extra five wouldn't make much difference.

Arriving outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in," called Professor Smythe-White.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Harry apologised as he opened the door and stepped inside.

"Nothing to worry about, Har-- er... Mister Potter. I understand that you needed to collect your school things," the professor dismissed. He waved Harry further inside and motioned for him to join his classmates. "Please, take your seat."

Harry nodded and quickly found a seat next to Hermione, who had apparently saved it for him.

"Hi," she whispered as sat down beside her.

"Hey," he replied, pulling out his textbook and the Muggle notebook and pen that he used to transcribe his Defence lessons with.

"Now, Mister Potter," continued Smythe-White once Harry had set up, "if you'll open your book, Elements of Dangerous Magic , to page three hundred and ninety-four, we'll continue with the lesson."

Quickly paged through the book with his left hand, Harry slipped his right hand under the desk and across to Hermione. She looked at him in surprise as he took her hand in his, but then grinned brilliantly before turning her attention back to the front of the classroom.

"In brief, just to catch you up as we haven't covered much," Smythe-White was saying, "we are discussing how certain substances can either enhance or inhibit the flow of magic."

Harry frowned and tried to remember this lesson, sifting through his future memories, but not finding anything familiar. He wondered if the timeline had deviated so much that Smythe-White was now following a different lesson plan.

Reaching behind his desk, the professor brought out two bricks, which he set down on a table on the far side of the room. Positioning them side by side, he then turned back to the students and asked, "Now, to begin with, can anyone tell me why we use wands?"

Naturally, the first hand to shoot into the air was Hermione's. She clearly did not want to let go of Harry's hand, so she used her free hand.

"Hermione?"

"Wands are used as a focal point for the witch or wizard's magic," she rattled off in her usual manner.

Everyone, save Harry, made a point of copying her words down exactly. Five years of prior experience had long since taught them all that nobody knew their business better than the school's resident genius. Some of the Ravenclaws might have come close, but nobody could truly say that they were in the same league as Hermione.

Not noticing how the sound of quills scribbling on parchment had increased since she started speaking, Hermione continued, "It's rather like how glasses focus light so that a person can see properly. Without a wand, our magic would be unfocused and more difficult to control."

"Excellent, Hermione. Nice example. Three points to Gryffindor," said Smythe-White with good cheer. "Now watch closely." Turning to the table where he had set up the two bricks, the professor drew his wand and took aim. " Reducto !"

A streak of light flashed out from the tip of his wand and streaked across the room, hitting one of the bricks dead on. There was a loud bang, similar to one of Fred and George's smaller fireworks going off, and the brick exploded. A cloud of dust billowed outward, enveloping the table, as a few miniscule pieces of shattered brick rained about the room.

Smythe-White nodded with satisfaction and addressed the students, holding up his wand for all to see as he did so. "That was a simple Reductor spell using my wand, which is ten and three quarter inches long, made of oak, with a dragon heartstring core."

Returning to his desk, Smythe-White set his wand down on top of it and picked up what looked suspiciously like a wooden stick. He held it up on display, much as he had done with his wand.

"Now observe," he told them, "I am going to repeat the same spell, using a plain pine rod instead of my wand."

Taking position and levelling the stick at the table across from him, he took aim at the remaining brick.

" Reducto !"

Again a streak of light flashed across the room, but there was a noticeable difference from the first time. The light did not seem as bright, but rather more diffuse and less intense. It stuck the second brick a moment later and there was a sharp crack, though not as loud as before. The brick did not explode, but did break - splitting into much larger pieces than its predecessor.

Again, Smythe-White nodded with satisfaction. He set the wooden rod, which was smoking faintly at the tip, down on his desk and address the students. "Now, can anyone tell me why the second spell was less effective?"

Several hands went up, Hermione naturally being one of them. Harry remained perfectly still, his thoughts elsewhere as his 'memories' of this class were now beginning to filter through. He was drawn back to the present by the professor, who was calling on him.

"Mister Potter? Could you explain?"

"I didn't put my hand up."

"Indulge me, please," insisted Smythe-White.

Harry considered Smythe-White for several moments, before nodding his consent. "All right," he said, keeping hold of Hermione's hand as he leaned back in his chair. "Your second spell did not work as well, because you were not using your wand, therefore the magic was not focused enough to do the same amount of damaged."

"Meaning? Could you elaborate?"

"I'm assuming you used the same amount of power in both spells?" Harry asked. When the professor nodded, he continued, "Your wand concentrated the magic, focusing it on the target. When you used the rod, most of the spell's power was unfocused and thus lost before hitting the target."

"Perfectly sound reasoning, Mister Potter," Smythe-White said with a pleased smile. "Five points to Gryffindor."

Harry wondered if he had been awarded the points because he had gotten the question right, or if the professor was just trying to get on his good side. He frowned as this thought occurred to him and immediately discarded it. He had a feeling that it was nothing more than feedback from his future memories. Allowing that to colour his perceptions of the present would be a dangerous mistake.

While he was considering this, Smythe-White had reclaimed his wand and used it to quickly clean up the mess left from his demonstration. He tucked the wand inside his robes and resumed speaking, settling behind his desk as he did so.

"However, you will have noted that the second spell did manage to break the brick. This is because I was using a wooden rod." In rapid succession he held up several wooden rods, all cut from different kinds of wood. "Wood is a very good conductor of magical energy, having once been alive and thus having a grain through which the magic can flow. This is why it's used in the making of wands more than any other materials."

Next the professor opened a drawer and pulled out several large crystals, which he set down on his desktop. "Crystal, as we will read later, is also a very good conductor of magic. In fact, in many ways it is even better than wood."

"How's that, sir?" asked Lavender.

"The reason for that, Lavender, is because crystal can not only conduct and focus magic, but can also amplify magic. Much like how a magnifying glass or binoculars work."

"Then why don't we use it in wands, instead of wood?" asked Dean, who was listening avidly, like the rest of the class.

Smythe-White responded by pushing one of the crystals off the desk. It fell to the floor and shattered, spraying shards in all directions.

"Sadly, crystals are very fragile," Smythe-White explained. "There have been attempts to use Unbreakable or Shatterproof Charms on crystal wands, but the constant flow of magic through the wand eventually erodes the charm, forcing the users to frequently renew the charm, lest their wands become brittle."

Drawing his wand, Smythe-White continued to lecture as he restored the crystal and levitated it back up to the desk.

"Still, crystals are sometimes used atop staves or similar implements," he said. "This could be applied to wands, but the crystal would then be too small to make much of a difference."

Now the professor pulled out several misshapen lumps that he set down in front of him. "Metals, on the other hand, are not very good at conducting magic, not having a natural grain like wood and being unable to amplify the magic like crystal."

"Gold, silver and bronze," he said, holding up a Galleon, a Sickle and a Knut as examples as he spoke, "are very good at holding magical charges for long periods of time, as are certain types of stone, but they do not conduct it very well."

Next he picked up a particularly rough looking lump. "Iron in particular is notoriously bad at conducting magic, though it carries charms and enchantments easily enough - which is why machines like the Hogwarts Express are able to function."

He put the iron lump down and continued, "In fact, iron is often considered to be the antithesis of magic. Even the Muggles seem to know this, the knowledge remaining with them as part of their legends and myths. Iron is the metal which best represents the nature of the earth, something that absorbs and dispels magic to great effect."

"It is impossible for iron to be used as a conductor of magic," he concluded.

"I disagree."

All eyes immediately turned to Harry, who had spoken up and surprised everyone.

Smythe-White blinked several times and then asked, "Excuse me?"

"I disagree," Harry repeated. He leaned back in his chair and declared with authority, "Iron can be used to conduct magic. You just need to shape it properly."

"Mister Potter," Smythe-White began gently, "many of the greatest wizards in history have tried to use iron to aid their magic. Merlin himself is said to have once tried creating an iron staff to use in his battle against Morgana." He shook his head. "None have ever succeeded."

"Then they obviously did not do it properly."

"Harry, it's impossible," Smythe-White insisted.

"I told you not to call me that and, yes," Harry countered firmly, "it is possible. You just have to get the iron into the right shape."

"That makes no sense, Mister Potter," the professor said. He motioned at the lump of iron sitting on his desk. "Regardless of its shape, iron simple cannot conduct magic to any significant degree."

"Magic does not make sense, Professor," Harry told him with a faint smirk. "If magic made sense, then two and two would make four. In magic, two and two only means that you have more than what you started with."

"Even using more magic--"

Harry interrupted and clarified his earlier statement by saying, "I'm not suggesting that using more magic would force enough of it through the iron."

By now the Defence professor was actually looked a little bit frustrated. "Then perhaps you can explain what you mean," he demanded in a curt voice that was most unlike him.

"You have to shape the iron into the correct form."

"Perhaps you could show us this... correct form."

Now Harry's smirk became a full-blown one. He already had plans to construct something to use against Voldemort, using iron and several other metals, and even some crystals.

This little challenge, which Smythe-White clearly did not expect him to accept or be able to accomplish, was a perfect chance to take the former Auror Field Healer down a peg or two. He himself had nothing against the man, but his future-self was less forgiving.

"All right, I will," he said, accepting the challenge. He paused, as if to think, and then added, "It will have to wait until after the first Hogsmeade weekend. I need to get some things from the village before I can begin."

As he had expected, Smythe-White blinked in surprise.

"Very well, you can demonstrate your theory at you own convenience," the professor managed to say, quickly regaining his composure. He made an amiable gesture and conceded, "I can always make time."

Harry nodded in acceptance, grinning wickedly.

Smythe-White cleared his throat, turned his attention away from Harry and continued with his lecture.

"Well then, let's get back on topic," he started. "After wood, crystal and metal, the next material capable of conducting magic is organic tissue. Phoenix feathers, Unicorn hairs..."

Hermione leaned in close while the professor spoke and whispered, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure about this?" she asked worriedly. "Challenging a professor like that?"

"Don't worry," Harry assured her with a knowing grin. "I have it on good authority that what I have planned is perfectly possible."

"Who's authority?"

"Luna and the twins."

"Your memories?" she asked, subtly referring to his knowledge of the future.

Harry nodded and said, "Twenty two years of advances in magical theory."

Hermione looked doubtful about the likelihood that Luna and the twins had somehow managed to accomplish the impossible. "Magical theory hasn't advanced all that much in thousands of years."

"There's a fine line between genius and madness, Nee," he told her quietly. "The twins will always be on its edge and Luna will cross over it completely."

"Somehow, I don't find that particularly reassuring," she replied.

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so."

"Trust me."

The was a pause as they both listened as Smythe-White started to extol the virtues of the various different cores used in wands. Then Hermione leaned in close again and squeezed Harry's hand, giving him a soft smile as she did.

"I do."

-oOo-

The Hogwarts board of Governors regarded Snape with closed expressions. The potions master met their gazes with a blank face of his own. The disciplinary hearing had been going on for over two hours now and it was getting close to lunchtime. After everything had been said and done, all that was left was for the verdict to be announced.

"Professor Snape?"

"Governor Talbot."

"Do you have anything else to add?" asked St. John Talbot, a onetime schoolmate of Dumbledore's and now the senior member of the board. He looked nothing like the headmaster, however, his white hair trimmed short and wearing sombre midnight blue robes. His only affection was the set of massive mutton chop sideburns that dominated his face.

"Just that I have always strived to be as professional as possible when teaching students here at Hogwarts," Snape replied readily. If this were a trial, then now would be the time to make his closing statement.

Looking out at the witches and wizards sitting in front of him, Snape elaborated, "Potions is an art. A dangerous art. The slightest mistake during brewing can cause injury or worse. If I have been... overly harsh at times, it is only because I hope to prevent students from hurting themselves or others through carelessness and indiscipline."

The wizard sitting to Talbot's right was not willing to simply accept Snape's words at face value and asked, "And your blatant favouritism towards Slytherin house?"

"That I cannot deny, Governor Flynn," Snape confessed, "though I hope you will accept my reason for doing so."

"And that is?" asked Flynn dubiously.

"You are all, no doubt, aware of the reputation of Slytherin."

"We are," verified Amadeus Rothenberg, a former Slytherin himself. He and Snape had known each other during their schooldays, though only in passing.

"Slytherins are often considered associated with the Dark Art," he continued.

Talbot arch an eyebrow and observed, "They do tend to produce more dark wizards than the other three houses."

"Sadly true," Snape agreed readily. "It is because of this that I am lenient with them."

"Are you saying that Slytherins need coddling?" demanded Rothenberg, looking slightly offended at the idea. His thin, sharp features looked on sternly.

"Not coddling. Careful direction."

"And what do you mean by that, Professor Snape?" asked another wizard, Christian Scott, who was impatiently tapping the tip of his quill against the nearest inkwell.

"I freely admit that Slytherins have a tendency to... slip... into the Dark Arts," admitted Snape, choosing his words with care. He needed to work the board into a more sympathetic mood. "By treating them the way I do, I am hoping to curb that tendency."

"Giving them free reign to run amuck in your Potions class prevents them from turning to the Dark Arts?" questioned one of the few witches on the board, Maxine Satissa. She shook her head in disbelief and noted, "Forgive me if I find that rather unlikely."

Next to her, one of Professor McGonagall's former classmates, Robert April, agreed, "Indeed, I would think that doing so would only spur them on to further rebellion against the authority of the other professors."

Snape held in a wince, all too aware that he had deliberately failed to curb the disdainful attitude that most of his house tended to develop. "My Slytherins are not discourteous to my colleagues," he maintained quietly. "That has never been my intention."

"Then what is?" demanded Talbot.

"They need guidance. An authority figure that they believe is on their side," he answered without hesitation. "Without one, I do not doubt that they would eventually lash out."

"Against who? The other houses? The other professors?" asked Scott.

"Lash out against a world that judges them without giving them a chance."

Talbot leaned back in his chair and regarded Snape with a sceptical eye. "You are referring to the perception that all Slytherins are inherently 'evil'."

"Exactly," Snape agreed before explaining. "That perception is more than enough to cause bitter feelings. Especially in children on the cusp of adulthood, like those here at Hogwarts."

"Are you saying that the other professors treat the Slytherins unfairly?" inquired April.

"Bullcrap!" exclaimed Rothenberg. He folded his arms over his barrel chest and stated, "I was at Hogwarts with Severus, though a few years ahead of him. I can vouch that none of the staff have ever been blatantly biased against Slytherin. Or any other house."

"True," confirmed Talbot. "Professor McGonagall is a consummate professional, and Flitwick is too cheerful and good natured to be like that. The others are all the same."

"It is not the staff that concern me," Snape informed them, "but the other students."

"The house rivalries? You can't be serious!" protested Satissa.

"It is not easy," Snape went on, "being thought of as evil by your peers."

"Enough!" declared Talbot in his deep baritone. "We could debate this all day. All year. It's an old argument, dating back to the founding of the school."

"Quite right," concurred Flynn. "We are, after all, assembled here today for another purpose."

Talbot nodded in agreement and turned back to Snape. "Is there anything else you would care to say to the board, Professor?"

Snape considered it, but finally said, "No, Governor."

"Very well then," accepted Talbot. He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time, observing, "We shall adjourn this hearing until after lunch, so that we can deliberate on what we have heard this morning."

The various governors stood up and filed out of the board room, some stretching kinks out of their tired muscles as they went. Snape respectfully rose to his feet as they went by. It was not demanded by protocol that he do so, but he felt that, in his current position, every little bit would help.

Finally, once all the governors had left, he stepped outside after them. While he did not feel particularly hungry, he did need something to drink. He planned to retire down to his personal quarters in the dungeon, where he could brew a quick cup of Chinese green tea.

"Severus."

Snape turned to see Dumbledore approaching him. "Headmaster," he greeted.

Dumbledore stopped in front of him and peered at the backs of the departing governors. "I gather you will be learning your fate when the board reconvenes."

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "They have just adjourned for lunch and deliberation."

"I regret that I was not able to attend."

"You did not need to," Snape dismissed. Indeed, he would have liked to have had headmaster's reassuring presence during the hearing, but understood that this was not permitted. As he was Snape's superior, it was deemed inappropriate for Dumbledore to speak in front of the board. "Your testimonial was more than enough."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed. He eyed Snape with visible concern before offering, "Would you care to join my for lunch in my office?"

"Of course," he graciously accepted.

"Excellent." The old wizard turned to lead the way to the entrance to his office, which was just down the next corridor. As Snape followed behind him, the headmaster said, "You can tell me all the details over chocolate ice-cream with double toffee custard..."

-oOo-

"Nice," declared Ron, looking around the room as he and the others entered.

"Reminds me of the Burrow," agreed Ginny

"I was thinking that exact same thing."

Indeed, the Room of Requirements looked very much like an expanded version of the Burrow's living room. Ron and Ginny quickly chose the two seats that most resembled the seats they used back home.

Harry, who had lead them in, settled down in a plush armchair near the fireplace. "I wanted a comfortable atmosphere."

"Can't get more comfortable than home," agreed Ron amiably. He shifted to get comfortable and then sighed wistfully, "I just wish we weren't missing lunch for this."

"Not to worry," Luna assured him. "I anticipated something like this happening."

"What d'you mean?" asked Hermione.

Luna answered with a single word. "Dobby."

With a crack of Apparation, Dobby appeared in the room, laden with trays of food and drink. He had to be using magic to carry and balance them all, for there was enough to feed a squad of ravenous Aurors.

"Dobby?" asked Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby has brought Harry Potter and his friends their lunches, Harry Potter sir," Dobby explained, setting various trays down on the large coffee table that dominated the centre of the room.

"But how did you know?"

Dobby pointed at Luna, who was grinning smugly, and said, "Missy Loony comes to Dobby. Tells Dobby that Harry Potter and his friends be needing their lunches in the Room of Requirements and not the Great Hall with the others. Dobby gets Winky to help and then brings Harry Potter and his friends their lunches."

"Luna..." growled Hermione, clearly not happy that the eccentric Ravenclaw had called on the house-elf to make and then bring them lunch.

Ron, of course, thought there was no reason to complain. The house-elves enjoyed working and in Dobby's case considered anything done on Harry's behalf to be the next best thing to butterbeer.

"There's nothing to get upset about, Hermione," assuaged Luna easily. She reached across from where she was sitting and plucked up a litchi the size of her fist. "I merely asked a favour of a friend."

"Dobby is happy to help any friend of Harry Potter," agreed the house-elf.

"Dobby, you didn't have to," Hermione insisted.

"But Dobby wants to help, Missy Honeynee."

"Missy Honeynee?" repeated Ron in disbelief.

"Gods," Hermione groaned. She dropped her face into a hand and complained, "Can't anyone get my name right?"

"Missy Honeynee!" Ron chortled, starting to laugh. "Oh, that's brilliant! Missy Honeynee!"

Hermione glared angrily at him and snapped, "Shut up, Wheezey!"

Ron made a come-hither motion and challenged, "Make me, Missy Honeynee!"

"Ron, don't make her kill you," cautioned Ginny, reaching over to put a calming arm on his shoulder before he provoked Hermione to homicide. "Mum wouldn't like it if that happened."

"Thanks for bringing lunch, Dobby," Harry told the house-elf, who was waiting anxiously by the food covered table. "I appreciate it."

"Harry Potter is thanking Dobby for his work!" Dobby exclaimed rapturously. "Harry Potter is a great and kind wizard!"

"Er... right."

"Dobby be going now, Harry Potter sir," the house-elf announced with a bow that was so deep his nose almost touched the floor. "Dobby come back after lunch and cleans away when you are finished eating."

"Thanks Dobby."

Dobby disappeared with a crack, leaving the students to their bountiful lunch. Ron doubted he would have had this much if they had eaten with the others in the Great Hall.

Hermione, however was not amused, and let the sole Ravenclaw know it. She turned to Luna, hands on her hips and scolded, "Luna, I can't believe you did that."

"Get over it, Hermione," Ron told her, already piling food onto his plate. "Now let's eat - I'm starving!"

"You're always starving," observed Neville, also tucking in.

"I'm a growing boy!"

Harry and Luna sat down and started loading up their own plates with Dobby's generous lunch. Seeing that nobody seemed to be paying her outrage any mind, Hermione soon joined them, though a tad reluctantly at first.

The food, as always at Hogwarts, was excellent. Ron made sure to double up on his helping of apple pie and whipped cream, and in sort order everyone was sitting back with their plates piled high.

"So, Harry," Ginny began, "What happened? Why were you gone for so long?"

Harry did not answer immediately, but instead pulled a familiar piece of parchment from his bag and spread it out on his lap.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," he declared, watching as the Marauder's Map activated, thin lines spreading out and filling the parchment like delicate spider webs. "Let me just check that nobody's nearby and then I'll start."

"When did you get so paranoid?" Ron asked.

"With my life?" countered Harry wryly. "It's a necessary survival skill."

"Just be careful, okay?" Ron pleaded jokingly. "I don't want a Mad-Eye Moody clone as my best friend."

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" bellowed Neville, in a surprisingly accurate imitation.

"I'm not that bad!" Harry protested.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Cut it out, you two," insisted Hermione, "this is serious."

"Exactly," replied Ron with all the authority of someone who had grown up in the same house with Fred and George. "Which is why we're trying to lighten the mood. Too serious is never a good thing."

"They do have a point," admitted Luna.

"Well, Harry?" insisted Ginny.

Harry spent a minute scrutinizing the map closely before nodding, "Looks clear."

As his friend shut the map down, "Mischief managed," Ron helped himself to some crackers with cheese (cheddar) and asked, "So, what happened after you left?"

Harry sipped on his orange juice, clearly collecting his thoughts, before answering, "I lost my temper."

"We hadn't noticed."

"Doc..."

"Don't worry about it, Harry," said Ginny, dismissing the incident in this very room that lead to Harry's unexpected departure. "After last year, we've gotten used to it."

"Thanks for reminding me," he grumbled.

"Our pleasure," chimed Luna dreamily.

"Where did you go?" asked Hermione, not letting herself or the conversation get sidetracked by discussion of Harry's somewhat volatile temper the previous year. "We heard you asking Father to take you anywhere but here."

Harry sighed and propped his chin in one hand, "I ended up, oddly enough, in Little Whinging."

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "What?! You went back to the Dursleys?"

"No," Harry elaborated, "Just to this park that I like to visit. To think about things."

"You must have really needed to think if you went anywhere near your family," declared Ginny, speaking what they all must have been thinking.

"I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time," Harry admitted ruefully. He shook his head and sighed, "In fact, I barely remember the trip from here to there."

"Blinded by anger, were you?"

"Luna!"

Harry stopped Hermione from laying into the blonde haired witch by saying, "No, she's right."

There was a minute or two of silence as everyone busied themselves with eating their lunch, rather than questioning Harry.

Finally, Neville asked, "You didn't stay in a park for two weeks, did you?"

"No, I didn't stay there long," answered Harry. His expression, which until now had been a rueful one, turned dark and troubled. "Not after what happened."

"What?" asked Ron.

"I really lost my temper."

"Did you tear up the park or something like that?" asked Ginny.

"Something like that."

"Well, at least nobody got hurt," said Hermione. Harry winced noticeably, which caused a horrible suspicion to bloom in the stomach's of those present. "Harry?"

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He remained like that for nearly a minute before answered, "I put five Muggle boys in hospital."

"It was an accident, Harry," Luna affirmed after a while. "Those sort of things happen."

"It wasn't an accident, Luna," corrected Harry unhappily, lifting his head to look at her. He held up a hand and clenched it into a tight fist. "I hit them. Deliberately. Repeatedly. Hard."

There was a fair bit of silence as everyone took in this little gem of information. It was Ron that finally spoke up, voicing one of the first questions that came to him.

"Er, how did you punch five blokes' lights out by yourself?" he asked. "Not to sound as if I'm insulting you, Harry, but you're not exactly the biggest fellow around. Without magic..."

"Father helped a bit," Harry admitted. "I beat the snot out of them while he used his gravity fields to weigh them down. Two of them I actually hit with a compressed gravity wave. Knocked them half way across the park."

"Impressive," Luna summed up.

"You'd be surprised what can be accomplished with gravity fields," Harry told her.

"Not really."

There was a brief pause, in which Ron remembered that, according the Harry's memories of the future, Luna was the one that created Father and the gravity fields it used to open Gates.

Harry apparently had the same thought and agreed, "Yes, I suppose so."

"Are they all right?" asked Hermione, turning the conversation back to the five Muggle boys Harry had supposedly battered into bloody pulps.

"I honestly don't know," Harry sighed, dropping his head into his hands again. "I came to my senses after hitting the last two with the gravity pulse. They were all still breathing when I had Father Gate them to the nearest emergency room. After that I left the country."

"How badly were they hurt?" asked Ginny.

"Mostly just broken bones, I think. The last two..."

"The last two?" prompted Neville after Harry trailed off.

Harry gave a gusty sigh and answered, "They might have been worse than the others. The pulse hit them hard."

"Internal injuries?" asked Hermione.

"Probably."

"Oh, Harry."

"You know what the worst thing is?" asked Harry with a self-depreciating chuckle. He waited a beat and then answered the question, "I have no idea how it came to that."

"What?"

"I was just sitting there, on a swing, thinking," Harry explained. "The next thing I know, I'm seeing red and throwing punches left and right."

"You're not a violent man, Harry," Luna pointed out. "They must have done, or said, something to set you off like that."

"That's the point!" Harry snapped, making an angry chopping motion with one hand. "They didn't say anything that they hadn't said a hundred times before!"

Hermione blinked in surprise and asked, "You know them?"

Harry sighed and sipped his orange juice before answering. "They're old friends of Dudley. One of them, any way. The others I didn't know that well. Not enough to place names to their faces."

"Friends of your cousin, huh?" Ron repeated thoughtfully. "That means they've been giving you trouble since you were little."

"As far back as I can remember," confirmed Harry.

"Then that's it."

"Yeah," agreed Neville.

"Sounds like a reasonable theory, Harry," Hermione agreed.

"Maybe. It's just..."

"Just what, Harry?"

Harry sighed again and set his unfinished juice on the table. "Attacking them like that. It seems like something Malfoy would do. Or Voldemort."

Ginny immediately protested, "I can't believe you're comparing yourself to Malfoy, let alone V-v-voldemort!"

"I attacked them for almost no reason," Harry countered. "Some name calling. A few insults. Nothing that warranted what I did."

"You're under a lot of pressure, Harry," said Hermione, reaching over to put a comforting hand on the upset boy's shoulder. "Perhaps that was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

"I know, I know. I spent most of the last two weeks thinking about it," he nodded tiredly. He then shook his head. "It doesn't make it any easier to accept though."

"Of course it doesn't," agreed Luna. "That's what makes you human."

Harry sighed deeply again. Tiredly. He glanced across at the blonde witch and replied, "Which is why I sometimes really wish I wasn't human."

-oOo-

Snape was waiting in the board room when the school governors returned from lunch. He rose to his feet as they entered and remained standing even after that had taken their seats opposite him.

"I trust you had a pleasant lunch, Professor Snape," said Talbot.

"It was... richer than I am used to," Snape confessed, thinking of the rich confection Dumbledore had insisted on serving, "but otherwise quite pleasant."

"Good enough, I suppose," Talbot conceded. "Very well then, let's get this over and done with," he said, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers and staring at Snape. "Professor Snape, you are aware of the various accusations levelled against you."

"I am."

"You have heard, or read, the various testimonies supplied to this board."

"I have."

"You have given counter arguments to explain your actions."

"I have."

"Are you prepared to abide by the board's decision, whatever it may be?"

"I am."

"Very good."

Talbot leaned forward and picked up a sheet of parchment that had been resting on the tabletop in front of him. He glanced over it and then announced, "After much discussion, it is the decision of the Hogwarts board of governors that you be reinstated as the school's Potions professor."

Snape almost sighed with relief, but managed to control himself so that he did not so much as even blink. His only outward reaction was to incline his head just the barest fraction in acknowledgement.

"However," Talbot continued, "you will be employed on indefinite probation and under minimum wages. These conditions will be subject to review by this board at the end of the school year. If it is found that you have acquitted yourself in a manner befitting a Hogwarts professor, you shall then be reinstated in full. In not... you will be summarily dismissed."

The potions master was less than pleased with these restrictions, but knew that it could have been worse, so he simply accepted the necessity of it.

When he made no immediate comment, Satissa leaned forward and asked, "Do you understand, Professor?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"There is one, final, condition to your reinstatement," Satissa announced.

Snape braced himself internally. The condition must be a bad one, he thought, otherwise Talbot would have mentioned it when he was listing the other conditions.

Satissa smirked and revealed, "You are required to make a formal apology to both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

It was with considerable pride that Snape managed to not even bat an eyelid. He regarded the watching governors and asked blandly, "Potter as well?"

"Your insult to Miss Granger was also a slight against Mister Potter," explained Flynn.

"He was not present at the time," Snape noted.

"Perhaps not," Flynn agreed, "but you will issue a formal apology to the both of them."

"Very well."

Rothenberg sat straighter and said, "Since such an apology might lessen your standing in the eyes of the Slytherin students, I have suggested that we permit you to make it in private, rather than in public."

This time Snape very nearly allowed a sigh of relief to escape. Instead, he bowed his head and said, "Thank you, Governor."

"You will, however, be required to have your apology witnessed by Professor Dumbledore, in his capacity as the school headmaster," Rothenberg continued, "and by Professor McGonagall, in her capacities as deputy-headmistress and head of house to both Mister Potter and Miss Granger."

Snape was not happy to hear that McGonagall would get to see him do such a thing, but had no choice but to accept.

"I shall do so."

"Very good," summed up Talbot. He and the other governors rose from their seats. "In that case, Professor, you may resume teaching class next Monday."

"Thank you, Governor Talbot," he acknowledged. He gave a shallow bow to Talbot, as the senior wizard present, and then to the others. "Governors."

The governors filed out of the room, chatting as they went. Before leaving, Rothenberg paused as he passed Snape and spoke in a quiet voice, "A word of advice, Severus."

"Yes, Governor?"

"Tread carefully," Rothenberg cautioned, "very few of the students will be willing to give you a second chance."

"I expect as much," Snape admitted.

"Be seeing you," said the older Slytherin, taking his leave.

A moment later, Snape was alone in the board room. He thought about what had just happened and had to admit to his relief that the governors had reinstated him. The conditions placed on him, while inconvenient, were not wholly unexpected. It was only the final condition laid before him that would be something of a problem.

"Apologise to Potter?" he asked the empty room. He sighed and dropped his head in disgusted resignation. "Minerva will never let me hear the end of it."

-oOo-

Harry was sitting underneath the widespread branches of his favourite oak tree, which looked out over the Hogwarts lake. From this vantage point, he could see Hagrid's latest pet, Mister Green Turtle, drifting in the general vicinity of the boathouse. It was a fine day, the sun shining brightly in an almost clear sky and a slightly chilled wind rustling through the leaves and nearby underbrush.

He had left the Room of Requirements and come here to allow his friends time to assimilate what he had told them. He expected that they would be discussing this situation and its possible repercussions for some time. Certainly, it had taken him a long time to come to grips with the idea, at least partially.

Mister Green Turtle sank beneath the lake waters, large ripples spreading out in his wake. At the same time, Harry heard the crunch of dry leaves underfoot.

"Hey."

"Hey," he answered, looking up as Hermione came into view and stood by his side. "What're you doing out here? You have to be in class soon."

"I came to check on you," she told him. "You're more important than class."

Harry looked at her in mock astonishment and asked, "And you admit that?"

"Harry..."

"Just teasing, Nee."

"I know."

"You don't need to worry, I'm okay," he assured her, turn back to watch the lake. Mister Green Turtle had resurfaced, on the far side of the lake. "I just thought," he explained, "that I should give you sometime to take everything in before we talked it over."

"That's a relief," Hermione said, brushing some leaves out of the way and before sitting down next to him.

"Hey, you shouldn't do that," he told her. "You're going to be late."

Hermione shifted closer and pressed lightly against his side, leaning her head against his shoulder. She dismissed his concern with a calm, "It's only Potions."

Harry blinked, surprised that she would even consider skipping a class for anything less than the potential end of the world as they knew it. Of course, considering his life at Hogwarts, that wasn't as rare an event as most people would believe.

"All the more reason to hurry."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will understand."

"Dumbledore?" Harry repeated. He shook his head, confused, and asked, "What's he got to do with it? Snape--"

"Has been suspended," she finished, "pending a hearing with the school board of governors."

Harry stared down at her in disbelief. Whether it was the fact that she was being so openly affectionate, during school hours, or the information that she had just imparted that surprised him so, he did not know. "Could you repeat that?" he pleaded.

Hermione grinned impishly up at him, clearly relishing the fact that she had been able to surprise him. "Professor Dumbledore suspended Snape two weeks ago, the night you left in fact, and has been taking Potions class in his place."

He shook his head and muttered, "That certainly never happened before."

They sat together for a minute or two, watching as Mister Green Turtle wallowed in the shallows opposite them. Eventually Harry eased away from Hermione and rose to his feet, extending a hand to help her join him.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is Snape suspended?" he asked.

"It's... a long story," she answered obliquely.

Harry arched an eyebrow, certain that it must not only be a long story, but an interesting one as well. "Aren't they all," he observed, more to himself that to her.

"Come on," Hermione urged, not letting go of the hand he had used to pull her up. She tugged and began to drag him after her, "I'll explain on the way to class."

"But I dropped Potions!" he protested.

"So?" she countered. "Come and see what you're missing with Dumbledore as your teacher."

Harry considered this for a moment, weighing the various pros and cons of being forced into the same room as the headmaster.

On the one hand, there was a good chance that the feedback from his future memories would cause the encounter to descend into him sniping at Dumbledore's faults. On the other hand, he had decided, during his two week absence, to try and mend the rift that had formed between them. This, he decided, seemed like a good place to start.

Smiling gamely he began to follow after Hermione, keeping a firm grip on her hand as they went.

"Why not?"

-oOo-

Dumbledore was waiting for the final bell to ring before class would begin. He had arrived just before the first students, Terry Boot and Susan Bones, having come directly from his office after having lunch with Professor Snape.

Now, sitting behind his desk, he wondered where Hermione was. The bushy haired Gryffindor witch was normally the first to arrive for Potions - indeed for all her classes. He was not worried, certain of the fact that she was no doubt with Harry at the moment, but had not thought that she would skip a class to be with him.

He was in the process of using his wand to close the classroom door, when she stepped inside, a very unexpected guest following immediately behind her. A shocked silence descended as Dumbledore, and the assorted students, stared at the visitor.

"Harry?"

Harry paused on his way to where Hermione was now sitting and turned to regard Dumbledore with an implacable expression of polite acknowledgement.

"Headmaster."

"Forgive me," Dumbledore managed, rallying quickly, "but I thought you were no longer taking Advanced Potions."

"I'm not," Harry confirmed simply.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, a question that was undoubtedly on the minds of everyone present.

Harry gave a small shrug and answered, "Hermione told me that you're taking classes now, instead of Sn-- Professor Snape."

Dumbledore was further surprised by Harry's use of the potions master's title. It had always been something the headmaster had to remind him to use. Since his return after the summer, even that grudging use of the title had been foresworn, Harry declaring Snape to be undeserving of it.

Pushing down his curiosity about what had brought about this change in Harry's attitude, Dumbledore nodded and admitted, "Yes, I am."

"You're the pre-eminent alchemist of modern times," observed Harry. "I never had a chance to you speak on the subject before. I'm curious."

There was something about the way Harry had said that, something tickling at the back of Dumbledore's mind. He had felt the same on several occasions while talking to Harry this year, but still, he was unable to make the connection.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore smiled brightly and said, "Well, I hope you will find today's class instructive."

"I'm sure I shall."

"Perhaps it will even convince you to return to Potions."

"Don't push it," Harry replied lightly. He granted the headmaster with the faintest of smiles and then took his seat next to Hermione, who was look at him in pleasant surprise.

"Well then," Dumbledore announced, clapping his hands together, "let's begin, shall we?"

The class progressed quickly, at least for Dumbledore. There was no practical work, but rather an extensive discussion on the one aspect of Dumbledore's alchemy research that made him even more famous than he already was - the uses of dragon blood.

At times when he was not scribbling on the blackboard, Dumbledore would shoot looks at where Harry was sitting, listening keenly to every word of the lecture. He looked positively fascinated by the work, even asking one or two insightful questions.

Again Dumbledore cursed the bad blood between Harry and Snape. If the interest Harry currently showed was any indication, he could very well have become an above average student.

Before he knew it the bell was chiming, the double sixth-year Potions class was over and it was time for the students to leave for their next and final class of the day.

"It would seem our time is up for today," he said as the last echoes of the bells died away, "please be sure to read chapter thirteen of your textbooks. Also remember that the assignment on the thermal-dynamic properties of dragon blood is due next Wednesday."

The students quickly packed away there things and started to file out of the classroom, most of them thanking him as they passed the desk. None of the Slytherins did so, save for Blaise Zabini, who simply nodded.

As he acknowledged the students' words, Dumbledore kept a careful eye on Harry, who waited patiently for Hermione to pack her textbook and parchment back into her bag. As they started to leave, he was that Harry was heading directly towards him, rather than towards the door, after the others.

"Harry?" Dumbledore heard Hermione ask.

"Go on without me, Nee," Harry replied, not letting his eyes stray away from Dumbledore as he continued towards the professor's table. "I'll see you later."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione looked worriedly from Harry to the headmaster, clearly away of the volatile nature of their previous discussions since the start of term. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Harry glanced back at her and smiled.

"No."

She hesitated uncertainly for a moment and Dumbledore was almost certain that she would ask to remain. To his surprise, however, she eventually nodded in acceptance and left without another word.

Dumbledore watched her leave, the door swinging closed behind her, and then turned to see Harry standing in front of his desk.

"Hello Harry," he greeted calmly. "You want to speak to me about something."

"Yes," Harry started. "It's Halloween."

"So it is."

"Your time's up," Harry informed him curtly.

Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise, having not expected this. He knew what the young wizard was referring to, but had not expected him to bring it up. The point, after all, had been rendered somewhat moot.

"I assume," he finally said, once he had gotten his thoughts in order, "that you have not been reading the newspapers during your absence."

"No," replied Harry, suddenly cautious. After a moment he elaborated, "Even if I had, there weren't any wizarding publications available where I was staying."

"Ah, then you have not heard," said Dumbledore in understanding.

"Heard what?"

Dumbledore settled back in his chair and answered, "Cornelius Fudge was killed four days ago."

Harry blinked and stared at him in shock. "What?"

"I'm rather surprised that your classmates did not mention it," he wondered. "It has been the talk of the school - until your return."

"If you're thinking that I killed him, you should stop. I didn't," Harry told him calmly, but with a bit of an edge to his voice. "Don't worry thought; I'm sure I'll get over it."

"I did not believe you had."

"Oh? Did one of your mock assassinations go wrong?"

"Fortunately that was not the case."

With a wave of his wand, Harry conjured a chair to sit on, greatly surprising Dumbledore. The art of Conjuring was something that the sixth-years were only now starting to learn in Transfiguration. Yet Harry had just done it rather wall and produced a fairly large object without any obvious effort. The chair was plain, and had a slight wobble due to the legs being uneven, but was otherwise perfectly fine to sit on.

Harry settled down on his creation and voiced the question that had the most bearing on recent events. "Well, since you didn't kill him and I certainly didn't, then who did?"

Dumbledore drew his gaze away from Harry's chair and answered, "He was killed, while leaving his office, by none other than Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh, the irony of it!" exclaimed Harry with a short bark of laughter.

"How so?"

"Malfoy was buying Fudge's favour. Donations or whatever you want to call them," Harry explained with satisfaction. "Fudge let the bastard get away with murder, so long as his pockets got lined in the process. Seems ironic that it was his so-call best mate Lucius that did him in."

"Hm, yes, I suppose so," Dumbledore allowed.

"D'you know why he did it?" asked Harry curiously. "I would've thought Voldemort would have preferred keeping an incompetent oaf like Fudge in office as long as he could."

"You should try to at least respect the dead, Harry."

"I'll respect those that deserve it, old man. Fudge doesn't," Harry stated coldly, all traces of any congeniality fleeing his voice in reaction to the headmaster's admonishment. "And you didn't answer my question."

Dumbledore cursed himself for the slip and answered, "From what Severus has reported, apparently Voldemort became annoyed at being blamed for all the failed assassination attempts. He seemed to find it insulting that people thought he was so incompetent that he could not kill the Minister the first time."

Harry surprised him by chortling, "Oh, that's rich."

"In the interim," he continued, wondering at the abrupt turnaround, "Madam Bones has been chosen to replace Cornelius until such time as proper elections can be held."

"Good thing they chose her and not that bitch Umbridge," Harry muttered darkly.

"Undersecretary Umbridge is still on medical leave," Dumbledore told him, hoping it would reassure him that the Ministry was now in better hands than it had been.

"Madam Bones," mused Harry, stroking his chin, "can she run the Ministry and manage the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"With some help, I believe she can."

"Your help?"

"If she needs it," Dumbledore admitted, "I shall offer."

Harry seemed to accept this and gave an acknowledging smile and nod of the head. "At least I know she won't let her pride or her ego get in the way of that."

"So," Dumbledore said after a brief lull in the conversation, "it seems you will not need to remove the Minister from office after all."

"That suits me well enough," agreed Harry with a hint of relief in his voice. "I didn't really want to kill him if I didn't have to."

This admission lifted a great weight from the headmaster's shoulders. Ever since Harry had demanded Fudge's removal at the start of term, he had been worried that the young wizard was now not only willing to sacrifice live, but able to do so without hesitation or remorse. It relieved him greatly to know that Harry would have preferred to avoid killing Fudge unless there were no other option.

"Words cannot express my relief to hear that, Harry."

Harry arched an eyebrow and dryly rejoined, "Then keep you mouth shut."

Dumbledore decided to broach another topic, one that had been bothering him ever since it had been brought to his attention two weeks ago.

"I received some disturbing news the day after you left," he began.

Harry did not react, but waited patiently for Dumbledore to continue.

"From Arabella Figg," he finished. "Apparently some of the local... say we say, ruffians... were hospitalised. They had been injured rather severely during an altercation in a local park."

"I expected you'd find out about that."

"So it was you?"

Harry nodded silently, his expression growing closed.

"I rather thought so," Dumbledore sighed. He offered Harry a faint smile and said, "Fortunately Kingsley and Nymphadora were about to head off the Muggle police and apply some judicious Memory Charms to the lads in question."

"So the Ministry's involved?" Harry asked cautiously.

"No," assured Dumbledore, understanding Harry's distrust for the Ministry. "Since you did not, apparently, use magic in the encounter, the Ministry is unaware of your involvement in this matter."

Harry breath a small sigh of relief and said, "Thank God for small favours, hmm?"

Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement and added, "If not Him, then at least Kingsley and Nymphadora."

"I'll send them both a 'thank you' note."

"I'm sure they would appreciate that."

A quiet moment passed, neither of the two wizards speaking as they mulled over their thoughts. Dumbledore was wondering where to lead the conversation next, but Harry broke the silence before he could decide.

"You suspended Snape."

"Much to the delight of most of the students," admitted Dumbledore.

"Except the Slytherins," guessed Harry with a wry smile.

"Yes, they do seem rather disgruntled when attending Potions."

"I can't imagine why."

"It is a mystery," Dumbledore agreed, pleased with the rapport developing as he and Harry bantered back and forth like this. If they could do this then things were, he felt, definitely improving between them.

Harry promptly derailed Dumbledore's hopes when he levelled a dark glare at him and revealed, in a voice cold enough to freeze blood, "Hermione told me what he said."

"I expected that she would," the headmaster admitted. At least he knew that Hermione, unlike Harry's other best friend, Ron, would have given an accurate and unbiased account of the incident that lead to Snape's suspension.

He considered what to say next and then, after recalling exactly what Snape had said, began to speak. "I would like to apologise to you as well, for letting matters with Severus get so out of hand in that regard."

Harry raised an eyebrow and said, "So, you suspend Snape when he insults Hermione to her face, but not me."

"Harry... I..."

"I'm surprised you didn't just slap him on the wrist, like you normally do," noted Harry with a hint of bitterness.

"Ordinarily, I would have," Dumbledore admitted, hanging his head.

"What changed that?"

"Severus has been... under a great deal of stress lately."

"And the rest of us haven't?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I am not making excuses for him, Harry, I am merely trying to explain the reason behind why he has been..." Dumbledore trailed off as he fished for a word to describe the potions master's recent behaviour.

"A bigger bastard than usual?" supplied Harry dryly.

Dumbledore almost responded with a gentle reprimand, but remembered at the last moment that Harry's opinion of Snape was even lower than his opinion of the headmaster. Trying to defend the man's name would not aid Dumbledore's attempt at reclaiming Harry's trust.

With that thought in mind, he relented, "I suppose that's as good a word as any."

"I haven't had that much contact with him since dropping Potions," Harry mentioned, staring thoughtfully into space, as if searching for something. His eyes focused on Dumbledore and he asked, "Has it really gotten that bad?"

"He's become openly confrontational with other members of the Order. He tends to snap at myself and others. He has not been eating properly," Dumbledore listed in short order. He sighed as Snape's problems were laid out before hi. "I'm afraid the stress of his... unique position is beginning to wear on him."

"So that's why you suspended him?" Harry asked curiously. "To give him a break, before he had a proper breakdown?"

Dumbledore shook his head, wishing that it were that simple. Were it as simple as Harry seemed to think it was, then he would have simply ordered the potions master to take a sabbatical. If worst came to worst, he could have always spread the story that Snape had come down with some illness of sort and was unable to attend classes.

"Hermione's complaint was the catalyst," he revealed, thinking of how quickly matters had progressed after that. "Once word got out that I had suspended Professor Snape, I was inundated by hundreds of letters regarding his conduct with Hogwarts students. Some were even sent by witches and wizards that have already graduated."

Harry snorted and said, "No great surprise there."

With a heartfelt sigh, Dumbledore wondered at how he had missed how badly Snape's professional attitude had deteriorated. "I had always thought that his antagonistic nature was reserved primarily for Gryffindors, but that does not seem to be the case."

"You mean he gave the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws a hard time as well?" asked Harry, not sounding all that surprised.

"I did not realize how much," Dumbledore admitted, "until I began substituting his Potions classes and was forced to descend from the lofty heights of the headmaster's office."

"Bit of a shock, eh?" asked Harry with a smirk.

"I had not thought I was so out of touch."

Dumbledore sighed again, this time thinking about the reactions he had received the first day he had walked down the corridors on his way to the Potions classroom.

"I have become a seemingly unapproachable figurehead," he said, summing up the situation as he saw it. "The students are afraid to speak to me. They do not believe that 'the greatest wizard of our times' could waste his time listening to them."

"You are rather intimidating to someone who doesn't know you," agreed Harry.

"So I discovered during my first class," he concurred ruefully.

"What happened?"

He chuckled at the memory, still fresh in his mind, and answered, "I had to threaten them with the deduction of house points before they would start answering any of my questions."

Harry actually chuckled as well and dryly asked, "I hope it wasn't the Gryffindor that were so terrified of you."

"Second-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws."

"Hopefully they got over it."

"It took a while," he nodded, "but yes, they did."

They sat there for a few minutes, Harry regarding the headmaster with quiet amusement. It was a comfortable silence, one that Dumbledore was loath to break. Still, he had to admit that opening up to Harry like this seemed to be helping their damaged relationship begin to heal.

"I also realized something else," he revealed, "something disturbing."

"Oh?"

"I know the names and faces of every student attending Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, a fact that he had always taken some pride in. "I know the names of their parents and their siblings."

"I'm sensing a 'but' somewhere," noted Harry.

"I know all that, but I do not know them. I have not talked to them."

"You're a busy man."

"Not that busy, Harry," he almost snapped. "Aside from yourself, your friends and the house prefects, I hardly ever speak to any of the students that are supposedly in my care."

Harry regarded Dumbledore thoughtfully for several long moments, seemingly weighing him up on some invisible scale, before saying, "You can't speak to all of them. Even if you had a private talk with a difference student every day."

Dumbledore had been thinking something similar, but the logistics would be difficult. There were more students in the school than there were days in the year. He was not sure that he could find enough time to meet more than one a day. His job as headmaster was terribly mired down with paperwork.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "if I set aside an hour or so each day..."

"That might work," Harry agreed. He then frowned and cautioned, "Thought you should probably wait until after the war with Voldemort is finished. You're too busy at the moment and I don't think you have the time to spare."

"I should be able to make the time."

"Well, you could always use a time-turner," suggested Harry.

"I've considered that," Dumbledore admitted.

They lapsed into silence once again, sitting together for an indeterminable time.

Dumbledore briefly considered using Legilimency to try and probe Harry's mind, but decided to resist the temptation. In recent years he had made the mistake of treating Harry like a child, rather than a young adult. Harry was not a child anymore. If he ever had been.

"How have you been, Harry?" he suddenly asked.

"Pardon?" asked Harry, clearly startled by the question.

"If I'm going to start spending time learning to know my charges better, I think it best that I begin with you," Dumbledore explained patiently. "I do, after all, have a great many things to make up for."

"You're good at this."

Dumbledore looked at him, puzzled, and asked, "Good at what?"

Harry waved a hand between them, obviously referring to the conversation they were having. He confirmed this be saying, "Good at being a politician."

He could not prevent himself from sighing. Harry obviously knew that he was trying to regain his trust, his confidence, and equally obviously did not plan to make it an easy task.

"It's a skill I had to learn," he replied, "and one you will also need in the future."

"Why should I? I doubt it will help," Harry scoffed.

"Why do you say that?"

"Nobody cares how fancifully I talk, professor," Harry told him, speaking as he would to a young child. His expression grew dark as he continued, "When times are good; I'm the hero, the icon. When times are bad; I'm a deranged, attention seeking brat. Nothing will change that."

Dumbledore was barely able to prevent himself from wincing. This was something that he had not considered when leaving Harry with the Dursleys. He had hoped to allow him to grow up free of the burdens and pressures of being the wizarding world's hero.

It had worked, quite well he though, but perhaps too well. Isolated from any hint of his fame, Harry had never learnt, or been taught, how to deal with the capriciousness of the wizarding media. He had no experience whatsoever in that regard and had effectively been tossed into the deep end of the pool.

Considering the articles Rita Skeeter had written during the Triwizard Tournament, and Fudge's damnable propaganda afterwards, one could almost say that Harry had bypassed the pool entirely and been dropped into a raging river. His experiences with the press had soured him against them.

"Public opinion is a fickle thing, Harry," he tried to explain, "but it is possible to sway it to your benefit."

"Like you did?" Harry countered sarcastically. "Fudge dragged your name through the mud just as much, and just as easily, as he did mine. And there was nothing you could do to stop him."

"It was necessary for us not to unduly antagonise the Ministry," Dumbledore replied.

"So instead you rolled over onto your back and let them walk all over you."

Once again he was forced to repress a wince, as Harry was hitting hard on the mark. His lack of decisive action during Fudge's smear campaign had hurt his credibility to the point that he had been left almost impotent to act. Harry had fared even worse, his young age and woeful inexperience completely failing to protect him from the accusations levelled against him.

Things had improved after the Ministry were forced to admit to Voldemort's return, but the damage had been done. Dumbledore and the Order had lost a lot of time, perhaps too much time, and Harry... Harry had struck out on his own in a bid for independence and some control over his life.

"I know that it is a cold comfort, Harry," he said finally, "but it was for the greater good."

"You say that a lot, professor," Harry countered. "I've tried to believe it, but then I look at the world around me and ask 'is it worth it?'"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore offered. "The path that people like us are forced to walk is not an easy one, but it will save more lives than we could count."

"That's good for them," declared Harry tiredly. He stood up, the chair he had conjured earlier fading from view as he did, and began to make his way to the door. As he walked he asked, "But who'll save me?"

This was a question that Dumbledore could not answer.

Harry was at the door to the classroom and had already pulled it open, when Dumbledore stopped him by saying, "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Harry."

"I know," Harry replied with a sad smile. "So am I."

-oOo-

After dinner, in which the students were greeted with the distressing news that Professor Snape would soon be resuming his duty's as Potions professor, the Ministry Crew retired to Gryffindor Tower. This excluded Luna, since she was a Ravenclaw and thus not permitted to enter the "Lion's Den" as she referred to it.

This did not bother Luna overmuch, as she claimed that she had already been planning to go on an Oompah Loompah hunt. Neither Harry nor Hermione had the heart to inform her of Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory's place in Muggle literature.

"What d'you think Harry? Should I be bitten by a vampire or a werewolf?"

Harry looked up from the large stack of homework, which he had missed over the past two weeks and now had to make up, directing his eyes to the seat opposite him, where Ron was sitting.

His friend had, as usual, left his Divination homework for the last minute and was only now, as usual, making up a slew of grisly and painful tragedies that would doubtless placate the gloom and doom predicting Professor Trelawney. As usual.

"Vampire," he responded after a moment's thought, "That way you don't have to worry if it's a full moon or not that night."

"Yeah, good point. Thanks," said Ron, scribbling hurriedly on his piece of parchment.

A soft huff of disapproval sounded to Harry's right and he turned that way to see Hermione give an aggravated sigh of eternal suffering.

"Honestly, Ron," she began. The look on her face was a serious one, but the faintest trace of a smile on her lips gave her away. "Why do you always have to make stuff up instead of just doing proper work for a change?"

Ron looked at Hermione incredulously and ventured, "Er, because it's Divination?"

"Oh, for the love of..." Hermione threw her hands into the air in mock frustration. "Ron, how can you be so flippant about it?"

"Trelawney's a doddy old biddy--"

"She's not that old," interjected Neville, sitting to Harry's left.

"--who's decided that since she can't torment Harry, now that he's dropped out, that I'm just the person she's been looking for to replace him," Ron continued without pause. He seemed rather put off by the thought that anyone, barring Lavender or Parvati, would take Divination seriously. "Of course I'm flippant about it. Who wouldn't be?"

"Look on the bright side, old friend," said Harry, stretching his arms above his head in an attempt to relieve some of the stiffness in his neck muscles.

Ron looked at him and quipped, "There's a bright side to Divination? No! I don't believe it!"

Harry laughed and said, "At least you've got Firenze taking half of your classes."

Ron rolled his eyes and flopped back in his seat. "Oh right, like that's an improvement," he scoffed.

"I might not hold much stock in Divination," admitted Hermione, having gone back to the Transfiguration essay she had been writing, "but even I'll admit that a centaur has to be better at it than Trelawney."

"Yeah, you'd think he'd be a great professor," said Ron grumpily, "if any of us could understand a thing he says. Nothing but a bunch of mystical nonsense."

"You can't say the family didn't warn you, Ron," chided Ginny from her seat next to Neville. She waved the feathery part of her quill at him and started to say, "Remember what Percy--"

"Who?"

"Ron..."

Ron huffed angrily and crossed his arms. He glared at Ginny and stated firmly, "Until he apologises for last year, I don't know anyone by that name."

An understandably tense atmosphere had developed at the mention of wayward Weasley brother. Percy had successfully alienated himself from the family during the previous year, staunchly believe former Minister Fudge's claims that Voldemort had not returned, and accusing Harry of making it all up in a childish fit of attention seeking.

Despite having finally been proved wrong (it was hard to deny Voldemort's return after the Minister himself had seen the resurrected dark lord with his own eyes) Percy had not made any attempts at reconciliation with the rest of the Weasley family. All of the Weasley's were prideful, but Percy's was a fool's pride, which he desperately hung onto rather than admit his mistakes.

"He'll come round soon enough," Harry said before the stifling silence that had descended could grow any thicker. He hated how a perfectly ordinary, and good natured conversation could turn on its head so quickly. Letting a bit of the future's history out, would hopefully lighten the mood again.

"Are you sure?" asked Ginny anxiously.

"Well," Harry hummed, "the time table might've changed, now that Fudge is out of the picture..."

"Right, without that idiot in the way, maybe the snobby git'll be able to pull his head out his arse and see what's happening in the real world," grumbled Ron, though he did relax somewhat.

"What d'you mean, the time table's changed?" asked Hermione curiously.

Harry frowned and answered, "Thing's are happening faster now."

Neville scratched behind an ear and asked, "Faster?"

"Originally Fudge wasn't killed until about seven or eight years from now," Harry revealed, his thoughts immediately turning to Tonks and how she had sacrificed herself to get rid of the Minister after Remus' death in the werewolf concentration camps.

"You-Know-Who left him alone for seven or eight years ?" asked Ginny incredulously. She puffed out a breath and asked, "But why kill him so much sooner this time?"

"His ego couldn't take it."

"Huh?" asked Ron, looking confused. A moment later comprehension dawned and he snapped his fingers before exclaiming, "Oh, I get it!"

"I don't," admitted Neville.

"You-Know-Who didn't like everyone blaming him for all the failed attacks on Fudge," Ron explained, actually summing things up rather well, "so he got rid of him himself."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense when you put it that way."

Harry was about to speak when Father silently broke into the conversation to report something of interest. It easily caught his attention and he asked, "What?"

"I said it makes sense--"

"Ssh!"

"But you asked--"

"Ssh!" he repeated, waving for quiet.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, looking worriedly at him.

"Not now," he ordered impatiently. "One of Father's surveillance drones has found something."

"Drones?" repeated Ron. "I haven't seen any about."

"They're shifted out of synch with normal time," Harry explained distractedly as he listen to the information Father was passing to him. "Invisible and practically undetectable."

"You mean you've got invisible spies floating around Hogwarts?"

"Yeah."

Hermione looked at him with undisguised interest and asked, "How many do you have?"

Harry was preoccupied and answered, "I built about a dozen over the summer."

"So what's happening?" asked Neville.

"One of the drones has spotted some... thing... by the lake."

"What?"

"It's not that bloody monster of Hagrid's, is it?" asked Ron nervously, still of the opinion that Mister Green Turtle was just waiting to have an unwary student as a snack.

Harry frowned and reach down to pull the Marauders Map out of his bag. He spread it across the tabletop and quickly activated it.

"I need to check something," he said, touching the tip of his wand to the map, and intoned, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

The map activated and Harry immediately began scanning it. The others crowded around him, trying to see what was happening.

He concentrated on the area around the lake, where Father said the target was. Harry searched carefully, but saw nothing. "I don't see him."

"See who?" asked Ron.

"Are you sure he's there?"

"Who's where? Harry?"

"Hush, Ron," Hermione told him. "He's not talking to us."

"But who... oh, Father."

Harry listened to Father's insistence that the object of their interest was indeed in the vicinity of the lake. Deciding to see for himself, he ordered, "Give me a live feed then."

Father immediately projected an image of what the drone was seeing, directly into Harry's mind. The overlay was confusing at first, until Harry shut his eyes.

"Yes, I see it now," he said. He frowned and, had his eyes been open, would have squinted to make the image out clearer. "Zoom in."

The image ballooned outwards, filling his vision.

"Are you sure it's him?" he asked. "He isn't showing up on the map."

The image shifted as the drone moved about. For a moment Harry wondered if this wasn't a false alarm, until a gleam of silver caught his mind's eye.

"It's him," he confirmed.

Father shut down the image feed from the drone and asked what course of action Harry wanted to follow now that a positive identification had been made.

"Keep an eye on him until I can get there. Passive surveillance only," Harry ordered as he jumped up from his seat and run across the common room, "and make damn sure you don't lose track of him!"

"Harry, where are you-- Harry!" shouted Ron.

"Harry, stop!"

Harry paid their calls no mind as he belted up the staircase leading to the sixth-year boys' dormitory. He could, however, hear the stomping of their feet as they followed on his heels.

"Dammit, Harry, what's the rush?!" demanded Ginny.

"I need my cloak," he called back.

"Your invisibility cloak?" repeated Neville.

Harry reached the dormitory and flung the door open. He charge in, hardly breaking his stride, and almost ran Seamus into the ground.

"Harry, what--"

"Not now, Seamus! This is important!"

The others burst in a moment later, also almost running over Seamus in their hurry to keep up with Harry.

"What's going on? Where are you going?" asked Hermione, as he crossed to his bed.

"Hermione? What--"

"Look out!" cried Ginny, who was the next to last to enter. She crashed into Seamus and sent him spilling to the floor, though she somehow managed to retain her footing.

Harry was, by now, rooting through his school trunk, looking for his father's old invisibility cloak. For some idiotic reason it was currently located near the bottom, hidden under a mass of old clothes, old books and other assorted junk that had accumulated over the years.

Seamus struggled to his feet. "Ginny? What--"

"Out of the way, Seamus," demanded Neville, pushing the Irish wizard aside.

"Dammit, what the hell's going on here?" Seamus bellowed angrily. He pointed unhappily at Hermione and Ginny. "Girls are not allowing in the boys' dormitories!"

"Not now, Seamus! This is important!" insisted Hermione.

"That's what Harry said, but nobody's explaining why!"

With a triumphant cry, Harry found the invisibility cloak and pulled it out of his trunk, dislodging several items of Dudley's cast-off clothing in the process. He turned to his friends, donning the cloak in the process - most of his body disappearing beneath it.

"Whatever you do, don't try and follow me," he told them.

"Harry--"

"I'll be fine, Nee," he interrupted, "trust me."

"But where are you going? How long will you be gone?"

"I'm going down to the lake and I won't be more than an hour," he assured them, taking a step back so that none of them would be close enough to be enveloped in the Gate with him. With a nod that really wasn't needed, he ordered, "Father, put us down near the boat house."

Before anyone could say anything, Father had opened a Gate around Harry and, in an eye blink, transported them both down to the lake. Glancing around, Harry confirmed that they had appeared next to the boat house, where the boats that brought the first-years across the lake, were stored during the rest of the year.

"Do you still have a fix on him?" he asked, slipping the invisibility cloak entirely over him and vanishing from view. Father answered in the affirmative. "Then lead on."

Following the GateKeeper's directions, Harry followed the curve of the lake in search of the person that had brought him out here. Soon they reached the spot where the lake lapped against the border of the Forbidden Forest. This, Harry now knew, was just beyond the school's anti-Apparation wards.

There did not seem to be anyone or anything present, but thanks to the surveillance drone, Harry knew otherwise. Settling down, he waited patiently for several minutes.

"Pettigrew?" a voice called from just inside the forest. "Where are you?"

There was a rustling in the nearby undergrowth and suddenly Peter Pettigrew appeared, returning to human form after having been scurrying about as a rat. That same rat whose silver paw had caught the attention of Father's drone.

"Over here!" he called.

A lone Death Eater emerged from the forest, the hood of his cloak drawn low over his head to hide his face. He hurried to where Pettigrew was standing, and snarled, "Not so loud, you fool!"

Pettigrew waved his concern aside and replied, "We're a long way from the castle."

"Better safe than sorry," the Death Eater insisted.

"You're being paranoid."

"And you're being careless!"

They were speaking, for the most part, in hushed tones that did not carry far, forcing Harry to creep closer so that he could hear properly. He froze in place when Pettigrew turned abruptly, seemingly having heard his approach.

"What was that?"

"Your imagination, Pettigrew," said the Death Eater, which Harry now recognised at being Nott Senior, "or maybe a guilty conscience."

"Now, who's being the careless one?" retorted Pettigrew. To Harry's relief, he turned back to face Nott, rather than investigate.

Nott snorted disdainfully and said, "Unless you've been discovered--"

Pettigrew interrupted, "Of course not!"

"--then nobody could have followed you here," Nott finished calmly. He then glanced pointedly in the direction of the castle and said, "But we could be discovered if you don't keep your voice down."

"Yes, perhaps, yes, you're right."

"Naturally," agreed Nott dryly. "So, what d'you have to tell me?"

"Nothing of any particular interest," Pettigrew answered.

"Are you daft?" asked Nott incredulously. He gestured broadly at Hogwarts and went on, Potter's back, there must be something to report."

"He's been back less than a day!" snapped Pettigrew. "The only thing he's done other than attend his regular classes is go to Potions."

Harry frowned, wondering if the little rat had been following him during the day. Still, his brief venture back into the Potions classroom had been something that started the rest of the school talking. Perhaps Pettigrew had overheard the gossip during dinner.

Nott blinked and repeated, "Potions?"

Pettigrew bobbed his head impatiently and explained, "Snape was still under suspension. Since Dumbledore was teaching instead, he went down to see what it was like."

"Did they say anything to each other?"

"I may not show up on Potter's enchanted map anymore, but I don't think I'd be able to hide in the same room as the headmaster," Pettigrew told him.

"So that's all you can tell me?" asked Nott, sounding disappointed. "He attended Potions with Dumbledore."

"Well," Pettigrew hummed and hawed, "he did seem pleased to see Granger."

"The mudblood bitch?"

Hearing the man describe Hermione like that, Harry seriously considered drawing out Fred and George's plasma rifle, which he still had not had a chance to test fire, and use it to teach both Death Eaters to pay the appropriate respect for a witch that was several times smarter than both of them combined.

Pettigrew dithered for a moment and said, "He is fond of her."

"We already knew that," replied Nott blandly.

"I'm confirming it."

"Lucius will be pleased, at least."

"Ah, yes," Pettigrew said mockingly. "His plan to 'break' Potter."

"You disapprove?" asked the Death Eater.

Pettigrew waved a hand and dismissed the idea. "No, I just think that the only thing he'll succeed in doing is pissing Harry off."

Harry silently agreed with Wormtail's assessment. If Lucius, or anyone else for that matter, so much as tried to lay a finger on Hermione, he was going to make sure they didn't live to regret it.

"I'll be sure to pass that along," observed the Death Eater. He glanced at his wristwatch, clearly not wanting to spend more time in the open that he had to. "Anything else?"

"The first Quidditch match of the season is this weekend," Pettigrew announced. "Potter will be playing as Gryffindor's Seeker."

"We already knew that as well."

"Potter's been missing for two weeks, since before I got here," insisted Pettigrew angrily. "Since he only just got back, we didn't know that."

"Whatever," Nott dismissed with a languid wave of his hand. He glanced at Voldemort's spy with open contempt and asked, "If that's all?"

Pettigrew visibly grit his teeth and nodded, "Yes."

Nott sniffed and said, "Our Lord will most likely be disappointed with such poor results."

"I'll have more to report next time."

"You'd better."

Realizing that this rendezvous was more or less over, Harry retreated as silently as he could. Neither of the two Death Eaters seemed to hear him as he cautiously backed away and then made his way back to the boathouse.

Reaching the boathouse, Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak and ordered, "Keep that drone on him. I want it following his every movement."

Father concurred and confirmed the action, assigning the drone to trail after Pettigrew wherever he might go.

"Make sure you find out where he's holed up, just in case you lose track of him," said Harry as he folded the cloak up. "His animagus form is small enough that the drone might not be able to follow him into every nook and cranny."

Again Father agreed, this time asking something in return.

Harry nodded his confirmation. "Yes, record all his meetings. We'll need to know what information he's passing along to his contact." He glanced at his wristwatch and noted the time. He had been gone nearly twenty minutes.

"Now, let's not keep the others waiting any longer."

-oOo-

Hermione was waiting anxiously, and very impatiently, for Harry's return. She and the others had, after apologising to Seamus, returned to the common room after Harry had run off again. Checking the Marauder's Map, which they had foolishly left out in the open, they had watched Harry's progress from the boathouse until he had passed out of range.

Now they waited for his return, their chairs arranged around the table so that they could all see the portrait hole. It was unlikely that Harry would use that to re-enter the tower, but this angle also afforded them a view of the stairs leading down from the boys' dormitories.

"What's taking him so long?"

"Relax," said Ginny, "he's been gone less than half an hour."

"Seems longer," she muttered quietly.

"Felt longer too."

The so-called Ministry Crew, who the other students considered to be almost stupidly fearless, were startled out of their wits as Harry's voice sounded unexpectedly behind them.

Hermione twisted in her chair, almost toppling it over, and exclaimed, "Harry!"

"Gods," breathed Ron, a hand clutched to his chest, "are you trying to give us all heart attacks!"

"No, not really."

Jumping out of her chair, Hermione took three long strides in his direction and grabbed Harry into a fierce hug. It was much like how he had taken to greeting her after having disappeared over the summer.

Harry gently returned her embrace. "You okay, Nee?"

"Now that you're back," Hermione said.

Reluctantly breaking the hug, he was very comfortable, Hermione took his hand and lead Harry to his seat at the table, settling down in her chair next to him.

"So, what happened?" asked Ginny. "Why'd you run off like that?"

Harry glanced around the common room to see if anyone might overhear. Reassured that nobody seemed to be paying them any more attention than usual, he leaned forward and began to talk in a hushed whisper.

"Like I was saying, the timetable has moved forward," he told them. He made one final visual sweep to confirm that nobody was listening and quietly announced, "Pettigrew's already in the castle."

"HE'S WHAT?!"

Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Neville all jumped forward and clamped a hand over Ron's mouth. Unfortunately everyone else in the common room had already been alerted by the bellow and were watching with interest. The fact that four of the famed Ministry Crew were leaning over the table and covering Ron's mouth with their hands, only added to their curiosity.

Neville looked about and sheepishly apologised, "Um... sorry for disturbing everyone."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout this," agreed Ginny, "it's Ron... he's..."

"Having flashbacks to last year--" supplied Hermione quickly.

"The fight at the Ministry," elaborated Neville.

"--so please, just ignore him."

"Hmph, ngmb mmh mmphf! Grmpf!" protested Ron. He tried to pull away from the four hands that were smothering his face, but found that Ginny and Neville had also grabbed hold of his arms with their free hands.

The other Gryffindors continued to stare at the spectacle with unabashed curiosity.

"All right, show's over," said Harry with the same authority he usually reserved for during DA meetings. "Everyone go back to your own business, there's nothing to see here."

"Mmgbr mmh phrnt!"

When nobody moved, Harry's eyes narrowed and his voice filled with an arctic chill. He spoke softly, but somehow projected his voice so everyone could hear him. "Now."

If it weren't for the awkward position they were in, Hermione and the others might have found it amusing when everyone turned back to whatever they had been doing. They even made a show of deliberately talking a bit louder than normal in an attempt to look as if they were minding their own business.

"Ron," said Harry, turning his cool green stare to the suddenly quiet redhead, "if you don't keep it down, we're going to have to use another Silencing Charm."

"Mhnph wmpt," Ron mumbled softly.

"Good."

The four released their grips over Ron's mouth, Neville first, then Hermione, then Harry and lastly Ginny (who had been closest to her brother and thus able to get to him first).

Ron sputtered for a second and then protested, "Gah, don't do that again!"

"You're not the one with drool on his hands," observed Neville, rubbing his hand clean on his trousers. Of course, since he had been the last to clamp his hand down, he had not actually come into contact with Ron's mouth, so drying his hand was entirely for show.

"Can we continue with what Harry was telling us, please?" asked Hermione.

"As I was saying," he glanced around again and then whispered, "Pettigrew's in the castle."

"I thought you said he wouldn't be arriving until Christmas," said Ginny with a puzzled frown.

Harry shrugged, "Things are progressing faster than they did originally."

Ron was also frowning and asked, "But why?"

"I've changed things."

"You haven't done that much!" Ron protested loudly.

"Keep your voice down, you twit!" snapped Ginny, leaning forward to slap the back of Ron's head, almost knocking his face into the tabletop.

Harry ignored the short argument and elaborated on just how much impact his actions since the start of term had affected future events. "I was a right idiot and Gated directly into the Great Hall during the Sorting, which let practically the entire planet into the fact that Father exists."

Neville nodded in agreement and said, "V-v-vol-d-dermort must have heard about it from the Slytherin students."

"You really let the kneazle out of the bag, Harry," agreed Ginny.

"There's a lot of other things as well," he admitted with a sigh. "Dropping Potions and the other subjects. Tossing Snape around. Threatening Malfoy. Not to mention forcing Dumbledore to remove Fudge, which prompted Voldemort to have him assassinated. I've set too many things into motion."

"But you have all those future memories," insisted Ron. He looked anxiously from Harry to the others and back, asking, "Won't those let you know what's happening?"

"Of course they won't," Harry answered. "Everything I've done since the start of summer has changed the future."

"But wouldn't your memories change with it?"

"They haven't."

Seeing that Ron was obviously confused, Hermione decided to step in and explain. She was the only one present, aside from Harry, who had any experience with time travel. "That's because Father exists outside causality."

Ron looked at her blankly and asked, "Huh?"

This reaction was repeated by Ginny and Neville, who also had no idea what she had just said.

"Once Father came back in time, it became a separate entity," she explained patiently, long since used to having to repeat herself like this. "Nothing that happens in or to the future will have any effect on it."

"Sort of like one of those chicken and egg paradoxes," added Harry.

"Not really, but I guess you get the idea." Hermione shook her head, not really agreeing with that description, but accepted for the time being. Trying to elaborate any further would only confuse the others.

"Yeah, I think I do," nodded Ron.

"Of course you do." Hermione grinned impishly and teased, "After all, I made it simple enough that even you wouldn't have any trouble following."

"WHAT?!"

Once again Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Neville jumped forward and clamped their hands over Ron's mouth. This time it was Harry that reached him first, followed by Ginny, then Neville and Hermione last.

Neville groaned and muttered, "Not again."

"Ron, you prat - don't yell like that," snapped Ginny.

"Hmmf phrwy," Ron mumbled, looking both downcast at his slip and outraged at the treatment he was receiving at the hands of his friends.

The sudden silence that filled the common room lead the five of them to glance around and see that, once again, everyone present was staring at them.

"I thought I told all of you to mind your own damned business?" said Harry sharply.

Everyone winced at the tone of his voice and returned their attention to whatever they had been doing before Ron's latest outburst had caught their attention.

After waiting a few moments to be sure that everyone was otherwise occupied, the Ministry Crew reluctantly released their hold on Ron's mouth.

"Sorry," he apologised, blushing red.

"Wormtail was meeting with a Death Eater down by the lake, at the border to the forest," Harry continued as if there had been no interruption.

"Reporting in," said Ginny.

"Exactly."

"Does he know anything?" asked Hermione, voicing the thought that was most likely on everyone's minds. As a rat, Pettigrew would be able to sneak about the castle with relative ease and have a good chance of overhearing conversations that were supposed to be private.

Harry shook his head and said, "I'd already left when he arrived. Today's the first day I've been here for him to spy on."

"We'll have to be careful not to let anything slip when he's around," cautioned Neville.

"That's easy," said Ron dismissively. He tapped a finger on the Marauder's Map, which lay open on the tabletop. "All we have to do is check the Map."

"He doesn't show up on it anymore."

"What?"

"How?"

"I never found out the details," Harry revealed, "but he did have a hand in making it, however little. Apparently he knows enough, with Voldemort's help, to keep his magical signature from being show."

"Shit," summed up Ron. "Then how will we know where he is?"

Harry smiled with satisfaction and said, "Father has a drone trailing him."

Hermione looked at him curiously, wondering why he was so relaxed about this. After all the trouble Wormtail had caused over the years, not including the betrayal of his parents, she would have thought that Harry would go after the animagus with wand and guns blazing.

"Why didn't you try to catch him?" she asked.

"There's no point," he shrugged.

"NO POINT?!"

Everyone was about to clamp their hands over Ron's mouth for the third time that evening, but Ginny reacted faster. Apparently she had been expecting this and had her wand at the ready.

" Silencio !"

"..."

The group stared at Ron, who, once he realised what had just happened, started ranting silently. Ginny sat back in her seat and blew on her wand like a Muggle gunslinger.

"I think I agree with Luna," she observed, "I like him better this way."

Ron stopped ranted and glared at Ginny, somehow managing to pull off a passable imitation of Molly Weasley's ferocious sabre tooth tiger expression.

"I didn't try to catch Wormtail," explained Harry once he and the others settled back in their chairs, "because Sirius is dead and clearing his name can wait indefinitely."

"You really mean that?" asked Ginny, ignoring the occasional dark look sent her way by Ron, who was now scribbling determinedly on a large piece of parchment.

"There's more important things to worry about now."

Hermione looked sadly at him and breathed, "Oh, Harry..."

"It's all right, Nee," he assured him, letting her know that he was all right. Then he smiled wickedly and said, "Besides, this is a perfect opportunity."

"An opportunity for what?" asked Neville.

"Spreading disinformation," he answered.

"You're going to feed him false information," reasoned Hermione.

"Exactly."

"How very Slytherin of you, Harry," observed Ginny. She was almost knocked out of her seat by Ron, who shoved the parchment he had been writing on under her nose and waved it about. "Hey!"

Ron backed away and held up his makeshift sign for her and the others to read. Written in large, bold and somewhat messy text, was the demand, "SILENCING CHARM! OFF! NOW!"

A loud, long yawn from Neville diverted attention away from Ron's sign. "It's nearly midnight and we have classes tomorrow," he said, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head as he yawned again. "I'm done with my Charms assignment, so I'll be turning in."

"Yeah, me too," agreed Ginny, stifling a small yawn of her own.

"Good idea," admitted Harry. "I've had a long day, so I'm going to bed and I'll hex anyone that wakes me up before noon."

"Noon?" repeated Neville with surprise. "But what about classes?"

"It's Thursday tomorrow," he explained with some satisfaction. "After all the subjects I dropped, I don't have any classes until after lunch."

"Lucky bastard," Ginny groused lightly.

"We could always swap, if you want," Harry offered with fake sincerity. "You can take my dark lord and I'll take your subject load."

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "No thanks, I think I'll pass."

They rose to their feet, Harry collecting and closing the Marauder's Map in the process, and made their way towards the stairs leading up to their rooms. Ron was the only one that remained at the table, too busy scribbling together another sign on another piece of parchment.

Neville bade the girls goodnight and began climbing the boys stairs, this time at a more sedate pace than earlier. Ginny likewise said goodnight and trudged up the other staircase, leaving Harry and Hermione standing together in the common room.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Nee?"

"Did you think things would turn out this way?"

"No... but I don't think there's much reason to complain just yet," Harry confessed after thinking about it for a moment. He glanced at her and asked, "You?"

"Guess not."

Harry leaned close and gave Hermione a quick peck on the cheek. "See you at lunch tomorrow, Nee."

As Harry followed after Neville, Hermione called after him, reaching up with one hand to touch where he had just kissed her. "Sleep well, Harry."

"Like a log," he called back as his feet disappeared from view.

Hermione waited for several beats, staring at where he had been standing. She turned around, planning to head up to her own dormitory, and found Ron waiting for her, his latest sign ready.

"WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TAKE THIS SPELL OFF?"

TBC...

Backwards Compatible
Brewing Storm

The atmosphere in the Gryffindor changing room was tense. The first Quidditch match of the season was about to begin, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the team had assembled to hear some words of inspiration from their captain.

Sadly, the desired inspiration was somewhat lacking.

"Well," Katie said, "This is it."

As the next most senior player on the team, after Harry, the position as Quidditch Captain had fallen upon Katie Bell's slender shoulders.

Harry, though having refused the captaincy, had resumed his position as Seeker and was eagerly awaiting the change to play. He had been stuck on the ground for far too long, following the ban former Professor Umbridge had imposed.

"Gee, Katie," he said dryly, "very rousing speech that."

"I'm not very good at Divination, Harry," Katie replied, "so channelling Oliver Wood is a task best left for Ron over there."

"Bloody hell," cursed Ron unhappily. He crossed his arms and scowled, "Does the whole school know about Trelawney's obsession with my grisly demises?"

"Yep," Ginny happily confirmed. With Harry back on the team as the Seeker, the youngest Weasley had tried out for one of the two vacant Chaser Positions (left open by Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, who had graduated the previous year). She grinned broadly at Ron and demanded, "So, big brother, give us a speech."

"What? Me?" asked Ron, disbelievingly.

"Come on, old friend! Speech!" urged Harry.

Ginny nodded in agreement and started to chant, "Speech!"

Within moments the entire team, excluding Ron, had joined in.

"All right! All right!" shouted Ron, throwing his arms into the air as he rose from where he had been sitting between the two Beaters, Sloper and Kirke. "I'll give a speech! Just give me a moment!"

"Don't take too long, Ron, the match'll be starting any minute now," Katie cautioned, throwing an appraising eye towards the door leading outside.

"I know!"

"It's just that I don't want to be late for my first match as captain."

"I don't think Professor McGonagall would like it either," observed Harry wryly.

After several moments of silence Ginny asked, "Well?"

Ron glared at her and snapped, "I'm thinking!"

He began to stomp back and forth the length of the changing room, in a manner much the same as Harry tended to do when he was thinking of how to say something.

"You know," said Ginny, leaning close to Harry, "he looks a bit like you; pacing like that."

"He does have the form down nicely," Harry agreed readily.

Apparently Ron overheard them, because he stopped pacing a moment later and turned to face the team, who were watching him with both amusement and anticipation.

"All right, I have it!" he declared.

"Finally."

"It's about time."

"What took you so long?"

Everyone burst into laughter, save Ron, who looked distinctly displeased. His face flushed to a shade not unlike a sun-ripened tomato as he glared at his team-mates and shouted, "CUT THAT OUT!"

Slowly some amount of calm returned to the team as they settled down to listen to what Ron had to say.

"Okay, here it goes." Ron paused to considered them, obviously suspicious that they would interrupt again. After seeing that all attention was on him, he began. "We're the Gryffindor team. Best in the school," he said with pride. "We've kept that Quidditch Trophy in McGonagall's cabinet for three years. This'll be our fourth. Nobody would like to see it out of our hands more than the Slytherins, so we'll just have to make damn sure they don't get a chance to do it!"

"Well, boys and girls," asked Katie once Ron had finished. "What d'you think?"

"Better than your speech, certainly," noted Ginny.

"Not quite as fanatical as one of Wood's though," commented Harry, the only member of the team apart from Katie who had played with the somewhat eccentric Keeper.

"I'd give it six out of ten," said Sloper, giving Ron a thumbs up.

Phoebe Carmichael, a third year witch and the team's newest Chaser, disagree. "Five."

Ron huffed in disgust before sighing with defeat. "Ah, bugger it!" he groaned, throwing his arms into the air, "Let's just get out there and kill the slimy bastards!"

"Now that's good motivation," said Harry.

"Much better," confirmed Katie.

"He's improving," agreed Ginny.

"I hate you. All of you," Ron muttered. "You know that, right?"

Harry laughed and, shouldering his Firebolt, clapped his red-haired friend on the back as they filed out of the changing room and to the Quidditch pitch. "Yeah, and we love you for it, old friend."

Ron sighed and shook his head. "Great."

The team lined up in preparation for the walk onto the pitch, where they could see Madam Hooch waiting for them. The new announcer, replacing Lee Jordan, was working the crowd and would soon be announcing the teams.

"Well," said Katie expectantly. "This is it."

-oOo-

The match was not proceeding according to plan. Circling high above the pitch, keeping a constant look out for the elusive Golden Snitch, Harry found himself biting back curses at a rate that would have rivalled Ron's colourful language any day of the week.

The Slytherins were being brutal to a point where Harry was starting to worry for the safety of his team-mates, who were down in the thick of things. Their tactics seemed to be one of trying to beat the Gryffindors into pulp and thus win the game by default. Thus far they had not succeeded, but it had gotten close at times.

Harry's eyes snapped towards an approaching blur in his peripheral vision, around the frames of his new glasses. Up till now, the Slytherins had been ignoring him for the most part. The occasional Bludger would make a token pass in his general direction, but nothing beyond that.

Father's GM fields had already snapped online, prepared to block any attempt on his life, when Harry realized that it was his captain, flying up to speak with him.

"They're playing rough," Katie gasped as she drew alongside him, a dribble of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.

"Except Malfoy," Harry amended. "He hasn't come anywhere near me."

While the other players on the Slytherin team had been paying Harry only scant attention, Malfoy had been ignoring him completely since the start of the game. Indeed, he had been more or less avoiding Harry entirely since the start of term.

The last time they had been in the same room together, discounting meals in the Great Hall, had been when Harry had sat in on Dumbledore's Potions lesson, on Halloween. Even then, they had not exchanged so much as a glance. This was starting to worry Harry a bit, since he did not recall Malfoy being so unobtrusive the first time round.

"You better catch the Snitch soon, Harry," urged Katie, wiping her mouth, "before someone gets hurt."

"Katie! Look out!" came a frantic shout from Sloper.

A Bludger shot right at the seventh-year witch, her hovering by Harry making her an easy target. Katie only just managed to dodge the ball, which passed close enough to brush against her Quidditch robes.

"Shit!" she spat, regaining control of her broom once the Bludger was gone.

"That was close," agreed Harry.

"Hurry, Harry, and catch that Snitch."

Katie flew down to rejoin the other Chasers, Ginny and Phoebe, who were struggling to hold their own against the Slytherin Chasers without her.

As he resumed his circuit of the pitch, he heard Ginny call, "We can't get through their defence."

Deciding to stick close to the three girls, just in case they needed someone to cover for them, he listened as they ducked and weaved their way towards their opponent's goal posts.

"It's not only the Bludgers we have to watch out for," said Phoebe, catching the Quaffle as Ginny tossed it to her, "it's their Chasers as well!"

Before the young witch could hope to react, her words were underscored as one of the Slytherin Chasers rammed into her with his shoulder. Phoebe had to release her hold on the Quaffle to grab her broom with both hands, lest she be knocked off clean off of it. One of the other Slytherins swept underneath her and captured the Quaffle as it fell.

Katie reared her broom back and pivoted to begin pursuit.

"We have to do something!"

"We're trying!" shouted Ginny, also chasing back into Gryffindor territory.

"Well, try harder!"

"Dammit, we can't!" Ginny snapped angry, corkscrewing as a Bludger came within a foot of taking her head off. Righting her broom she explained, "I've tried everything in the book, everything out the book and even a couple of things I made up on the spot."

Kirke and Sloper managed to come to the rescue though, fortunately before the Slytherins could take a shot at the goals. Shouldering one of the opposition aside, Katie grabbed the Quaffle and swung back towards the other side of the pitch in a single, fluid motion.

"It's up to Harry then," Katie said as she and Ginny regrouped with Phoebe and began another assault on the Slytherin Keeper. "We'll just have to hang on long enough for him to find the Snitch."

She hurriedly passed the Quaffle to Ginny, just as one of the Slytherin Chasers caught up with her and tried to slam his outstretched elbow into the back of her head.

Phoebe, who was shadowing Ginny, shouted in reply, "That could take ages!"

"Not for Harry!" insisted Ginny. She pressed her broom forwards and urged, "Come on!"

Harry, being higher up in the air and thus afforded a better overview of the pitch, saw the incoming Bludger before anyone else. Clutching his Firebolt tightly with both hands, he shouted a warning. "Ginny, peel left!"

Ginny reacted without hesitation and immediately swung left. Unfortunately she was not fast enough and the Bludger hit the tail of her broom, sending her into a wild spin, wherein she lost hold of the Quaffle.

Pushing his broom as fast as it could go without entering a dive, Harry flew down to where Ginny was struggling for control and helped steady her. Grabbing her by the shoulder, he watched as Katie and Phoebe gave chase to the Slytherins, who had taken the opportunity to steal the Quaffle away from the Gryffindors.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ginny assured him, a bit breathlessly. She glanced down the pitch, where the Slytherins were rapidly approaching the Gryffindor goals. "Damn, they're really playing for keeps this time, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

"Oh God, Ron!"

Harry turned to look where Ginny was pointing, her expression frozen in horrified anticipation. He could feel the blood leave his face as the situation became apparent. The Slytherin team, Chasers and Beaters, were all charging towards the goals, ignoring Katie, Phoebe, Kirke and Sloper entirely.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Harry bellowed, "Ron! Get out of there!"

"No!" argued Ron, twisting to avoid a Bludger, but not leaving the three hoops open for an instant.

"Dammit, Ron, it's not worth it!" shouted Katie.

It was too late, however, as the Chaser with the Quaffle wound up and hurled the ball with everything he had. It was a hard and fast throw, aimed directly at Ron's unprotected face.

Not expecting shut a blatant attack against him, Ron failed to react in time. The Quaffle slammed into his face with a loud crack that could be heard halfway down the pitch where Harry and Ginny were floating on their brooms. His head snapped back like a whip and Ron dropped from his broom, like a puppet with its strings cut. He hit the ground below with several more cracks of breaking bone.

"Ron!"

The Slytherins, having caught the Quaffle on the rebound off Ron's face, quickly took the opportunity to toss the ball through the centre hoop.

"Shit!" cursed Katie loudly. She waved to her team, "Come on!"

The Gryffindors abandoned the match and rushed to where Ron had fallen. Harry was vaguely aware of hearing Madam Hooch calling for a time out, but his attention was focused on his friend's battered form.

Ginny, somehow out pacing Harry in spite of him having a Firebolt, dismounted at a dead run and skidding to her knees at Ron's side. "Ron! Ron!"

"He's out cold, but still breathing," Katie reassured her, kneeling opposite her.

"Step back a moment," Harry ordered as he arrived.

He waited for his team-mates to move aside, although Ginny did not, and then directed Father to utilize its GM fields in a manner not unlike a Muggle MRI scan.

"Both his legs are broken and several ribs. Nose and cheekbone as well," he reported as the Gatekeeper projected an image of Ron's skeleton over Harry's vision. He frowned as Father highlighted several areas. "Dislocated left shoulder. No breaks in either arm though. Odd."

"Will he be all right?" asked Ginny anxiously.

"Once we get him to Madam Pomfrey," he told her.

The Gryffindor team, who had crowded in again, backed away as Madam Hooch set down nearby. The Quidditch and Flying Instructor strode purposefully to where Ron was laying and asked, "How bad is it?"

"Bad," Harry answered, giving her a quick rundown of Ron's injuries. He turned to glare at the Slytherin team, which had landed near their goal posts and could clearly be seen gloating. His eyes narrowed and he advised, "You'd better call for some stretchers."

"Stretchers?" Hooch repeated. "But it's only Mister Weasley that's hurt."

"Not for long."

"Mister Potter!"

"Do we get a penalty for this?" asked Katie, now also glaring at the Slytherins.

Hooch shook her head and said, "No, I'm afraid not."

"What?!" exclaimed Ginny, rising to her feet and glaring at the professor. She gestured at Ron and asked, "Do you see what those bastards did to my brother?!"

"Do not forget who you're talking to, Miss Weasley," Hooch cautioned. "I am a professor!"

"Then do something about this!"

"The most I can do is issue a warning against the player responsible," explained Hooch patiently. She shook her head and said, "Otherwise, it was within the bound of the game's legality."

"Well then, we're going to have to test those bounds," replied Ginny frostily. She turned to the other Gryffindors, her eyes almost as cold as Harry's, and asked, "Aren't we chaps?"

-oOo-

Consciousness slowly returned to Ron, something that he did not find pleasant. There was a heavy ache behind his eyes and his neck felt like steel rods had been inserted into it. Moaning softly in discomfort, he began to count his body parts, just be make sure that they were all there.

His fingers and toes wiggled convincingly, though his legs were throbbing dully and his left shoulder felt rather numb. Wincing, he tried opening his eyes to find out where he was laying. He could hear soft, murmured voices, but could make out nothing distinct. Slowly things began to clear.

"He's waking up."

"Ron? Are you okay?"

"Ron?"

Looking around, and feeling a bit groggy while doing so, Ron could blearily see that he was surrounded by his friends and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Trying to remember what happened, he found himself drawing a blank at first, but slowly it began to come back to him.

Now able to remember the Quaffle impacting his nose, Ron asked, "I'm alive?"

"No, actually," replied Harry seriously. He looked gravely at the now wide awake redhead and intoned, "Welcome to the afterlife, old friend. I hope it's to your liking."

Ron spent several seconds staring up at Harry in complete incomprehension. Blinking in an attempt to clear out the cobwebs clogging up his brain, he took another look around, this time assessing his surroundings.

"Why does the hereafter look like the Hospital Wing?" he asked in puzzlement.

"Probably because it is the Hospital Wing, you twit," answered Hermione dryly.

Again, thanks to the cobwebs, it took several seconds for this to sink in. Ron stared at Hermione and then began to look from her to Harry and back again. Finally it registered that his comrades on the Quidditch team where laughing themselves silly and his friends were doing likewise.

Ginny, in a bout of sisterly concern, was laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face.

Beginning to understand that he was the butt of a joke, Ron settled for glaring unhappily at them all. He would have sat up properly and crossed his arms, to give the proper effect, but his various limbs protested the action before he could even fully form the thought.

"How d'you feel?" Hermione asked once the laughter had died down.

"I think my bruises have bruises," he replied with a groan.

"You took quite a tumble from your broom, mate," Neville told him seriously. "Bruises are the least of your worries."

"Wha? Neville? Why're you all red?" Ron blinked several times to clear his watery and still slightly unfocused eyes. The sight which greeted him once the world returned to proper focus, was a surprising one. "Quidditch robes?"

A closer look revealed that Neville was indeed wearing Gryffindor red Quidditch robes, albeit rather badly fitting one. He was propped up with an old Cleansweep Seven and sported a large bruise, already fading to pale blues, purples and yellows, down the right side of his face.

Perhaps sensing that an explanation was needed, Katie offered, "Neville came on when you were taken off."

"You made Neville play Keeper?"

"Beater, actually," Neville corrected with a slight blush.

"I took over as Keeper," elaborated Sloper. "Neville replaced me."

"Ah."

Ron now took a proper look around at the rest of his team. What he found was an assortment of injuries that would be more fitting as the result of a brawl in the local pub than a bit of sports rough and tumble.

Katie had a split lip, Sloper had a black eye, Phoebe's right arm was in a sling and Ginny was standing in place cautiously, as if it hurt too much to move fully. Only Harry seemed reasonably unaffected, though his robes had several grassy streaks, evidence of a long slide down the pitch.

"So, how are you Ron?" Hermione asked again. "Besides your bruised bruises."

"He's obviously in either a great deal of pain," said Luna, before Ron could reply, "or still delirious from the concussion he sustained."

"Why do you say that?" asked Hermione.

Luna looked pointedly at Ron and said, "He hasn't asked who won yet."

Ginny nodded in thoughtful agreement and said, "She does have a point."

"Always."

Ron, still not fully coherent, asked, "So? Who won?"

"What d'you expect?" asked Ginny, as if it were a stupid question. "We did, of course!"

"Two hundred to sixty," added Katie with no small amount of satisfaction.

"That knock to the head must've been worse than we thought," mused Sloper, rubbing tenderly at his bruised eye. "Asking stupid questions like that."

"Oh shut up, my head hurts."

"That's what happens when you think too hard, Ronald," countered Luna.

"Ugh."

"So eloquently put."

Ron glared up at Luna, but could not think of a suitable retort. His temples were beginning to throb and he was feeling a tad unsteady on his feet. As he was currently still lying prone on a hospital bed, this worried him slightly.

Slumping back against the pillow propping his head up and closing his eyes, so that everyone would stop swaying back and forth like that, he asked, "When's Madam Pomfrey letting me out of here?"

"Not for a couple of days, I'm afraid," supplied Hermione with sympathy in her voice. "Monday morning at the earliest."

"Monday?" Ron opened his eyes and stared incredulously at her. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm not, Mister Weasley," insisted Madam Pomfrey, pushing her way through the small group crowded around Ron's bed. She looked sternly at him and ordered, "You are staying in that bed, and nowhere else, until Monday."

"Why? I'm fine!" he protested, weakly pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"You are most certainly not 'fine', young man," Madam Pomfrey retorting, clearly able to see how his arms were quivering under the strain of holding himself up.

"Y'know," said Harry blissfully, "I rather like this."

"Like what?" asked Neville.

Harry pointed at Madam Pomfrey and said, "The fact that I'm not the one she's scolding for a change."

Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a jaundiced look and stated in an aggrieved tone, "Yes, well, I don't doubt, Mister Potter, that I'll be seeing you before the year is out."

"Not if I can help it," Harry returned with a grumble.

"Now, Mister Weasley," said Madam Pomfrey, turning her attention back to Ron. She held up a corked flask and handed it to him. Seeing that Ron was not doing anything with it, she prompted, "All in one go, please."

"What is it?" asked Ron dubiously, eyeing the steaming liquid with some suspicion.

"Skele-Gro."

Everyone winced at that, especially Harry, who had some experience with this particular potion.

Ron hastily set the flask on the bedside table and protested, "I'm not that badly off!"

"Oh, yes, you are," insisted Madam Pomfrey. To emphasise her point, she leaned back and gave a sharp poke to Ron's right leg, eliciting a yelp of pain from the bedridden young wizard.

"Gah!"

"Now drink up, there's a good lad."

Her advice, and medicine, dispensed, Madam Pomfrey departed as swiftly as she had arrived, leaving the others to crowd close around Ron's bed again.

Katie patted Ron's shoulder sympathetically and said, "That looked like it hurt."

"It did!" Ron confirmed. He groaned and collapsed back against his pillows, his arms and injured shoulder too tired to hold him up any longer. Throwing an arm over his eyes, an action that caused his head to throb and his nose to punctuate that pain with sharp jolts, he groaned, "Ooooooh, I wish I was dead."

"You nearly were," Ginny informed him seriously.

"Come on, Ronald, drink up. It'll make you feel better," said Luna.

"Nonsense. It's not that bad," Ron insisted. He struggled for a moment to sit up properly and eventually managed to raise himself into something that passed for an upright position. "See? I'm feeling better already."

"Oh? So it doesn't hurt here anymore?" asked Hermione, giving Ron's leg a jab in the same spot Madam Pomfrey had poked only a minute ago. This, quite naturally, elicited another yelp of pain.

"Gah!"

"Can I have a go too?" asked Luna.

"Merlin's bleeding beard, no!" protested Ron, who had fallen prone on the bed in agony. His leg was throbbing to the beat of his heart and it was all he could do not to cry from the pain. "I don't want anyone else to--"

Luna, however, ignored his objection and reached over to prod his right leg, once again in the exact same spot, but before Ron could even begin to recover from the last assault.

"Gaaouch!!" he wailed.

"Luna! Don't touch!" admonished Ginny sternly.

"Don't touch what?"

"That!" Ginny declared, making the unfortunate mistake of pointing out the affected region by jabbing her finger into it with more than enough force to cause Ron to writhe about and howl in pain.

"Yeeeouch!!"

"Easy girls," cautioned Katie. She obviously found the situation amusing, Ron could tell, if the grin on her face were any indication. "Ron's legs aren't a Roman Road, you know."

Ron lay back, gasping for breath and blinking in an attempt to clear his vision. There were a number of dark spots dancing around the edges which were beginning to worry him almost as much as the thought of someone else attacking his leg.

"All right! All right! I give in!" he shouted, something he immediately regretted because it made his entire head feel as if it were in the process of exploding. "I'll drink the damned potion..."

"Here you go."

Harry, having anticipated Ron's capitulation, handed him the flask of Skele-Gro.

Ron accepted it reluctantly. "Thanks."

"One big gulp, old friend," Harry told him. "You don't want to draw this out."

"It's already drawn out far too bloody much in my opinion," Ron grumbled as he uncorked the flask and took a preliminary whiff of the potion within. Gritting his teeth and hoping that it was not as bad as Harry had made it out to be, during their second year, Ron brought the flask to his lips and threw back his head. He immediately dropped the flash and began coughing violently. "Bloody hell! Dammit!"

"At least it's over now, Ron," appeased Hermione as she softly patted his knee, which fortunately did not hurt like the rest of his leg did.

"Hello chaps!"

Ron turned his head to stare in abject horror and resignation at the new arrivals. His eyes might have been swimming with tears, but he could still recognise these two particular brothers. Apparently Fred and George had decided to pay him a visit.

"Oh gods, take me now," he groaned.

"Ronnikins!" cried George, rushing over to Ron's bedside.

"How's our favourite baby brother doing, eh?" asked Fred, shouldering his way between Kirke and Sloper to stand opposite George. As he said this, both twins clapped their hands down on Ron's legs. The result was about what you would expect.

"GGGAAAAAAAAAUUUUURRRRGGGHH!!"

-oOo-

"You did that deliberately," accused Hermione.

George looked at her, an affronted expression on his face, and asked, "Why, Hermione, dear--"

"How could you think such a thing?" interjected Fred.

"--would we do that?" finished George.

"I see no point in answering rhetorical questions," she countered.

The group of Gryffindors, including one Ravenclaw, were making their way from the Hospital Wing to the Gryffindor Tower. Fred and George were tagging along, much like Luna was, though they had already explained that they would not be staying very long.

After recovering from the twins' rather enthusiastic greeting, Ron had managed to remain conscious long enough to spend a few minutes talking to his visitors, before succumbing to the various potions already bubbling away in his system.

"I hope he'll be all right," voiced Ginny.

"He will be," Harry assured her. "Ron's a tough chap."

"I'm not so sure, Harry," said Hermione thoughtfully. She glanced back along the corridor they had just come from and remarked, "He was looking a little peaked."

"I don't think it's that bad," announced Luna gaily. "He was, after all, interested in my story about the Matter Transmorgifier, which the late Minister Fudge stole from the American Muggles' Area Fifty-One."

"That's what worries me," Hermione countered dryly. "Anyone in that state of mind must be on the brink of death."

Harry was, in a fit of mischief, about to ask Luna what exactly a Matter Transmorgifier was, when Fred and George snuck up behind him. His trip back to the tower came to a stop when the twins each grabbed hold of a shoulder and held him back as the others continued forward.

"Harry, mate--"

"--a word, if you will?"

Nodding his acquiescence, Harry drew to a halt as the twins pulled him aside. Since they had not been in front, it was several seconds before the bulk of the group noticed that the three wizards had fallen back. They too slowed to a stop and looked back to check that everything was all right.

"Harry?"

"Don't worry, Nee," Harry waved for her and the others to continue, "I'll be along in a minute."

"Yes, just a friendly chat--"

"--between business partners," agreed the twins.

Hermione looked dubious about this explanation, but accepted it. She smiled gently and told him, "Don't take too long, all right?"

Harry grinned back, "All right."

"See you later boys!" called Katie as the troop of Gryffindors resumed their course to the tower.

"We'll save you a butterbeer, Harry," said Neville.

Harry and the twins waited patiently as their friends, housemates and team-mates departed. Or at least Harry waited with some semblance of patience. The twins were literally bouncing from one foot to the other in anticipation.

Having a feeling that Fred and George had not pulled him aside to discuss the weather, frigid as it was, Harry grabbed them by the sleeves of their robes. Moving briskly but unhurriedly, he led them to a small alcove that was nearby, which he knew would afford them some degree of privacy.

"Who'd have thought; Neville, playing Quidditch," commented Fred as they walked.

"And darn nicely too," agreed George.

"'Cept for that bit where he almost took Phoebe's head off."

"You should have seen him during trials," noted Harry, thinking about the stories he had heard of how Neville had managed to accidentally break Sloper's arm, necessitating a visit to the Hospital Wing.

"We did!" Fred informed him.

"You weren't there, remember?" reminded George.

"What were you two doing there?"

Fred puffed out his chest importantly and revealed, "Katie asked for our help evaluating everyone."

George nodded sagely and explained, "We felt it was our duty--"

"As former Gryffindors," interjected Fred.

"--to lend her the benefit of our experience."

"Right," agreed Harry wryly. He now remembered that the twins had also made their way to the Gryffindor trials in the original timeline (when Harry had accepted the Captaincy).

Pulling them into the alcove, which was just big enough for the three of them to stand together with some elbowroom, he checked to make sure that they were alone. The twins made a small amount of delighted fuss and nostalgic ramblings when Harry used the Marauder's Map to see if anyone was nearby and might overhear them.

A silent query to Father confirmed that Pettigrew was currently scurrying back from the Hospital Wing to the Gryffindor dormitories. Fortunately the little rat was using a different, less frequented route than the students, and would have no chance of stumbling upon them.

"So what's up?" Harry asked as he tucked the map back into his robes.

"We haven't had a chance to see you since we delivered the rifle," said Fred.

"How is it, by the way?" asked George, eagerly curious.

"Packs a stronger kick than I remember," Harry admitted.

"Eh?"

"Since when've you used one of those before?"

Of course Harry never had used a phased plasma rifle before, at least not in this timeline. His future self, however, had several years worth of experience using one.

Unfortunately this experience did not carry over, merely the memories of having done so, which meant that while his future self could shoot a hole through the centre of a Bertie Bott's wizard card at fifty paces, Harry was lucky if he managed to hit a human sized target at the same distance.

Fortunately Father was more than able to compensate for this, utilizing its GM fields to control and aim the plasma rifle with an accuracy that was literally inhuman. Still, Harry did not like relying solely on his Gatekeeper for such matters and had made a point of practicing by himself on a regular basis.

Harry shook his head and told them, "It's a long story that I really can't tell you here and now."

The twins looked knowingly at him and nodded in understanding.

"Worried about the various eyes and ears littering the walls?" asked Fred.

"Amongst other things," he admitted.

"Then we'll just have to be circumspect in our discussion," announced George.

"I can handle that."

Fred beamed happily. "Excellent."

Clapping his hands, George began, "As I was saying--"

"As I was saying, not you," interrupted Fred.

"Right," agreed George. "Well, as George was saying--"

"I'm Fred, remember?"

"You are?" asked George, looking at Fred in confusion. "Oh, right."

"Right."

"Can I continue?"

"Sure."

"Right. Well, as stated before..." George paused to cast a suspicious glance at Fred before continuing, "we haven't had a chance to talk to you since delivering your new toy."

"So, we decided to speak with you in person to discuss what happened," finished Fred.

"What d'you mean?" asked Harry, not sure where the twins were going with this.

George sighed dramatically and began to explain, "As you might imagine, certain people--"

"Namely our illustrious leader," input Fred.

"--where less than pleased with the fact that we built it for you."

Fred nodded in agreement and elaborated, "They were also rather put out by the fact that we did not bother informing them that you had commissioned us to build it for you."

Harry could almost imagine the scene. He had known that taking delivery of the plasma rifle in the Great Hall would put the twins on the spot, but had idiotically gone ahead with it anyway. Now not only the Order knew about the weapon, but so did just about every witch and wizard on the planet.

"Yes, I'd imagine they weren't happy."

"That's putting it mildly," admitted George.

"Suffice to say, words were exchanged," continued Fred.

"A few hexes and curses were almost exchanged as well."

"At which point we were forced to tend our resignations."

This piece of news was so surprising that Harry wasn't sure that he had heard it right. He blinked several times and replayed the last few moments, just to be sure. He looked at the two redheads standing opposite him, their expressions serious ones, and intelligently asked, "What?"

George smirked and said succinctly, "We quit."

"But... why?

"To be honest," said Fred, "we prefer your Defence Association to Dumbledore's Order."

"What we're saying, Harry," explained George, "is that all you have to do is ask... and we'll do it."

"I'm... I'm touched," Harry eventually managed to say. And he truly was. He had always know that the twins would stand by him, they had done so in the past and would do so again in the future. However, he would never have expected for them to quit the Order of the Phoenix, something they had very much wanted to be a part of the previous year.

George laughed and said, "Oh, we've been saying that since the day we met you."

Fred speculated thoughtfully, "Which is probably why we get along so well with you."

"How reassuring."

"So, is there anything you need us to do?" asked George.

"Yeah," nodded Fred, "the shop isn't so busy, now that school's started, that we can't work on any projects you might decide to send our way."

"Thanks guys," Harry told them earnestly, "this means a lot to me."

"So?"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as a dozen ideas flitted through his mind. There were so many possibilities that he could pursue with the twins' help, he simply did not know where to begin. He explained this, "I have a few things I think you can help me with, but I'll need a few days to sort out exactly what."

The twins nodded in acceptance and George informed him, "We'll be waiting."

"I'll definitely be wanting more examples of your previous commission," he said, referring to the plasma rifle.

"Can do," confirmed Fred.

"Now that we've done it once before, it'll be easy."

"We could probably turn out one a day, if we had the materials."

"Good," acknowledged Harry, pleased to know that he would be able to bolster his arsenal in a relatively short amount of time. A thought occurred to him and he asked, "How much do I owe you for it, by the way?"

To his surprise the twins did not answer immediately. Instead they exchanged a look and then glowered unhappily at him, as if he had just done something to upset them.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"You don't have to pay us, Harry," explained Fred.

"But--"

"No buts!" Fred interrupted, a tad heatedly.

"This is important stuff, mate," said George.

"Beyond money," agreed Fred.

"Besides," George carried on in a lighter tone, "We already owe you."

"I can't accept it for free," Harry protested weakly.

"You'll have to--" insisted George.

"--because we won't accept any of your money," finished Fred. To emphasise their words and show that they were serious about this, they both crossed their arms and gave Harry a look that warned him against arguing.

"How about a compromise?" Harry suggested after thinking it through for a minute. He paused and, when they did not immediately protest, continued, "I supply the raw materials and you assemble whatever I want from them."

Fred glanced at George and said, "That sounds--"

George nodded and agreed, "--about right."

"We'll give you a list of what we need--" said Fred, turning to look at Harry.

"--once you tell us how many examples you need," finished George.

Feeling relieved that his proposition had been so readily accepted, Harry stuck out his hand to affirm the deal. He shook hands with Fred first, followed by George. A moment later he watched with bemusement as, for some strange reason, the twins shook hands with each other as well.

Checking the time on his wristwatch, Harry saw that it was starting to get late. He and the others had missed lunch, visiting Ron in the Hospital Wing, and if he wanted a chance to eat some snacks at the party, to hold off his hunger until dinner, he had best get to the tower sooner rather than later.

"I better get back to the common room," he said, indicating the time.

"Give everyone our best," Fred told him.

"In fact, take these with you," said George, reaching into his robes. He pulled out a small bundle of... something, and handed it to Harry. "I guarantee they'll liven things up a bit."

Harry accepted the small package and eyed it dubiously. It looked relatively harmless, though this held true for most of Fred and George's prank items.

"Dare I ask?"

"Better not," said George.

"What do they do?" he asked regardless.

"Come now, Harry," chided Fred, wagging a finger at him. "That'll ruin the surprise."

"Just know that it'll be hilarious," George assured him.

"Unless anyone suddenly sprouts antenna or extra limbs," admitted Fred.

"Then you'll know something went wrong."

"That's reassuring," Harry noted sarcastically, but pocketed the bundle any way. He stepped out of the alcove, Fred and George following close behind, when he remembered something that he had noticed earlier. He turned back to the twins, who were heading the other direction, and called, "Hey! You do realise, don't you, that you forgot to shave this morning?"

The twins stopped and looked back at him. They exchanged a conspiratorial look and then made a point of stroking their stubbly upper lips.

"Oh, it's much more than that, Harry," declared Fred.

"Much, much more," agreed George with authority.

"We are going to do something--"

"--that will change our lives."

"We have decided to grow--"

"--moustaches!"

There was a brief moment of silence as Harry stared at them both, utterly dumbfounded. This was something so utterly unexpected that he could do nothing else. It was not just the idea of Fred and George growing moustaches - he knew that their brother Charlie would be growing a full beard the next year.

No, it was the mental image that had instantly formed in his mind's eye. For some reason, the picture of Fred and George with massive, flaming red handlebar moustaches that wiggled and jiggled as they spoke, seemed to leave Harry standing in place, his jaw hanging open slightly.

This thought was immediately followed by the mental image of Molly Weasley's expression if Fred and George ever sauntered into the Burrow, moustaches twitching as they faced down their mother. Of course, such an action would cause those same moustaches to be on the receiving end of Molly's wand and a couple of Shearing and Shaving Charms.

Finally he gathered his wits and recovered enough to say, "That's new."

-oOo-

Voldemort did not move when Lucius Malfoy quietly entered the audience chamber, though his glowing red eyes did glide away from the spectacle before him to glance at the new arrival.

" Crucio !"

Turning his gaze away from Lucius, Voldemort resumed watching as his most faithful servant, Bellatrix Lestrange, tortured a group of four Muggles. This particular group were fishermen who had the misfortune of straying too close to Voldemort's island hideaway and had been subsequently captured.

"My lord," acknowledged Lucius, having approached to a respectful distance from where Voldemort was standing. He bowed low at the waist before kneeling and said, "You summoned me."

"That I did, Lucius," Voldemort agreed. "That I did."

Bellatrix released the curse from the Muggle she had been torturing, a middle-aged man in need of a shave and a haircut. She moved on to another, huddled next to him, and practically sang, " Crucio !"

The Muggle, this one younger and clean shaven, twisted and writhed on the stone floor. His high-pitched cries, hoarse from having been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse several times already, reverberated off the walls and ceiling, filling the entire room.

"Truly a wondrous sound, is it not, Lucius?" asked Voldemort, closing his eyes and allowing the screaming to play across his ears as if he were listening to fine music. He tilted his head and swayed it back and forth in time to the Muggle's shrieks. His eyes still closed, he ordered, "Rise."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius replied.

"I sometimes think I could listen to the wails of these Muggles all day," Voldemort admitted, hearing that Lucius had done as commanded of him, and risen to his feet.

"Perhaps, my lord," Lucius readily agreed, "though I think it would be more pleasurable causing their wails than merely listening to them."

Voldemort considered for a moment and then acknowledged, "True." The hoarse screams tapered off as Bellatrix released the Muggle in preparation of moving onto the next. "Enough, my faithful Belladonna," he ordered, raising a hand to stop her. He opened his eyes and saw that she was waiting, poised a second from casting the curse. "Lucius and I have business to discuss, and trying to do so over the screams of these Muggles is bothersome."

Bellatrix bowed her head and lowered her wand. "As you wish, my lord." The Muggle that would have been her victim collapsed against his fellows, tears of relief streaming down his face. Bellatrix regarded his whimpering form with disgust and asked, "Shall I return them to the prison cells?"

"You misunderstand, Bellatrix," corrected Voldemort, a sly smile stretching his thin lips. "My business with Lucius is not cause enough for you to stop entirely. Please, continue as you were, only not so loudly."

"Do you still wish to hear their screams, my lord?" asked Bellatrix, now sporting a matching smile.

All four Muggles stiffened, understanding his meaning, and began to beg for mercy. Voldemort arched an eyebrow at them, wondering how they could believe that they would receive such a thing. He nodded to Bellatrix and said, "Of course."

Bellatrix nodded and said, "Thank you, my lord," before turning to the Muggle she had been interrupted from tending to. She raised her wand and muttered, " Bracheus Constras ."

This, Voldemort knew, was a charm that restricted the movements of a person's larynx. They could still speak, even scream, but at nothing more than the barest of whispers.

"Now, where was I?" asked Bellatrix, tapping the tip of her wand thoughtfully against the sharp point of her chin. She smiled, acting the part beautifully, and crowed, "Oh, yes... Crucio !"

"Much better," concluded Voldemort as he and Lucius watched. The Muggle's screams were muffled, but easily discernable as he bucked and thrashed under the Cruciatus Curse's effects. Satisfied that things would continue to progress in a manner he prescribed, the dark lorded turned to his companion and said, "Now, Lucius, the reason I summoned you."

"You will is my own, my lord," Lucius responded.

"Of course it is."

Voldemort retreated to the back of the room and seated himself on his 'throne'. In truth it was not much more than an ornately decorated cherry wood and gold chair, but Voldemort jokingly referred to it as a throne. Of course, he never did mention this out loud, as it was for his own amusement that he thought of it so.

"I have decided to more forward with our plans to teach Potter a lesson," he announced. "The reports given by your son, and the other children, seem to show that the boy has been working on some sort of weapon to use against us."

Lucius nodded in acceptance, the only outward sign that he had heard Voldemort's words. The dark lord, however, could see the sudden pulse of eagerness that surged through his Death Eater's magic.

He leaned back in his chair, propping his right elbow on the armrest, and reached up to trace his fingers over his lips. Quietly, but projecting his voice so that Lucius would have no difficulty hearing him (Voldemort hated having to repeat himself) he mused, "It would also appear that he and Dumbledore are beginning to mend their relationship."

This piece of news had been reported by the Slytherin students in the sixth-year Advanced Potions class. Apparently Potter had attended one of the classes Dumbledore had taught, during the period that Snape had been suspended by the school board of governors. It was the first time this school year that Potter had been seen and heard speaking to the headmaster in a civil manner.

"This I cannot permit," Voldemort determined, a frown marring his smooth features. More to himself than to Lucius, he muttered, "Together they are strong enough to cause me difficulty. Separate, however, they can do little to hinder me."

A sharp cry, muted as it was, drew his attention to Bellatrix and the Muggles. She had apparently grown tired of using the Cruciatus Curse and had moved onto something else. His sharp eyes picked out a pattern of almost invisible streaks of red on the screaming Muggle's face. These were the telltale marks caused by the rather nasty Cutting Curse that Bellatrix had just cast, slicing into the man's body a hundred times in less than a second.

Voldemort nodded his appreciation and turned back to Lucius, saying, "I must do more than simply break the ties between them." He clutched his right hand into a fist, which he held before him, and insisted, "I must break his will as well."

"The mudblood girl. Granger," said Lucius.

"Yes," Voldemort admitted. He eyed the other wizard approvingly and said, "I am pleased to see that you are able to anticipate my needs."

"I live to serve, my lord."

This needed no reply, as Voldemort felt it to be somewhat self-evident. He merely inclined his head, a regal motion that he thought complimented the description of his chair as a throne. "How long until you can be ready?" he asked.

"Everything is already in place, my lord," Lucius confidently replied. "You have but to give the order."

"Impressive, Lucius, most impressive."

"Thank you, my lord."

A flare of yellow, followed by a pleasant crackling sound, caused Voldemort to glance once again to where Bellatrix was playing. She had, it seemed, set fire to one of the Muggle's legs.

"Tell me what you have planned," he commanded, watching with amusement as the burning Muggle screamed his throat raw and bloody. The magical restraints holding him and the other Muggles in place, prevented him from trying to put the fire out.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius began, keeping his gaze firmly on Voldemort and not allowing his attention to stray. "Naturally the first phase involves the mudblood's abduction. This will prove to be almost too easy."

"Indeed? How so?"

"Draco has observed that she stops by the school library first thing every Monday morning to return whatever books she has taken out over the weekend," Lucius explained.

By now the smell of burning flesh, overpowering that of burnt cloth, was beginning to fill the air. Voldemort noted, abstractly, that it was making him hungry.

Lucius, continuing to ignored Bellatrix's work, laid out the rest of his plans. "Once she is in our hands, we will use her in a manner fitting her lack of station. The entire thing will be recorded on memory crystals, as well as photographed, all of which will then be sent to Potter as a... souvenir of the occasion.

"Yes," Voldemort nodded in approval.

"We will keep her captive for however long you deem necessary, my lord," Lucius said, "using her in the same manner on a regular basis, each time sending Potter the memory crystals and photographs."

"I think it best we hold her for some time," Voldemort decided after a short moment of consideration, "the better to draw out Potter's suffering. And her own."

"That was my thought as well, my lord," agreed Lucius. He quickly moved on to conclude, "When the time comes, we shall begin implanting subliminal commands in her subconscious, all designed to undermine and eventually destroy her will to live. Once the final trigger is in place, we shall Portkey her back to Hogwarts, where Potter will have a chance to see first hand what happens to those that defy you."

"Excellent, I approve," said Voldemort, "Well done."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius accepted with a bow. "You are most gracious."

"Yes, I am," he agreed.

Bellatrix had moved on from the burning Muggle, who was still on fire, and was currently casting a curse on one of the others that caused muscle after muscle to cramp. She seemed to be working from the fingers of his left hand inwards. The subject of her attentions was arched up off the floor, his face contorted with anguish.

"I grow tired of this, Bellatrix," Voldemort commented, "finish it."

"Yes, my lord."

"Lucius."

There was a flash of green light from across the room as Bellatrix cast the first Killing Curse.

"My lord."

A second flash quickly followed the second.

"You may proceed as you see fit," Voldemort told his waiting servant. As he finished speaking Bellatrix cast the third Killing Curse, its green light flickering over the cold grey stone of the audience chamber.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius accepted.

"Be sure to make the experience as painful as possible."

"Yes, my lord!"

Voldemort glanced past Lucius just in time to see Bellatrix kill the last Muggle, the one whose legs she had set on fire earlier. The man was contorting violently when the curse hit, its green light enveloping him and outlining his figure for an instant before he collapsed in a limp and smouldering heap.

"You're dismissed, Lucius," he ordered.

"By your leave, my lord."

"Go."

Lucius bowed deeply and quickly made his departure, being certain not to turn his back to Voldemort the entire time. None of the dark lord's servants ever made that mistake more than once. Such a disrespectful action would have earned him a great amount of pain.

The position in front of the dark lord's faux throne was taken by Bellatrix. She knelt down before him as the doors swung closed after Lucius.

"How may I serve you further, my lord?"

The wording of her request brought back memories of how Voldemort and Bellatrix had once had a bit of a fling during the glory days of his first reign of terror. Things had been different then. She had been young and beautiful, while he had still been handsome and looked far younger than he actually was, thanks to his magicks.

Voldemort was not sure, but her husband, Randolphus, might have known about their affair. If so, then he had never said anything about it. Of course, if he had, it likely would not have changed anything, except for shortening the man's life considerably.

He considered Bellaxtrix now and realised that she was still an attractive woman. The years in Azkaban had been harsh and left their mark on her, but she had regained most of her feminine curves in the year that she had been free.

Looking down at her, practically offering herself to him, Voldemort came to a second, disturbing realisation. Since gaining this new body, he had not once felt any sexual urges. In fact, he had not felt any such thing since he had fallen at Godric's Hollow fifteen years earlier, but now that he had regained physical form, he should have regained those same desires.

"Perhaps later you may 'serve' me, my delicious Belladonna..." he whispered, reaching down to stroke his slender fingers through the sleek strands of her hair.

"Yes, my lord!" Bellatrix replied eagerly.

"But there are things I must investigate first," he told her, withdrawing his hand. The resolution to fix this flaw in his new body grew stronger at the sound of her willingness to please him so.

"Yes, my lord," she answered dutifully, but the disappointment audible in her voice.

"If anything urgent requires my attention, I shall be in the library."

Rising from his throne, Voldemort briskly strode to the doorway leading out of the audience chamber. As he walked, his heels clicking softly against the stone floor, he passed by the corpses of the four Muggles. He paused for a moment, his head inclined as he considered the bodies.

Voldemort disliked inferior creatures like Muggles. He could barely tolerate being in their presence long enough to properly punish and then kill them. Fortunately, however, he made a point that anything, or anyone, that he disliked never survived his presence for very long.

"Get rid of these... things," he ordered. "I do not want their blood staining my floor."

"By your command, My Lord."

Voldemort smiled.

"Always."

-oOo-

Sunday dawned and all the third years and up were eagerly anticipating the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. The Great Hall was abuzz with conversation and a palpable air of good cheer filled the room. It seemed that the constant fear and worry over Voldemort's return had been left behind, if only for the time being.

"It's going to be nice visiting Hogsmeade again," said Hermione.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Harry, taking a sip of his orange juice. He put the glass back down and nodded, "Feels like it's been forever since I was last there."

"Considering last year, that's not surprising," noted Luna.

Harry turned to Luna and had to admit that she was looking very pretty this morning. Indeed, one might attribute that to the fact that she was dressed almost normally for once, but there was more to it than that.

She was wearing a silky, dark blue dress that shimmered as the light fell on it. It clung to her like a second skin, contrasting nicely with her pale complexion and dirty blonde hair. Stopping just above her knees and with a low neckline that presented a cleavage that most people would not have believed she had, the overall effect was impressive to say the least.

A bit much for a simple trip down to Hogsmeade, but still very impressive.

She was wearing her untidy hair up in a surprisingly neat French-twist, had a subtle amount of makeup around the eyes and a hint of lipstick and not a turnip to be seen in the vicinity of her ears. If it weren't for the fact that her wand was, as always, tucked behind her right ear, most people would have mistaken her for someone else.

"What d'you want to do, Harry?" asked Neville, turning Harry's attention away from his eccentric friend.

"I have a few things in mind," he admitted.

"Well, I want to stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies first. I need to buy a proper uniform, just in case I need to play again," Neville told them as he spread some marmalade on a slice of toast. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and then addressed Harry, "Thanks, by the way, for lending me your spare yesterday."

"No hassle."

"What about you, Luna?" Neville asked. "Anywhere in particular you want to go?"

"Not really," replied Luna, who had arranged her bacon and eggs into a crude smiley face. She was currently cutting into the left eye with two knives that she was holding not unlike a pair of chopsticks. "Hogsmeade doesn't have that much of interest, aside from the Corasians."

"Corasians?" repeated Neville, mystified.

"It's a pity Ron won't be able to come with us," said Harry, knowing from experience that letting Luna try to explain would only serve to confuse everyone even more.

"Yes, but he should be out of the Hospital Wing by tomorrow morning," agreed Hermione. "Ginny's visiting him now."

"Hi, Harry!"

"Hi, Colin," replied Harry, repressing a sigh of resignation. How anyone could be so cheerful all the time was something he would never understand. He was peripherally aware of Luna sitting up straighter at Colin's approach. A glance revealed that her eyes had narrowed to slits that were fixed on the young Gryffindor.

"Hey, d'you know where Ginny is?" Colin asked, looking up and down the table. "I've been looking all over for her."

With his back to Luna as he spoke, Colin missed the subtle eye contact she was making with Harry as she stood from her seat and walked up behind Colin. This was a good thing, since if he had seen the predatory expression on her face, he would have probably pissed himself.

Harry, Hermione, Neville and just about everyone else in the Great Hall, watched with fascination when Luna's head exploded with blue and white flames as her face was reduced to a charred skull. Apparently she had taken a liking to the Flaming Demon Skull Head that Ron had used on Colin the previous month.

"CREEVEY!! YOU WERE WARNED TO STAY AWAY FROM GINNY!!"

"L-L-L-Lah-Luh..."

"I WILL STRIP THE FLESH FROM YOUR BONES!!"

"L-L-L-Loo-Loo..."

"AND THEN I WILL GRIND YOUR BONES INTO POWDER!!"

Colin had, until now, been frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but stutter incoherently. Now he managed to turn around, coming face to face with empty eye sockets of Luna's blazing skull, which loomed ominously in front of him.

"Luna! No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!!" roared Luna. "I'M GOING TO HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!!"

"Gaaah!"

Quite understandably this was a bit too much for poor Colin, causing his courage to flee his presence completely. Turning on a heel and screaming in abject terror, perhaps a bit more so than warranted for the situation, Colin fled the Great Hall as fast as his legs could carry him.

"MY," said Luna as she returned to her seat, "THAT WAS REFRESHING."

"I never knew Colin could run that quickly," remarked Neville, watching the younger Gryffindor's fleeing figure vanish from sight through one of the entrances on the far side of the hall.

"He has good motivation chasing behind him," Harry supplied as the corona of flame's surrounding Luna's head died away.

"Honestly, Luna, what did you do that for?" demanded Hermione.

Luna stared blankly back at her and asked, "Do what for?"

"Luna!"

"Let it go, Nee," suggested Harry, gently prodding her with an elbow. "It's just a little harmless fun."

Hermione looked incredulously at him and then motioned towards the doors that Colin had fled through, "She's traumatising Colin!"

Harry shrugged and said, "If being petrified by a Basilisk didn't have any lasting effect on him, I doubt Luna could do anything."

"Is that a challenge?" asked Luna, eagerly leaning forward.

"No!" Hermione shouted.

"Pity," said Luna, sounding disappointed. "I would've liked a challenge."

"You can't go around terrifying your classmates, Luna," Hermione explained, trying to sound patient, but not succeeding very well.

"Why ever not?" asked Luna with puzzled innocence.

"Aaargh! You're impossible!"

"Thank you."

"Give up, Nee," advised Harry.

"Yeah," agreed Neville, "while you're still behind."

Hermione huffed indignantly, clearly put out by the fact that nobody seemed the least bit concerned about what had just happened to Colin. She could not maintain it for long, however, and relaxed back into her seat with a quiet admission that it was just a tiny bit amusing. That said, she settled down to finish her breakfast.

Harry, who had helped himself to another helping of bacon and fried tomatoes, turned to her and asked, "Anything you want to do, or any place you want to go, when we get to Hogsmeade?"

"Wherever you're going is fine by me," she admitted.

"I don't think I'll be going anywhere interesting, I'm afraid."

"Oh? Where's that?" asked Neville curiously.

"I need to get some supplies for when I show Smythe-White that iron not only can conduct magic, but can actually do it rather well," Harry informed them all, keeping his voice down so that he would not be overheard.

"I've heard of this challenge you made," announced Luna, currently attacking her breakfast's right 'eye'. "Most of the school has, actually. It sparked an interesting debate in the Ravenclaw common room the night it was announced. At the moment it seems about an even split between those who believe that you know what you're talking about and those that think you're simply seeking more attention."

"So, what are you getting?" asked Hermione quickly, clearly hoping to distract him before he became annoyed with the fact that his every action was being scrutinised and studied by his schoolmates, yet again.

Harry, however, could not have cared less about what the other students thought of his challenge. "I need to check the local jewellers," he answered, "to see about finding some crystal."

"Jewellers," repeated Hermione, puzzled by why he would be needing crystal in a challenge to demonstrate the ability of iron to conduct magic.

"I also need to get hold of some pig-iron from a blacksmith, if there is one," Harry finished, his thoughts darting over a list of the various other materials he would be needing. He needed some gold and silver for the project, he knew, but did not think it necessary to go to a blacksmith for them. A few Galleons and Sickles, melted down by Father, would be more than enough to suit his needs.

"You sure about that Harry?" asked Neville. After the challenge had been made most of the Ministry Crew had thrown themselves into studying that aspect of magic. They did not think that Harry needed their help, but they did feel a need to have at least some idea of what was going on. "From what I've read, pig-iron's even worse at conducting magic than refined iron."

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Harry assured him.

"Well, it's definitely an interesting shopping list you have," commented Luna, now having moved on from the eggs to the bacon 'mouth' of her meal. "Anything else?"

"Maybe a book or two on Runes."

"I could lend you some, if you want," Hermione immediately offered, "or show you where to find some in the Hogwarts library."

Harry smiled at her, grateful for the offer. "Thanks, Nee."

The topic of discussion was briefly halted and diverted by the timely arrival of Ginny Weasley. She had obviously just finished visiting Ron in the Hospital Wing, and had rushed to the Great Hall to catch a late breakfast before joining the others on the trip to Hogsmeade.

"Hey, everyone," she greeted as she approached where they were sitting.

"Good morning, Ginny," Luna welcomed with a bright smile, answering before any of the others.

Ginny smiled and took the seat next to her, which caused Luna's smile to grow fractionally larger. As she began to pile food onto her plate, she asked. "Have any of you seen Colin? Phoebe said he was looking for me."

Harry glanced at Luna, whose smile had dimmed slightly, and admitted, "We saw him a few minutes ago."

Ginny paused in the acquisition of her breakfast and looked around. She scanned the length of the table for any sign of the missing wizard. Finding none she asked, "He left?"

"He was in something of a hurry," Neville explained, his lips twitching with restrained laughter.

"I wonder where he is now," wondered Ginny.

"Somewhere over Thursday," Luna helpfully answered.

-oOo-

The visit to Hogsmeade was very enjoyable for the Ministry Crew, barring Ron, who was still trapped in the Hospital Wing. After being taken down to the village by the Thestral drawn carriages, they started by following Harry about as he gathered the materials needed for his demonstration, quasi-challenge, regarding the magical conductivity of iron.

After gathering a few large, misshapen lumps of pig-iron, Harry had ventured into several jewellery stores before finding one that supplied him with several fine crystals. They were all very long and narrow, reminding Hermione of thin knitting needles. That completed, they milled about, moving from store to store as they passed the time until lunch.

There had been a brief encounter, if you could call it such, with Cho Chang. The Ravenclaw prefect, and this year's head girl, had strolled passed their group, hand in hand with Ginny's ex-boyfriend, Michael Corner. Hermione glared at her the entire time, as did Ginny. Neville was too polite to glare, while Harry had ignored her completely. Luna was... well, Luna. In other words, completely oblivious.

That had been half an hour and three stores ago. Now the four Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw found themselves browsing inside one of Hermione's favourite bookstores. An interesting book on Abstract Arithmancy had caught her attention, though she did pause every now and then to watch her companions' antics, particularly Luna.

It had not taken long for Hermione to realize that the younger witch was staring adoringly at Neville, who was talking animatedly with Ginny about something Herbology related. At the moment she was pretending to read a book, which she was holding upside down, as she surreptitiously (or so she must have thought) peered over the brim at where Ginny and Neville were browsing.

Considering that Harry had told them how the pair had gone through Auror training together and had later been partnered together, Hermione decided that having Luna like Neville in that way should not have surprised her.

Hermione set the book she had been looking at down, making a note to pick it up later, when she noticed that Harry had walked up to where Luna was standing. He too had obviously noticed Luna's infatuation with Neville. Of course, with his memories of the future, he must have already known.

"Luna?"

"What! I'm not doing anything!" Luna hastily replied, jerking as if she had been completely unaware of his approach. She calmed somewhat and held up the book she had been holding and said, "Just reading this book. It's very fascinating."

"I'm sure it is, Doc," Harry readily agreed. He reached over and flipped the book right side up in Luna's hands. "I think you'll find this might help."

"Er, no actually," admitted Luna, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I prefer it upside down."

Harry looked at her, clearly not believing a word of it, and asked, "You do?"

Luna nodded so fast her head was almost a blur. "It's like the Quibbler that way."

"Ah, I should have known," said Harry, in apparent understanding.

"Harry, please--" Luna began, but was interrupted when Harry pressed a finger to her lips.

"Ssh, Luna," he told her quietly. "I won't say anything. Nor will Hermione. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Harry," she sighed, visibly relaxing after hearing his assurances. She glanced to where the others were still standing and resumed her furtive scrutiny, holding the book (right way up this time) in front of her face.

"My pleasure," demurred Harry, patting her shoulder and then striding to where Hermione had been watching the short exchange. A slight, satisfied smile was on his lips as he rejoined her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and jokingly observed, "Aren't we the little matchmaker."

Harry leaned back against the bookshelf next to where she was standing, crossing his arms and watching Luna intently. "She must act on her feelings before it's too late," he explained. "Even if nothing comes from it, at least she'll know she tried."

"I can just imagine what the wedding will be like," she said after a while.

"Wedding?" repeated Harry incredulously. He looked at her with wide eyes and asked, "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?"

"Well, they do seem an unlikely couple at first glance," Hermione began, "but I'm sure Neville will..." She trained off when she noticed the utter confusion on Harry's face.

"Neville?" Harry repeated even more incredulously than before. He shook his head in confusion and asked, "What on earth are you talking about?"

Getting the feeling that she had misinterpreted the situation, Hermione tentatively asked, "You mean you're not trying to set Luna up with Neville?"

"Of course not," replied Harry. "I'm setting her up with Ginny."

His words, spoken in a tone of voice which implied that he had thought it was perfectly obvious, caused Hermione to just about swallow her tongue in shock. She openly gaped at Harry, at a complete loss for words.

"Shut your mouth, Nee," Harry advised, reaching out to snap her jaw shut, "before something nests in it."

It took a moment for her brain to restart, but once it did, Hermione was in motion. She grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him down the nearest aisle of books. Looking for an ideal spot, where nobody was likely to overhear, she lead them both to a musty and disused section of the shop.

Satisfied that there would be no eavesdroppers listening in, Hermione released her grip on Harry and rounded on him. "Ginny?!" she asked in a hissed whisper, "You're setting Luna up with Ginny ?! Are you mad?!"

"Just a little, yes."

"Why on earth are you doing something so unbelievably stupid?" she asked incredulously.

"It's not stupid, Hermione," he replied curtly.

Hermione easily picked up the growing annoyance in Harry's voice. She quickly recovered her composure and apologised, "I'm sorry, Harry, it's just..." she waved a hand in the direction of where they had left their friends, "this is something I'd never have expected. Luna and Ginny?"

Harry folded his arms and leaned against the nearest book stack and asked, "You disapprove?"

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "I mean, it's not exactly my cup of tea, but I'm open minded and as long it makes them both happy..."

"Ginny is the unrequited love of Luna's life," Harry informed her seriously.

"What happened? In the future?" she asked.

"Ginny was killed in the attack on Hogwarts at the end of next year, remember?" he reminded her, leaning his head back to rest against the bookshelves as he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Did Luna ever tell her how she feels?" asked Hermione, having the dreadful suspicion that she already knew the answer.

"No," Harry shook his head. Opening his eyes to peer at her from over the rims of his silver framed glasses, he added, "Despite how it may seem, Luna's actually very shy when it comes to her feelings."

Hermione could easily imagine how the blonde witch must have felt. She knew how she would feel if Harry were to die before they had a chance to find out if what they felt for each other could grow into more.

"She must have been devastated."

"She was."

"At least she had you to help her get through it," she told him, trying to remind him of the good he must have done.

"I'm not sure I was much help," he muttered.

"Don't sell yourself short, Harry," Hermione admonished.

"I shagged her brains out whenever she wanted for the next twenty years, Nee," Harry told her flatly, his expression a rueful one. "Not what I'd call the best way to help someone move past their grief."

This shocked Hermione even more than the revelation that Luna was planning to actively pursue a relationship with Ginny. She stumbled back into the book stack behind her, upsetting several books on impact. She stared at Harry, a terrible knot having formed in her chest, and tried to find words to speak.

"You... you... and Luna..." she began, but trailed off.

"Luna will be grieving for Ginny, I'll be grieving for you," Harry said by way of explanation, bending over to pick up the books she had knocked over. He gathered them in his arms and settled them on a nearby shelf, unable to return them to their proper places since Hermione was standing in the way.

"You... you're going to be lovers?" she asked tentatively.

"Lovers? No."

"But you--"

Harry clapped a hand over her mouth and hissed for her to be quiet. Shocked silent, Hermione realised that she had been getting progressively louder. If they did not wish to have an audience descend upon them, she had best keep her voice down.

"Nee, believe me, I feel nothing but friendship for Luna," Harry told her in a soft but sincere whisper. "Now or in the future. Whatever it may be."

"Then... why?" she asked plaintively.

"I don't really know," he said with a shrug. "I mean, it's not like I was really there."

Hermione needed to know, however, so insisted, "Why do you think?"

He visibly considered his answer for a minute before replying. "We were both hurting. It took the pain away. For a while."

"Friends with benefits?"

"I guess you could say that."

Unable to decided whether she should be jealous or not, Hermione spent several minutes mulling over what she had just learned. It seemed odd to think that Harry and Luna might possibly have a relationship, of a physical sort, some time in the future.

But, that future was uncertain now. Luna was chasing after Ginny, or at least making her infatuation with the Weasley girl a little more obvious than it had been originally. And Harry, well, Hermione was fairly certain that he was interested in pursuing a relationship with her, not Luna.

Harry had been quiet as well, clearly giving her space and time to think, but was beginning to shift nervously from one foot to another. Speaking softly and sounding rather unsure of himself, he asked, "Nee? You okay about this?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered truthfully. She was willing to bet that it would take her a good number of hours of introspection before she resolved her feelings about this. She glanced at him and asked one of the many questions that suddenly plagued her. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"I didn't want to upset you," he replied softly, ducking his head and examining the tip of his right sneaker. He looked up at her from beneath his mop of black hair and smiled wanly, "Besides, once Luna gets together with Ginny, I doubt she'll be needing me as a future bed warmer."

"You wouldn't complain though, if she did," observed Hermione.

"I'm sixteen," he shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wouldn't complain all that much if any pretty girl wanted me as a bed warmer," replied Harry, a bit of the frustration he must have been feeling leaking into his voice and stance. He had stuck both hands into his trouser pockets and was scuffing one foot on the floor tiles.

Hermione considered his answer for a moment and decided that he was just being honest. It was, after all, flattering to the ego to know that someone desired you in that fashion. And there was a big difference between not complaining about that attention, and refusing to actually sleep with them.

That decided she asked, "What if she and Ginny don't work out?"

"Then I'll be there to lend her a shoulder to cry on."

"And if she wants more than that?"

"I'll tell her to direct all requests in writing to my girlfriend," Harry answered with a bit of a smile, holding up his hand, three fingers extended outward, "in triplicate."

"I'm serious, Harry," she told him sternly, not pleased that he was joking about this.

"So am I," Harry affirmed earnestly. He leaned in close to her and gently gripped her shoulders. "I wouldn't do anything like that without your express approval."

"And if I refused to let you... warm Luna's bed?" she asked softly. "What then?"

"Then I wouldn't," he said plainly.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Hermione blinking, feeling a bit stymied by his answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but could not think of anything to say, so closed it again. It took several tries before she managed to asked, "Why?"

"Because you're my Hermione," Harry answered, ducking forward to kiss the tip of her nose, "and anything you want, you shall receive."

"Does that include you?" she teased, for some reason entering a teasing mood, despite the seriousness of the discussion they were having. It seemed completely at odds with all the doubt and worry and anxiety that had built up after hearing about his future self's liaisons with Luna.

"If you ask."

They were leaning in closer, gravitating together, in preparation for a proper kiss. They had only really kissed on a few occasions, less than a dozen, since the start of their own relationship. Hermione could not help but feel elated that Harry was seemingly taking the initiative, something he seldom did. Their lips were only a hair's breadth apart when she whispered her reply.

"I'm asking."

"Harry? Hermione?" called a familiar voice. "Where have you two gotten to?"

This managed to startle them both and they jumped apart, putting a propriety three foot distance between each other. Both were breathing slightly faster and shallower than normal, light blushes adorning their cheeks. They stood there, each staring at the other, trying to get their bearings.

Harry recovered faster and called, "We're over here, Ginny."

A moment or two later, Ginny, Neville and Luna rounded the corner of the book stack Harry and Hermione had been standing behind.

Ginny looked about with wide-eyed interest (for some unknown reason) before focusing on them. "There you are."

"What were you doing back here?" asked Neville.

"Checking the books, of course," Hermione answered, knowing that would be the best excuse under the circumstances. There was no way she would reveal that they had been discuss Harry's future sex life, with or without Luna.

"You're interested in Sex Magic then, are you?" asked Ginny, arching a wry eyebrow at them.

A horrible feeling of mortification blossomed in the pit of her stomach. For the first time since dragging Harry here, Hermione looked around and saw where exactly she had brought them. As Ginny had noted, they were indeed hiding in the middle of the Sex Magic section of the bookstore.

"Oh."

In an attempt to look as if she had been busy browsing the books, rather than almost kissing Harry, Hermione had leaned close to the book stack and grabbed a random book. It was only now that she noticed the book she was holding was titled "Sapphic Hearth Ward Formation" .

She almost dropped it right there, but managed to actually return it to its place on the shelf with some measure of nonchalance. She absently noted its location. After all, if Harry's matchmaking succeeded, Ginny and Luna might find a use for it some time in the future.

Harry cleared his throat and tried, "Ahem, well..."

Luna, who was leaning against Ginny, summed things up by saying, "Kinky."

"It's not like that!" Hermione protested, her cheeks burning as she blushed.

"Well, if you're done here, why don't we go down to the Three Broomsticks," suggested Neville, "where you can explain what it's really like over a pint of butterbeer."

"Yes, I think that is an excellent idea," Hermione agreed, relieved to have a way out before the situation became even more awkward than it already was. With luck, everyone would have forgotten by the time they reached the pub. If not, then maybe the butterbeer would distract them.

Embarrassed beyond belief, beyond what she thought possible, Hermione pushed her way past and led them towards the exit. She was in such a hurry and so intent on leaving that she completely forgot the book on Abstract Arithmancy that she had been thinking of buying.

They were just stepping out the bookstore and onto the pavement when Harry spoke up, "Oh, by the way Ginny..."

"Yes, Harry?" Ginny asked.

"Say 'yes'."

"What?" asked Ginny, looking at Harry in confusion. "Say 'yes' to what?"

Harry smiled knowingly and said, "You'll know when it's time."

Ginny clearly was not quite sure what to make of this statement, but nodded in acceptance and carried on walking, soon catching up to Hermione and then taking the lead from her.

As she fell back to join Harry at the rear of the group, Hermione could see that Luna was blushing a little, no doubt a result of Harry's advice to Ginny. She was also trailing behind Ginny and appeared to be watching the redhead's backside sway as she led the way to the Three Broomsticks. She seemed utterly enraptured by the sight.

Sidling up close to Harry as they walked slowly behind the other three, Hermione leaned close to him and whispered, "You're a good man, Harry Potter."

"Thanks," he graciously accepted.

Hermione impulsively leaned over and kissed him, wrapping one arm around his waist to pull him close to her as she did. Her eyes drifted closed as the kiss drew on, her mouth parting slightly as she carefully ran her tongue across his lips. To her disappointment, Harry did not reciprocate, but his grip on her waist did tighten briefly.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Hermione drew back. Her checks were warm, not from embarrassment this time, and she could see that Harry was also looking a bit flushed. She retained her hold around his waist, holding him close, as they resumed walking, their pace quickening as they realized that they had fallen behind the others.

"Dead, once Ron and the rest of the Weasley family find out," she concluded, a bit breathlessly, "but a good man nonetheless."

-oOo-

That kiss was very much on Hermione's mind the following morning.

She was on her way to the library to return some books, as she did every Monday morning. She had not had much opportunity to read this weekend, with both a Quidditch match and a Hogsmeade visit, but she had managed to finish two short Arithmancy books and one medium length text on Ancient Runes.

Harry was foremost on her thoughts however, and it was only because the route from Gryffindor Tower to the Library was engrained into her very being, that Hermione did not walk into a wall or something similar. As it was, she came close to stepping on one of the trick steps, but managed to avoid it at the last second.

All in all, she was quite pleased with the way things had turned out. This was despite the brief encounter with Cho Chang and the somewhat worrying knowledge that Harry and Luna had been lovers (friends with benefits) in the future.

She was shaken from her thoughts when something impinged on the fringe of her awareness. Glancing up she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Draco Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle standing to either side, blocking her path.

"Well, well, lads," Draco drawled. "Look who's wandering about all by her lonesome."

"Malfoy," she hissed. "What do you want?"

"Lots of things, mudblood."

Hermione glared at him, clutching the books she was holding with a white-knuckled grip. Not wanting to spend more time than she had to in Draco's presence, she suggested acerbically, "Then why don't you stop bothering me and go find them?"

Draco smirked and replied, "Because one of them is right here, in front of me."

By now Hermione was fully on her guard. Draco had made several suggestive advances on her at the start of term, once on the Hogwarts Express and then again the following morning, during Potions. He had stopped abruptly after that, an action that most attributed to Harry's intervention.

In fact, he had not approached or spoken to either Harry or Hermione since the first day of term. To encounter him now, looking particularly smug, was not reassuring. Hermione wondered what had changed to cause Draco to break his long silence. Whatever it was, she thought, it would not be a good thing.

She glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, who was staring stoically at her, and bit back a curse. She was reasonably sure, what with Harry's training from the Defence Association, that she was more than a match for Draco. But the others made it three to one against her.

Even if Crabbe and Goyle weren't only mediocre duellers, their presence meant that Hermione would have to split her attention between them all. She wasn't sure that she would be able to draw her wand and fire off curses fast enough to take down all three without being on the receiving end of something nasty.

Desperately wishing that Harry were there, she turned her gaze back to Draco. He was watching her with a smile that set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. There was a confidence to his stance that Hermione knew could only mean that he had something up his sleeve. Something that had given him the balls to cause trouble again.

"If you want a book," she informed him in the most level tone she could manage, "You should check them out of the library. Don't ask me for one."

"It's not those musty old books I'm interested in," Draco replied with a predatory smile that revealed a narrow sliver of gleaming teeth.

Hermione dropped the books she was holding, letting them fall to the floor as she took two quick steps back, so that she would not have to worry about tripping over them if she needed to move. She dug into her robe pocket and drew her wand, levelling it at Draco's chest before the books had settled from their fall.

"Then perhaps you want my wand?"

"Not hardly," Draco snorted. "I have one of my own, thank you."

"So what d'you want then?" she asked curtly.

Though nothing had been said yet, having been accosted by Draco and his two companions led Hermione's thoughts along a gut wrenching path to one disturbing conclusion. She had a feeling she already knew what answer the blonde-haired wizard would give her.

Draco's predatory smile deepened as he said, "You."

Hermione cautiously began to back away, never taking her eyes off the three Slytherins in front of her. She wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. That way, if or when they made a rush at her, she would have enough time to hit them with something nasty.

"Sorry, but I'm already taken."

"Potter?" asked Draco disdainfully, his smile disappearing as his lips twisted into a scowl. He snorted and shook his head at her. "I'd have thought a know-it-all like you would have the brains to choose someone better."

"Better than what?" she retorted, "You?"

"Heh. You never know," he shrugged.

"Quite the contrary," Hermione informed him with certainty. "I do know."

"Then perhaps you'll give me the chance to change your mind?" Draco asked with a sly expression.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and retorted, "As you said; not hardly."

Draco laughed, a bit humourlessly and acknowledged, "TouchÃ©, mudblood."

"Y'know," Hermione said dryly, "calling me that somewhat detracts from your attempts to be charming."

"Perhaps it is a bit... crude," he admitted with a shrug. He reached into his pocket, almost causing her to hex him right there and then, and withdrew something that he then held out to her. "Allow me to offer you this gift as an apology."

It was a small crystal ball, which fit snugly in the palm of his hand, and reminded Hermione of the remembrall that Neville had been given in their first year.

She shook her head and refused, "Thanks, but no thanks. My memory is working just find."

"Oh, but this isn't a remembrall," Draco said slyly.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Please, Granger," he insisted, "At least have a closer look." Draco tossed the ball at Hermione and, instinctively, she caught it with her free hand. It was stupid really, to allow herself to be distracted like that, but it had happened before she could stop herself. The smirk on Draco's face became a victorious one as he shouted, "Activate!"

For a second Hermione did not know what to make of that. That moment of hesitation before she understood was enough for Draco's trap to spring. She tried to throw the ball away, now knowing its true nature, but it was too late. There was a sudden tugging sensation behind her navel and then she was gone.

-oOo-

Harry was trying to enjoy breakfast with his friends, but the headache that he had awoken with was making it difficult to do so. He grit his teeth and blinked several times, trying to force back the dull throbbing behind his eyes, as he listened to the conversation around him.

The current focus of his interest, distracted as it was, happened to be Ron. His best friend had escaped Madam Pomfrey's clutches earlier that morning. He was still a bit weak in the legs and had a tendency to hobble along, but had managed to join the rest of the school for breakfast before classes began. He was also currently trying to fight off Luna's attempts to force him to have a large helping of a lettuce salad with his bacon and eggs.

"I'm not having any rabbit food with my breakfast!"

"But it's good for you," Luna insisted. "It'll put some colour in your cheeks."

"Who wants green cheeks?" retorted Ron.

A silent notification from Father caused Harry's headache to evaporate like a snowflake falling onto a sizzling skillet. The news that Hermione had just disappeared from the castle was enough to make all other concerns, such as minor physical discomfort, utterly insignificant.

There was a single moment of icy calm, enough time for one breath, which is how long it took for the fact to properly sink into Harry's consciousness. Then that calm was replaced with a fury that burned hotter and brighter than the sun itself.

"WHAT?!" Harry roared at the top of his lungs, leaping to his feet. The glass of orange juice that he had been holding crashed to the floor as he tossed it aside.

"What?" repeated Ron, looking at him in confusion.

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

"Harry, what is it?" asked Ginny, seeming to realize that something had to be very wrong for Harry to be having such a loud and violent reaction.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked a second later.

"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" bellowed Harry, ignoring his friends' worried questions. He angrily swiped his hand and scattered his plate, and several others, across the table. "HE'S DEAD, D'YOU HEAR ME?! DEAD!!"

The attention of everyone in the Great Hall had been focused solely on Harry since his first outburst, but by now they were starting to get a glimpse of just how angry he was. In fact, aside from his friends, most of the nearby Gryffindors were cautiously backing away from where he was standing.

Harry was too wrapped up in his almost blinding fury to notice, but his magical aura had billowed into being and the air surrounding him was practically crackling with energy. It took a great deal of emotional stress before a wizard's magic came to the fore like this, and even then, only the strongest wizards could produce a display such as this.

Without meaning to, Harry was scaring everyone that witnessed this display.

"Uh, Harry, you're starting to scare us," said Ron, who was watching Harry rant from where he had struggled to his feet. His expression was a nervous one and Harry was vaguely aware that sweat was beading on his friend's forehead and upper lip, most likely from the exertion of forcing himself to stand so quickly.

"What's wrong? What is it?" asked Ginny insistently.

With almost the same swiftness that it had formed in, Harry's fury disappeared. Or rather, he wrestled control of it and channelled it into a more productive use than cussing up a storm. The tunnel vision of anger that had been all but blinding Harry to everything around him left. As a result his mind cleared, becoming so cool and analytical that even Father seemed to be impressed by his sudden focus.

His magic pulsed and writhed for a second before settling down and drawing in upon itself. It was still present, kept under tight control by Harry's determination, but still strong enough to tickle the senses of those present.

"Bring every single Surveillance Drone we have to high alert," Harry ordered Father, his voice clipped and sure. "I want constant updates on the status of everybody we're keeping track of."

"Mister Potter," called Professor Dumbledore, from where he was standing by the staff table. Harry scarcely bothered to even glance at the headmaster as he asked, "Harry, what is happening?"

Harry ignored the question, listening instead to the reports Father was passing him. He frowned at the mention that the drone assigned to Hermione was currently en-route to the Great Hall and asked, "What about her parents?"

There was a short pause as Father contacted the drones that Harry had sent to keep watch over Hermione's parents and their home. A moment later the Gatekeeper replied that both Doctors Granger were safe and sound, sitting at their dining room table and enjoying breakfast, unaware of the peril their daughter was in.

"Is anything happening around or near their house?" asked Harry, thinking that just because Hermione's parents were not in any immediate danger, that such danger was not currently creeping up on them.

Father acknowledged the point and sent a command to the surveillance drones monitoring the Granger household, ordering them to commence a scan of the immediate area.

"Harry, please," pleaded Dumbledore, "Will you explain what's going on?"

"You want to know what's going on?" demanded Harry, his anger surfacing once more as he rounded on the headmaster. He saw that Dumbledore had come out from behind the staff table, but had not yet descended to the floor of the Great Hall. This time he did not fight the unreasonable anger and resentment that rose up within him. Hermione had been abducted, here at Hogwarts, and any willingness Harry might have to give Dumbledore a chance had gone with her. "Well, let me tell you!"

The anger rose up so quickly that Harry momentarily lost control of his tightly reined magic, the backlash causing the cutlery on the Gryffindor table to rattle. Everyone who had not already done so, edged slightly back. Only Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville, did not falter, though they were watching apprehensively.

Harry waved his arms about, indicating the entire castle around him, and declared, "Everyone keeps saying that Hogwarts is supposedly the safest place on earth." He turned back to Dumbledore and scathingly said, "Guess what... it isn't !"

A report from Father turned Harry's attention away from the puzzled headmaster. The drones keeping watch over the Grangers had detected no unusual activity in or around the house they were assigned to watch.

Breathing a sigh of relief at this small mercy, Harry decided not to take any chances. Having never known his parents, he knew just how much Hermione loved her own. Nodding decisively he ordered, "Switch the drones there to combat mode. Just in case."

"Drones? Combat?" repeated Ron dully. He stomped over to where Harry was standing, put his fists on his hips and glared unhappily as he demanded to know, "Harry, what the bloody hell is going on?"

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters," Harry replied with a furious glance towards Dumbledore. "That's what's going on!"

"Perhaps you could be a little clearer, Harry," suggested Dumbledore mildly. His tone was a puzzled one, but he was projecting the air of a man that was in control of the situation. "I don't understand."

"No surprise there," retorted Harry.

Professor McGonagall, who was standing by Dumbledore's side, huffed indignantly at his snide tone. She drew herself up and began to reprimand him, "Mister Potter--"

"Shut up, McGonagall!" Harry snapped, interrupting her. "This isn't the time for prissy, stuck-up manners!"

"Then what, if you would be so kind, is it the time for?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry glowered angrily at the old wizard. He would have thought that it was obvious, but apparently he was wrong. He gave a dissatisfied huff and turned away from the professors. They were clearly not going to be of any help, so he decided not to waste any more time with them.

He regarded his friends for a moment. They were watching him expectantly, worry intermingling with trust in their expressions. Despite the grim seriousness of the situation, he could not help but smile briefly. These were probably the only four people in Hogwarts right now that he could rely on.

By now Harry's magic was almost completely under control now, only evidenced by the way his robes seemed to billow around him. His eyes, however, held a look to them that his friends were intimately familiar with. It was the look he got whenever those he care for were threatened. The look that meant he was going to go through anything, or anyone, that stood in his way while coming to the rescue.

His explanation was a short one.

"Hermione."

"Hermione?" repeated Ron, puzzled. His puzzlement lasted only a moment, before being replaced by frantic worry. He stared at Harry, wide-eyed, and demanded urgently, "What's happened to Hermione?"

Harry heard Professor McGonagall mumble, "Miss Granger?"

Ginny stepped up and grabbed him by the arm, asking, "Harry, what's happened?"

"Remember how I told you the time-table had been set forward?" he asked in return.

"Yeah," admitted Ron.

"But what... oh gods, no," Ginny's face drained of blood at the meaning of his words.

Neville tried to speak, but trailed off, "You don't mean..."

It was Luna, whose normally blissful expression had been replaced by a frighteningly narrow one, who summed it up. She regarded Harry with a slight frown and said, "Hermione has been abducted by Death Eaters."

Her pronouncement was met by gasps from around the hall. She had spoken fairly softly, a far cry from her regular strident tones, but the students had been listening intently to every word.

"It was that bastard Malfoy and his matching bookends," Harry said, confirming his friends' fears. He grimaced unhappily and elaborated, "They were waiting for her when she was on her way to the library. He threw a Portkey at her, probably got it from his father."

"Hogwarts' wards don't prevent the use of Portkeys," noted Luna.

"Do you mean to say that Miss Granger has been kidnapped?" asked Dumbledore.

"Good heavens, it can't be," breathed Professor McGonagall, clutching a hand to her chest.

For the most part, Harry ignored the professors, concentrating instead on explaining matters to his friends. "The Portkey took Hermione and left the drone I had watching her behind."

Ron nodded in understanding and insisted, "We have to do something."

"I'm already working on it."

"Do you know where they've taken her?" asked Ginny.

"I have a few ideas," Harry admitted. His thoughts turned to what he knew of the future, most especially when Dumbledore had revealed that he had known where the Death Eaters had held Hermione during her time as their prisoner. "Based on what I know of... current events... I can narrow it down to one or two locations, but I need to confirm it first. I don't want to waste time running off to the wrong place."

"But how can you confirm it?" asked Neville.

It seemed almost preordained. Some might say divine intervention. Others might call it Fate. Whatever the cause, it was at that moment, almost on cue, that Draco Malfoy and his two 'matching bookends' came swaggering into the Great Hall.

Harry smiled dangerously and said, "My confirmation just arrived."

He noticed that Neville and Ginny both shuddered at the utter ruthlessness in his voice. This, he felt, was a good thing, because if he could scare his friends, then he sure as heck could scare Draco. Fear would be good motivation for his school hood nemesis to reveal where Hermione had been taken. With luck, he wouldn't have to do anything... drastic.

Seeing that Draco and the other two were heading to their regular spot at the Slytherin table, Harry stalked after them. He walked at a brisk clip and managed to intercept them before they could reach their seats.

"Harry! No!" cried Dumbledore, but Harry ignored him.

Crabbe and Goyle moved as if to interpose themselves between Harry and Draco, but Harry glared balefully at them when they tried. Surprisingly, they were smart enough to quail under his glare. In the end they contented themselves to stand just behind and to either side of Draco.

Draco had stopped when he realized that a confrontation was about to occur. Now he stood in place and faced Harry with a smug grin. It took most of Harry's considerable willpower to resist the urge to kill the little shit on the spot.

"What's your problem, Potter?" Draco asked. He smiled knowingly. "Lose something?"

"Hermione," Harry ground out.

"You lost the mudblood? What a pity," Draco bemoaned. Then he paused and added, "Oh, wait... no, it isn't."

"You tossed a Portkey at her."

"What? Rubbish," protested Draco innocently.

"Where did it take her?" Harry asked quietly. He knew, without a doubt, that Draco had been the one to toss Hermione the Portkey. Father's drone had faithfully recorded and then transmitted the incident. False protests of his innocence would only serve to make Harry even angrier than he already was.

Draco smiled and shook his head as he spoke. "Even if I did use a Portkey to steal away your little mudblood friend, utter nonsense by the way, what makes you think I would know where it took her?"

Harry regarded him through narrow eyes. On the one hand, he really did not want to waste time trying to find out something that he probably already knew. On the other hand, he could not afford the delay it would be if his information was now incorrect and he raced off to the wrong location. He needed to be sure.

"Tell me where she is, Malfoy," he ordered. "Now."

"And if I don't?"

Harry smiled humourlessly. "Then I will break every bone in your body, one at a time, until you do."

Draco began to laugh, but the look Harry had fixed upon him gave him pause. He seemed to realise that Harry was not joking or bluffing about this. He was, as a matter of fact, perfectly willing to do exactly what he had just threatened. With the help of Father's GM fields, it would be easy.

Still, Harry had a feeling that Draco would not willing part with the information in his possession. If he did, it would be akin to admitting his guilt. Being a Slytherin through and through, Draco would not let his position be compromised.

"Sorry, Potter, can't help you," he finally said, his voice a study of practiced nonchalance. He turned to leave, speaking over his shoulder as he did, "But don't worry. I'm sure your little mudblood will turn up. Eventually."

Having been expecting this, Harry called on Father. Draco had not managed to take more than two steps when the Gatekeeper's GM fields enveloped him and plucked him into the air. He hung suspended, motionless, for a second before spinning around and drifting to float in front of Harry.

"What?" he asked dumbly, looking about with incomprehension. Then he glared at Harry, realising that he was responsible, and demanded, "Potter, let me go!"

Crabbe and Goyle tried to intervene, but a pulse of Father's GM fields tossed them halfway across the Great Hall, clear over the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. They crashed to the floor with dull thumps, skidded to a halt after a few feet, and then lay still.

Dumbledore had descended from the stage and commanded, "Harry, stop this!"

"Mister Potter!" snapped McGonagall, following after the headmaster.

"Harry, what are you doing?" he heard Ginny asked from where she was standing.

"Questioning a prisoner, from the look of it," answered Luna.

"But Malfoy isn't a prisoner," said Neville, sounding a bit unsure.

"Isn't he?"

Harry ignored them and the approaching professors, ordering Father to make sure that he would not be interrupted. He focused all of his attention on Malfoy, who was continuing to shout and demand for his release. "I will ask politely," Harry informed him levelly. "Where is Hermione?"

"I told you, Potter, I don't know!" Draco insisted. "Now let me go!"

"Wrong answer."

Another of Father's GM fields wrapped around Draco and forced his left arm out, towards Harry. The field focused on his hand and spread his fingers wide.

"Last chance, Malfoy," Harry offered as he reached out. He gripped Draco's outstretched index finger and asked again, "Where is Hermione?"

"Dammit, you idiot, let me go!"

"Wrong answer."

With a sharp jerk, Harry twisted his closed hand and snapped Draco's finger with a wet crack. Releasing his hold on the now broken digit, Harry watched as Draco stared stupidly at it. It took several breathless seconds before he began to realize what had just happened.

It was about then that the pain of the injury, having been momentarily delayed by the shock, made itself known to the Malfoy heir. Draco threw his head back, Father's GM fields allowing him enough freedom of movement to do so, and screamed.

"AAAAAAHHH!"

"Good God, Harry!" exclaimed Dumbledore, now rushing forward.

"Potter, have you lost your mind?" shouted Snape, also hurrying to where the two wizards were. His progress was halted, along with all the other professors, by Father's GM fields. Every attempt to approach where Harry was standing resulted in the professor being lifted into the air and deposited ten metres away (the limit of the field's reach). "What the devil?"

"He's using Father to keep them back," said Ron, understanding what was happening even as the professors looked about in confusion.

"Harry, let Draco go," pleaded Dumbledore. He stood just outside the extents of Father's fields and implored, "You don't need to do this. We'll find Hermione, but not this way."

Harry, however, ignored everything that was happening. His entire universe had shrunk down to himself, Malfoy and getting the answer to his question. Nothing more or less. He reached out again and now took hold of Draco's extended middle finger.

"You bastard! You fucking bastard!" Malfoy spat viciously. "You broke my finger!"

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked levelly.

"Screw you, you--"

"Wrong answer," Harry interrupted calmly. His voice had not wavered or changed tone since he had started asking the one question that concerned him. He jerked his hand and deftly broke the finger he was holding.

"AAAAAARRR!!"

"Harry, stop!" begged Dumbledore.

"Mister Potter --Harry-- please!" urged Smythe-White, who had been silent until now. He tried to move closer, but Father held him at bay. "Let Draco go! This isn't going to help Hermione!"

"Go Harry!" urged Ron, pumping a hand into the air. "Make the son of a bitch talk!"

McGonagall turned to glare at the redhead and snapped, "Mister Weasley!"

Ron blanched, realizing what he had just said, and apologised, "Urk! Sorry!"

His attention concentrated as it was, Harry was only vaguely aware of all this happening around him. He had a feeling that, if he looked away from Draco's sweat covered face, he would be greeted by horrified stares from the professors and the rest of the students.

Still, he told himself, this was something that had to be done. He could not afford to be squeamish or merciful at a time like this. Hermione was currently in the clutches of somebody that would not hesitate to do things to her that ordinary people would shy from even thinking about. Time was a luxury he did not have to waste.

He took Draco's left ring finger firmly in hand.

"What are you doing, you bastard?" gasped Draco, panting for breath.

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Dammit, I'm not--"

Harry snapped the finger before Draco could finish, having not received the answer he wanted. He supposed that he could have waited for the whole reply, but decided that by perhaps showing such intolerance he might spur Draco on. Draco howled and tried to tear himself loose from the fields holding him, but this was impossible.

"GAAAAAAHHG!"

"Wrong answer."

Seeing that Draco was too busy screaming and gasping to pay him proper attention, Harry glanced around. The students were sitting or standing in place, unable to bring themselves to move as they watched the spectacle in front of them. Grouped together in an urgent huddle, the professors were speaking urgently.

Snape was arguing with Dumbledore, "Headmaster, we have to stop him."

"Yes," agreed Smythe-White. He glanced over at Harry and added, "And quickly, for both their sakes."

"Draw your wands," Dumbledore ordered with a sigh. He too glanced worriedly at Harry, gnawing at his bottom lip. "Try not to hurt him."

"Hurting him is the least of our worries," Snape replied.

Harry watched calmly as Snape stepped to the front of the professors. He was standing just beyond the limit of Father's fields. He drew his wand from inside his robes and carefully, but quickly, took aim.

To Harry's mild surprise, there was no glint of the malicious anticipation that he would have expected from the potions master during such an act. Perhaps his future memories had clouded his perceptions and judgement of the man more than he had thought. He turned back to Draco, who had stopped yelling and was swearing at him again.

" Stupefy !"

The spell shot forth from the wand's tip, the red streak rocketing through the air, aimed with impeccable precision at Harry's chest. It crossed the distance between Snape and Harry in an instant. The sound of breaths being drawn in anticipation could be heard over the whistle of the spell's flight.

Just before the Stunner could hit, Father interposed itself between the spell and Harry. The red light was absorbed by the small black sphere, seemingly having no affect. Ignoring the gasps of surprise and disbelief, Harry took hold of Draco's pinkie and repeated his question.

He did, however, smile slightly when he heard Snape's dumbstruck, "What?"

His attention was drawn back to Draco when the blonde wizard again refused to answer. His smile, slight as it was, turned into a scowl as he reacted.

"YEEAAARRRRGGH!!"

"We're running out of fingers, Malfoy," he said, though he doubted that Draco actually heard what he said. The other boy was too busy yelling and sobbing to be paying enough attention.

Harry briefly considered moving onto the only unbroken finger on Draco's left hand, his thumb, but eventually decided against it. He silently had Father use its fields to lower Draco's arm.

As the fields released his arm, Draco pulled it to his chest. He made to cradle it with his right hand, but Father's fields snapped around that arm and lifted it up to replace the newly freed limb.

"Now, again," said Harry softly. He reached out to take Draco's right index finger in hand. He saw that Draco's already pale face blanched even further as the implications of this set in. "Where is Hermione?"

"I don't--"

Harry once again broke the finger before Draco could finish.

"AAAAAAAARRRGGGHH!!"

"Wrong answer."

" Stupefy !"

Snape had been trying again and again and again to hit Harry with a Stunning Charm. He was all but shouting the incantation now, growing increasingly louder as he went on. Each time he fire the spell off, Father's pitch black sphere would swoop down and block it before it had travelled even half the distance.

" Stupefy !" Snape tried again. He swore as the red beam was intercepted. "Dammit, I can't hit him!"

"Together then," asserted Smythe-White, stepping up to stand by Snape's side. He raised his wand and took aim. "It can't block both of us at the same time."

Nodding in agreement, Snape took aim once again.

" Stupefy !"

Father moved in a blur of motion, even faster than before, and cut off both spells, one after the other. The attack was over in an eye blink and no more successful than any of Snape's earlier attempts. Harry was only aware of this because Father bothered to mention that it was happening. He was far too busy otherwise, breaking Draco's right middle finger, to have even noticed.

Smythe-White stared at the sphere, which was bobbing up and down in the air between the professors and Harry. He shook his head and said, "Impossible."

"You'd be surprised what can be accomplished with gravity fields," said Luna, who had been watching the proceedings with a curious intensity.

"What?"

"Luna!" snapped Ginny, shaking the blonde witch by the shoulder. "This is serious."

"I'm always serious," Luna replied. She paused to consider and then added, "Except when I'm not."

"Let me try," said Dumbledore, coming to stand between a highly frustrated Snape and an increasingly worried Smythe-White. He drew a deep breath to steady himself and then proposed, "My spells are stronger than yours. Perhaps that will be enough."

Harry, having heard this, spared the headmaster a glance. He watched as Dumbledore pulled his wand out of his bright indigo robes and took aim. He snorted disdainfully and returned his attention to Draco, who was whimpering softly as he stared at his right hand's two broken fingers.

"Where is Hermione?"

" Stupefy !"

Father intercepted Dumbledore's spell as easily as the others. It did, however, note that the headmaster's power output was nearly double Snape's and Smythe-White's combined. Impressive for such an old wizard, but not surprising. Dumbledore was, after all, one of the most power wizards in recent history.

Draco, in the meanwhile, began to beg, "Potter, please--"

Harry sighed and reached out to break the ring finger of Draco's right hand.

"GYAAAAAHHH!!" Draco howled. "Stop! Please! No more! No more!"

"Then tell me where Hermione is," Harry commanded.

"I... I..."

Harry casually gripped Draco's pinkie and snapped it back. He could sense that Draco was getting close to breaking, which is why he reacted so quickly. He did not want to allow Draco any time to collect himself, or his addled wits.

"YYAAAAAAHHHH!!"

"I really don't have the time for this, so hurry up," urged Harry, projecting a sense of boredom into his voice. He hoped that it would give the impression that he could keep this up all day. He had Father release its hold on Draco's right arm, which fell limply to his side, and asked, "Where is Hermione?"

Draco, however, was too busy sobbing to answer coherently. With both arms now free of Father's restraining fields, he clutched his ruined hands to his chest.

Trying to urge him on, Harry threatened, "Don't make me start tearing off body parts."

Draco looked up at him in horror and gasped out, "Y-yuh... you wouldn't... dare..."

Sensing that this was a time when actions would speak louder than words, Harry took a step back. He silently informed Father of what he wanted and watched as a GM field surrounded Draco's left arm and forced it, despite Draco's protests, to extend out to the side.

Clearing his throat, Harry waited. The moment Draco made eye contact, Harry jerked his head to the right. Father's fields pulled on the arm they held and a sick pop sounded throughout the Great Hall as it was wrenched from its socket. The fields immediately released their hold and the newly dislocated arm flopped to Draco's side.

"All together then," ordered Dumbledore over Draco's scream of agony. "Everyone."

"Albus?"

"We have to Minerva."

"But all of us?" McGonagall asked worriedly. She had been the recipient of multiple Stunners the previous school year and had barely come out of the encounter with her life. Despite the fact that Harry was a good deal younger and more resilient than she, such an action made her fear for his safety. "We could seriously hurt the boy."

"If we don't, Potter's going to rip Draco to pieces!" yelled Snape.

"Stop arguing and hurry!" urged Smythe-White, already taking up a position.

"On my signal," Dumbledore said, indicating for McGonagall to take the place between Smythe-White and Professor Sprout. He waited as the various professors spread out, encircling Harry and his prisoner. He lifted his wand and trained it on Harry, who continued his interrogation without paying the professors any heed. "Now!"

" Stupefy !"

The air around Harry was alight with spells, red streaks of magic racing towards him from every direction. But amidst the light, there was a black blur. Father's ever present sphere spiralled around Harry, rising and falling to intercept all the curses before they managed to get within two metres of where the young wizard was standing.

Once all was still again, Dumbledore stared at the tiny black sphere that hovered defiantly before him. The only evidence of their assault was a slight change in the sphere's colour. Where before it had been as black as the depths of space, now the sphere's surface discernibly lighter, more of a charcoal grey.

By now Draco had stopped screaming and hung limply in the air, gasping for breath. Harry stepped close and lifted his chin with a finger, forcing the other wizard to match his gaze.

"Let's make this perfectly clear, Malfoy," he stated with perfect calm. "Your life became forfeit the moment you gave Hermione that Portkey."

With a jerk of his head in the other direction, Harry watched as Father repeated the process and dislocated Draco's right arm. Wincing at the piercing shriek, he turned to one side and took several steps away, so that the noise was not quite at hard on his ears.

He saw Ron, standing nearby, say to nobody in particular, "Gods, he's brutal."

"Yeah," agreed Neville in a hushed voice.

"Wouldn't you be, if you were in his place?" asked Ginny, even though she was looking a bit pale. Harry knew how she felt, but would have to delay any display of weakness until later, when he was alone.

"Definitely," nodded Luna with unwavering conviction. "To protect the woman I love."

"I guess," consented Neville, a bit reluctantly.

"I probably wouldn't be that calm about it," admitted Ron.

"I think that's because Harry's a bit beyond angry at the moment," noted Luna.

Draco had finally stopped screaming, if only to sob incoherently, so Harry turned back to face him. He walked close, so that he did not need to raise his voice. He tapped his foot and waited until Draco glanced up at him. "If I pull much harder they're not going to stay attached. Now, one last time," he said patiently, "Where is Hermione?"

"P-P-Pa-Puh--"

"Malfoy Manor?"

"N-n-nuh-uh," Draco quickly shook his head. Blood, from where he must have bitten his tongue or cheeks, splattered from his lips. He was obviously terrified that lack of a prompt response would result in Harry doing something worse.

"No, that would be too easy," Harry admitted.

After the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Lucius Malfoy's position as one of Voldemort's top Death Eaters had been exposed. As such, the Ministry were keeping a close eye on all the Malfoy estates, just in case he tried to use one as a hideaway after his escape from Azkaban early in the summer.

"Where then?"

"L-luh-lodge," Draco managed to gasp. "P-Parkinson... Lodge... near D-Duh-Dover."

"I expected as much, but had to be sure," nodded Harry. The Parkinson family lodge, which overlooked the white cliffs, had been the location where Hermione had been held in the original time line.

Once confirmation had been made Father pulled up detailed floor plans of the entire building, something Luna's future self had thoughtfully included in its memory store. Each of the half a dozen entrances and exits was marked and various routes throughout the building, for a quick and thorough search, were highlighted.

Harry smiled, both at the fact that he now knew for certain where Hermione was and the fact that he would not be going in blind. He turned from Draco and began to walk to where his friends were waiting. As he walked away, he said, "Thank you. See how easy it is when you cooperate?"

The GM fields holding Draco suspended in the air abruptly ceased and he fell to the floor in a heap.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Severus, get Draco out of there!"

" Accio !" said Snape, aiming his wand at his collapsed student.

The Summoning Charm took hold of Draco in much the same was as Father's GM fields had. Draco slid across the floor until he crashed into the professor's feet. Snape pocketed his wand and knelt down next to him, asking if he was all right. Draco ignored him and stared across at Harry.

"Who - who the Hell are you?"

"You know who I am, Malfoy," replied Harry, not bothering to spare Draco so much as a glance as he rejoined his friends near the Gryffindor table. He noted, as he walked, that the other students shied away from him as he passed.

He felt absolutely rotten knowing that they were scared of him like this, but refused to regret his actions. It might not have been subtle, or polite, or noble, or heroic, but it would help save Hermione's life and that was all that concerned him right now.

"No... no, I - I don't b-believe it," Draco argued, being helped into a sitting position by Snape. He shook his head weakly and asserted, "Puh-Potter wuh-would never do this. He... he's the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I'm not a boy," Harry rejoined. "I've grown up."

"Yuh-You're a m-muh-monster."

"If I am," said Harry, pausing to glance directly at Draco, "it's because wizards like you made me into one."

Surprisingly Draco managed to rally his strength and threaten, "I'll... get you for this... Potter!"

Harry regarded him coolly and replied, "Not if I get you first, Malfoy."

He stopped and turning in place, taking in the sight of the watching staff and students. He ducked his head, a mannerism he knew made him look vaguely threatening, and decided to give them all fair warning. "Remember this, and remember it well," he announced loudly, "If any harm whatsoever befalls anyone I consider friend or family, what I'll do to those responsible will make the worst tortures Voldemort could imagine seem like a lover's caress."

He turned back to Malfoy, who's strength had left him whimpering on the foot beside Snape. He matched the blonde's gaze and made a threat of his own, "If I find you've lied to me..."

Malfoy cringed in sheer terror and pressed close to Snape.

"You'd best pray to whatever god or gods you believe in, Malfoy," Harry cautioned darkly, "because if anything has happened to her, you'll need the kind of protection only a deity can provide."

-oOo-

Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna had watched as Harry questioned Malfoy about Hermione's location. They had watched as the professors tried, unsuccessfully, to stun him. Suffice to say, this was not something that happened every day and was most certainly not what Ron had been expecting when he came to breakfast after being discharged from the Hospital Wing.

Now he, and the others, watched with mounting anticipation as Harry turned away from Malfoy and the various professors, striding purposefully back to the Gryffindor table. He walked right up to where they were standing, acting for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"I need to get some things from my room," he told them flatly. "Then I'm going to rescue Hermione."

"Quite the contrary, Harry," countered Professor McGonagall. The Transfiguration professor must have been shaken by everything that had just happened, since she actually used his first name. She wagged her cane in Harry's direction and announced, "After that display, you will not be going anywhere !"

"You can't stop me."

"Harry--" began Dumbledore.

"This is not your concern, old man," interrupted Harry. He glared at the headmaster, eyes as cold and dark as obsidian chips, and asserted, "Hermione's safety is my responsibility."

"Harry," insisted Smythe-White quietly, "we need to talk."

"We can talk when I get back. With Hermione."

"We need to talk now ," Smythe-White maintained.

"Hermione doesn't have the time."

"Harry, you can't be sure about that!" protested Dumbledore.

"Perfectly sure."

"Rushing out like this is foolish!" yelled McGonagall, so flustered that her normal composure had been thrown out the window. "You have no idea what you might be getting into!"

"It's most likely a trap," agreed Snape, still kneeling next to the fallen Malfoy. "Just like last year, with Black, at the Ministry."

Harry regarded the professors narrowly for a moment, a hint of fire in his dark green eyes. Finally he turned away from them and back to Ron and the others, saying, "A lot has happened since last year."

This was something that Ron felt nobody could disagree with.

Dumbledore tried to approach Harry, apparently feeling it safe to do so now that Harry was among his friends and not breaking Malfoy's fingers like Muggle matchsticks. He held out his hands, palms up, as he walked and said, "Harry, you can't--"

Harry, however, did not seem willing to listen. Before the headmaster could say more, the air around him rippled and he was knocked back with enough force to lift him off his feet.

Everyone watched in shock as Dumbledore landed with a loud oof and a sharp crack.

"Ah!"

"Albus!" cried McGonagall, rushing to where he had fallen.

"I think... my hip..." Dumbledore gasped in pain.

"Somebody get Madam Pomfrey!"

A growing sense of frantic panic seemed to fill the Great Hall. Things had been getting steadily unsettled ever since Harry had first started shouting. Malfoy's questioning had only served to exerberate matters, as had the professors' attempts at subduing Harry. Now, this assault on the headmaster was bringing it all to a head.

Smythe-White, however, seemed to keep his head. Ignoring the other professors as they crowded around Dumbledore, he tried to talk to Harry. His voice was soft as he cautiously addressed the Boy-Who-Lived. "Harry, be reasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable," Harry replied calmly. "It's the situation that's unreasonable." He glanced to where the professors were grouped and shook his head. " I'm going to fix that. Since you lot seem incapable of doing so."

With the same strange springing sound that had heralded its arrival during the Sorting, a two-metre wide shiny ball of energy ballooned into existence. It appeared between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, not far from where the Ministry Crew were standing.

"Come on, you lot," said Harry, motioning for them to go through the Gate that had just opened. "We don't have time to waste."

"Are you sure this thing's safe?" Ron asked, not to sure about it. Harry might have used these Gates on a more or less regular basis since the start of summer, but Ron remained dubious about them. He could still remember their trip on the Knight Bus and was thus less than eager to try some unknown form of transport, regardless of whether or not Harry could vouch for it.

His query was answered by Father, who's dark grey sphere shot forward and smacked painfully against Ron's noggin. Having made its point, it drifted back to its usual position above and behind Harry's shoulder.

"Ouch!" Ron exclaimed, rubbing at his now aching forehead. He looked unhappily at the sphere and relented, "All right, I'm sure it's perfectly safe!"

Being closest to the Gate, Ron was the first to stumble through it. The sensation was unlike anything else he had felt before, feeling rather like having to press against a strong wind. After that it was rather like suddenly flipping upside down for an instant, before dropping to the ground with a thud.

Strangely enough, despite the last second twist, Ron made it through the Gate without missing a step. He did stumble, but that was mostly because the rapidity with which he was displaced unsettled his still healing legs. He looked around and saw that he had emerged in the sixth-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

A second after getting his bearing, Ginny emerged and almost tripped over him. She gave him a shove, getting them both out of the way as Luna and then Neville made their appearances. Last came Harry, who stepped through the Gate with the same ease as most people moved from one room to another. The shiny sphere of energy shrank in on itself and disappeared with a wet pop a second later.

"So," asked Ron, once the Gate had closed, "what now?"

"Now, will someone please hand me that bin?" asked Harry, pointing at the nearest dustbin, which happened to be the one next to Dean's desk.

Ron exchanged a puzzled look with the others, but shrugged. Seeing as he was closest to the item in question, Neville picked up the dustbin and passed it to Harry, saying, "Here you go."

Harry accepted the dustbin and said, "Thanks."

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Ron.

Harry answered by sitting on the edge of his bed and placing the dustbin between his knees. He took several deep breaths and then hunch over it just in time to empty the contents of his stomach.

Ron winced and backed away, exclaiming, "Ugh! Gross!"

"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Ginny.

"I just tortured someone," Harry replied once he stopped throwing up. He straightened and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. "Forgive me if I'm a little queasy about it."

"It was only Malfoy," Ron tried to console him.

"I broke eight of his fingers and dislocated both his arms," Harry listed, his voice sounding detached as he stared more or less vacantly into space. "The only reason I didn't use the Cruciatus Curse is because there were witnesses and I don't think I'd have an easy time rescuing Hermione while being held by Ministry for use of an Unforgivable."

"As you've said before, Harry," Luna told him gently, "Necessity."

"Maybe," Harry accepted, "but it's still a bitter potion to swallow, Doc."

Not wanting to have to deal with this now, he was more a man of action really, Ron tried to get back to the more important matter of rescuing Hermione from the Death Eaters.

"So now what?"

Harry's response was not what Ron had been expecting. He started to, of all things, undress. He jerked off his robes first, tossing them aside, and then pulled his sweater over his head - not bothering to take off his glasses before doing so.

Ron looked worriedly at his friend and asked, "Er... Harry?"

Without answering, Harry pulled his shirt over his head and off, not even bothering to undo the buttons. It followed his robe and sweater, landing on the growing heap of clothes to one side.

"Take it off!" urged Luna eagerly, pumping a fist into the air.

"Yeah!" Ginny readily agreed.

"Ginny!" protested Ron. "Cover you eyes!" He tried to cover his sister's eyes, but she squirmed and wiggle away from him. With his legs still not working normally, Ron could not follow quickly enough to stop her from seeing Harry kick off his shoes and pull down his trousers. "Harry, stop that, you pervert!"

"Not now, Ron," Harry answered. "I'm in a hurry."

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Neville curiously. "I don't think Hermione would appreciate you rescuing her in your underwear."

"You never know," said Luna.

"I need to change and can't waste the time it would take ushering you all outside," explained Harry, tossing his discarded trousers onto the heap of clothes.

Ron stared at him, his over-protective brotherly instincts fuelling his outrage, and demanded, "And that's reason enough to prance around starkers in front of my baby sister?"

Ginny took offence to this and hit Ron, not too gently, on the shoulder, protesting, "I'm not a baby, Ron!"

"And Harry's not quite starkers yet," added Luna helpfully.

Harry, in the meantime, had kicked open his truck. He rooted inside it for a moment or two before pulling out a small, obviously Muggle-made, rucksack, which he deposited on his bed.

Watching as Harry pulled back the top and undid the drawstring beneath, Neville asked, "What's in that?"

"A change of clothes."

"Aw, but you haven't taken your boxers off yet," bemoaned Luna, sounding very disappointed.

"Well, hurry up and change!" urged Ron, who had been trying unsuccessfully to cover Ginny's eyes this entire time. He was panting from the exertion of forcing his unsteady legs to move about so quickly.

Harry replied with an aggravatingly smug smirk (or so it seemed to Ron) and began tugging on a pair of close fitting, black trousers.

"What about us?" asked Neville. "Should we change?"

"Not when Ginny's in the same room!" yelled Ron, smacking him on the back of the head for daring to suggest such a thing. Honestly, did none of his friends have any sense of decency?

"Come on, Ron," drawled Ginny, "you don't have anything I haven't seen before."

"WHAT?!"

Ron's thoughts immediately ran to Ginny's former boyfriend, Michael Corner. Until Ginny had started dating him the previous year, without permission from her older and wiser brothers, Ron had never heard of the Ravenclaw wizard. Now, he started to wonder just what sort of person Corner was and how Ginny might have come to see his 'bits'.

He glanced at Harry, who was now sitting on his bed and slipping his feet into some thick soled boots that seem large enough to fit a troll.

Seeing that his best friend was not going to do anything to avenge Corner's soiling of Ginny's innocence, Ron decided that he would have do accomplish that task alone. He would run, or hobble as it were, back down to the Great Hall and kill the bloke. Of course, he would have to wait until they got back from rescuing Hermione...

"You don't need to change," said Harry, answering Neville's earlier question.

"Okay," Neville accepted, "So, how are we going to get there?" he asked, moving to sit on his own bed. He plonked down and finished by saying, "It's a long way to Dover, y'know."

"And none of us know how to Apparate," put in Ginny, sitting on Dean's empty bed.

"Even if we knew, we can't Apparate on school grounds," Luna reminded them all, sitting next to Ginny and slinging an arm around the other girl's shoulders. "It says so in Hogwarts, A History. "

Ron's thoughts of how to make Michael Corner suffer were temporarily disrupted by this pronouncement. He looked askance at the blonde Ravenclaw witch and groaned to the heavens, "Gods, not another one."

Harry had by now pulled on a tight grey t-shirt, which clung to him like a second skin and highlighted every sinewy muscle on his slender frame. He was now tugging a close-knit black sweater over his head.

"We could use brooms," suggested Neville.

"Do you remember your first flying lesson?" asked Ron, before turning his mind back to the task of chasing down Ginny's ex-boyfriend and castrating him with blunt cutlery. Perhaps he should get the twins to help. "You took to the air like an anvil."

"It couldn't have been that bad," said Ginny, disbelievingly.

"Actually... it was worse," admitted Neville.

Luna had obviously been thinking about the problem of their transportation and perked up as she suggested, "How about the Thestrals? We could--"

She was cut off by Harry, who said, "You needn't bother."

"Pardon?"

"You won't be using a Portkey, or Apparation, or broomsticks, or Thestrals or even that old enchanted car of your dad's," listed Harry, getting up from his bed and crossing over to his trunk again.

"But, then what will--"

"Simple," he said calmly, "You're not going."

All thoughts of murdering or otherwise maiming Michael Corner fled Ron's mind in an instant as he whirled around to stare disbelievingly at Harry.

"WHAT?!"

-oOo-

Harry ignored the fact that his friends were staring at him in disbelief. Or at least Ron, Ginny and Neville were. Luna, for her part, was gently pulling at Ginny's hair, seemingly fascinated by the red locks. Some small amount of good cheer returned to him as he noticed this, pleased that his friend would at least have a chance this time round.

He returned his focus to the bullet-proof jacket that he was struggling to put on. He had 'borrowed' it from a Los Angeles SWAT team during the summer, week after his birthday in fact. He had no idea if the Muggle armour would provide any protection against the Death Eaters' spells, but thought it wouldn't hurt to try.

A few sputtered protests, mostly from Ron, reminded him that his friends were still struggling with the concept that he was not going to be taking them with him.

"You're not going," he repeated.

"Why not?!" demanded Ron, his face turning a nice shade of puce.

"Because none of you have ever been in a real fight."

"What about at the Department of Mysteries, last year?" asked Ginny indignantly from her spot on Dean's bed.

Harry peered at her from over the frame of his glasses and countered, "That wasn't a fight. It was, at most, a scuffle. Hell, we spent most of our time running away!"

Ron was continuing to sputter, growing more incoherent as he went on. Ginny and Neville were visibly affronted by the idea that they could not take care of themselves in a scrape. The only one of the four that did not react to his statement was Luna, who was continuing to play with a strand of Ginny's hair.

"You can't honestly think we're going to let you do this alone!" protested Ginny as Harry began to check the straps and other adjustable fixtures of his new apparel.

"We're coming with you!" asserted Neville staunchly.

"Damn right we are!"

"You're staying," Harry insisted calmly.

"Harry--"

"This isn't open for debate," Harry cut Ron off. His voice made it plain that there was no room for compromise in this matter. "I'm going after her alone."

Harry reached back into the rucksack and pulled out a small white container that fit snugly in his palm. He set it down on his knee and then took off his glasses, which Father helpfully shifted into subspace. Opening the container, Harry squinted and tried to make out the contents.

These were a pair of Muggle contact lenses that he had bought over the summer. He had long since learnt that his glasses were a liability in a fight. If they were lost or broken, he was left practically blind. This was a temporary solution to prevent that from happening, provided that he wasn't jostled about hard enough to knock the contacts out.

There were, he knew, several ways to correct impaired vision through magic. His future self had looked into the possibility several times, but never actually gone through with it. The problem was that the magic was often not only incredibly painful, often compared to the Cruciatus Curse, but temperamental to boot.

"But why?" asked Neville, returning to the topic of Harry's refusal to take his friends into the proverbial lion's den. Or in this case, the proverbial snake's nest.

"I already explained," he answered, slipping the right contact lens in. He had practiced the motion several times over the summer and was now quite good at it.

"Bullshit, Harry," snapped Ginny. "Saying that we don't have enough experience is pure bullshit! Maybe we don't, but you sure as hell don't have any more than we do!"

"Maybe not," Harry agreed, "but I do have something you don't."

"What?" asked Ron.

Seeing that Harry was busying putting the left contact lens in, Luna answered for him.

"Father."

"Luna's right," said Harry, blinking several times to make sure both lenses were properly settled. Seeing that the world was looking particularly crisp in all directions, he stood up from where he had been sitting on his bed. As he did so, he elaborated, "Father's more than enough to protect me and keep the Death Eaters busy while I find Hermione and get her out of there."

"Still--"

"Dammit Ron," he snapped "just accept it, will you?"

Seeing his friend jerk back at the sharpness in his voice, Harry forced himself to relax. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that Ron was just as worried about Hermione as he was and needed to do something, anything, to feel that he was helping to bring her back safe and sound.

"Try to understand," he pleaded, "I'm not planning on going in there, wand at the ready."

"Then how are you going in?" asked Ginny.

"Guns blazing."

"Guns blazing?" repeated Neville.

Harry nodded and then hit upon the idea of giving them an idea of what he planned to do. A moment later Father shifted Fred and George's phased plasma rifle into real space. Harry plucked it from the air, where it had been hovering in front of him, and held it up for them to see.

"There's going to be a lot more than spells flying through the air," he informed them seriously. He shook his head and added, unable to keep the worry out of his voice, "I don't want to risk accidentally hitting one of you."

"Not if we stay right next to you," said Ron.

"Right by your side," agreed Ginny.

"Even with Father, you'll need someone to cover your back," added Neville.

Harry lowered the rifle and stood for a moment, considering the three of them. He knew how stubborn they could be, Ron in particular. Ginny, being a Weasley, was almost as bad as her brother. Probably worse at times. And Neville, once he got his mind set on a task, could match either of them.

He knew that nothing he could say now would change their minds. Of the four of them, only Luna would be willing to abide by his decision to do this alone, and even then he had a feeling she would argue against it. The only way he could satisfy them, would be to bring them along...

His thoughts trailed off about now as a possible solution presented itself. It was sneaky. It was devious. It was more than a little Slytherin. He had to force himself not to smile.

"All right," he relented, slinging the rifle over his shoulder by its strap. "You can come. Just try not to get killed."

"Damn right!" exclaimed Ron.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Neville eagerly.

Harry sighed and asked, "Do you have your wands?"

Ginny nodded and pulled her wand from a pocket. "Of course."

Ron and Neville held up their wands as well, while Luna simply turned her head so that Harry could see that her wand was tucked behind her ear, as usual.

"Okay," he order, making sure to sound resigned about including them, "Take off your robes, they'll restrict your movement too much."

His friends quickly cast their robes aside without question, though Harry noticed that Luna cast him a knowing expression as she did so. He knew then that she had worked out what he had planned. He could only hope she would go along with it.

"You're too brightly coloured," he said, indicating their clothes. While none of them could compare to the overly cheerful wardrobe Dumbledore frequently wore, they were not what you would call inconspicuous. "They'll spot you coming a mile away." Harry drew his wand from where he had strapped it to his left forearm. Waving it at them, he projected his magic into the holly and incanted, " Darken ,"

Immediately their clothes changed from light to dark colours. Dark blues, greens, browns and greys for the most part. There were a few patches of black here and there, but not an overwhelming amount.

"Better," he concluded after a brief examination.

"Interesting spell," commented Luna. "Not very Latin in origin."

"It's the thought behind the spell, not the incantation, Luna. You know that," he replied. "The words are just another way for the wizard to focus his magic."

"Or her magic."

"Or her magic."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Ron. "Let's go!"

"Okay, next stop, Parkinson Lodge."

Harry was quickly giving Father the details of his plan, when his friends seemed to realise that they had not yet discussed their means of transport. Apparently they had, in the excitement, forgotten how Harry had gotten them from the Great Hall to the dormitories.

Ron looked about and asked, "So how're we going to get there?"

"Easy, I'll have Father open a Gate," Harry answered.

"What do we do once we arrive?" asked Luna curiously.

"Rescue Hermione."

"We know that," said Ginny dryly. "How?"

"By killing everyone there who isn't Hermione."

Harry's answer was perfectly serious and delivered with no variation in tone. He might as well have been commenting on the weather, rather than the fact that he was planning to kill every Death Eater that crossed his path.

Ron stared at him, his eyes so wide that they appeared to be in imminent danger of popping out of their sockets. He gaped for several seconds, mouth working silently, before asking incredulously, "What?"

"That's another reason why I didn't want you coming, old friend," Harry told him softly. He really wished that there was another way to do this, but if there was, he could not see it. He had to protect his friends. At any cost. "The kid gloves have come off. I'm not taking any prisoners."

The others considered this revelation, Ron, Ginny and Neville paling slightly. Luna seemed to be thinking it over, but did not appear overly troubled by the idea. Harry knew that she understood how he could be like this. If it were Ginny that had been taken, Luna would react in the exact same manner.

Neville was the first to recover. He nodded his head in resolution and spoke with all the conviction he could muster. "If that's what it takes."

"Anything to stop them from doing that to Hermione," agreed Ginny.

"Let's stop wasting time and get on with it!" yelled Ron.

Seeing their determination, not to mention their enthusiasm, Harry almost decided to change his course of action. In the end though, he decided not to risk it. One of his best friends, and potentially much more than that, was already in worse than mortal peril. He had no desire to put any of his remaining friends in the same position.

A silent command to Father and another remote Gate sprang into being. It appeared in the centre of the room, giving Ron a bit of a start. Harry motioned at the shimmering sphere and said, "You go first, I'll follow. I can't keep the Gate open for long after I've gone through."

This was a blatant lie, but since not of his friends knew Father's full capabilities, Harry knew they would not question it. He waited patiently for them to move.

Ron, raising his wand over his head and cried out, "For Hermione!"

"For Hermione!" yelled Ginny and Neville, also lifting their wands as they took up the cheer.

Harry watched with some amusement as Ron took a running jump through the Gate, followed closely by Neville and then Ginny. He turned to Luna, who was standing to one side and looking expectantly at him.

"Something wrong, Doc?" he asked.

"This doesn't lead to Parkinson Lodge, does it?"

"No, it doesn’t."

"Where then?"

"Someplace safe," he assured her. "I prepared it over the summer, just in case."

"Will you be long?"

"Hopefully not."

"See you in a bit then," Luna nodded and then stepped through the Gate, walking as calmly and easily as if she were stepping from one room to another.

Harry waited until she was firmly on the other side. He could see her distorted reflection joining up with the others. Turning his back to the Gate, he ordered Father to close it down, effectively stranding his friends where he had tricked them into going.

"Right," he said to himself, "now that they're out of harm's way, time for me to step right into it."

With a nod to the charcoal colour sphere hovering by his shoulder, Harry readied himself. Setting the coordinated to a spot just outside Parkinson Lodge, Father opened a Gate around them and they disappeared with a soft pop.

-oOo-

Hermione slowly returned to consciousness, feeling as though she were awakening from a deep, but fitful sleep. She knew almost immediately that something was wrong, since she was fairly certain that she was not waking up in her bed. Without opening her eyes she tried to remember how she had gotten to wherever she was.

Her memories, however, were not cooperating. The last thing she could clearly remember was saying goodbye to Harry as he and Ginny went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. They were planning on meeting Luna along the way and then going to see if Ron would be able to join them.

After that things were a little hazy. She could vaguely recall leaving the common room and making her way to the library to return her books. She had been carrying three of them. Two on Arithmancy and one on Ancient Runes. But after that things got a little unclear.

"Ah, our guest is finally awake."

This somewhat familiar voice was enough to shake Hermione more fully into the world of the living. She opened her eyes, a bit blearily, and found herself staring up at none other than Lucius Malfoy. Suffice to say, any weariness she might have been feeling was removed as she went from drowsy to wide awake almost instantly.

Seeing that she was now properly awake, Lucius greeted, "Good morning, Miss Granger."

Hermione quickly took stock of her situation. She was sitting in a chair, her arms and legs restrained by thick leather straps, preventing her from moving more than an inch in any direction. The room which she was being kept in was tastefully decorated in rich mahogany panels and a lush maroon carpet.

There were four Death Eaters present, including Lucius. Two were standing to her left, one of them leaning lazily against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The third was to her right and was watching her with a hungry expression that did nothing to calm her nervous.

With a resounding smack, Lucius' open hand slapped across her face.

"I said, 'good morning', mudblood!" he snapped. "I suggest you return the courtesy."

"Where am I?

Lucius responded by slapping her again, this time a little harder than before. Hermione cried out, despite having seen the blow coming this time. She could taste the sharp tang of blood filling her mouth as she bit her cheek.

As she shook her head in an attempt to regain her bearings, she had the distracted thought that being slapped was an unpleasant experience. If this was how Draco and Snape felt, she decided, then she could understand why they had made sure not to get to close to her afterwards.

"I thought, from what Draco said, that you were supposed to be fairly intelligent. I am beginning to doubt that," Lucius informed her. He paused and then said, "Now, again, 'good morning'."

"G-good morning," Hermione answered, resisting the urge to spit out the blood filling her mouth. She had a feeling that would most likely earn her another slap.

"Excellent."

Seeing that he was pleased by her timid response, Hermione decided to risk repeating her earlier question and asked, "Where am I?"

Lucius arched an eyebrow and raised his hand up, as if to slap her again. Hermione cringed, anticipating the blow, but was surprised to feel the tips of his fingers tenderly stroking her cheek. Thinking about who it was that was now touching her, she thought that she would have preferred to have him slap her.

"You, my lovely creature," Lucius answered, "are our guest here."

"Where is here?"

"Someplace a long way from Hogwarts," he said with a superior smirk. He then leaned in close to her, his hand slipped up her cheek and caressed a lock of her hair. Brining it to his nose Lucius breathed deeply, inhaling her scent, and after a moment asked, "Strawberry?" He looked surprised for some reason. "Odd, from Draco's description of you, I would have expected the smell of musty old books."

"Draco's an idiot," Hermione countered unhappily.

"Is he?" asked Lucius, amused. "Odd that you should say so. After all, for an 'idiot' he certainly managed to snare you easily enough."

"He tossed a Portkey at me and then activated it," she retorted scathingly, more angry at herself for falling for such a trick, than at Draco for pulling it off. "A trained monkey could have done the same."

Lucius' smile disappeared, replaced by an unhappy scowl. He pulled hard on Hermione's hair, which he still held in his hand, causing her to cry out in pain. He tugged so that she was forced to twist her head forward and down, looking up at him with teary eyes.

"You have a loose tongue, bitch," Lucius growled, his breath hot against her face. He let go of her hair and took a step back, a cruel smile spreading across his face as he said, "Rest assured I'll soon be finding a better use for it!"

"You won't get away with this," she gasped out, her scalp throbbing painfully.

"Oh don't be melodramatic," Lucius scoffed. "I already have." Rising up to his full height, he gestured around him, encompassing entire room and the building beyond, and declared, "Nobody, other than my son, knows of our location. Dumbledore will not be able to find you in time to save you."

"Harry will find me," Hermione asserted.

"Potter?" asked Lucius disdainfully. He snorted and shook his head, "That idiot boy has less chance of finding us than Dumbledore. Even if he did, by some miracle, discover where we are - we're a thousand miles from Hogwarts."

"He will come for me," Hermione resolutely maintained.

"I doubt it," Lucius sneered as he gestured at the other three Death Eaters. "As you can see, there are four of us here. And another two keeping watch in the rest of the house, and another four that will be arriving shortly." He then turned back to her and concluded, "That's ten fully training wizards standing guard over you, girl. If Potter does try to rescue you, rest assured; he will fail."

Even Hermione, as confident as she was in Harry's abilities, had her doubts about his ability to take on ten Death Eaters without help. Of course, the rest of the Ministry Crew would doubtless follow Harry, but even then it would be two to one in the Death Eaters' favour.

Deciding to get what information she could, as it might prove useful in the future, Hermione slyly asked, "Why another four? Afraid you can't handle me with only six of you?"

To her chagrin, Lucius and the other Death Eaters burst into raucous laughter. Hermione had been expecting some amusement at the assumption, or even another slap, but she had not thought they would find the idea that amusing.

"Hardly," Lucius finally managed, once his laughter had died away. He smiled at her, the same, ugly and cruel smile he had worn when hinting earlier to what he and his friends planned to do her. "Our companions are currently fetching something of yours."

"What?" she asked, a feeling of dread suddenly filling her chest.

"Your parents."

Her mouth went dry and if she had not already been strapped down, Hermione would probably have fallen to the ground as her entire being went numb. She managed a weak protest of, "No."

Lucius' cruel smile deepened as he went on, explaining, "It was not difficult to find out where you live, girl. Our access to Ministry records is currently somewhat limited, true, but more than enough for our purposes."

"Why? Why my parents?" she asked.

"To complete your abject humiliation," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Nott and the other three are currently at your home in Suffolk, where they will capture your parents and bring them here," Lucius explained with obvious relish. To Hermione's disgust, he actually licked his lips in some disgusted kind of anticipation. "I had planned on simply killing them and forcing you to watch, but decided instead to have them watch as my friends and I enjoy ourselves with you."

Hermione gagged in horror at this revelation, but managed to keep her stomach down. The idea of having her parents watch as she was raped by these monsters was almost more than she could contemplate.

Lucius, seeing her distress, continued, "Once we have had our fill with you, for now, then I shall take great pleasure killing them both in the most painful manner possible before your very eyes."

"No, please..."

"Perhaps I will have their heads owled to Potter," he mused thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "alongside the recordings of your new station in life."

She had an incongruous thought that, all things considered, she would rather not have her abject humiliation (as Lucius put it) recorded and then sent to Harry.

Lucius made a note of the time, checking it on an elegant golden pocket watch. He turned to his companions and mentioned, "Everything is ready here, we're just waiting for Nott to return." He then eyed Hermione lustfully and suggested, "Let us amuse ourselves in the meanwhile."

"I thought we were going to wait till her parents were here?" asked the Death Eater that had, until now, been leaning against the wall.

"We are," confirmed Lucius.

"But--"

"Watch and learn, Cowan," Lucius interrupted. He drew his wand from an inside pocket and waved it in Hermione's direction. The straps restraining her to the chair undid themselves. Before she could move, he aimed the wand at her chest and said, " Imperio !"

A wonderful feeling of warmth and contentment swept over Hermione, a bliss that was all pervading. She could remember the sensation from her fourth year, when the Moody impostor had cast the Imperious Curse on each of his students. Nothing she did had allowed her to resist the spell. In fact, the only one who had any success doing so was Harry.

"Now, my little mudblood whore," announced Lucius with a lecherous smirk. "Dance for me. Dance and show us what lies hidden beneath that robe of yours."

Unable to resist, the compulsion was too much, Hermione pushed herself to her feet and walked to where Lucius was standing, watching her expectantly. She swayed her hips in a seductive manner as she slinked towards him, something she would never have even contemplated otherwise.

She pressed close to him, the tips of her breasts just grazing against him. Trailing a hand seductively down his chest, Hermione matched his smouldering gaze with a wanton expression of her own. Stepping back, giving herself room to dance, she found herself screaming inside as her body began to sway to a silent beat...

TBC ...  

Backwards Compatible
Knife's Edge

A corona of shimmering energy expanded into being just inside the grounds of Parkinson Lodge. Almost as quickly as it formed it disappeared with a soft pop, revealing the darkly clad form of Harry Potter.

Remaining in place only long enough to regain his bearings after emerging from the Gate, Harry quickly ducked behind one of the two statues which flanked the entrance to the grounds.

Crouched low and pressing against its base, he had to admit that the statue was a perfect adornment for the front lawn of a prominent Slytherin family. It was carved from green marble, flecked with white, and was of a young girl trying to fend off the advances of a wicked looking Satyr. The detail was almost pornographic.

If it weren't for the fact that rescuing Hermione was the foremost thought on his mind, Harry would normally have blushed from the roots of his hair all the way down to his toes. Ignoring the suggestive poses of the statue's figures, Harry carefully peeked out from behind the base and surveyed the scene in front of him.

The Parkinson Lodge, which overlooked the White Cliffs of Dover, was not what you would expect from its name. To begin with, it was more or less the size of a small mansion, rather than a comfortably snug lodge. It seemed not unlike a late sixteenth, or early seventeenth, century manor house.

"See anything?" he asked, glancing at the charcoal grey sphere that was hovering by his right shoulder.

Father, whose senses went far beyond Harry's naked eyesight, replied that it indeed saw a great many things - just as Harry did. If, however, Harry was referring to Death Eaters, guards or anything similar, then its answer was a negative one.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and agreed, "Neither do I."

As he continued to sweep his gaze over the Lodge's front and the expansive lawns before it, Harry pondered what to do first. This very same question was asked a moment later by Father, causing Harry to slip back into hiding behind the statue's base.

"Damned if I know, we never really came up with a set plan for this," he said as he settled into place. He grinned a bit sheepishly at the small ball hovering in front of him and confessed, "Right now, I'm playing it by ear."

Father's comments about rushing in where angels fear to tread, without having even the vaguest notion of what to do, were almost acerbic in their sarcasm. Harry weathered the scathing criticism and turned back to consider the Lodge once more, his eyes flicking over it as he weighed various ideas.

"We don't have a lot of time and Hermione has even less," he declared, aware of this fact more than anything. He was already worried that he had wasted too much time getting here. "We need to find her before anything else," he decided, retreating behind the statue again, not wanting to risk being seen. He glanced at Father's sphere and ordered, "Deploy every surveillance drone we have."

Sounding just a bit incredulous, Father asked for confirmation on that. Did he really want to deploy every surveillance drone they had? Since they had built the drones during the summer and later returned to Hogwarts, they had never deployed more than a dozen of the drones at any time.

Harry nodded decisively and affirmed, "Every last one of them." He nodded back in the direction of the Lodge and said, "I spotted several open windows on the first and second floors. Use those to get inside and then sweep every room until you find her."

Father acknowledged the command and immediately set about completing it. One by one, multiple drones began to drop out of their subspace pockets. The Bludger-sized conglomerations of Muggle circuitry and magical enchantments shimmered into view, gave a quiet beep or two, and then vanished again. Harry stopped counting after the first ten drones were released.

"While the drones are looking for Hermione," he continued, "we're going to let the Death Eaters know of my arrival." In response to Father's query of how he planned to do that, Harry smirked and replied, "Via several kilograms of that high explosive we nicked from the Americans."

Returning his attention to the Lodge, ignoring Father's glee at the chance to cause some mayhem, Harry checked that the coast was clear. Sure that he would not be spotted, he made a quick dash to the nearest tree - beginning his approach to the Lodge, using whatever cover was available.

He could have simply Gated there, but did not think it warranted the expenditure of so much energy. Besides which, he did not want to get to the Lodge before the surveillance drones did.

Resting behind the tree, his back pressed against the trunk, Harry decided to check something with Father. "Come to think of it," he began, absently noting that the tree he was hiding behind was a yew, "now would probably be a good time to activate the dedicated combat drones."

This was something Father was not too sure about. The combat drones, unlike the doppelganger or surveillance drones, had never been put through a test of their functionality. Of course there was nothing to indicate that they would not work perfectly, but the Gatekeeper was an occasional proponent of exercising caution.

"No time like the present," countered Harry.

Father made a somewhat snarky comment about that, seeing as it was actually from twenty-two years in the future, but conceded the point. Without releasing them from their subspace storage, it started bringing the few combat drones they had online.

-oOo-

All was quiet at the Granger household. Inside the house, an attractive two-story, Hermione's parents were enjoying their breakfasts, completely unaware of the fact that they and their surrounds were under constant observation. Just behind and above each of them, an invisible surveillance drone hovered.

Outside, one of the other three drones assigned to the watch over the Grangers was following its programmed route. Being a blend of wizarding magic and Muggle technology, it traced the same path hour after hour, day and night, never tiring and never pausing in its vigil.

It was halfway through its circuit of the front garden, having just passed the second hydrangea bush, when four possible targets entered its field of vision. It paused, as programmed, and focused upon the figures standing on the opposite side of the street from the Granger residence.

Taking note of the black robes and white masks, it marked them as possible Death Eaters and thus potential threats to the safety of its charges. It immediately sent a transmission to Father, as well as the other two drones guarding the property.

Waiting for its companions to converge on its location, the drone watched as the possible targets crossed the street and approached the garden gate. Seeing the leader draw his wand and cast a Silencing Charm on the gate, to stop it from squeaking, the drone confirmed that the targets were wizards and most probably Death Eaters. It informed the two drones inside the house of the situation.

As the Death Eaters walked up the path leading to the front door, the drone checked that its two companions had reached the agreed upon positions. This confirmed, it followed its combat mode programming and phased into real space, emerging directly between the four wizards and their destination. Its two companions did the same, on either side of the approaching Death Eaters.

"What the hell's that?" exclaimed the lead Death Eater, drawing to a halt.

The drone activated its holographic projector and tensile field, assuming the appearance of Harry Potter. It was an older image, stored in its memory barely half way through the summer, and 'Harry' reflected this. Regardless of the slight differences, the Death Eaters easily recognised the figure now standing before them.

"Potter? Here?" asked the one in front. "Impossible."

In accordance to its combat mode programming, and making use of their confused pause, the drone shifted its weapon back into real space. The drone used its tensile field to take hold of the automatic rifle before it could drop to the ground and then took aim.

By now the Death Eaters had spotted the other two drones, which had also activated the holographic projectors that gave them the appearance of Harry Potter.

"Three of them?" muttered one Death Eater, near the back of the four. "What the devil is going on here?"

"We have been instructed to prevent you from causing any injury to the residents of this house," the drone informed them. "As such, we are now required to kill you."

"You must be joking!" blurted another Death Eater.

The drone had no sense of humour. It had not been programmed with one. This is why it took the man's words literally and, in a matter-of-face tone, replied, "We are not programmed to joke."

It checked the sights of its rifle, confirming that its aim was precise. It communicated with its companions, making sure that they were also ready. Seeing that the Death Eaters were beginning to recover, having drawn their wands in preparation to attack, it extended its tensile field around the rifle's trigger and opened fire.

-oOo-

Harry was almost at the Lodge, keeping low and creeping below the ground floor windows when he moved forward. He was only one short run away from reaching the building itself, when Father received the drone's report that a Death Eater incursion was taking place at the Granger home.

Freezing in place, and almost tripping over his feet because of this, he stared at the charcoal grey sphere bobbing just behind him. "What?" he demanded. When Father began to repeat what it had just told him, Harry shook his head and waved for it to stop as he ordered, "Just show me."

The words had barely left his mouth before Father was projecting the video feed from the lead drone directly into Harry's optical nerve, the image superimposing itself over his vision.

-oOo-

In their first reign of terror, more than fifteen years ago, the Death Eaters had very seldom come across Muggle weapons. This was because they, at Lord Voldemort's orders, concentrated their attacks on Muggle-born witches and wizards, leaving ordinary Muggles alone more often than not.

When they did encounter a firearm, it was usually a hunting rifle or shotgun, maybe a pistol. Even then, they were usually able to use their magic before the Muggle in question could do anything to stop them.

Caught completely unawares by the surveillance drones, two of the four Death Eaters were mowed down by the hail of bullets before they even knew what was happening. The other two managed to duck out of the way, just barely, and thus made it through the initial barrage alive.

"Shit!" swore one, who had landed badly and twisted his ankle. He looked up in time to see that the first drone was turning its weapon towards him, as he was nearest to its position. The other two drones, which had flanked the Death Eaters, were taking aim at his surviving comrade. He jerked his wand up and shouted desperately, " Protego !"

The shield sprung up less than a second before the drone fired. The bullets ricocheted against the magical barrier, causing it to light up under the pressure. The Death Eater was visibly strained to maintain the shield and slumped with relief when the rifle's ammunition clip ran empty.

The drone turned its attention away from the Death Eater and ejected the empty clip. It accessed its subspace storage pocket and shifted a fresh clip into real space. It left the other eight where they were.

" Avada Kedavra !"

The drone did not react to the shout and simply took the Killing Curse directly in the middle of its holographic chest, otherwise ignoring it as it focused on reloading its weapon. Since its chest was nothing more than an illusion, given substance via its tensile field, the curse had no effect whatsoever.

"Impossible!" the Death Eater exclaimed. "That should have killed you!"

"I have been instructed to prevent you from causing any injury to the residents of this house," the drone said by way of reply. Unlike some of the more advanced doppelganger units Harry and Father had built towards the end of the summer, the surveillance units had a limited vocabulary. "As such, I am now required to kill you."

"No! Wait!" the panicking man protested as the drone finished reloading, took aim and opened fire again. He tried to raise another shield, but it was too late. " Pro --"

The drone, seeing that its target had taken a full burst to the chest, turned its attention to the last surviving Death Eater. The man in question was caught in the crossfire between the other two drones, a strong Shield Charm protecting him from the incessant gunfire.

He was visibly straining to maintain the shield, however, at the two drones were alternating their fire whenever they had to reload. The drone moved into a position, in concert with its brethren, so that the three were equally spaced around the Death Eater. Once in place, it added its fire to the mix, further straining the Death Eater's shield.

"Please stop! Stop!" he shouted, having lost his mask when he ducked out of the way of the first attack. His face was clearly visible, as was the sweat pouring from it. "I give up! I surrender! Just stop!"

The drone paused as it needed to reload. It ejected the spent clip and slipped in the third of the ten clips it had been issued when deployed to guard the Grangers.

"We have been instructed to prevent you from causing any injury to the residents of this house," it informed the Death Eater, not bothering to raise its voice over the gunfire of its two brother drones. "As such, we are now required to kill you."

"I won't hurt them! I swear!"

Having finished reloading, the drone answered by resuming fire.

"No! Stop! I beg you! Stop !"

The Death Eater's shield was visibly beginning to waver, the strain of holding off three near continuous streams of gunfire rapidly wearing into his magical reserves. "I'll do anything!" the man begged, growing desperate as the shield lit up to an almost blinding intensity. "I'll leave and never come back! I'll turn myself over to the Ministry!"

The drones were not programmed to take prisoners, or to let their targets up and leave. They continued firing, one pausing to reload.

"Please listen--"

He was abruptly cut off of when the shield finally collapsed under the combined fire of the three drones. Caught between them, he was hit from all sides, falling to the ground in a tattered heap. Only then did the drones cease fire.

-oOo-

Harry watched with a sense of detached fascination as the three surveillance drones opened fire on the four Death Eaters and terminated them with extreme prejudice, exactly as he and Father had programmed. A swathe of emotions were swirling about his mind, complimenting the unsettled stirrings of his stomach.

On the one hand Harry was feeling a massive sense of relief that his drones had performed so well, safeguarding Hermione's parents better than he could have hoped. There was also an underlying sense gratification in the knowledge that he, with some help from Father, was the one responsible for their continued safety.

On the other hand, however, Harry was feeling a bit disturbed after seeing how the drones had dealt with their targets, displaying no mercy and giving no quarter. The way they had ignored the Death Eaters' pleas reminded him uncomfortably of how the Death Eaters themselves would have acted. Also, the realization that he had effectively caused the deaths of four people was making him somewhat nauseous.

Swallowing in the hopes of settling his stomach, Harry noted absently, "If the surveillance drones are this effective in combat mode, I think we can rest assured that the dedicated combat drones will be even better."

Sensing Harry's unease, Father quietly agreed.

-oOo-

The three surveillance drones briefly conferred as to what action they should take next. A decision reached, they proceeded to inform the two drones still inside the house that the threat had been neutralised. Receiving acknowledgement from the Granger's personal guards, they moved to visually inspect the Death Eaters, confirming that they were indeed dead.

Following their programming, they fired a single round into the head of each body while inspecting it, regardless of whether or not he was still alive. Of course, none of the four had survived, but Father's programming insisted that they take no chances with such matters.

"Wha - what? What's going on here?"

Hearing the shocked query, the drones turned towards the Granger house. Their charges, Hermione's parents, were cautiously emerging from their home, escorted by the drones specifically assigned to protect them.

"We have been instructed to prevent you from being injured in any way," explained the drone that had first detected the four Death Eaters. "As such, we were required to kill these Death Eaters."

"You... you killed them?" asked Hermione's mother, looking in dull shock at the four bodies strewn about her front garden. "All of them?"

All three of the ground surveillance drones answered in unison, "We acted in accordance to our programming."

Hermione's father grabbed his wife in a hug, holding her close to him as he surveyed the carnage. His face had grown pale and he looked unsteady on his feet. Softly he asked, "What do we do now?"

-oOo-

Harry barely needed to consider how to respond to that question. The idea of leaving the Grangers where they were was a preposterous one, even under the guard of five drones.

Machine gun fire was not the sort of thing you expected to go unnoticed and Harry had no doubts that the local police would soon be arriving. They would be followed shortly by either the Order of the Phoenix, or the Ministry (Dumbledore had set up dark magic detection wards around both the Granger household and the Burrow).

Hopefully they would be able to smooth things over with the Muggles. They could hardly not, seeing as such an incident would be considered to fall under the Statutes of Secrecy. Explaining away the bodies of four Death Eaters would not be an easy task, but magic had a way of accomplishing things like this in less time than you would expect.

The Grangers, however, needed to be moved to a safe location. It was not that Harry thought more Death Eaters would be on the way, at least not right now, but it seemed the more prudent course of action. Only three possibilities presented themselves.

First: Hogwarts. This had the advantage of perhaps being the most secure place of safety on the planet. The problem, however, lay in the fact that once the Grangers arrived, half the school would learn about it. Not long after that, word would doubtless reach Voldemort. Besides which, Hermione had been abducted from Hogwarts not a quarter of an hour before, while put the castle's supposed security in doubt.

Second: The Burrow. This would certainly seem the best option, as the Grangers had met the Weasleys on several occasions and that familiarity would go a long way to calming Hermione's parents down. Unfortunately it was also the least secure of the three locations, not much more than the Granger house. It was also well known to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and would be attacked sometime the following summer (assuming Voldemort did not accelerate that as well).

"Get them to Grimmauld Place," Harry told Father, selecting the only choice left. With Kreacher disposed of, courtesy of Remus Lupin, and the house itself hidden under a Fidelius Charm, with Dumbledore as the secret keeper, it was the one place Voldemort did not know the location to. Not for several more years at least.

Father immediately transmitted the orders and Harry watched as the drones rushed the two Grangers into their car, the drone assigned to Hermione's father taking the driver's seat. Only after the car had pulled out of their driveway and started down the road, did Harry have Father cut the transmission.

About to breath a sigh of relief and comment that at least this had gone according to plan, Harry paused when he noticed that Father's charcoal grey sphere had frozen in place. This, he knew, was an indication that something important had come to the Gatekeeper's attention.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly. "Have you found her?"

Beginning to move once again, Father bobbed up and down in acknowledgement, informing Harry that one of the several dozen surveillance drones they had released had located Hermione.

The drone had been trailing one of the two Death Eaters that were roaming about the house, on guard duty no doubt. When the man had briefly opened the door, to banter with his comrades, the drone had spotted Hermione. Slipping past just before the door was pulled shut; it was currently maintaining a position that afforded it a viewpoint overlooking the entire room.

"Is she okay? Have they done anything to her yet?"

Father answered by bringing up the drone's visual scans for Harry to watch.

-oOo-

Hermione was in a bad spot. A very bad spot. In point of fact, she did not think anything she had ever gone through, in all her adventures with Harry, could compare to this.

She was dancing for Lucius Malfoy and three of his companions, swinging about and smiling saucily at them as she slowly stripped her clothes off. Unable to fight the compulsion of the Imperious Curse she had already removed her robe, her sweater and just now finished unbuttoning her blouse.

Slinking up to Lucius, who was watching her display with a lecherous smirk, Hermione lifted her hands over her head and reached upward. This had the unfortunate effect of causing her undone blouse to part, duly exposing her bra-clad breasts for all to see.

Lucius reached out and languidly traced the bottom curve of her breasts, the feather-light touch bringing undesired goosebumps to Hermione's flesh. Never in her life had she ever felt so utterly humiliated, so used, and could feel the heat in her cheeks as she blushed - from ever mounting shame and anger.

"Mmm, very nice," Lucius commented, his fingers trailing up through the valley of her breasts. He smirked and turned to ask his companions, "Don't you agree, lads?"

"Aye!"

"Yeah, but she's taking too long!" protested the one called Cowan.

"You heard Cowan, my little mudblood," Lucius said, turning back to Hermione. He shifted his hand so that he was cupping her breast and gently eased her away from him, so that she would have more room to dance. "Hurry it up!"

Despite her best efforts to resist, the Imperious Curse forced Hermione to answer, her voice unwillingly husky and seductive as she purred, "Yes, Master Lucius."

Immediately resuming her strip tease, she reached up and began to gently ease her blouse off. The soft fabric had just slipped down, exposing one shoulder, when the entire building was shaken by a large explosion that sent both her and all four Death Eaters tumbling to the floor.

"What in the nether hells was that?" demanded Lucius as he pushed himself back up.

"I don't know," answered the Death Eater nearest the door. The man stood up and made a show of brushing down his robes as he guessed, "An explosion of some sort."

"Idiot!" Lucius snapped. "I could tell that for myself!"

Hermione, having also risen to her feet, continued to dance - the curse preventing her doing anything else. Her blouse had by now slipped completely off her left shoulder, so she began to gyrate in a way designed to cause it to start sliding off the opposite shoulder as well.

Lucius, however, was ignoring her completely as he faced the other three men. He was standing tall, looking every bit the part of a proud aristocrat. "What I want to know is what caused it!" he barked. "What's happening outside?"

Continuing her dance, her blouse now hanging from her elbows, a single thought blossomed through the blissful haze of the Imperious Curse and caused Hermione's artificial smile to broaden into a real one.

Harry had come for her.

-oOo-

Harry stepped through the front door of Parkinson Lodge, or what was left of it. When Father had projected the image of Hermione being forced to perform a strip tease for Lucius and the others, any thoughts of subtlety left Harry's mind as he went from cool and collected to near blind rage in under a second.

He had stormed across the grounds, ignoring the risk of being seen by someone inside, and tried to kick the front doors open. Finding the thick oak to be stronger than his legs and booted feet, Harry attached a wad of explosive, provided by Father, and promptly set it off. He could have used the Gatekeeper's fields to produce a similar effect, but he wasn't really thinking all that clearly.

Also driving him on was the return of the headache that had been plaguing him earlier, during breakfast. It had returned with a vengeance and the dull throbbing in his temples, and occasional sharp jolt, served to only fuel his anger to even greater heights.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "Highlight the most direct route."

Father helpfully projected a floor plan of the Lodge over Harry's vision and traced a path from the entrance hall to the room Hermione was being held in.

Harry absorbed the information, weighing whether or not to use the layout of the corridors and halls to his advantage, or simply force his way forward.

"Are the combat drones ready?" he asked. Father answered in the positive. Harry's eyes narrowed and he ordered, "Bring them out of subspace and proceed as we discussed."

As Father began to do just that, Harry surveyed the room, making sure that nobody was about to spring out and start throwing curses at him. His anger was great enough to match anything he had ever felt, perhaps equal to when he had been in Dumbledore's office at the end of his fifth-year, but he retained enough control to not go charging in blindly.

Glancing at Father's sphere, absently noting one of the combat drones shimmering into view nearby, he asked, "Do you know where the other two Death Eaters are? The ones that aren't with Hermione?"

As if in answer, the two Death Eaters in question burst into the entrance hall. They stumbled about for a moment on the debris strewn floor before securing their footing.

Noting their arrival Harry remarked, "Don't worry, I've found them.

Father made a rejoinder that, in actual fact; they had found him.

"You! Stop right there!" shouted the taller of the two Death Eaters, lifting up his wand and taking aim at Harry, who was standing in place and regarding them with an evaluating eye.

"Careful! Don't kill him," cautioned the second Death Eater, reaching out with his free hand to grab the other's arm and force his aim down and away from Harry's face. "That's Potter - the Dark Lord wants him alive."

"Fortunately, I don't have to worry about that," Harry commented, asking Father to make the plasma rifle available. It shifted into being right in front of him and dropped into his hands a moment later.

Checking the settings display on the one side, Harry thumbed the safety off and levelled the rifle at the two wizards standing opposite him. They clearly had no idea what to make of the weapon he has holding. The short one made as if to speak, but Harry squeezed the trigger and mowed them down with two quick bursts of blue fire.

The brightness of the plasma rounds hurt his eyes and did nothing to ease Harry's headache, but he still gave a thin smile of satisfaction as he lowered the barrel. Regarding the two bodies, he also experienced some surprise and noted, "That was easier than expected."

Father replied that he should start moving and worry about details like that later. According to the surveillance drone keeping watch on her, Hermione had just removed her blouse.

"Right," Harry agreed, shaking his head and cursing himself for getting distracted.

Checking the map Father was still projecting over his retina, Harry headed towards the staircase. Hermione was on the third floor and going straight up was the most direct route to her.

As he walked past, one of the fallen Death Eaters gave a feeble twitch. It most probably just a muscle spasm, which happened to dead bodies from time to time. Harry was unwilling to take the chance. He paused just long enough to fire another round of plasma charges into the man's unprotected back.

"Just making sure."

He was about to continue on to the stairs when something gave him pause. He stopped in place and regarded the charred remains at his feet. An idea was beginning to form.

-oOo-

In the upstairs room where Hermione was being held, the sound of plasma rifle fire echoing through the building had managed to unnerve the four Death Eaters. Wizarding attacks did not sound like that, though Hermione recognised the distinct noise made by the weapon the twins had built for Harry.

"What was that ?"

"Damned if I know."

Hermione was still dancing, since Lucius had not bothered ordering her to stop, and had just discarded her blouse. This left her in only her bra and skirt, causing her to feel understandably vulnerable. Still, her courage was bolstered by the knowledge that Harry was coming to her rescue.

"I don't care what it was," Lucius was saying. He pointed to the door and ordered, "Get out there and kill whoever's stupid enough to attack us."

"What if it's Potter?"

"Don't be ridiculous," sneered Cowan. "Potter's still at Hogwarts. He probably doesn't even know that the mudblood bitch is missing. There's no possible way that he could be here."

"To hell if it's Potter or not," growled Lucius. "Go downstairs and help Charleston and Dunkeld take care of things."

"What about you and Cowan?"

"Somebody has to make sure they don't get to the girl if you botch things up," Lucius explained. He pointed at the door again and commanded, "Now go!" The two younger Death Eaters, clearly Lucius' subordinates in this matter, drew their wands and quickly exited the room. Once the door swung shut, Lucius turned to Cowan and shook his head, muttering, "Idiots."

Sneaking up behind Lucius, Hermione pounced and wrapped her arms around him. Pressing up against his back, she played her hands over his chest in a come-hither manner, the Imperious Curse driving her to become bolder in her approach, since he seemed distracted from the more subdued dancing.

"Dammit, girl, get off me!" Lucius turned and pushed her away, knocking her to her knees in the process. He glared unhappily at her, especially when she scrabbled to her feet and tried to approach him again. "Enough!" he said, raising his wand, and exclaimed, " Finite Incantatem !"

Hermione slumped to the floor as the curse was lifted, the relief she felt indescribable.

"Now, Miss Granger, you will sit back down in that chair and not move a muscle," Lucius informed her, pointing to the back of the room. "And if you try to call for help, I promise you it will only serve to make what we have planned for you, once this small interruption is dealt with, even worse than it would be."

Scrambling to pick up her blouse and sweater, Hermione returned to the chair she had woken up in. She quickly tugged on her blouse and began to button it up. As her fingers worked, she watched as Lucius and Cowan kept a close eye on the door to the room.

"It is Harry, you know," she said.

"What?" asked Lucius. He glanced back at her. "I thought I told you to keep quiet."

"No you didn't. You told me not to move a muscle and not to call for help," Hermione observed, moving on to the next button. "I'm doing neither, just informing you that Harry is coming for me."

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that it is most certainly not Mister Potter out there."

"And I assure you, Mister Malfoy," she countered, "it is."

Lucius crossed to her with long strides, just as she finished buttoning up, and backhanded her hard enough to knock her right out of the chair and to the floor.

"It is not Potter!" he hissed, reaching down to grab her by the throat and lift her up to his face. "Your idiot little boyfriend is not coming to your rescue. Nobody is going to rescue you. You're ours --to do with as we please-- and nothing will change that!"

"Temper, temper," she managed to choke out.

This infuriated him even more and he responded by slapping Hermione across the face with his free hand. The first blow rattled her teeth. The second rattled everything else. By the third and fourth, her cheeks and face were too hot and numb to feel it properly, though her head did snap back and forth.

Once the rain of blows stopped, Hermione spent a moment to regain her bearings. She could feel a thin trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. She looked up into Lucius' furious grey eyes and asked, "Struck a nerve, did I?"

"You troublesome little bitch!"

Lucius threw her back into the chair, the wooden frame digging painfully into her back. Before she could recover, he waved his wand and the straps fastened around her wrists and ankles, just as they had been when she had woken. She struggled against them, but was once again trapped in the chair.

"If you utter a single word," Lucius threatened, "I will take it out of your mudblood hide, understand?"

Hermione was stoically silent, but glared back at him. This only served to aggravate him further; apparently he was expecting an answer. Lucius grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back painfully, exposing her throat as he leaned over her.

"I asked if you understood."

"Yes."

"Excellent."

A thin smile of satisfaction was on his face and he was in the process of releasing his hold on her hair, when the door burst open with a bang. Lucius whirled around to face it, his wand at the ready and a curse on his lips. He froze as it became obvious that it was actually another Death Eater that had forced his way inside.

"Dunkeld!" exclaimed Cowan, obviously recognising the new arrival.

The man's robes were torn up and charred in placed, the front covered in blood. He was gasping for breath and looked as if he was about to drop dead, or very near to it. He managed a choked gasp before falling to his knees, unable to support himself on his own feet any longer. Lucius and Cowan rushed to him, keeping him from falling over.

"Gods, man," Cowan breathed as Lucius cast a Locking Charm on the door. "What happened? What's going on?"

"So many..."

"So many what?" repeated Lucius. He gave the bleeding man's shoulder a shake and demanded, "So many what, Dunkeld?"

"Men... a dozen... dark clothes," Dunkeld answered in a choked voice. He coughed thickly several times before continuing, "Used strange weapons... blue light... fire..."

"What happened to Charleston?" asked Lucius. "And those twits I sent to help you, McGaulaugh and Bothwell?"

Dunkeld weakly shook his head and wheezed, "Charl... dead..."

Cowan clutched Dunkeld's shoulder and asked, "McGaulaugh and Bothwell?"

"Don... know..."

A loud burst of noise interrupted the interrogation, causing Lucius and Cowan to jump up and aim their wands at the door. Without their support, Dunkeld collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Making sure not to draw attention to herself, Hermione struggled to repress a gleeful gasp. Of everyone present, only she recognised the sound as machine gun fire. This, she felt was proof that Harry was coming to her rescue. Why else would the attackers be using guns? She absently noted that it sounded different in real life to what she had heard in the movies.

"What now?" asked Lucius, worry creeping into his voice.

"That sounded like it came from the first floor," said Cowan.

The silence that had fallen after the initial outburst came to an end with the sounds of frantic shouting and spell casting, interspersed amidst smattering of further gunfire.

"That's Bothwell," said Cowan after one particularly loud shout. "He must have found them."

"Or they him," countered Lucius darkly.

A prolonged wheeze from Dunkeld drew the two Death Eaters back to their fallen companion. Lucius visibly grit his teeth and motioned to Cowan, "Get him back, away from the door, and do what you can to help him." He glanced at the door and quickly cast several more Locking Charms, these ones more intricate than the first. "We're going to need his help."

"Should we call for help?" asked Cowan, squatting down next to Dunkeld.

"There aren't any floo connections on this floor," answered Lucius.

"We could leave."

Lucius shook his head and continued to regard the door. "Not until I've had a look at them."

Cowan seemed to understand and grew silent as he began dragging Dunkeld further into the room, coincidentally bringing him near to where Hermione was sitting. She watched them for a few moments, noticing the faint trail of blood that Dunkeld was leaving on the floor. She turned her attention to Lucius.

"Why bother?" she asked.

"I warned you, mudblood, to keep you mouth shut."

"You don't need to have a look at them," she continued, ignoring the warning. "I've already told you who it is."

"It is not Potter."

"Keep telling yourself that."

By now Cowan had settled Dunkeld on the floor, next to Hermione, and was looking him over. For a Death Eater, the man seemed rather unsettled by the blood on the injured wizard's robes.

"You are trying my patience, girl," Lucius warned, half turning away from the door.

"And that's supposed to scare me?"

"It should," he confirmed, "if you were as smart as Draco says you are."

"You're planning on humiliating me, degrading me, raping me, forcing my parents to watch, killing them after that and then manipulating my mind until I'm suicidal," Hermione rattled off. She gave a shrug and went on, "Forgive me if making you lose your patience doesn't seem all that scary by comparison."

Lucius turned to face her fully, his lips bared in a narrow snarl as he levelled his wand at her. "The point of using you like that was to teach Potter a lesson," he hissed softly, through clenched teeth. "Much the same can be accomplished by simply killing you."

Hermione felt a lump form in her throat and began to worry that maybe she had provoked him just a little too much. She tried desperately to think of something to say that would placate him long enough for Harry to arrive, when another burst of gunfire sounded, this one much closer than the last.

"That sounded almost outside the door!" exclaimed Cowan, abandoning his ministrations on Dunkeld and jumping to his feet, wand held at the ready.

"It was," confirmed Dunkeld, who clearly surprised Cowan by sitting up without any apparent effort.

Before Cowan, or Lucius, could react to their companion's statement, the door to the room was literally torn off its hinges and flung aside. Stepping calmly through the now gaping entrance, as if he were out for a stroll, Harry entered the room.

"Knock knock," he intoned.

Dressed in dark, form-fitting clothes and wearing what looked like a bullet-proof jacket over that, the letters S.W.A.T. emblazoned on its front in bright yellow, Harry looked more like a soldier from an invading Muggle army than a wizard. He was holding a generic looking automatic rifle in his hands, which seemed large and bulky against his slender frame.

Harry shifted the machine gun to one side and fired a short burst into an unsuspecting Cowan. The bullets tore into the Death Eater, who only had time for one brief shriek before the multiple impacts knocked him back and off his feet. Showing no reaction at all to having just perforated Cowan, Harry turned towards Lucius.

"Dunkeld!" Lucius yelled, panic in his voice. "Kill the mudblood!"

Dunkeld managed to turn his wand towards Hermione before Harry could open fire on Lucius. Seeing the new threat to her well-being, Harry froze in place. The gun remained levelled at Lucius' stomach, but otherwise Harry did not move.

"If Potter so much as breaths the wrong way... kill her," ordered Lucius, visibly struggling not to show the relief he must have been feeling.

"Yeah," confirmed Dunkeld hoarsely.

Hermione grit her teeth and cursed silently. It was a classic standoff, the kind of thing you would expect to see in an old cowboy movie, not real life. Harry and Lucius were standing opposite each other; gun and wand at the ready respectively. Dunkeld was holding her as the hostage to keep Harry from firing.

Lucius had seemingly recovered from almost ending up the same as Cowan and regarded Harry with a superior smirk. He raised his head and began, "Well, Potter--"

"Release Hermione," ordered Harry.

"Or what, Potter?" asked Lucius, annoyed at being interrupted.

"I'll kill you."

Lucius ran his eyes critically over the machine gun and sniffed disdainfully. "How do you plan to do that without your wand?" he asked scornfully.

"Wand?" repeated Harry. He hefted the weapon he was holding and noted, "I don't need a wand."

"You honestly think some Muggle toy can match a fully trained wizard?"

"Yes."

Harry's matter-of-fact tone seemed to surprise Lucius, leaving him momentarily unsure of how to respond. Hermione, who was starting to get a little nervous during this standoff, chose this moment to speak up.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Rescuing you."

Hermione stared incredulously at him, wondering how he could misunderstand. She had been referring to the fact that he and Lucius were having a staring contest, with her as prize. Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "And who the hell is going to rescue you?"

"Surrender, Potter. Now," demanded Lucius. "Or your beloved Miss Granger will be killed."

"Which one do you plan to kill first?" asked Harry in return.

Lucius shook his head at this apparently nonsensical answer and asked, "What are you babbling about?"

Harry's expression did not change. In fact, it had not wavered since he had entered the room. He simply regarded Lucius and repeated, somewhat more clearly, "Which Hermione will you kill first?"

"What do you mean, 'which Hermione'?"

"Um..." came an uncertain reply from behind Hermione.

Lucius risked a quick glance to see what Dunkeld, who was the one that had spoken, wanted. The look of utmost surprise that flashed across his face, caused Hermione to wonder what was wrong.

She glanced to the left and saw nothing. She glanced to the right... and found herself staring at herself. Two of herself, to be precise.

"Three of her?" asked Lucius dumbly. "Impossible."

Hermione blinked, not understanding what was going on. She regarded her two unexplained twins, who were acting in much the same manner as she was. They would cast anxious glances from Harry to Lucius, as well looking curiously at her and each other.

Slowly she began to realize that Harry had somehow managed to deploy some decoys to confuse her captors. Probably newer versions of the Doppelganger Unit he had used over the summer to fool them into thinking he was still at Privet Drive.

"Dammit, Dunkeld," complained Lucius. "Which one's the real one?"

"Don't know," Dunkeld replied.

"How can't you? You were supposed to be watching her!"

"I was watching Potter..."

If Lucius was nonplussed at the appearance of two additional Hermiones, he became utterly confused when a second Harry stepped into the room. Also carrying a Muggle machine gun, the new arrival quickly took up a position to the immediate right of the first Harry that had entered.

"The lodge has been secured," the second Harry informed the first. "All Death Eaters have been accounted for."

"What is going on here?" asked Lucius, his normally calm demeanour beginning to slip.

"Specially designed and built Combat Drones have been deployed, armed with Muggle automatic weaponry, to secure Parkinson Lodge and allow Harry to concentrate all effort on rescuing Hermione," answered the first Harry, still in the same bland voice he had been using since he arrived.

"Drones?" Hermione repeated. It made sense, she realized, that Harry would use his drones to allow him to fight superior numbers without risking anyone other than himself. In fact, she was beginning to suspect that the first Harry to enter was also a drone. That might explain his lack of glasses.

"You're trying to confuse me," announced Lucius, shifting his gaze (and his wand) back and forth from one Harry to the other. "You're using Polyjuice Potion or something similar."

"Drone's cannot drink potions," replied both Harrys in frightening unison.

"Surrender while you can, Potter," insisted Lucius. He drew himself up and revealed, "We dispatched four Death Eaters earlier to abduct Granger's parents. They'll be back any moment now."

The impact of this statement was lessened by the entry of a third Harry, which stepped into the room and assumed station to the first Harry's left. It regarded Lucius for a moment before informing him, "The Death Eaters you are referring to have already been terminated and Hermione's parents are currently en route to a place of safety."

Hermione could not help but cry in relief upon hearing this, the tears sliding down her bruised cheeks. Despite being as good as rescued, she knew Harry would succeed; she had still been very worried about her parent's well-being.

Until now she had only had the hope that her parents would be unharmed when Nott and the others brought them here, where Harry would have some chance of rescuing them as well. Hearing that the would-be abductors had been dealt with was a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

"You're bluffing," said Lucius. "Nott and the others can't be dead."

"They were killed by three surveillance drones less than five minutes ago," asserted the third Harry.

"They never even made it to the Granger's front door," added the second.

Their statements were punctuated by the arrival of a fourth Harry, who was quickly followed by a fifth. Looking the five young 'wizards' over, Hermione could not decide which one was the real Harry. Each one was a perfect replica, visually, and if Harry were playing the part, he could masquerade as a drone very easily.

If that were the case, then she would need to spot the one Harry that was hiding his emotions, rather than simply not having any emotions to begin with. Unfortunately, the complete lack of expression on the faces of all five Harrys' made this next to impossible.

"Release Hermione," insisted the first Harry.

"No," replied Lucius scathingly. He reached into his robes with his free hand and pulled out a second wand.

"Hey, that's mine!" Hermione exclaimed, recognising the wand as her own. She could have hit herself, had her arms not been restrained, for this was sure to give her away as being the real Hermione. Luckily though, her two doppelgangers made the very same exclamation at roughly the same time. The stereo effect of all three of them speaking in concert was a little disconcerting.

Lucius aimed his wand at Hermione and the other at the Hermione doppelganger directly to her right, the one in the middle of the three. "Dunkeld," he ordered, "cover the third one."

Dunkeld nodded and pointed his wand at the doppelganger on the far side from Hermione.

"Surrender, Potter, or the mudblood dies," said Lucius, an edge of hysteria in his voice. Hermione watched as he grinned viciously. "I'm sure you'll kill us in the process, but I doubt you'll be fast enough to stop us before all three of them receive a Killing Curse. Rest assured, your precious Miss Granger will die."

For a moment it seemed that the Harrys would not do as Lucius demanded, but then the first Harry lowered the barrel of his gun so that it was no longer aimed at Lucius. The other four Harry's did likewise.

Lucius nodded and crowed victoriously, "Smart boy." He jerked his head at the weapons and ordered, "Now drop those Muggle toys and--"

"You talk too much."

Lucius had only enough time to turn and gape at Dunkeld, who had interrupted him. Hermione watched in disbelief as the injured Death Eater drew from his robes what could only be a Muggle pistol. He took aim and squeezed the trigger, unloading round after around in rapid succession.

A few flecks of Lucius' blood sprayed onto Hermione's face, causing her to flinch back in the chair. She did not blink, however, her eyes wide open and locked on Lucius. Horrified fascination filled her as she watched him fall to the floor, his chest riddled with bullet holes and an expression of dumb disbelief etched on his face.

"If you're going to try and kill somebody, then get on with it," Dunkeld remarked scornfully in a deafening quiet that follow. "Don't waste everyone's time by talking."

Hermione managed to tear her eyes aware from Lucius' bloody body and stared across at him in surprise, not really comprehending what had just happened.

Dunkeld rose to his feet, surprisingly nimble for someone that looked only a step or two from death's door. He glanced over at something by his shoulder that Hermione could not see and said, "Okay, Father, disengage the holographic matrix."

She watched in mute disbelief as 'Dunkeld' shimmered like a television shorting out, revealing none other than Harry Potter. A moment later the gobstone-sized sphere that was Father appeared near his shoulder. Hermione stared at him for a second and tentatively asked, "Harry?"

"The one and only," he answered with a grin. He glanced at the five drone 'Harrys' still standing by the doorway and corrected himself, "Or at least, the only real one."

Hermione began to comprehend that 'Dunkeld' had in fact been Harry all along, using Father's holographic abilities to impersonate the real Death Eater. Harry quickly discarded the bloodstained robes her was wearing, revealing an identical outfit to what the drones appeared to be wearing. He knelt down next to her, the other two Hermiones (and their chairs) disappearing to reveal the pseudo-technological doppelganger drones.

"Let me get these off you," he said, fingering the straps.

"You shot him," Hermione said, looking from Harry to Lucius' body and then back. The reality of the situation had still not fully set in.

Harry glanced down at the pistol he was still holding in his right hand, as if surprised to see it there. He tossed it aside, where it hung in the air for a second (most likely thanks to Father) and then shimmered out of sight.

Harry looked at her, his face slightly pale, and explained, "At least I know I won't be sent straight to Azkaban for using it, rather than a Killing Curse. This way, at least I'll get a proper trial." He ducked his eyes and drew his wand, waving it over the straps holding her in the chair. " Finite Incantatem ."

The straps binding her arms released first, followed by the ones around her ankles. Hermione remained in place, reaching up to rub at her wrists in an attempt to restore circulation. She regarded Harry thoughtfully as she did, seeing that he was beginning to react to everything he must have done in order to come and rescue her.

Naturally the next thing Hermione did was throw herself out of the chair and into Harry's startled arms. Clutching herself to his lean body, she very nearly squeezed the life out of him with the strength of her hug.

-oOo-

Harry just stood there, enjoying the warmth and softness of Hermione's embrace. He stroked soothing circles on her back, trying to let her know that everything was fine now and that she was safe. Having experienced something similar, namely Voldemort's resurrection during the third task, Harry could imagine how she was feeling.

Finally, after what must have been several minutes, Hermione broke off the hug and backed away enough to look him in the face. She stayed close to him though, her body pressing lightly against him and both arms still wrapped around him. She stared at him for a few seconds, as if she couldn't quite believe that she was really seeing him.

"You came after me."

"Of course I did," he answered with a grin. "I always do."

"I knew you would," she admitted and relaxed into his arms. Obviously feeling comfortable, she rested her head on his chest and jokingly asked, "What took you so long?"

"Time travel... tricky business," Harry replied lightly. He gently pulled her away from him again and ran an appraising eye over her, scanning for any injuries. "You all right?"

"I've been better," she ruefully admitted, "but they didn't have a chance to do anything besides look."

This Harry already knew, having had a constant video feed of her captivity until he had entered the room. It was what Lucius and the others might have done to her before that worried him. He was relieved to know that they had not taken any liberties with her. He had, however, seen Lucius hit her several times for her assertions that he was coming to rescue her.

He reached up and softly stroked the back of his hand over her tearstained cheek. "Your cheeks are bruised," he told her, dropping his hand so his fingers could play over her swollen mouth, "and you have a split lip."

"I was a bit... insolent at times."

"You mean you provoked him."

"Well... yeah."

"Not the smartest thing to do, Nee," he said, not sure whether he was joking or being serious about it.

Hermione looked incredulously at him and indicated the entire lodge, as well as the fallen body of Lucius, with a wave of her hand. "And this is?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "Well..."

"This was your plan to rescue me, hmm?" she asked teasingly. "Come charging in, bombs going off left and right, guns blazing all the while?"

"It worked!"

"You had to be dramatic about this, didn't you?" she said, sighing theatrically and shaking her head in mock disappointment.

"I'm like Sherlock Holmes that way," he countered matter-of-factly.

It happened so quickly, and unexpectedly, that neither Harry nor Hermione had time to react. Even Father failed to take any action, having been busy recalling all the many assorted drones scattered about the Lodge and its grounds. Later in life Hermione would joke, to Harry's displeasure, that it was a defeat that was nearly snatched from the jaws of victory.

Cowan, it seemed, was not as dead as everyone originally thought. While the first of the combat drones had fired a burst into him, a dozen rounds in total, it had not followed up by confirming the kill. Thus it was that the badly wounded Death Eater was able to take them by complete surprise when he struck.

With a hoarse bellow, Cowan jerked to his feet and lunged at the young couple. He slammed into them with enough force to knock them both back, but not off their feet. A shrill cry alerted Harry to the fact that Hermione had been injured. He held onto her, supporting her weight, as Cowan stumbled back, barely staying on his feet.

"Bastard!" Harry spat, the fury he had felt earlier returning to him.

He reacted without any conscious thought, completely on instinct, and prompted Father to hit Cowan with the full strength of its fields. Father's emotions and moods almost always mirrored Harry's own, so the Gatekeeper responded as desired almost as quickly as Harry's intent was formed.

The gravity manipulation fields at Father's disposal were powerful enough to fold and twist space, which was what forming a Gate entailed. Projected outwards at full strength, they instantly reduced Cowan into a fine red mist. Losing not even a fraction of their power, the fields continued outwards and ripped apart everything within their ten metre radius. The wall behind where Cowan had been standing was demolished instantly (as was a good portion of the room behind it).

It took a moment, during which he stared dumbly at the red smear Cowan had become, before what had just happened began to set into Harry's mind. Swallowing convulsively, he croaked, "God, I think I'm going to throw up again."

He was shaken from his stupor by Father, who loudly informed him that he should keep his mind focused on important matters and worry more about Hermione's condition that Cowan's remains.

"Hermione!"

Feeling that she was leaning heavily against him, Harry gently eased Hermione to the floor. He laid her out as carefully as he could, freezing with each gasp of pain. He found, to his horror, that his hands were growing slick with blood, which directed his focus to a knife of some sort that Cowan had apparently jammed into Hermione's side.

"Hermione?" he asked, "You okay?"

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears, and lied, "I-I think so."

Looking at the knife, Harry could literally feel the blood draining from his face as he blanched. A quick query to Father revealed that it was buried to the hilt in Hermione's side. Fortunately, by some stroke of luck, the blade had not cut into anything vital. The only danger at the moment was that of blood loss, which the Gatekeeper believed would taper off before too long.

"Try not to move too much," he told her. "It'll hurt less."

"Pull it out!" Hermione insisted, her voice tight with pain. "Then it'll hurt a hell of a lot less!"

Harry moved to grip the hilt and do as she asked, reasoning that if anyone knew what to do in a situation like this, it was Hermione. He blinked in surprise when Father stopped him, actually using one of its fields to prevent his hand from moving. Before he could ask why the Gatekeeper was doing this, Father informed him of something that caused the bottom to fall out of his stomach.

He looked at Hermione, who was waiting expectantly for his to remove the knife, and shook his head. "I can't."

She glared balefully at him and insisted, "You bloody well can!"

"If I do, you'll die," he said.

Taking a calming breath, Hermione spoke in what must have been the most calming voice she could muster. This was not saying very much, but it was an improvement on her last few sentences. "I'm sure you can get me to Madam Pomfrey before I bleed to death," she said, obviously believing the fear of that happening was what had stayed his hand.

Harry grimly matched her gaze and revealed, "You'd be dead a second after I pull the blade out."

She looked at him for a moment, not sure what to make of it, but picking up the seriousness in his voice. She swallowed nervously and asked, "What?"

"I'll explain later," Harry told her. "Right now, we have to get out of here."

"Okay," she replied weakly as he slipped one arm behind her back and the other under her legs. He hoisted her into the air, but despite the care he took Hermione gasped and moaned with pain as Harry lifted her up, cradled in his arms. "Ah!"

"Sorry," he apologised, contrite at his failure to handle her with the utmost care.

"No, s'okay," she assured him.

After asking Father to retrieve Hermione's wand from Lucius' body, Harry waited impatiently for the last of the combat drones to enter to the room. Its arrival brought the total of faux Harrys to six. Joining the five drones already present, the drone gave its report. "All the charges are now in place, as ordered."

Nodding his acknowledgement, Harry waited for Father to collect the six combat drones and return them to their storage pockets in subspace. Once the last drone had shimmered out of sight, he told Father where he wanted to go and held Hermione close to him. "Hold tight, Nee," he told her.

"Where are we going?" she asked through teeth clenched in pain. "Back to Hogwarts?"

"Barcelona."

Hermione began to nod in understanding, but froze as the word registered fully. She looked up at him, obviously ignoring the pain such a move must have caused, and asked incredulously, "What?!"

Before he could answer, Father opened a Gate around both Harry and Hermione and transported them to safety. Barely a minute after they left, the explosive charges set around the building's foundations detonated. The entire lodge shuddered, quaked and slowly collapsed in on itself.

-oOo-

"THAT IDIOT! HE SHOULD'VE LET US GO WITH HIM!"

To say that Ron Weasley was aggravated would be a gross understatement. He, as well as Ginny, Neville and Luna, was currently sequestered in the small flat that Harry had sent them to about fifteen minutes earlier.

It was, he had to admit, a nice and cosy place to live. Its warm, bright colours reminded him of the Burrow, albeit a lot less cluttered. It was obviously a bachelor's flat, having only one bedroom, a bathroom, a small kitchen and the lounge where the Ministry Crew were currently waiting.

Pacing back and forth in agitation, Ron considered his three companions.

Neville was sitting in one of the three armchairs, the one nearest the Muggle trollivision. He was resting his left foot on his right knee and was impatiently tapping his fingers against the chair's arm rests. Ginny was sitting on the lone couch, elbows propped on her knees, and talking in low tones with Luna, who was sitting alongside her.

Of them all, Luna was the only one that seemed completely unaffected by the fact that Hermione had been kidnapped and that Harry had rushed off to her rescue, leaving the rest of them behind. Of course, Luna had a way of seeming unaffected even in the face of an approaching Killing Curse, but still...

"How the bloody hell could he trick us like that?" he demanded, whirling around on his heel as he stomped back to where he had just come from.

"He's only trying to protect us, Ron," Ginny tried to explain with a hint of impatience. "We've discussed this already."

"Well, I'm not satisfied with the answer," Ron countered scathingly.

"What is wrong with the answer we've arrived at?" asked Luna curiously.

"He left us behind!"

"Actually, he sent us here," corrected Neville.

"You know what I mean!"

Luna bobbed her head from side to side and admitted, "Seldom, if ever."

Ron glared at her as he paced past where she and Ginny were sitting. He reached behind his back and clasped his hands together, asking, "Why can't he let us help?" His voice rose up in protest as he asserted, "We could've helped!"

"He doesn't want us getting hurt," said Neville, who had stopped tapping his fingers and clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back in his armchair.

"Who says we'd get hurt?" Ron snapped unhappily. He waved a clenched fist at Neville and insisted, "We've been training in the DA since the start of term! We're the best duellers in the school!"

"We also got our arses handed to us at the Department of Mysteries, last year," noted Ginny.

"That was different! We were set up!"

Ron threw himself into one of the two free armchairs, almost toppling it over in the process. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered unhappily at his friends and sister.

"I'll admit we got a bit roughed up," said Neville, "but I think we did rather well at the Department of Mysteries."

"They broke your nose, Neville," Ginny reminded him.

Neville shrugged and said, "They could have killed me."

Ginny arched an eyebrow and replied, "They did kill Sirius."

"Maybe," Neville allowed with another shrug, "but you have to admit; it's not every day that six kids hold off a dozen fully trained Death Eaters."

"That's right!" Ron exclaimed, pleased that someone seemed to be on his side. Unable to remain still any longer, he jumped to his feet again and resumed pacing. "And we've only gotten better since then!"

"Our presence would have only served to distract Harry from his mission," Luna informed him as he past by the couch.

"How? We would've been helping him!"

Luna shook her head and addressed him as if he were a somewhat slow child. "He would have been too busy worrying about our safety to concentrate fully on reaching Hermione."

Ron stopped pacing and turned to yell, "We can take care of ourselves!"

"Harry knows that--"

"Then why can't he trust us enough to let us help?"

"Harry is not very good at accepting help," Luna explained patiently. She graced Ron with a brilliant smile that did nothing to ease his growing temper. "It's not in his nature."

"She has a point, Ron," agreed Ginny.

"Several," Luna confirmed with a nod and another gay smile.

"I know," Ron admitted, puffing out a deep sigh. He seemed to almost deflate as his righteous indignation at being left behind left him. "I just wish there was something I could do to help."

"There is."

This unexpected pronouncement, issued from directly behind him, startled Ron more than he would ever admit. His body reacted before the rest of him and he found himself whirling about, drawing his wand and firing off the first thing that came to mind.

" Reducto !"

It was only thanks to Father's timely intervention that the curse did not blow Harry's head off his shoulders. The dark grey sphere intercepted the glowing burst of magic in a single motion that took it from one side of Harry to the other.

Blinking in surprise, Ron suddenly realized he had almost killed his best friend.

"Shit! I'm sorry!"

"Harry!" exclaimed Ginny and Neville, both jumping to their feet at the sight of Harry standing in front of Ron, Hermione held in his arms.

"That was close," Luna observed, slowly rising from the couch to stand next to Ginny.

"I could use some help," said Harry, shifting his burden.

"Are you all right?" asked Ginny frantically, rushing to him. She stopped just short of him and regarded Hermione. "You got Hermione! Is she all right?"

Hermione turned her head to face them and said, "No, not really."

It was only now that Ron noticed the blood staining Hermione's cream-coloured blouse. It had soaked through the thin material and spread to her hands as she tried to staunch its flow while Harry supported her.

Suffice to say, Ron went from being apologetic to panic-stricken in a very short amount of time.

"HERMIONE!!"

Before he could say much more, the world began to spin and abruptly went black.

-oOo-

Harry looked down at Ron's unconscious body, which was now sprawled on the flat's floor and almost on top of his feet. He repressed a sigh.

"Will somebody wake him up?"

"Do we have to?" asked Luna with a pout. "It will be quieter if we don't."

"Luna," Harry growled impatiently.

"Oh, all right then. If we have to," she replied, stepping up to where Ron was lying. She gave Ron a reasonably firm prod with her left foot while yelling in his ear, "WAKE UP YOU SLOVENLY SLACKER!"

This woke Ron up almost as quickly as he had lost consciousness. He jumped to his feet with a start and loudly protested, "I DIDN'T DO IT!"

"Ron, calm down," Harry told him. "This is not a time for hysterics."

Ron looked about in confusion before settling his focus on Harry. His eyes held Harry's for a moment before dropping to Hermione, still in Harry's arms. He immediately blanched, his freckles standing out in contrast to his pale face, but managed to remain upright and awake.

"Gods, what's wrong?" he asked.

"I've got a great bloody knife stuck in my side," Hermione retorted. "That's what's wrong."

"What happened?" asked Neville, coming up close and making as if to help.

Harry shifted away from his friend's attempt at lending a hand, content to carry Hermione by himself. He did note that, while she was lighter than he had expected, her weight was beginning to wear on his arms. He could have had Father hold her with a field, but preferred to hold her close like this.

Starting towards the bedroom and trying to navigate around his anxious friends in the process, Harry shook his head and said, "We don't have time for an explanation right now. We need to get this dagger out of her."

"Do you need anything? What can we do?" asked Ginny, pacing him.

"A couple of large pots of warm water," suggested Hermione, grimacing as she shifted each time Harry took a step. "You'll need to clean the blood away before you can treat the cut."

"I'll get those," Ginny answered. "I wouldn't trust anyone else in the kitchen."

"I will get some towels from the bathroom," announced Luna.

"What about us?" asked Neville.

Harry paused and motioned for him to follow Luna, saying, "There's a storage cupboard next to the bathroom. It's filled with potions." He say the other boy hesitate and elaborated, "Bring me anything you think will help a knife wound. Don't worry, they're all clearly labelled."

Once Neville nodded in understanding and hurried after Luna, Harry turned back to his destination. He saw that the door was partially open, but not enough for him to squeeze through, so gave it a kick to open if fully.

"Ugh," Hermione grunted in protest. "Careful, Harry."

"Sorry, Nee."

Entering the bedroom, he quickly crossed to the bed. "Ron, pull the sheets back, so I can put her on the bed," he told his red-haired friend, who was hovering anxiously behind him.

Ron nodded and hurriedly did as he was directed, pulling the sheets back. He almost tripped over them while trying to get them out of the way as Harry stepped up to the side of the bed.

"I have the towels," said Luna as she stepped inside the room, bearing the aforementioned towels in her arms as well as several over each shoulder.

"Spread one over the bed," Harry ordered. He waited for Luna to do so and then carefully set Hermione down, taking extra care not to jostle her in the process. "That okay?" he asked once she was settled.

"I'll be okay once you get this thing out of me," Hermione answered through clenched teeth. She was pressing both hands to her wounded side, around the knife still embedded in her.

"That's going to take some time," Harry told her, searching through the pile of towels Luna had deposited at the foot of the bed. He pulled out the smallest one he could find and returned to her side.

"Which is why we should be going to Hogwarts, or even St. Mungos," Hermione told him, carefully lifting her hands away from her injury and accepting the hand towel from him. She gave him a pointed look, one that said they would be speaking about this later, and chided, "Not trying to do this by ourselves."

"Unfortunately," he sighed, "we're going to have to do it ourselves."

"I don't know, Harry," opined Ron, still looking pale as he knelt down on Hermione's other side. "I think we should let someone who knows what they're doing take care of this."

Harry made to answer, but paused as Neville arrived, carrying half a dozen flasks. He carried them over and set them down one by one on the side table next to Harry. "I think these should do," he said nervously.

"Thanks Neville."

Hermione struggled to push herself up to her elbows, wincing in pain as she did so. Discarding the now bloodstained hand towel, she looked at Harry and spoke softly. "Harry, you rescued me single-handedly," she told him, "You've done more than enough... you don't need to do this as well."

Harry matched her gentle gaze and agreed, "Trust me, I'd prefer not to."

"Then take me back to Hogwarts!"

"She's right, Harry," said Neville, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. He shook his head and said, "This is a job for Madam Pomfrey, not us."

"Madam Pomfrey can't treat this," Harry insisted. "Only I can."

"Why is that?" asked Luna.

Harry huffed in annoyance and snapped, "If you will all stop badgering me about taking her back to Hogwarts, I'll explain."

"Not without me, you won't," said Ginny, as she came into the bedroom. She was carrying two large pots filled with steaming water. She held them up for him to see. "Here's the water."

"Thanks, put it there," he accepted, pointing at the side table.

"So, why can't we take Hermione to Hogwarts or St. Mungos?" asked Ginny as she carefully set the pots down next to the potion flasks Neville had brought.

"Ordinarily I would," Harry explained, "but we have a slight problem."

"A slight problem?" repeated Ron incredulously.

"If this is a slight problem," commented Neville, "I don't want to see what he considers a disaster."

Drawing his wand, from where it was strapped to his arm, Harry waved it over the knife's hilt and intoned, " Veneficus manifesto ." As he expected, the hilt began to glow a pale, icy blue. He lowered his wand and watched as the soft glow began to fade away.

"What the hell is that?" exclaimed Ron.

"An enchantment of some sort," said Luna, answering before Harry could.

"You mean the knife's cursed?" asked Neville. "Crap!"

"Harry, this clinches it. You have to take Hermione to Hogwarts! Only a few trained professionals are qualified to remove something like this! You aren't!" insisted Ginny.

Harry settled back on his knees and stated, "It has a aura activated proximity trigger."

This was met with some incomprehension, save for Hermione. The bushy haired witched dropped her head back against the pillows and gave a groan that was not caused by the pain of having a cursed knife jammed into her side.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Shit," said Hermione, summing it up.

"What?"

"You understand now?" asked Harry.

Hermione let out a breath and nodded, "Yes."

Growing annoyed at not receiving an answer, Ron bellowed, " What ?"

Before Harry could try to explain, Hermione answered, "The only people that can even try to remove this are myself, Harry and the Death Eater who stabbed me with it."

"And since you're the one it's stuck into," Harry concluded, "that leaves me."

"What the fuck are you two talking about?!"

"The enchantment on the knife," Hermione elaborated.

"When the knife is used, the enchantment is activated," explained Harry, reciting the information Father had passed on to him at Parkinson Lodge. "After that, only someone who was standing less than a metre from the dagger at the time can disarm the trigger without setting off the Killing Curse."

"Killing Curse?" repeated Neville, sounding appalled.

"It's stored in a crystal set inside the handle."

"Technically it's a hilt," corrected Luna.

Harry ignored the correction and continued, "If somebody else tries to remove the dagger, the crystal shatters and the curse is released..."

"Right into me," finished Hermione.

"Shit!" swore Ron. He rose up and began to pace around the cramped confines of the bedroom, swearing up a storm that would have made Molly Weasley wash his mouth out with soap. If it was not for the seriousness of the situation, he would have impressed everyone present with his scope and inventiveness.

"So, why can Harry touch it?" asked Ginny, speaking over the litany of Ron's cussing. She glanced from Hermione to Harry and back again. "I doubt he was the one that stabbed you."

"I was hugging him when it happened," Hermione admitted, blushing slightly. Ordinarily she would have turned as red as the Hogwarts' Express engine, but with so much blood seeping from the knife wound, all she could manage was a fetching pink.

"What about the Death Eater?" asked Neville thoughtfully. "Why can't you bring him here and force him to remove it? He must know how, if he used the damn thing."

"He's not available," Harry informed him.

"Why not?"

Harry just looked up at him. He swallowed convulsively as the memory of literally blowing Cowan into a million pieces came back to him. He took some comfort in the fact that even if he had not killed him, the Death Eater would most likely have not lived much longer, having been shot by one of the combat drones.

Puzzling over Harry's stare for several seconds, Neville finally seemed to pick up the meaning behind what Harry had said. He paled slightly and swallowed before squeaking, "Oh."

"That leaves me and Hermione," Harry repeated.

"And she's the one with the dagger in her side," Ginny summed up.

"Which means it's up to Harry," Hermione agreed weakly.

"Are you sure we can't go to Hogwarts?" asked Ron, having finally stopped swearing and returning his attention to the discussion taking place. "Maybe Dumbledore..."

"Proximity triggered daggers have been used by assassins for nearly three thousand years, Ron," Hermione told him. She was looking very pale and sweaty, but was still able to assume her patented lecturing tone. "In all that time... nobody that shouldn't has been able to disarm one."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

"Shit."

"But if Harry's the only one who can work on it, can't he just remove the spell that prevents anyone else?" asked Ginny hopefully. "After that, we can turn her over to some who has training for something like this."

Harry shook his head, wishing it were that easy. "The enchantment that records the magic signatures is protected against something like that."

Ginny grimace and cursed, "Damn."

"So," said Neville, kneeling down next to Harry, "Do you know how to disarm one of these things?"

All eyes turned to him, as if expecting a miracle.

It was times like this that Harry wondered at the faith his friends had in his abilities. In a fight he could understand it, since there he would have a chance of coming up with something to save the day. This, however, was a completely different kettle of fish.

"Not a clue," he admitted reluctantly. He could feel the trepidation at what he had to do, but steeled himself and asserted, "Luckily I do have access to someone who does."

"Uh..."

"Father can talk me through the process."

"Are you sure you can trust that thing?" asked Ron. Father huffed indignantly at the doubt in hiss voice and darted out to smack against Ron's forehead. "Ow!" Ron exclaimed, reaching up to clap a hand over the injured area. He glared at Father's charcoal sphere and snapped, "Stop doing that! You're going to leave a mark!"

Harry gentle prodded the knife with his hand, trying to see how it was positioned. Hermione winced and groaned, "A bit more gently, Harry."

"Sorry."

"Just hurry, please," she panted. "I'm not feeling too well."

"Don't worry--"

"You know what you're doing?"

"Well," he bobbed his head vaguely before saying, "Father does."

Hermione looked unhappily at him and said, "Hopefully."

Matching her gaze, Harry could see that her eyes were slightly unfocused with pain. He reached out and took one of her hands in his own and tried to reassure her. "It hasn't steered me wrong yet."

"Then what are you waiting for?" asked Ron impatiently. "Get on with it!"

-oOo-

Harry was kneeling in preparation next to Hermione, who was trying to remain calm about this entire mess. It was not easy, although she thought she was dealing with the situation rather well, all things considered.

"So, what's first?" she asked,hoping that having Harry explain what he was doing as he went along would distract her from the uncomfortable sensation in her side. Oddly enough having a knife buried to the hilt did not hurt as much as she would have imagined it would. Truth be told, it only really hurt when she (and by extension the knife) moved about.

"Well," Harry started, "Father's done a scan of the entry wound--"

"How'd it do that?" interrupted Ron.

Hermione saw Harry close his eyes in frustration and take a breath to keep from snapping at the inquisitive redhead. He then opened his eyes and answered, "I don't really know, but it's like an MRI."

Ron frowned and shook his head. "Em-Ar-Eye?"

"It's a Muggle thing, Ron," Hermione explained, wondering at how witches and wizards could be so completely ignorant about the rest of the world. "Now please; shut up - Harry doesn't need you distracting him."

"And I'm sure Hermione doesn't need you distracting Harry either," seconded Neville, who took hold of Ron's shoulder and pulled him back a little, affording Harry some room to work.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"So, again," said Hermione, "what's first?"

"Well, the wound's narrow but deep," he informed her. He glanced at the small grey sphere hovering nearby and seemed to listen before adding, "Fortunately it doesn't seem to have pierced anything vital."

"I'd rather it had not pierced me at all," she muttered ruefully.

Harry smiled faintly and continued relaying what must have been Father's evaluation of her wound. "Most of the bleeding has stopped and won't be a problem until we remove the knife."

Hermione nodded in understanding and then asked, "How do we do that?"

"How do I do that, you mean," Harry corrected. He sat back slightly and noted, "All you get to do is lay there, looking like death warmed over."

"Gee," she wondered if she really looked that bad. "Thanks for the compliment, Harry."

"My pleasure."

Taking aim at the base of the knife's hilt, Harry licked his lips nervously and frowned in concentration. "First, I need to disenchant the hilt's Repellent Ward."

Hoping to keep Harry from growing too nervous, Hermione asked, "A Repellent Ward?"

"Gives anyone that touches it a bit of a shock," he explained, making a few preliminary sweeps of his wand around the hilt. A few glowing lines, intricately entwined, lit up and then slowly faded from view. "Even those who can touch it without setting off the curse inside."

"How much of a shock?"

"It could kill someone with a weak heart."

"Oh, joy," she grumbled. "This just gets better and better."

Harry gave her a wan smile before returning his attention to the task at hand. Focusing fully on the dagger's hilt, he started muttering under his breath. Unable to hear what he was saying, Hermione glanced at her friends, who were watching intently.

Neville was shaking his head and murmured, "Just when I thought things couldn't get worse."

"That's something you need to remember, Neville," Luna cheerfully reminded him. "Things can always get worse."

"I don't think we needed to hear that, Luna," grumbled Ginny, gently elbowing the other girl in the ribs.

Turning her attention back to Harry, Hermione saw that a thin tendril of white light was now being emitted from the tip of his wand. It snaking towards the hilt and she watched closely, having never seen anything like this before.

Glancing up at Harry's face, she wondered where he had learnt to do this. Working with enchantments was difficult and only taught to students at Hogwarts towards the end of their sixth-year.

A soft crackling drew her gaze back to the knife in her side, which the tendril was dancing around, jumping from spot to spot. The crackling grew louder and the tendril's motions almost frantic, before it suddenly coiled around the hilt, like a snake making itself at home.

"There," breathed Harry, a fine sheen of sweat having formed on his forehead.

"You've done it?" she asked.

"No," Harry shook his head, "but I've connected to the enchantment."

Leaning closer, he resumed his muttered chanting, the words again too soft for Hermione to hear clearly. From what she could make out, Harry seemed to be attempting to absorb the enchantment, which she knew was one of the simplest ways of dispersing this particular brand of magic. It was also potentially the most dangerous, as the absorbed magic could easily react badly with his own magic, or (if it was strong enough) overload it.

Fortunately, everything seemed to go smoothly. The white tendril connecting Harry's wand to the hilt began to glow more and more brightly, pulsing in time to his words. Slowly, over what seemed like a very long length of time, the white colour began to darken to a deep purple, tinged with flecks of red.

With an abrupt crack, like lightning, which startled everyone, the tendril released the hilt and retracted back into Harry's wand.

Harry's shoulder slumped with relief. He settled back on his heels and announced, "Done."

Licking her lips, Hermione asked, "What now?"

"I get rid of this," Harry told her, indicating his wand's glowing purple tip, "and move onto the next part."

"How're you going to get rid of something like that?" asked Neville.

Harry did not answer, but pointed his wand out the open window, which was letting a slightly cool breeze into the room. There was another crack, much like the first, and the purple glow leapt through the window and outside.

"Harry, what are you doing?" demanded Ginny.

"Getting rid of it."

"By tossing it out the window?" she asked incredulously. "Are you nuts?"

"Better I release it outside than in here!" countered Harry shortly.

"You could've killed some poor Muggle that's walking past!"

"We're on the fifth floor," he informed her, "somehow I don't think that will be likely to happen."

This stalled Ginny's argument rather neatly and all she could say was, "Oh."

"Now, if you don't mind?" Harry asked sarcastically, waving her back. He waited for Ginny to rejoin Luna, Neville and Ron at their spot by the foot of the bed, and then turned back to Hermione.

"Are you sure Dumbledore couldn't do this?" Ron asked. "It doesn't seem that tricky."

"It's not the difficulty of the process that's the problem, Ron," Luna explained.

"I don't think trying to disenchant something is easy," commented Neville.

"It's not."

Harry ignored the short byplay, focused entirely on the knife. Hermione had to admit it was reassuring to see that nothing short of Voldemort himself appearing would distract him from the job. "Okay," he said, taking a steadying breath, "next step."

"And that is?" she asked.

Harry did not answer. At first she had thought he had not heard her, but then realised that he had his head tilted to one side as he apparently listened to Father explain what he had to do. "The end of the hilt unscrews, that's how you insert a new spell crystal," he finally said. "I need to disarm two separate triggers and one booby-trap linked to that."

"Another trap?" asked Ron.

"Of course there's another, you twit!" Ginny reprimanded him, smacking his arm as she did so. "If it was easy to disarm, then it wouldn't be that dangerous, would it?"

"The first trigger is set off when you start unscrewing the cap," Harry continued, taking aim with his wand and casting one of several Magic Identifying Charms they had been taught in their third-year. A thin red glow began to form, outlining the edge of the cap.

"The second, when you pull the cap off," he went on. The glow grew thicker as he said this, which Hermione knew to be a sign that the second trigger had been identified.

Harry shifted his wand this way and that for a bit, trying to get a feel for the magic he was attempting to disassociate. Finally he nodded, apparently satisfied, and announced, " Defaeco laqueus inceptor ."

The glow around the cap grew brighter for a second, alarming Hermione, before beginning to change from red to a weak orange. It pulsed a few times, fighting against Harry's magic, before fading to yellow and then finally white. After one final pulse of protest, the glow faded away entirely.

"Well, that looked easy," commented Ron lightly. "You're doing great, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry agreed distractedly, clearly not listening fully. He licked his lips and began to repeat the process. "Now for the booby-trap."

Seeing that he was straining to do this properly, Hermione tried to take his mind (as well as her own) off it. Fishing for something to do that, she asked, "What does that do? The booby-trap, I mean."

"Like the second trigger, it goes off when the cap is removed,"

"Another shock?"

"No," Harry shook his head, "this time it's more like a bomb."

"A bomb?" Hermione repeated weakly.

"Blow my hand off."

This time the process went faster than when disarming the triggers, though the trap's magic was more stubborn in its fight with Harry. Wiping away the sheen of sweat that had accumulated on his face, Harry carefully reached out for the knife. Everyone watched with bated breath, which was released in a sigh of relief as his fingers tentatively brushed against the hilt.

Still moving cautiously, Harry reached for the cap and began to unscrew it. The movement caused the blade to shift and dig into her, causing Hermione to bite her lip in prevent a gasp of pain. She noticed, absently, that some fresh blood was welling up from the wound.

With the cap finally unscrewed, Harry gently lifted it up, holding his breath the whole way. He only resumed breathing after it was fully removed. Letting out a shuddering sigh, he set it aside and turned back to Hermione. He immediately noticed the fresh blood and pointed it out.

"You're bleeding again."

"It's not that bad," she replied through clenched teeth.

"Can't we put some sort of Pain Relief Spell on the wound?" asked Ginny anxiously.

Harry shook his head dispiritedly. "Anything like that will react with the spells on the dagger and set it off."

"What about a potion?" suggested Neville.

"Same thing."

"But why?" asked Ron, apparently unwilling to let it go at that. "A potion's not a spell. How could it react with the dagger's magic?"

"The magic in the potion will spread throughout Hermione's body," Harry explained tiredly. "Especially around the wound."

"Where the dagger's blade is," concluded Luna.

"Exactly."

Hermione licked her lips, tasting blood from where she had bitten her earlier. "If my mum can give birth to me without painkillers," she announced, "then I sure as dickens can put up with this."

Harry looked at her, wide-eyed and not a little incredulously. "Right."

Trying to take her mind off the pain, Hermione tried to prompt him on by asked, "What next?"

"I think there's some aspirin in one of the kitchen cupboards," he replied, not letting his attention be averted. "We could give you those - they're not magical."

"Aspen? What's that?" asked Ron.

Hermione ignored Ron's question and shook her head. "I don't think they would work fast enough to make a difference at this point." She indicated the hilt sticking out of her side. "Besides, I need to be clear headed for this."

Harry seemed unconvinced, but accepted her reasoning. "Right."

"Now what?" she asked.

"There's a seal placed over the spell crystal," Harry said, leaning forward so that he could peer into the hilt. "Like the hilt cap, it has a pair of triggers and another booby-trap."

"Paranoid, these assassins, aren't they?" Luna asked brightly.

"Crazy is what they are," muttered Ginny in return.

Peering into the small hole now visible at the end of the hilt, Harry nodded. "There it is." He lifted up his wand and carefully took aim. "Let's do this."

Hermione tried to bolster his confidence by noting, "You should find it easier this time. After all, you've done the same on the hilt cap."

"Right," he acknowledged unenthusiastically.

She watched attentively as Harry began to work. From her position she could not see into the hilt, and thus had no idea how things were progressing, so she had to make do with watching Harry's face. He was visibly straining now, working magic that was delicate in the extreme. His face was pale, the only real colour visibly being his eyes and a few red splotches around his cheeks.

" Defaeco laqueus inceptor ," Harry concluded, slumping back and letting out a breath. He remained that way for a minute, breathing deeply to catch his breath, before announcing, "Done."

"Is that all?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Thank God."

Ron let out a joyous whoop, startling them both, and pumped a fist into the air. "Yes!"

Ginny grabbed her brother by the elbow and snapped, "Ron! Not now!"

Grinning sheepishly, Ron lifted his hands up in appeasement and apologised. "Sorry."

"All that's left is removing the spell crystal, right?" asked Hermione, licking her lips and eyeing the hilt.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, using his wand to extract the seal. It looked rather like a washer that a Muggle plumber might use. He set it on the side table, next to the hilt's cap.

"It's not booby-trapped as well, is it?" inquired Neville.

"It shouldn't be."

" It shouldn't be ?" repeated Ron, his good cheer vanishing.

"Maybe you better check first," insisted Ginny.

Hermione nodded in enthusiastic agreement and said, "Just what I was thinking."

Harry smiled at her. "Relax," he reassured, "I was going to do that anyway."

"Better safe than sorry," agreed Luna. "That's the way to handle these things."

Harry cast several different Revealing and Identifying Charms, breathing a sigh of relief with nothing happened.

"Clear."

"Good," Hermione confessed, "Because I don't want to drag this out for very much longer."

"Right," said Harry. He readied his wand and then looked at her. "If the crystal bumps the inside of the hilt when I pull it out, it'll release the spell. So take a deep breath and try not to move so much as a muscle."

Hermione nodded in understanding and took a large gulp of air. Harry inspected the hilt and frowned in concentration. He took aim with his wand and paused. He did nothing for a moment, then licked his lips. He reached up with his free hand and wiped at the sweat dotting his face.

"How much longer is this going to take," asked Ron impatiently.

" Accio Spell Crystal ."

Everyone's breath caught in their throats as a glowing pale green crystal, about the size and length of Hermione's pinkie, slipped out of the hilt and into the air in front of Harry's wand.

"Not long," Harry concluded.

"Shit, Harry," said Hermione, letting her breath out explosively. "You just scared a dozen years off my life."

"Me too!"

"Me three!"

"Luna!"

Harry smirked and then looked at the spell crystal hovering in front of him. He contemplated it for several seconds before deciding, "I don't think I should throw this out the window."

"Good idea." Ginny nodded in agreement, clearly remembering how he had disposed of the first enchantment.

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Neville.

"Father."

The crystal remained in the air for a second before shimmering from view.

It was Ron who asked the inevitable, "Where'd it go?"

"It's still there," Harry told him. "Just shifted ninety degrees out of phase,"

"Which means what?" Ron asked. "In English this time, if you don't mind."

"Father put it into a pocket universe."

"Gods, you're getting worse than Hermione," Ron groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He was clearly joking though, as the broad grin on his face indicated.

"Ron!" chided Ginny, elbowing him in the ribs for the umpteenth time that morning.

"It's true!"

Before the argument could get going, Hermione interrupted. There were more important concerns for them to deal with after all. "Bugger whether or not Harry sounds like me," she said, drawing their attention away from each other and to her. She waved a hand at the empty hilt. "Will someone just get rid of this bloody knife?!"

"Okay," said Harry. He reached out and grabbed the knife, taking a firm but gentle hold on it. He looked her in the eyes and warned, "This is going to hurt."

"It all ready hurts!" she protested impatiently. "Just get it out of me!"

With a sharp yank, and absolutely no warning, Harry pulled the knife out. It slipped free with a wet slurp, causing Hermione to jerk upright and gasp sharply from the sudden pain. As she fell back onto the pillows, her vision was swimming with tears and little black dots around the edges.

"Luna, pass me a towel," she heard Harry ask.

For a moment Hermione wondered what he would need a towel for, but then a trickling sensation impinged on her fading consciousness. She could feel the blood gushing out from the wound, soaking her blouse and the bedspread beneath.

"Neville, the potions. Now!"

As consciousness began to leave her, Hermione was vaguely aware of having something incredibly foul tasting poured down her throat. She almost choked on it, but managed to force herself to swallow.

The last coherent thought she managed before the blackness enveloped her, was that after all her insistence that they remove the knife, right now she would much rather have it still in place. At least then it had not hurt as much.

TBC...

Backwards Compatible
In Battle's Wake

Hermione woke up, feeling slightly less than wretched. She groaned softly upon opening her eyes, feeling as if giant mallets were hammering her head. Closing her eyes, which did not bring as much relief as she had hoped, she tried to focus past the pounding in her temples.

A raucous cacophony of noise was what had woken her and was preventing the pain in her head from dispersing as rapidly as she would have liked it too. The sounds seemed to be coming from outside the room she was in, which had looked vaguely familiar to her when she had briefly looked around.

Gritting her teeth and opening her eyes, Hermione surveyed her surroundings. She was lying on a plain covered double bed in a fair-sized room. Slowly, as she ran her gaze over the various items cluttering the space, the memories returned and she recognised this as the bedroom of the flat Harry had brought her too after rescuing her from Parkinson Lodge.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she took several moments to take stock of her condition. She was wearing an overlarge T-shirt and little else beyond that. She could feel that she was still in her knickers, but the rest of her clothes were laid out on a dresser near the cupboards.

Lifting the hem of the T-shirt up, Hermione checked for any indications of the knife wound that had been inflicted on her by Cowan, one of the Death Eaters that had abducted her. She found the injury to be completely healed, most likely thanks to the potions Harry had ordered Neville to bring her.

The only sign that she had ever had a dagger jammed into her side was a faint hairline scar, about an inch long where the knife had penetrated her side.

Heaving an unconscious sigh of relief, Hermione pushed off the bed and stumbled unsteadily to the dresser where her clothes were piled.

She really did not feel like moving about just yet, but the noise coming from outside the bedroom had yet to ease and, from the occasional muffled shout, seemed to indicate that some sort of fight was taking place. And if her friends were having a row of some sort, there was no way Hermione planned to miss it.

Pulling on the pair of slacks that she had been wearing earlier, Hermione almost toppled over. With her sense of balance a bit off, she found herself having to sit on the edge of the bed to get dressed. After wiggling into the slacks, she quickly donned her socks and sneakers, before taking her wand in hand. Harry had recovered it from Lucius Malfoy and he had apparently left it atop of her clothes.

Now fully dressed, save for her bra, which had been too bloodstained for her to even contemplate putting on, Hermione went to the bedroom door and quietly opened it. Peering around the doorframe, she scanned the room beyond, immediately spotting Harry, asleep on a couch. He looked very uncomfortable but was otherwise dead to the world.

Slipping into the lounge, careful to silently close the door behind her, Hermione sneaked towards the source of the noises that had woken her. From the layout of the flat they were in, she guessed that it was the kitchen. She paused on one or three occasions as loud crashes and cursing filled the air.

Reaching the kitchen she peeked inside and lowered her wand. The cries of protest, the bang of metal on metal, the racket that had woken her, was not a fight underway.

Well, perhaps it was, but not a conventional one.

It was merely Ron, Ginny and Neville trying to fix themselves lunch and in the process divine the inner workings of a Muggle microwave, while Luna helpfully got in everyone's way.

"This one?" Neville suggested, pointing at one button on the microwave's panel. Almost immediately he shook his head and then pointed out another button, further down. "No, no... it's this one."

"It's that one," said Ron with certainty, pointing out a different button.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Ginny cautiously.

"Of course I'm sure," Ron asserted.

"Remember what happened last time?" Ginny reminded him.

"That was different," Ron protested. "This time, I'm sure of it."

To prove his point, Ron stabbed his finger against the button he had indicated. This resulted in a lot of frantic beeping from the microwave, which quickly sent Ron into a panic. He frantically began pushing a slew of other buttons until finally the beeping stopped.

"Dammit!"

"I guess that wasn't it," observed Neville mildly.

"I'm going to get this Muggle contraption to work even if it kills me!" Ron vehemently declared.

He leaned in close to the microwave, glowering fiercely at it - as if daring it to defy him. He viciously jabbed the control panel. Unfortunately he managed to hit the release, which caused the microwave's door to pop open and bang against his nose.

Leaping back, and almost knocking Neville to the floor, Ron clutched his abused nose and yelped, "Gah!"

Luna, who had been watched with interest, asked innocently, "Has it killed you yet?"

"Not yet," Ron replied, lowering his hands and glaring at the offending machine. "It's decided to taunt, maim and torture me first..."

Deciding to make her presence known, Hermione stepped fully into the kitchen. Crossing her arms, she cleared her throat to gain their attention and then asked, "Dare I ask the reason for the racket you lot are making?"

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron, "You're awake!"

He pushed past the others and grabbed Hermione in a bear hug that rivalled anything his mother could manage.

"Of course I'm awake," she muttered. "You just woke me up with all this noise."

"Ah, sorry," Ron apologised, finally releasing her from the hug.

"It's okay," she reassured him.

"How are you feeling?" asked Ginny as she, Neville and Luna joined them by the door leading to the lounge.

Hermione ruefully answered, "Like a Death Eater stabbed me in the side with a cursed knife."

"What a coincidence," said Luna excitedly. "That's exactly what happened!"

"So much for hoping that it was only a bad dream," Hermione grumbled.

"Are you all right though?" asked Neville, leaning to one side so that he was afforded a better view of her side. "No pain or anything?"

Hermione twisted her torso experimentally and then shook her head. "No, not really." She gave a small wince and rubbed her side. "It pinches a little when I turn though."

Neville hung his head and apologised, "Ah, sorry, but I did my best."

"Pardon?" she asked, somewhat confused by his reaction.

"Neville's the one that administered the potions to close your stab wound," explained Ginny, elbowing Neville companionably in the ribs.

"Oh," Hermione acknowledged in understanding. She smiled at Neville, who was blushing a little from the attention, and said, "Thanks Neville."

"My pleasure," Neville accepted modestly. "I'm nowhere near as good as Madam Pomfrey, but I did what I could."

"I know," Hermione agreed. She turned to Ginny and Luna, who were standing side by side, and addressed a subject she was slightly worried over. "I noticed I was somewhat... underdressed when I woke up."

"That was us," Ginny explained.

"We thought you would be uncomfortable sleeping fully clothed, so we removed what we could," elaborated Luna airily, her attention focused more on Ginny's ponytail than anything else.

"The shirt was a spare Sirius had left in one of the cupboard drawers," explained Ginny when she noticed that Hermione was thoughtfully fingering the shirt's hem.

Hermione blinked in surprise and repeated, "Sirius?"

"This used to be his flat," revealed Ron. "According to Harry, he hid here for a while after escaping with Buckbeak in third-year."

"So how does Harry know about it?" Hermione asked. She quickly held up a hand and answered her own question, "No, wait. I know. Father."

"Yeah, apparently Sirius left it and some other stuff to Harry in his will," said Ron.

"Harry stocked it up with supplies during the summer," said Neville, pointing past Hermione to the cupboard set between the bedroom and the bathroom. "That's where all the potions came from."

Nodding in understanding, Hermione glanced from face to face. She had a mounting suspicion that there was something they were not telling her. "Did anything happen after I passed out?" she asked.

"Nothing really," said Luna, who had started playing with Ginny's ponytail.

"Harry gave us a blow-by-blow account of how he rescued you," Ginny supplied, trying not to let Luna's attentions distract her from answering.

"Then why's he sleeping on the couch?" Hermione asked, turning to look back into the lounge, where Harry was laying. She then looked pointedly at the clock mounted above the stove. "It's not even one o'clock yet."

Ron put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "It's been a rough day," he said, quietly so as not to disturb Harry's slumber. "For both of you."

Ruefully rubbing her side, Hermione agreed, "That I can believe."

"He took some of that Muggle medicine, aspirin I think it's called," Neville told her, "then lay down and went to sleep."

"He's been out almost as long as you have," elaborated Ron. He gave a nod in the direction of the small charcoal grey sphere that was holding vigil over Harry. "It was actually Father there that showed us what happened."

"How?"

"It recorded the whole thing," Ginny explained. "Harry asked it to show us everything while he slept."

"I can't believe that bastard Malfoy made you do that for him!" exclaimed Ron, his cheeks flushing as his temper soared to the fore. He glowered darkly and swore, "If Harry hadn't already killed him, I'd kill him again!"

"It's all right Ron," soothed Hermione, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm okay."

"It's not all right!" Ron insisted, his voice raised. "The bastard hit you, Hermione!"

"And Harry made certain he wouldn't be able hit anyone else ever again," asserted Luna, her clipped tone matching the intense expression that had slipped over her normally carefree features.

"Gods, and I thought he was brutal in the Great Hall," she heard Neville mutter to himself.

Wondering what he meant by that, Hermione turning to Neville and asked, "The Great Hall? At Hogwarts?"

"D'you know any other Great Halls?" rejoined Ron sarcastically.

"What happened?" she insisted.

The sudden sense of nervousness which filled her was not alleviated when her friends exchanged nervous glances. It was Luna that finally answered, quietly saying, "I think it would be best if you asked Harry to answer that question."

Hermione regarded her closely and asked, "Why can't you?"

Luna shook her head and demurred, "It's not our place."

"If Harry doesn't tell you when you ask, then we will," said Ginny, offering a compromise.

"Why then and not now?"

"You're going to find out anyway," said Ron in a half mutter. "There's no way you couldn't."

"It's certainly going to be in all the papers, that's for sure," agreed Neville.

"What is?" Hermione asked. "What did Harry do?"

"Hermione... he wasn't absolutely sure where the Portkey had taken you," Ginny tried to explain, but doing a masterful job of not actually revealing anything. "He had to be certain before going after you."

"You should talk to Harry first, before us," Ron concluded.

Hermione considered for a moment, her eyes resting briefly on each of her friends. Clearly they knew something and were reluctant to tell her about it, preferring to leave it to Harry. With a nod of acceptance, she turned to exit the kitchen and strode purposefully to where Harry was laying.

Vaguely aware that the others had followed behind her, abandoning their attempts to fix lunch, she knelt down beside the couch Harry was sprawled across. He did not look peaceful in his sleep, but rather weary and tired.

"Harry?" she called softly, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. "Harry? Wake up."

Harry, however, was very reluctant to return to the world of the living. He gave an inarticulate grunt and shifted onto one side, half turning towards her - and coming perilously close to falling off the couch in the process.

Frowning slightly, Hermione gave a firmer shake and ordered, "Harry Potter, wake up this instant!"

"Five more minutes, Aunt Petunia," Harry groaned.

"I am not your aunt, Harry," Hermione asserted indignantly. "It's Hermione."

"Hermione?"

Harry blearily began to wake up more fully, looking around in some confusion. Hermione could not help but think that he looked rather cute as he blinked away his sleep and tried to work out where he was.

Luna, who was standing next to Ginny, leaned over the back of the couch and found herself almost nose-to-nose with Harry, who stared blankly at her. She grinned broadly and cheerfully greeted, "Good afternoon, Harry!"

"Not so loud, Doc," Harry winced, rubbing at his half-lidded eyes as he leaned back to put some distance between himself and the overly enthusiastic Ravenclaw.

"Are you awake now?" Luna asked in an exaggerated whisper.

"The question should be, 'were you asleep?'" retorted Harry grumpily. "The answer is yes, but not enough."

"That's good to hear," beamed Luna.

"Ugh."

"Harry?"

Running a hand through his hair, mussing it up even further, Harry focused on Hermione and appeared to finally return to full consciousness. He blinked for a moment before recognition set in. Then his arms lashed up, startling everyone with his suddenness, and grabbed her in a fierce hug, accidentally pulling her on top of him in the process.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, the relief in his voice unmistakable. He held her in his arms for several precious seconds, savouring the contact, before pushing her back though not fully off him. Before she could speak, he began to frantically inspect her for injury - running his hands over her body to do so. "Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, "Is anything wrong?"

Hermione was somewhat flustered, especially as some of the places Harry was inadvertently touching in his quest for injuries, were cause for her to blush rather fiercely. It was only when his hands made their second pass over her chest, brushing lightly over the curve of her breasts, that she managed to find her voice.

"I'm fine, Harry. Perfectly fine," she sputtered out her voice breaking into a squeak as his hands ran down her sides, over her buttocks and then up her back. "You can stop now. Please."

Realization of what he was doing suddenly hit him and Harry almost leapt away from her. Being positioned more or less underneath her on the couch foiled his attempt to put some distance between them.

"Shit! I'm sorry, Hermione! I didn't mean to!" he apologised profusely.

"I know, Harry, it's all right," she assured him with all the calm she could manage. "You were just worried."

"How's your side?" he asked anxiously.

"Much better, thank you," she told him. On impulse she leaned forward, pressing down on his chest, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, clearly not understanding.

"What do you think, silly?" she asked in return.

He regarded her for a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh. My pleasure."

With Harry's help they managed to untangle themselves and sit up properly. Hermione noticed the grins on Ginny and Neville's faces and the outright frightening smile Luna was wearing. Ron, in contrast, was looking a bit pensive, but otherwise seemed to accept the little display that had just taken place.

Her attention was drawn back to Harry as he swore, "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I fell asleep with my contacts still in," Harry explained with a grimace, rubbing at his eyes.

There was a shimmer in front of him and a moment later his glasses appeared, floating in the air, alongside a small white container.

"You're wearing contact lenses?" she asked as Harry opened the container and began the process of removing his contact lenses, something Hermione watched with fascination.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. He deftly slid the lens out of his right eye and placed it in the appropriate compartment of the container. "Don't want to risk losing my glasses in the middle of a fight."

"You could try putting an Imperturbable Charm on them," Hermione suggested. "That way they won't fall off."

Harry had by then removed the contact lens in his left eye and put it away as well. He blinked rapidly several times and he settled his silver framed glasses on his face as Father lifted the closed container into the air and then shifted it into subspace.

"In which case, knowing my luck, they'd probably just get shattered into a million pieces."

"Unbreakable Charm?" she suggested teasingly.

"I was in a hurry," he said in defence.

With a soft groan that only Hermione heard, Harry slumped back against the couch and closed his eyes. He reached up with both hands to rub at his temples, wincing slightly as he did so.

Instantly concerned, thinking that he might have been injured in some way during her rescue and kept quiet about it until now, Hermione asked, "What's wrong?"

"Headache," Harry replied through grit teeth.

"You don't think it's Voldemort, do you?" asked Ron worriedly.

"Can't be."

"How can you know that?" Hermione asked, unsure of his answer.

"Father can generate an anti-magic field around me, remember?" Harry explained tiredly, continuing to massage his temples. He cracked his eyes open and grinned wryly, "My head's sealed up tighter than Fort Knox."

"Fort Knocks? What's that?" asked Neville, completely confused by the reference.

Surprisingly it was not Harry or Hermione that explained, but Luna. Of course, her explanation was somewhat off the mark, but that was to be expected. "It's a top secret facility in America," she said with authority, "where the Muggles are keeping a captured alien flying teacup."

"Flying saucer , Luna. And it's supposedly kept in Area Fifty-One," Hermione corrected, wondering as she did so why she even bothered. "Fort Knox is where the Americans keep their gold."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Luna in an innocently sing-song voice.

Before the conversation could degenerate into a clash of conspiracy theory versus recorded fact, Ginny spoke up and turned the focus back to Harry. "If it's not Voldemort that's giving you a headache," she asked, "then what is?"

"It's just been a long day," Harry answered tiredly. "A very long day."

-oOo-

Lord Voldemort was feeling frustrated, a turn of phrase that would have amused him, had he been in the mood (yet another turn of phrase). He had been searching almost without pause for two entire days and was still without a means to the end which he currently desired to achieve.

He browsed down an aisle of books, trailing his right hand behind him, brushing over the spines of the many ancient books stored in his private library. He had not been surprised, upon his resurrection, to discover that the Ministry's bunglers had not been able to find it, thus leaving almost the full store of his collected tomes untouched.

His eyes settled on a leather bound book entitled, Libido Adaugeo .

Plucking the volume from its place on the third shelf, Voldemort added it to the pile of four other books that he had collected in this latest venture into the stacks of his library. With a considering glance, he decided that five books would be enough for now, and made his way back to the desk he had working these past two days.

Dropping the books onto the desktop, Voldemort settled down in the chair, his zeyd-cloth robes spreading out around him as he did so. He selected the book from the top of the pile and placed it in front of him, next to the half a dozen sheets of parchment he had been taking notes on.

"My Lord?"

The unexpected voice drew Voldemort's gaze away from the book, Recro Corpus Fortitudo , which he had not even had a chance to open. He looked up to see who it was that had interrupted his research.

"What is so important that you dare to disturb me?" he hissed quietly.

"N-n-news, m-my Lord!" the Death Eater, Avery, blurted out.

"It had better be exceptionally good news," Voldemort threatened, "otherwise your life will be forfeit."

"I-it's P-Parkinson Lodge, my Lord."

Voldemort sat back in his chair and arched an eyebrow. "Where Lucius took Potter's mudblood girl?"

Avery nodded eagerly and confirmed, "Yes, my Lord."

Seeing that his servant was not going to be immediately forthcoming, Voldemort prompted, "Well?"

"The Lodge, my Lord," Avery answered. "It's been destroyed. Levelled to the ground."

"Hmm," Voldemort grunted thoughtfully, reaching up to stroke his long and slender fingers over his thin lips. He regarded Avery, who trembled slightly under the gaze.

This was indeed noteworthy news. Not exceptionally good, as it seemed likely that Lucius and his companions had been lost in the process. Still, it was noteworthy. Mulling over the information, Voldemort considered who, or what, could be responsible for this.

It was not the Ministry, he knew, as they would not have destroyed the building in the process of rescuing the Granger girl. For that matter, he did not doubt that the Ministry would never have reacted quickly enough to the mudblood's abduction, certainly not fast enough to mount a rescue attempt on the very same day.

Dumbledore, and his bothersome Order of the Phoenix, might have the resources to track the Portkey that had taken Granger to Parkinson Lodge. They might have even had enough manpower to stage a rescue and get away with it. But Voldemort could not see them destroying the place in the process.

It might have been Potter, he concluded. The idea might seem ludicrous at first, but it was not something he could dismiss so easily. After the Ministry and Dumbledore, Potter was the only one left. Still, how could a mere sixth-year student be able to destroy a building that Voldemort knew had a great many protective charms on it?

"Are you sure of this?" he finally asked.

"Yes, my Lord," Avery confirmed. He gave a mild shrug and added, "We don't know yet who is responsible."

"Find out," Voldemort ordered. He then waved a hand in dismissal and said, "Now leave."

-oOo-

Harry Potter's second reception in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was almost identical to his first. That is to say; he almost got his head cursed off within moments of his arrival.

He had Gated to the twins' shop at Diagon Alley, shortly after lunch at his flat, only to find himself looking down the wands of both Fred and George. Luckily enough they recognised him in time to prevent themselves from doing him an injury, though it was a close thing.

"Harry!" cried Fred, pocketing his wand and making a show of letting everyone in the vicinity (there were several customers browsing the shelves) know who it was that had dropped in so unexpectedly.

"Hello chaps," Harry greeted with a grin. The twins never failed to bring a smile to his face, no matter how dire or grim the situation might be.

"Harry!" exclaimed George.

Remembering that they had greeted him in similar fashion the last time he had come to the store, Harry groaned and dropped his head into a hand. "Not again."

Grinning maniacally, the twins finished their greeting by chorusing, "Harry!"

Raising his head from his hands to mock glare at them, Harry found himself being seized by both arms and having his back repeatedly pounded upon.

"Where did you come from?" asked Fred.

A low chuckle escaped from Harry. "Surrey, originally. Hogwarts, recently. Barcelona, currently."

The twins looked at him in confusion, not understanding that he was being literal about it. They quickly shrugged it off, however, and ushered him (with all due fanfare) to the store's counter.

"You two keeping out of trouble?" he asked as they settled down, Fred remaining on the same side as Harry, while George sat down behind the till.

"Of course," Fred said mildly.

"Sure," George agreed innocently.

Harry looked at them both warily. Whenever the twins started acting innocent, it usually meant that they had something up their robe sleeves. He sighed softy and decided to get down to the reason for his visit. "I need to talk to you both."

Fred held up a hand, forestalling anything else Harry planned to say, and said, "Just a moment, Harry, and we'll be right with you."

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is now closing!" announced George, rising from his place behind the till.

"Matters of the utmost urgency have arisen--"

"--and we are forced to ask that you kindly vacate the premises."

"Quickly now," urged Fred as he waved the assorted customers, who were looking somewhat befuddled by their abrupt expulsion, out the front door. "Time is of the essence."

"Rest assured, however, that we will be open for business as usual, sooner rather than later," finished George, helping a pair of young boys out.

In short order the shop was empty and Fred put up the 'closed' sign in the display window. Seizing Harry by the arms, again, the twins lead him into the store's back room, where they kept their stock and experimented on new and outrageous wheezes.

Settling down on a stool by one of the less crowded workbenches, George turned to Harry and asked, "What do you need, Harry?"

"Why do you think I need something?" Harry asked innocently. "Can't I just drop in for a friendly visit?"

"Well, let us think..." said Fred. He and George made a show of musing over Harry's question - George assuming the poise of Rodin's famous statue, The Thinker. After several seconds they turned back to Harry and answered, "No!"

"You're too smart for your own good," noted Harry, taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room.

"Tell us something we don't know," replied Fred, cheekily.

"So, what can we do for our beloved almost-brother?" asked George.

"Mum's been thinking of adopting you, y'know," mentioned Fred.

George nodded in agreement and grinned wickedly, "I think the only reason she hasn't, is because she's still holding out hope that you'll get together with Ginny one day. She'd prefer to have you as a son-in-law over an adopted son any day of the week."

Harry shook his head and stated, "I'm not planning on asking Ginny out."

"Come on, Harry," urged Fred. "Just once! Please!"

"You have to show her what a proper man is," insisted George, "so she'll know what to look for in the future."

"Remember Michael Corner? Her last boyfriend?" asked Fred.

"I remember."

"Then you understand," asserted George, as if that somehow explained everything.

"We need to get her together with someone suitable and you're the only decent option," continued Fred.

"Even if you don't like her that way," George concluded, "at least it'll help raise her standards to a higher level."

"I'm dating Hermione."

This brought Fred and George to an abrupt halt. They stared at him in surprise for a long moment, apparently under the belief that Harry was trying to pull one over them. Finally they exchanged a resigned look before reaching into their robe pockets and passing each other a Galleon.

Harry watched the exchange with puzzlement and asked, "What are you doing?"

"We had a bet that you'd get together with Hermione," answered Fred.

"Almost everyone in our year did," admitted George. "It's impossible to miss."

"We just never thought you'd actually ask her out so soon," said Fred.

"So we're paying up for losing that bet," explained George.

It took several seconds for Harry to work his mind around this convoluted piece of logic. It did not seem to make any sense, but knowing the twins, that was precisely why they had done it. Just to be sure, he asked, "You lost a bet to each other? The same bet?"

Fred nodded and confirmed, "Exactly."

"Pity though," mused George wistfully. "If you're dating Hermione, then you can't date Ginny."

"Now she'll never find a decent man," Fred bemoaned dramatically.

Sensing that an overly exaggerated display of grief over their sister's prospective future love life was about to ensue, Harry headed them off by saying, "Maybe. Maybe not."

The twins exchanged a startled look and then stared suspiciously at Harry.

"What d'you mean by that?" they chorused.

"I know someone that would literally jump in front of a Killing Curse for Ginny," Harry informed them, not going into any detail. He matched their gazes, his own sombre, and asked, "Would you consider that 'decent'?"

"I don't know..." said Fred, trailing off thoughtfully.

"What's this bloke's name?" asked George.

"How long have you known him?" asked Fred.

"How long has he liked Ginny?" asked George, following quickly on Fred's heels as they began to speak faster and faster, thus barraging Harry with one question after another, before he could even begin to answer.

Suddenly they both paused and exchanged another look. Finally they turned to Harry and asked, "It's not Neville, is it?"

"No, it's not Neville," Harry assured them. He had no idea how they had come to that conclusion, aside from the fact that Neville was the only boy that spent as much time with Ginny as Harry did. He raised an eyebrow, curious over their reaction, and asked, "Would you object if it was?"

"Of course not," Fred dismissed his query.

"Just wanted to know," said George.

"We have a variation on the Canary Creams we've been meaning to try out," explained Fred.

"Neville would be the perfect test subject," George summed up, sounding a bit wistful at the idea of feeding Neville yet another of their concoctions.

Harry, whose headache had not been completely driven away by the aspirin and lunch, rubbed his temples and glanced around the storeroom. His gaze fell upon a small bowl of experimental items lying on the bench Fred was sitting at. At first he did not recognise the long black strings, but then his memories of the future supplied both their name and purpose to him.

"Talking of test subjects. I've had a rough day and need something to perk me up," he informed the twins. He pointed at the sweets in question and asked, "Can I have a couple of those?"

"Can you... you..." George was obviously trying to repeat what Harry had asked, but appeared to be too shocked to get the words out.

"You want to try our Laughing Liquorice?" asked Fred in disbelief.

"You're actually asking ?" asked George.

The disbelief on both their faces melted away, replaced with a teary-eyed wonder. Fred was wiping at his eyes, sniffling pathetically and moaned, "Nobody's ever volunteered to try one of our gag items before!"

George nodded emphatically and agreed, "We always have to trick them into it!"

Harry gave them a wary look, "If you try to hug or kiss me; I'll hurt you."

The twins immediately recovered, the entire episode having obviously been an act. Fred, who was nearest to the Laughing Liquorice, passed the bowl to Harry. Gratefully accepting it, Harry took several of the liquorice strands before setting the bowl down on the table next to him.

"Why?" asked Fred.

"I've had a very rough day," Harry answered vaguely. He sighed as he thought over everything that had happened since he had first learned of Hermione's abduction. "Considering the trouble I've gotten myself and the others into I need something to cheer me up. Even if it is artificial and only lasts a minute."

"What's happened?" asked George, both curious and worried.

Harry looked at them in surprise and asked, "You haven't heard?"

Fred shook his head and explained, "Since we quit the Order, we've been entirely out of the loop."

"We haven't heard anything," admitted George. Then he asked again, "What's wrong?"

"Hermione was kidnapped by Death Eaters this morning," Harry told them.

"WHAT?!"

The words had barely left Harry's mouth before the twins jumped to their feet, wands in hand.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Fred, seeing that Harry wasn't moving.

"Let's go rescue her!" insisted George.

"I already have."

It took a second or two, but the twins now realized that Harry wasn't there to ask for their help. Calming down, which was not easy for them after such an announcement, they sat back down.

"Is she all right?" asked Fred anxiously.

"They didn't do anything to her, did they?" asked George.

"She'll probably be having nightmares for a long time to come, but otherwise she's relatively unharmed," Harry said, assuaging their fears.

"'Relatively unharmed'," repeated George sceptically.

"Meaning what, exactly?" asked Fred.

Harry sighed and answered, "Lucius Malfoy put her under the Imperious Curse before I got there. He was forcing her to do a striptease for him before planning to rape her."

"THAT BASTARD!"

Once again the twins grabbed their wands and jumped to their feet, this time filled with a righteous fury that Harry had never seen in them. At least not personally, though he had seen something similar in his future memories.

Fred was practically spitting as he snarled, "I'm going to kill him!"

"I'm going to castrate him and then kill him!" elaborated George, looking just as vicious as his brother.

"We're going to castrate him, kill him and then do the same to his bastard son!" decided Fred.

Sensing that they would attempt to do just that, Harry made to stop them. Not that Draco's welfare concerned him much, and Lucius was of no concern at all, but he did not want his friends to get themselves in almost as much trouble as himself.

"I already have."

Once again it took a second or two for it to sink in, but once it did the twins stared at Harry in unfettered surprise.

"You castrated both the Malfoys?" asked Fred.

"No."

"Did you at least castrate Lucius?" asked George eagerly.

"No, I didn't," Harry replied, some amusement in his voice.

"Then what..." Fred trailed off and exchanged a glance with George as they slowly began to realize the meaning behind Harry's words.

"You killed him?" asked George quietly.

Harry sighed deeply and nodded. "Him and nine other Death Eaters."

The twins stared at him, their expressions turning as sombre as Harry had ever seen. Pocketing their wands they once again returned to their seats.

"How?" asked George.

"I forced Draco to tell me where they had taken her and then I had Father take me there," Harry answered, giving a very abbreviated explanation of day's events.

"Where you killed ten fully trained wizards," concluded Fred.

"Only six," Harry corrected absently. "The other four--"

"Don't say you took Ron and Ginny with you," George interrupted, beginning to look upset. Clearly he did not like the idea of either of youngest Weasley siblings getting into a fight of that nature.

"No," Harry shook his head and allayed the twins' concerns. "I sent them, Neville and Luna to my flat in Barcelona."

"So what happened to the other four Death Eaters?" asked Fred curiously.

"They attacked Hermione's home, under orders to kidnap her parents as well," Harry explained tiredly. "My drones took care of them while I rescued Hermione."

The twins considered this for a moment, looking particularly grave. Then they looked at Harry and broke out into broad grins that seemed completely at odds with the rest of the discussion.

George leaned forward eagerly and asked, "Did you get a chance to try out the plasma rifle?"

Fred acted in much the same manner, asking, "How did it work? Any problems?"

"No problems," reported Harry. He thought back to the only time he had fired the weapon in question, shortly after blowing open the Lodge's front door. "It's a bit bright if you're not used to it, but otherwise it worked perfectly."

"Excellent!" crowed George, clapping his hands together.

"Good show, old bean," agreed Fred, extending his hand, which was accepted by George who gave it an enthusiastic shake.

"So, why are you in trouble for rescuing Hermione?" asked George, once they had settled down once more.

"It can't be over the Death Eaters, can it?" asked Fred.

"Unless you used the Killing Curse," George mused thoughtfully, "but you said you used the plasma rifle."

"And you weren't even there for four of them," added Fred.

"I didn't know for certain where Hermione was," Harry reluctantly explained. What had transpired that morning in the Great Hall was something that greatly disturbed him. "I got the information out of Draco."

"So?" asked George, not understanding.

"Why should you be in trouble for that?" asked Fred.

"I didn't have the time to be subtle," Harry told them. After a moment he added, "Or gentle."

The twins exchanged a worried look at the serious tone of Harry's voice.

"Harry... what did you do?" asked Fred warily.

"I tortured him until he told me what I needed to know," Harry answered plainly.

"You... you didn't use the Cruciatus Curse... did you?" asked George, swallowing nervously.

"No," Harry held up a hand to forestall their worries. A feeling of bleak humour caused him to smile wanly. "I used the time-honoured method of breaking assorted body parts."

"Well, that's not so bad," said Fred after a short pause.

"As long as not too many people saw you do it," qualified George.

"We were in the Great Hall," Harry revealed.

"Ah," Fred winced and shook his head. "That's not good."

"During breakfast," Harry continued.

Now it was George's turn to wince and shake his head sympathetically. "That's really not good."

"When Dumbledore tried to stop me," Harry concluded with a hefty sigh, "Father tossed him across the room. I think the impact broke his hip."

"You're..."

"In it up to here?" finished Harry, holding his hand up to just beneath his chin.

The twins stared dumbly at him for a moment before nodding in agreement. They got up from their seats by the workbenches and joined Harry at the table, looking extraordinarily serious in comparison to how they normally acted.

"You're looking at a suspension hearing in front of the board of governors," began Fred, tugging on his bottom lip as he stared thoughtfully into space.

"At the very least, you'll lose more points than Gryffindor has," said George, trying to look on the brighter side of things and assuming some leniency would be granted. "Probably detention every night as well, for the rest of the year."

"Worst case scenario," Fred summed up, "is you'd be expelled."

"Probably won't come to that, though," said George.

"You are Harry Potter, after all," agreed Fred.

George nodded in agreement before bringing up what was probably the most pertinent point in Harry's favour with regards the current situation. "And considering what would have happened to Hermione if you hadn't..."

As his twin trailed off, Fred concluded, "Still, chances are you'll be suspended."

"I was expecting as much," Harry said in tired agreement.

"You didn't come to us for legal advice, did you?" asked Fred, half-jokingly.

"We'll be the first to admit that we broke almost every rule Hogwarts had while we were there..."

"But we never did enough to get suspended outright."

This opening brought Harry back to the point of his visit to the shop this afternoon. Straightening in his seat and settling his features into a serious expression, he got straight to the point. "I need more plasma rifles."

It took a moment for the twins to shift mental gears.

"All right," accepted George.

"How many?" asked Fred.

"As many as you can make," Harry replied, with not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He was perfectly serious. Following on the morning's events, he now knew that the time was an asset he no longer had in abundance. Voldemort had started his plan of using Harry's friends as a means of hurting the Boy-Who-Lived.

"What about materials?" asked George. "You said that you would supply them."

"I will," Harry confirmed. "Just give me a list of everything you need and I'll do the rest."

"Just a second," announced Fred, holding up a commanding finger. He and George left their seats at the table and began clearing away some boxes that were stacked haphazardly in one corner of the workroom.

As he shifted one of the top boxes, messily labelled as containing Snake Belt Shocks, George explained, "We thought you might need that, so we drew one up."

Moving the last of the boxes out of the way, Fred drew his wand and waved it in the general direction of the newly bared floorboards. " Aperio tectum ostium ," he commanded with a flourish, before turning to where Harry had remained sitting and sketching a short bow.

To Harry's surprise, a trapdoor had appeared in the spot what had been occupied by the stack of boxes. It was nowhere near large enough for a person to fit through, save perhaps a Muggle contortionist, which lead him to guess that it was used for storing things of a sensitive nature. His attention was immediately drawn to the wide variety of carvings that bordered the trapdoor, which he also noticed did not have a handle to open with.

"Security ward runes?" he asked with surprise.

"We borrowed some of Bill's books on the subject," George answered with a grin. He knelt down beside the trapdoor, drew his wand and glanced at his twin. "Ready, Forge?"

"Ready, Gred," confirmed Fred, also kneeling down. "On three?"

"One," began George.

"Two," continued Fred.

"Three!" finished George excitedly.

Harry watched with interest as the twins began to tap their wands on the runes in a seemingly random pattern, chanting in unison as they did so. " Expedio tui vinculus ."

The runes flared to life, glowing a deep red that bathed the twins' faces in a bloody light as they continued to tap one rune after another, in time to their chorused incantation.

" Aperio quae tui celo ."

The rune's red glow began to fade, shifting from red to orange and then to yellow. Harry could now see that Fred and George were working in concert, as they always did. The runes protecting the trapdoor obviously required two people working simultaneously to deactivate them.

" Concedo nobis penitus ."

With one final tap of their wands, the twins finished entering the correct combination and moved back from the trapdoor. The bright yellow glow of the runes shifted to a soothing green that slowly faded away entirely, leaving the runes looking like nothing more than simple decorations. A moment later there was a faint click and the trapdoor flipped open.

"I never knew you had a secret compartment there," Harry commented, thinking of the fact that his future self had spent a great many hours with Fred and George after graduating from Hogwarts. He knew Weasley's Wizard Wheezes better than anyone else, save the twins.

"We didn't," admitted Fred as he leaned forward and started rummaging around inside the compartment.

"At least, not until after you gave us the plans to the plasma rifle," qualified George, pushing himself to his feet.

"Then it seemed like a good idea to build one," continued Fred. He paused and then pulled out a short sheet of parchment that he held up. "Here we go."

Using his free hand, Fred closed the trapdoor and stood up while George waved his wand. " Nova custodiae ."

The runic wards flared into being again, lighting up a brilliant green. In quick succession the green changed to yellow and then to red before fading back down once more. A moment later the trapdoor faded from sight, leaving only the appearance of a dirty and slightly scuffed wooden floor.

Quickly replacing the stack of boxes, this time using their wands to shift them about, the twins returned to the table Harry was sitting at. Dropping into their seats, Fred presented Harry with the parchment. "Here you are."

"Thanks," said Harry, accepting it. He looked over the list written, noting that several of the items were already in his and father's subspace inventory. Several others, however, he would need to collect. "I'll need a couple of days to get some of this."

"No rush," George assured him.

"How many are you thinking of, anyway?" asked Fred, leaning back and propping his elbows on the tabletop.

"No more than a hundred," Harry replied absently, now reading over the list of materials in greater detail.

This casual proclamation caused the twins to almost swallow their tongues in surprise. Harry glanced up from his perusal of the list to see that George was staring at him with a gobsmacked expression and that Fred had apparently disappeared.

After a moment's thought, in which he recollected hearing a loud thump, he looked down to see that the missing twin had apparently lost his balance and toppled over in surprise. Fred was now gaping at him from his position down on the floor and exclaimed, "A hundred!"

"Gods, Harry," breathed George in disbelief. "Which small country are you planning to invade?"

"The one where Voldemort's hiding," Harry answered wryly.

"You're actually serious about fighting him with these?" asked Fred, stumbling back onto his feet and righting his chair as he indicated the list Harry was holding.

"Not alone and not only with plasma rifles," was Harry's matter-of-fact reply.

"Who else?" asked George.

"What else?" asked Fred.

"I'm not too sure yet who I'll be taking with me, but I will probably be using drones for the most part," Harry admitted with a slight sigh. He had no doubt that not even the threat of violence would stop his friends from wanting to come with him when he finally made his move. "As for weaponry, I do have a few ideas that I'd like to talk to you about."

The twins exchanged another long glance, something they had been doing a lot since Harry's arrival. They leaned in close and held a whispered conversation that Harry studiously avoided overhearing. Finally, after several minutes of hushed discussion, they turned to face him.

"Harry," Fred began, "I think we deserve to know what's going on."

"You don't have to tell us everything, if you don't want to," George qualified.

"But some idea of what you have planned would be appreciated," concluded Fred.

To tell the truth, Harry had been considering this very thing for several weeks now. It made sense, he knew, especially as they were the ones that would be assembling his technomancy weapons.

It was not a difficult decision to reach, after all. Harry had often felt that Fred and George's friendship was the easiest relationship he had ever had, alongside his friendship with Hagrid.

This was probably due to the fact that they could not have cared less that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. They had helped him onto the Hogwarts Express that first year, learned his identity, acknowledged that he was one of the most famous wizards of modern times, and then carried on with business as usual. The only other ones who came close to that were Hermione and Luna, and of course Hagrid.

"Are you doing anything right now?" he asked.

"No," said George. "We've closed the shop for the day, remember?"

"While I trust talking about some things here," said Harry apologetically, "I'd prefer to explain fully in a more secure location."

"Where d'you have in mind?" asked Fred.

"And how do we get there?" asked George.

With a thought Harry had Father open a remote Gate to the flat in Barcelona. The sudden appearance of a shimmering three metre wide ball of energy briefly startled the twins, but (as with everything in life) they quickly recovered.

"I think my flat should be free of any eavesdroppers, so we'll talk there," Harry told them, rising from his seat and motioning for them to do the same. As an afterthought he added, "Provided you promise to behave yourselves."

"We'll be on our best behaviour!" they promised.

"That's what I'm afraid of," muttered Harry, as the twins grinned mischievously and stood up to join him.

Harry was just about to wave the twins through the Gate, something they were clearly looking forward to, when a voice called out from the front of the shop. A moment later, before any of them could react, the door to the backroom swung open and a familiar figure stumbled inside.

It was Tonks.

"Fred? George? Are you in here?"

George turned to Fred and asked, "I thought you locked the front door?"

"I did," Fred confirmed, looking at the currently orange-haired witch with frank astonishment. He turned to George and asked a question of his own. "Why didn't you lock this door?"

"I thought you did that as well," George replied.

"Wotcher boys, how's..." Tonks' greeting trailed off as she caught sight of Harry. "Harry?"

"Shit," Harry swore.

"Harry, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" demanded Tonks, taking several steps further into the backroom and putting her hands on her hips as she glared unhappily at the three wizards in front of her.

Deciding to beat a retreat to safer grounds before Tonks recovered, Harry grabbed the twins by their arms and pulled them behind him as he practically jumped into the waiting Gate. "Move it!" he ordered, keeping a firm hold on them so that they were forced to follow behind him.

The peculiar sensation of travelling through warped space lasted only a heartbeat before Harry emerged from the Gate and into the flat where the rest of the Ministry Crew were waiting. Once he was sure of his footing, he checked to see that the twins had come out after him, before ordering Father to close the Gate.

The Gatekeeper, however, was not fast enough. With barely a second to spare before the remote Gate shrank in on itself and collapsed, Tonks leapt out of the shimmering portal. Since neither Harry nor the twins had moved more than a couple of steps from the Gate, they were the first thing the young Auror came into contact with.

As the Gate vanished, with its customary wet pop, Harry looked down at the three figures at his feet. Unlike the twins, he had managed to remain standing when Tonks collided with them. She was sprawled over the twins, in a rather suggestive manner which would doubtless cause her much grief in the future, and was looking about with confusion at her surroundings.

"The day is not improving," he said, summing up this latest event.

"Um... wotcher, Harry?"

-oOo-

All things considered, Dumbledore had had worse days. Granted, most of those days had been over a century age. In recent years, his days had been mostly filled by the tedious and humdrum existence of a school headmaster. Indeed it had been over sixty years, not since his final battle with the dark wizard Grindelwald, since he had last been laid out flat like this.

Fortunately Poppy had been kind enough to allow him to rest in his private chambers, rather than in the school's Hospital Wing. Apparently she was of the opinion that Draco Malfoy's near constant wailing over his broken fingers and dislocated shoulders (despite their having already been healed) would not be conducive to Dumbledore's recovery.

His convalescence was disturbed late in the afternoon by two voices, arguing outside his bedroom door.

"Amelia, please!" protested a voice he recognised as Professor McGonagall. "Albus needs his rest!"

"Let her in, Minerva," called Dumbledore. From what little he had heard of the conversation, he knew already who it was that wished to speak with him. He had a feeling he already knew what she wished to talk about. "I think it would be best not to put this discussion off."

The door opposite the bed swung open and Professor McGonagall came in, followed closely by the Provisional Minister of Magic; Madam Amelia Bones.

"But, Albus--"

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore interrupted, "this must be done."

"Very well," McGonagall reluctantly acquiesced. She shot him a forbidding look and warned, "Just be sure not to strain yourself. Poppy would be very angry if you did yourself another injury."

"Yes, I imagine she would," he agreed. With a nod to both the headmaster and Madam Bones, McGonagall stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Turning his attention to the remaining witch, Dumbledore observed, "You seem rather flustered, Amelia." He pointed to a small bag of sweets sitting on his side table and offered, "Lemon drop?"

"Where's Potter?" Bones demanded without preamble, moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

"I fear I do not know where Harry is at the moment," admitted Dumbledore softly. This admission was a painful one, as he was very much aware of the fact that Harry was likely to be in grave danger.

"Do you have any idea what that boy's done?"

Dumbledore shrugged. He knew, without a doubt, that Harry would have immediately sought to free Hermione from captivity. He also had some idea of what lengths Harry go to in order to accomplish that task. Beyond that, however, he was frightfully in the dark as to what was transpiring outside Hogwarts.

Bones glared across at him and stated, "Dover. Parkinson Lodge."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, "so you acted on the information Harry was able to extract from Draco Malfoy."

"Yes," Bones grudgingly agreed. She ducked her head and muttered darkly, "And his method of extracting that information is something else we have to discuss."

"Later," said Dumbledore, more interested in gaining information on what Harry had been doing since leaving Hogwarts this morning. He struggled to sit himself in a more upright position as he asked, "What did you find at Parkinson Lodge?"

Bones moved around the bed and plopped down in one of the chairs by Dumbledore's side. She sighed deeply and gave the headmaster a look of mixed frustration, curiosity and awe.

"We found that Parkinson Lodge no longer exists."

-oOo-

"So what do you think?" asked Harry.

Almost immediately after her unexpected arrival in Barcelona, Harry had sent Tonks on her way - despite her protests. He was only able to get her to cooperate by telling her that he and the others would be stopping by Grimmauld Place the following morning, so that Hermione could check on her parents.

He had also asked her to see if Remus could be there. While he had never been as close to Remus as he had been to Sirius, Harry needed to talk to someone about what had happened, both at Hogwarts and at Parkinson Lodge. His former Defence professor was, he knew, good at listening to people's troubles.

After Tonks' return to Diagon Alley, Harry and his friends has gathered round the dining room table with Fred and George and proceeded to fill them in on events. The twins had sat through the tale, which lasted the rest of the afternoon, through dinner and well into the evening, without interruption or fanfare.

"Well, Harry, I have to admit..." started Fred.

"...you certainly have a talent for attracting trouble," finished George.

"Thanks," Harry wryly accepted.

"This is big though, Harry," continued George, gravely.

"Bigger than we could have imagined," agreed Fred, with the same amount of seriousness.

Naturally, neither twin could maintain it for long, as evidenced by George, who added, "Bigger than even our little brother's appetite."

"Hey!"

Just as naturally, Ron protested this implication. He rose up from his seat, almost upsetting his glass of chilled pumpkin juice, obviously intending to commit some form of physical violence upon his siblings. A hand from Hermione and Neville restrained him, however, on his shoulders.

Harry took a deep sip from his cup of tea, finishing it, before asking the most relevant question. "I trust the both of you understand the need for keeping quiet about this?"

"Yeah," said Fred.

"We do," confirmed George.

"Good."

"Though we really think you should go to Dumbledore with this," added Fred, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair and linking his hands behind his head.

"Dividing our forces like this isn't helping anything," agreed George.

"We've been trying to get him to talk to the headmaster since we learned what was going on," interjected Hermione, who crossed her arms and directed a stern look towards Harry. "Unfortunately if Harry is anything, it's stubborn."

"Not stubborn, just reluctant," Harry corrected.

"I don't claim to understand your reasoning, Harry," Hermione allowed, "but I can accept it. For now."

Harry arched an eyebrow at the qualification she had added and asked, "For now?"

"I was kidnapped and almost..." Hermione trailed off, visibly having to shake herself out of the memory. Harry wanted to cross over to her side of the table and give her a comforting hug, but restrained himself. He had a feeling she was not done yet, and was proved right as she promptly forged onward. "Can you honestly expect me to continue standing back after that?"

"If it were up to Dumbledore and the Order," Harry noted calmly, "you'd still be entertaining Malfoy and his friends."

"Not if you'd work with him," Hermione insisted. "If you did that, all of this might have been avoided."

"He wouldn't have done enough to stop it," countered Harry, his thoughts immediately turning to how, in the future, Dumbledore would wait too long before attacking Voldemort's hideout - a mistake that would all but break the back of the Light's resistance against the dark lord's rise to power.

He also noticed that the rest of his friends were sitting back in their chairs and watching the growing argument between himself and Hermione. Apparently they had decided against becoming involved, leaving it between the two of them.

Hermione drew his attention back to her by asking, "How can you say that?"

"Dumbledore's a great man, Hermione, I'll be one of the first to admit it," Harry told her, thinking back to all the things the aged wizard had accomplished in his long life. He found himself scowling faintly as he added, "But like just everybody else, he has his flaws."

"I know that, but--"

"D'you know what his greatest flaw is?" Harry interrupted. Without waiting for her to answer, it was a rhetorical question after all, he said, "He will always give you the benefit of the doubt. Always wanting to believe the best of people. Always willing to give them a second chance."

"That's not a flaw, Harry," Hermione told him stridently. "It's one of his greatest strengths."

"Not a flaw is it?" questioned Harry.

"No, it's not," she insisted.

"Lockhart."

"What?" Hermione looked at him in confusion, not understanding the apparent non sequitur. Shaking her head she asked, "What's he have to do with anything?"

"Lockhart," Harry repeated. Then he held up his hands and started ticking off fingers, rattling off a dishearteningly long list of names as he progressed. "Before him it was Quirrel. Fudge and his toad, Umbridge. Draco. Lucius. Nott. Karkaroff. Snape."

Seeing that Hermione and the rest of his friends were at a temporary loss for words, Harry pushed his chair away from the dining table and stood up. He simply could not stand to remain seated when a touchy subject like this came up. He needed to pace, something to distract him (however slightly) as he worked through his thoughts.

"Dumbledore gives them the benefit of the doubt. Lets them into the school, despite knowing their histories. Lets them decide policy, rule the bloody country, despite the fact that a blind and deaf flobberworm would probably be better suited to the job," he said as he began to pace round the table, making sure to always have Hermione in his sight as he did so.

His agitation had grown as he spoke and now he threw his hands into the air and snapped, "Hell, the old man would probably grant Bellatrix Lestrange herself asylum in Hogwarts if she came to him with a good enough sob story. He already did it for Snape, so why not her?"

Speaking very quietly, so that he only barely heard her, Hermione said, "He was also willing believe three third-year students, with no proof other than their word, when they claimed that Sirius Black was innocent."

Harry instantly froze in place, his thoughts turning to his deceased godfather. Hermione's soft spoken words had cut through his mounting agitation with remarkable ease. Everything he had been saying, his entire tirade over Dumbledore's past actions, was now laid bare before him, untainted by his runaway emotions.

He turned where he stood, to look at Hermione and the others. He was mildly surprised to see that she had gone white and was watching him with obvious trepidation.

"Oh God, Harry, I'm sorry," she blurted in apology. "I shouldn't have said that."

Managing a weak smile, Harry walked around the table to where she was sitting. He kneeled down next to her and took one of her hands in his own, squeezing it softly in reassurance.

"Actually," he said, "I think that was exactly what you needed to say." His smile took on a sad aspect as he realised just how much he had sunk into the emotions and perceptions of his future self. "Thanks for pulling me back into the present."

"Feedback," Hermione concluded, somehow understanding what he was saying even when he did not say it outright. It was a talent that she had often displayed in the past.

"I think, after all of the excitement today, I'm suffering from it a bit more than usual," Harry admitted.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked.

"He should be asking you that," commented Neville as he and the others finally decided to rejoin the conversation. "After all, you're the one that was kidnapped, not to mention stabbed with a cursed dagger."

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted.

"Still, you need to rest," said Harry, secretly relieved that the attention had shifted from himself to Hermione, "it's going to be another long day tomorrow." He checked his watch, which had made it through the assault on Parkinson Lodge with nary a scratch, and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock. He then looked to the twins. "It's late. You two should be getting back to the shop."

"Are you sure?" asked Fred.

"We could stay, if you like," offered George.

"Safety in numbers and all that," agreed Fred.

Harry shook his head and demurred. "We're several thousand miles from England," he said as an explanation. "Nobody would think to look for us here."

"What about Tonks?" asked Ginny. "She was here. If she told Dumbledore..."

"She was here, yes," said Luna, "but she does not know where 'here' is."

"I don't think we have to worry about the Order attacking us in our sleep," concluded Harry, though he had no doubt that if Dumbledore did find out where they were then they would promptly have several uninvited guests pop in.

"Well then--"

"--time to be off!"

"Here," Harry said, waving a hand in the general direction of the front door. Father responded to the silent request by opening a remote Gate leading from the flat back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The twins regarded the shimmering sphere with unabashed interest, having not had a chance to properly inspect the Gate, which had brought them here.

George turned to his twin and asked, "We have got to get ourselves one of these Gatekeepers, eh, Forge?"

"Definitely, Gred," Fred agreed without hesitation as the two Weasleys rose from their places at the dining table and made their way to the waiting Gate. "Why, just imagine the potential for pranks it allows."

"Bypasses anti-Apparation and Portkey wards as if they weren't even there," said George.

"Makes getting in and out of places easier than getting in and out--"

"--of Angelina's knickers, eh?"

Fred rounded on George and protested, "HEY!!"

Back at the table Ron and Ginny slumped in their chairs and dropped their heads onto the table top. After mumbling incoherently for a second, Ginny groaned, "I did not--"

"--need to hear that," finished Ron.

Harry almost mentioned that they appeared to be taking after the twins, in that they were finishing each other's sentences, but decided against it. Such a remark would most likely be bad for his health.

Fred and George bid each of the Ministry Crew a fond farewell before jumping through the Gate, making a small production out of the act as they did so. With a slurping noise the Gate shrank into nothing, finally disappearing with a wet pop, leaving the six students in Sirius' old flat.

"Sometimes I wonder about those two," said Neville, shaking his head in wonder and staring at the spot where the twins had departed from.

"I've been wondering about them ever since I met them," replied Hermione dryly.

"I like them," said Luna earnestly.

Ron looked at her with a disgruntled expression and muttered, "I can't imagine why."

-oOo-

Dumbledore was sitting patiently behind his desk. Of course, he was unable to do much beyond simply sit behind his desk, seeing as his hip was still healing and could not yet support his full weight. Still, it was better, he felt, to be sitting behind his desk than to be lying prone on his bed.

Especially when almost the entire Order of the Phoenix was crowded into his office.

It was late and he had already been waiting two hours for the group before him to assemble. In his current condition he could not travel to their headquarters at Grimmauld Place, thus he had summoned the Order to meet here, at Hogwarts. This is why it had taken so long for his comrades to assemble.

He directed his tired gaze to Remus Lupin, who had already threatened to disembowel Professor Snape twice and even gone so far as to growl at Mundungus Fletcher. The full moon was only a few days away, which might account for his currently short temper, but Dumbledore had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that Harry was still missing.

Ever since Sirius' death, Remus had taken it upon himself to fill the role as the father figure in Harry's life. He was understandably put on edge upon hearing that Harry had tortured Draco Malfoy before going forth to rescue Hermione and no doubt kill everyone that got in his way.

The news that Harry had apparently succeeded, destroying Parkinson Lodge in the process, had done nothing to ease the werewolf's temperament.

Dumbledore sighed and glanced down at his desk, where his pensieve sat waiting.

Amelia Bones had not been easy to placate, especially as she had been the bearer of the bad news, as it were. It had taken a considerable amount of bargaining, and a little pleading, on Dumbledore's part to convince her not to arrest Harry as soon as he returned to the school.

Harry had seemingly killed five wizards, that they knew of, at Parkinson Lodge - most notably Lucius Malfoy. He was also, as far as anyone could tell, responsible for the deaths of four others at the Granger household. Despite the fact that he had saved Hermione and her parents by doing so, the fact remained that Harry had killed nine people, possibly more.

The mitigating circumstances of having saved three lives in the process was, unfortunately, not enough to fully protect Harry from the consequences of his actions.

"Albus?"

Dumbledore shook himself out of his musings and glanced up to see Professor McGonagall watching him with a worried expression on her normally stern face. She had not been pleased to hear that he planned to hold this Order meeting here rather than in his private quarters, where he could have remained in bed.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly, so that none of the others present could hear.

"I'm fine, Minerva," he replied. "Merely preoccupied."

"They should be arriving soon."

He glanced towards the fireplace and was pleased to see the flames burn a bright green as they flared high, signalling an active floo connection. "Indeed," he noted with all the cheer he could manage, "they are arriving right this moment."

A moment later the last of the people they had been waiting for arrived. Bill Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, his clothes and face smudged with soot, followed a second later by Fleur Delacour, who somehow contrived to emerge spotless.

"Ah," Dumbledore clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention. "I see that we are now all here."

"Get on with it," demanded Remus impatiently. "What's happened to Harry?"

Seeing that Professor Snape was in the process of opening his mouth, no doubt to make an inopportune comment, Dumbledore headed the potions master off by replying, "Precisely the topic of tonight's meeting." He waved at the various chairs that he and McGonagall had conjured earlier, "Please, everyone, sit down so that we may begin."

The scuffling sounds of chairs being pushed and pulled about filled the room as people took their places. Dumbledore was relieved to see that Snape had taken a seat as far from Remus as was possible, thus reducing the possibility of bloodshed should they begin arguing. Remus was normally a very calm and reasonable man, but right now was looking more than capable of ripping apart anyone foolish enough to annoy him. Namely Snape.

"I have not summoned you here," Dumbledore began, "to discuss what happened this morning."

"Then why are we wasting our time here," Remus snapped.

"There is something very important I have to show you all," Dumbledore said, indicating the pensieve on his desk.

"It's obviously important, considering all the Security Wards you've put up around your office," deduced Moody. "So what is it, Albus?"

Drawing his wand from within the folds of his robe, Dumbledore began to stir the memories floating in the pensieve. After finding the memory he was looking for, he withdrew his wand and allowed a ghostly miniature of Sybil Trelawney to rise up from the surface of the pensieve.

Settling back in his chair, he watched the reactions of his friends as they listened intently to the prophecy that he had spent so much time and effort trying to keep secret.

-oOo-

It was late, well past midnight, and the nearly full moon had risen high in the sky. It's pale, silvery light filled the small lounge of Harry's flat. He, Ron and Neville were stretched out in the various chairs available, whereas the girls had crowded into the sole bedroom. His friends were sprawled uncomfortably in two of the three armchairs, while Harry himself had the couch to lie on.

He had originally tried to decline, offering it instead to Ron or Neville, but had been overruled. Apparently he was the hero of the day, and thus expected to enjoy some measure of luxury because of it. Not that a couch was much of a luxury, at least compared to a proper bed. Still, he supposed, it was better than his first 'room' in the cupboard under the stairs.

Even though he was nominally more comfortable than his two friends, Harry could not manage to fall asleep. Listening carefully he could hear from the soft snores to the left that Neville was out. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to still be awake, but had not said anything for over an hour.

"Harry?" Ron's voice called out softly, so as not to wake Neville. Apparently the red-haired wizard had decided that if he could not sleep, then he would have to pass the time by talking. "You asleep yet?"

"No," Harry replied, also in hushed tones. "Too many thoughts running around in my head."

"I can imagine."

"What's keeping you up?" Harry asked.

"Just thinking about things," replied Ron.

Harry twisted his head so that he could see his friend and asked, "Anything in particular?"

Ron hummed and hawed. "Well..."

"Come on, Ron," Harry gently urged. "I know something's bothering you. Out with it."

"You and Hermione," Ron finally blurted, his voice somewhat louder than it had been earlier. It was no louder than when he spoke in a normal voice, but it was enough to make Neville shift in his sleep.

Waiting until he was sure that Neville was still sleeping, Harry answered with a simple, "Ah."

Harry watched silently as Ron sat up in his chair and turn to him. The redhead quickly checked that Neville had not been disturbed and then started talking. He started by asking, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" asked Harry in return.

"Don't dance around the subject, Harry," Ron hissed loudly, "you know what I'm talking about!"

"Keep your voice down Ron," cautioned Harry as Neville grunted.

"Then answer the bloody question!"

"You're asking why I told you both that it wouldn't work between you and Hermione?" Harry asked, fervently wishing that he and Ron did not need to have this conversation. Unfortunately he had known they would come to this, ever since he had let loose the knowledge of what had happened originally.

"Yes," confirmed Ron with a nod. "Why did you do it?" he demanded unhappily. "Why couldn't you let me at least have a chance? Didn't I deserve at least that much? A chance?"

"You wouldn't have lasted two months," Harry observed flatly.

"You don't know that," Ron insisted.

"You didn't in the original timeline."

"As you've already mentioned several times," Ron countered scathingly, "things are different now. Very different. You've change things. A lot of things."

Harry lay there for a short while, silently agreeing with Ron's conclusions as he thought of everything that had happened differently since Father's arrival.

"Yes, they are," he finally said. He turned his head away from Ron and regarded the ceiling. "This time I wasn't willing to wait." He could feel the muscles in his face tighten as his expression closed. "You had your chance, Ron, and it ended in shouts and tears." He shook his head sadly at the memory of it and muttered, "I couldn't let that happen. Not again."

"So you thought you could decide that for us, huh?" asked Ron angrily. "As if we couldn't make the choice for ourselves."

"I didn't--"

Ron cut him off by snapping, "Certainly seems that way."

"If I did, then I swear to you; I didn't plan for it to come across that way," Harry told him quietly. He did feel guilty about heading off Ron's attempted relationship with Hermione, but he would rather feel the guilt than simply sit back and watch as his two best friends' friendship fell apart at the seams. "I only wanted to spare the both of you from something that hurt you both a great deal."

"But you don't deny that you want Hermione for yourself," grumbled Ron.

"Is that wrong?" Harry asked.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Harry turned to look Ron in the eyes. "I never asked for any of this Ron," he said softly, a feeling of bone-weary exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Despite that he pressed on, "I never asked to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. I never wanted to be a celebrity or a hero. I never wanted to be singled out as Gryffindor's star Seeker, however much I enjoy it. I never asked for the fate of the world to fall on my shoulders because of some godforsaken prophecy made before I was even born!"

Realising that his voice was starting to rise, as well as his temper, Harry paused to take several deep breaths to calm himself. Closing his eyes he focused on the mediation exercises he had studied over the summer, as part of his Occulmency training, should Father's anti-magical defences ever fail to protect him from mental intrusion.

"You wanted to know why you couldn't have a chance? Why you didn't deserve that much?" he resumed, opening his eyes and cursing to find that they were feeling moist. "Well, I'm asking the same questions. Why can't I have a chance? Don't I deserve at least that much? A chance to be happy?"

Ron was left stumped by this, having obviously not expected Harry to retaliate to his accusations in such a manner. He stumbled about, searching for something to say. "Harry... I... I..."

"Don't let it bother you, Ron," said Harry with a sigh. He dropped his head back down onto the couch and returned to his examination of the flat's ceiling. "I'm used to the world not giving a damn about what I want."

There was nothing else to say after that, so both young wizards fell silent for several minutes. Harry grit his teeth and berated himself for losing his cool like that. Apparently he was still suffering from the short fuse that had plagued him for much of the previous school year.

Finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by Ron, who asked, "Harry? You still awake?"

"Yes," Harry replied tiredly. "Still too many thoughts running around in my head."

"I can believe that," said Ron.

"Why are you still up?" asked Harry, aware that their words were closely following those from earlier.

"Just thinking about things," replied Ron.

Harry mirrored his earlier actions and turned his head to regard his friend. He saw that Ron was slouched in his armchair, looking thoroughly miserable and staring up at the ceiling, much as Harry had been doing. He managed a weak smile and asked, "Anything in particular?"

Ron nodded and answered, "Yeah."

"What?" asked Harry.

"You and Hermione," Ron said. He paused and then blurted, "I'm sorry."

Pleased to know that his friend did not seem to be holding a grudge, Harry waved the apology aside. "It's okay,"

"Still," Ron persisted, "I should've thought it through more before getting mad at you like that."

"Don't worry," Harry assured him. "I'm used to that as well."

Ron was quiet for several moments before he morosely asked, "I'm not a very good friend sometimes, am I?" Harry tried to think of a diplomatic way to reply to that, but Ron cut him off before he could speak. "Don't try and deny it, Harry."

"Ron--"

"It's true, we both know it."

"Well... maybe you're not a very good friend," Harry allowed, unhappy about making such an admission. He hoped his next sentence would counter it somewhat. "But you are a good friend."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another silence descended over them, this one more comfortable than what they had previously endured. After a minute or two, Ron once again broke the silence by speaking up.

"Harry?

"Yeah?"

"If they ever try and do to Ginny... or Luna... or anyone else... what they were going to do to Hermione..."

"It will be the last thing they do before I kill them," Harry finished, cold steel filling his voice at the mere thought of that happening. He did not even need his future memories to bring the emotion out, it was entirely his own.

Ron regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Good."

They stayed up for a bit longer, talking about banal, unimportant things. Ron was appalled to learn that his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, would not come close to winning the Quidditch League for the next twenty-two years. In fact, it was all they could do to remain in the League and not be relegated.

Eventually, however, the excitement of the day and the long hours after Hermione's rescue began to catch up with Ron, who started yawning every few minutes.

"Harry, mate," he said around one particularly long yawn, "I don't think I can stay up much longer."

"Goodnight, Ron," said Harry in return.

"'Night," mumbled Ron as he settled into the armchair.

Harry watched as his friend finally drifted to sleep. His thoughts were melancholy, thinking of things yet to come. He knew that he was unlikely to get much sleep himself that night, and what little sleep he might get would most likely be fitful.

"Pleasant dreams, old friend," he whispered. "For one of us, at least."

-oOo-

Voldemort was sitting in the darkness of his 'throne room' and contemplated the events and repercussions of all that had transpired that morning. Two of his most faithful servants, Bellatrix and her husband Rondolphus were kneeling patiently at his feet, but he ignored them for the time being, lost in his thoughts.

Hermione Granger's abduction had apparently proceeded exactly as planned. Young Draco Malfoy had confronted her on her way to the library. He had given her the Portkey that had taken her to Parkinson Lodge, where Lucius and five of his comrades were waiting. Nott and three others had made it through the limited wards protecting the Granger residence and had been in the perfect position to abduct the Mudblood's parents.

So what the Hell had gone wrong?

By all accounts, sent to him by various Slytherin students, Harry Potter had somehow known of Granger's disappearance almost as quickly as it had happened. He had then proceeded to torture, torture , Draco for information on her location. His methods of doing so were... out of character, to say the least. For that matter, the fact that Potter had actually tortured somebody was so out of character that Voldemort wondered at the reliability of his informants.

Potter had also had a mild confrontation with the school's staff, who had been attempting to stop him. Voldemort had to wonder at the idea of a sixteen-year-old, not yet fully trained, boy fending off spells from practically every professor Hogwarts had. That he did so with such ease that he never once even bothered acknowledging the attacks...

After brutalising Draco in truly barbaric fashion, Potter and his friends had taken their leave of Hogwarts - apparently using a portal of some sort to run off and rescue Granger. This was only after Potter, Voldemort was pleased to learn, tossed Dumbledore across the Great Hall with enough force to break the old wizard's hip.

Since then, matters had become less than clear.

The four Death Eaters than had been assigned to abduct Granger's parents were dead. By what the Aurors had reported, passed on to Voldemort by his sources in the Ministry, all four had been killed by Muggle weapons. The Grangers themselves were missing, but apparently in safe hands, if Dumbledore's assurances were to be believed.

As for Parkinson Lodge, Voldemort had been receiving reports on that particular disaster at regular intervals from almost the minute he had first learned of what had happened. What he had learned did nothing to ease his disquiet.

The Lodge itself, as Avery had said, was completely destroyed. From what the Ministry could tell, Muggle weaponry had once again been used. Explosives of some sort, placed in strategic points, had shattered the backbone of the building and caused the Lodge to collapse in upon itself. With its destruction, the wards protecting the Lodge and its grounds had dissipated almost as quickly.

Later reports had been of the first two bodies discovered in the debris. Both were Death Eaters, part of the group Lucius had chosen to help him break the Granger girl. The Ministry was unsure what had killed them, save that it was not magical in natural and not any kind of known Muggle weapon.

Two other bodies had been found not long afterwards, again two of Lucius' companions. These two, however, the Ministry could confirm as having been killed by Muggle weapons. Firearms apparently. An hour or so later the body of Lucius Malfoy had been dug out of the wreckage, killed by multiple gunshot wounds to the chest.

It was only six hours ago that the most salient information had been delivered to Voldemort.

Harry Potter.

He was using a mixture of wizarding sorcery and Muggle technology.

Voldemort was loathe to admit it, but Muggle guns were just as good at killing people as the Killing Curse. Granted they were a whole lot messier (not to mention louder), but it was the result that counted. In some ways they were even better. Guns could fire bullets faster than a wand could cast spells.

That was apparently the downfall of Nott and his companions at the Granger residence. The Aurors that had investigated had discovered that two of the dead Death Eaters had been killed before they could even raise their wands in defence. The other two had all but drained their magic using Shield Charms.

Clearly Potter's background, raised by his Muggle relatives, had aided him in this venture. This was something Voldemort could not tolerate. Death Eaters and their magic defeated by some simple Muggle guns? He would not tolerate it!

"Find out where Potter spends his summers," he commanded, breaking his long silence.

"Yes, my Lord," the Lestranges chimed, eager to serve and fulfil his orders in any way. After a moment Bellatrix inclined her head in question, clearly wanting ask something of him. Once Voldemort nodded his permission for her to speak, she asked, "And once we have done so?"

"Kill whomever you find there... and send Potter their heads."

-oOo-

Hermione jerked upright, returning to the waking world with a start.

"Bollocks," she quietly swore, not wanting to wake either Luna or Ginny.

Her sleep had thus far been a fitful one, filled with memories of her brief captivity at the hands of Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends.

It was a particularly vivid recollection that had interrupted her sleep. She had been under the Imperious Curse, performing a strip tease for the amusement of her captors. This time, however, Harry had not managed to reach her in time. Luckily she had wakened before they could do anything more than gawk at her bared figure.

Knowing that she would not have an easy time falling asleep again, Hermione decided to get a breath of fresh air in an attempt to sooth her nerves. Looking to either side, she pondered how to get off the bed without waking the two witches sleeping alongside her. Wiggling carefully, so as not to disturb the mattress too much, she made her way down to the foot of the bed, where she was able to slip off.

Walking on tiptoes she crept across the room. She winced at the slight squeak as she opened the door. Stepping into the lounge, where the boys were sleeping, she closed the door behind her, again wincing at the low-pitched creak.

She stood there for a while, waiting to see if she had disturbed anyone. Breathing a sigh of relief that they appeared to still be sleeping, she began to cross the room, heading to the glass sliding door that lead to the flat's small balcony, where she planned to get her fresh air.

Passing the couch, Hermione froze in place as Harry unexpectedly sat up. He was moving slowly, so as not to startle her. It was not only the fact that Harry was apparently awake that caused her to pause, but that she was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing nothing but her knickers and a t-shirt that only just reached mid-thigh.

"Feeling restless?" asked Harry softly.

"A little," she admitted, her mind returning to Lucius' leering face.

"Me too," confessed Harry. He glanced at the balcony, where she was heading. As he seemed to consider something, Hermione notices that he was wearing only a formfitting T-shirt and his boxers. Harry turned his attention away from the balcony and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

Hermione briefly weighed the pros and cons of spending time with Harry while they were both less than fully dressed. But she had to admit that, at the moment, she would rather not be alone.

"Not at all."

"Go ahead," he said, swivelling so that he could set his feet on the floor. "Let me just draw us some tea."

"Okay."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Hermione continued on her way as Harry stood up and crossed into the kitchen. Stepping out onto the balcony she breathed in deeply and took a moment, her eyes closed, to relish in the coolness of the night air against the sweat that had soaked into her T-shirt during her restless sleep.

She was looking out over the city, having visited Barcelona once before when she was seven, when Harry returned. He slid the balcony door open with a foot, a cup of tea in either hand. A small bowl of sugar and a jug of milk were hovering by his side, no doubt suspended in the air by one of Father's GM fields.

"Here you go," he said, offering her the cup in his right hand.

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him.

"I forgot to ask how you like it," he said with a nod to her teacup and then to the bowl and jug floating nearby, "so I brought the milk and sugar."

"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione, smiling at his thoughtfulness.

"No trouble," said Harry depreciatingly as he smiled in return.

Hermione quickly fixed her tea to her liking, that is; two heaped spoonfuls of sugar and only a dash of milk. Harry, she noticed, put in a fair-sized dollop of milk, but passed by the sugar entirely. Once they had helped themselves, the bowl and jug drifted off to the side, settling down near the balcony's door.

They stood in silence for a while, Hermione wasn't sure how long, sipping their tea and looking out over the nightlights of Barcelona.

"Knut for you thoughts?" Harry asked unexpectedly.

"Sorry, but my thoughts are worth a bit more than that," Hermione countered with a mischievous grin. "I'd expect at least a Sickle."

They both shared some soft laughter at that, but once it was finished, Harry lost his humour. "Seriously though, Nee," he said, looking out at the city once again. "What's on your mind?"

Hermione sighed, knowing that he would not rest until she gave him an answer. Thinking about it for several moments, to organise her thoughts, she replied, "About what you'd expect after yesterday."

"I know it's small consolation, but I feel like that too sometimes," he offered quietly.

"What about you?" she asked. "Why are you out here with me?"

"Because sitting by yourself doesn't accomplish much," replied Harry. He turned his back to the cityscape before them and leaned against the railing. "I should know, I've done it often enough."

"Oh, Harry..."

Hermione wanted to reach out and give him some support, something to drive away the bleakness in his voice, but instead found herself transfixed by the sight of him. Harry was staring at his own cup, his gaze a sombre one, a deep pain hidden just beneath the surface. In this moment he looked so much older than she knew him to be. Far older than any teenager should ever have to feel.

Finally breaking herself out of her stupor, she asked the one question that had been bothering her since this entire mess involving her abduction started.

"Why?"

Harry stared at her blanking for a moment before asking, "Why what?"

"Why did you come after me?"

"Because I had to," Harry answered simply, as if it were painfully obvious.

"But why?" Hermione insisted.

Harry heaved a deep sigh and set his teacup down on the balcony's broad rail. "Five years ago," he said, referring to their first year at Hogwarts, "I stuck my wand up the nose of a troll that was trying to squish a certain young witch." He gave her a wry grin and went on, "In some cultures it's believed that when you save someone's life, that person becomes your responsibility." His grin grew broader, but lost some of the good humour it had started with. "You can't expect me to just stand back and watch as you suffer a fate worse than death, do you?"

Hermione did not like the implications of what Harry had just said. It sounded to her as if he felt that he had to rescue her because it was his responsibility to do so. Before she could worry about it she decided to seek some clarification.

"So... you came after me out of a sense of obligation?" she asked.

"Of course not," Harry immediately replied. He looked at her and must have seen the doubt she was feeling. He reached out and gripped her shoulder with a hand. "Hermione, you're my friend. And potentially more than that." He shook his head and continued, "I had to. There was no other choice. I simply had to come and get you."

"Harry," she countered, "you would have done the same for anybody."

"True," he willingly admitted. Then his expression darkened and Harry ducked his head as he mumbled, "But I don't think I would have killed for them."

The realization of just what Harry had to do to rescue her began to sink into Hermione's mind. She had already been told what happened, and had seen firsthand how he dealt with Lucius and Cowan. Until now, however, she had not considered how Harry must be feeling about everything that had happened.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, feeling horrible for putting her own concerns first when Harry was clearly suffering. After all, she had only been kidnapped and forced to take off most of her clothes. Harry had actually been forced to kill people in order to prevent anything worse from happening to her.

She hurriedly deposited her teacup on the balcony's rail, next to Harry's, and then turned to take her friend in the most comforting hug she could manage. Not to her surprise, Harry reciprocated, clutching almost desperately to her as she held him in her arms.

"I killed ten people yesterday, Nee," he whispered, barely able to speak the works, his voice breaking towards the end.

"And in doing so you saved my life, and the lives of my parents," she told him, hoping that being reminded of reason for his actions would ease his pain, however little. "I'll never be able to thank you for that."

Unconsciously she started to gently rock them both back and for. As she did so, she recalled how Harry had done something similar when he had rescued her from Lucius, shortly before she had been stabbed by Cowan's cursed dagger.

A tremble ran through Harry as he asked, "How can you think of thanking me for committing murder?"

"It wasn't murder, Harry," she told him.

"I killed them, Hermione!" he exclaimed, rather loudly. He pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, allowing her to see that his eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "They're dead and I'm the one who did it!"

"I know," was all Hermione could say. She hugged him to her even more tightly than before, running her hands in soothing circles over Harry's back. She could feel him shivering despite the relatively warm outside air.

"Even the ones I didn't kill personally, I gave the orders to have them killed," she could hear him mumbling, his face pressed into her shoulder. "And I didn't hesitate." He pulled back again and gazed at her, a lost look in his eyes as he repeated, "I didn't hesitate." He shook his head as if in denial. "Not for a second."

"You didn't have time to hesitate," she said.

"I didn't have to kill them," Harry muttered.

Thinking about this for a moment, Hermione tried to find a way to help Harry see the necessity of his actions. Considering all that she had learned this afternoon she asked, "Can your drones use magic? Cast spells?"

Harry shook his head and answered, "No."

"Then what other way could they have protected my parents?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Then don't feel as if it's your fault," Hermione told him gently. "You had no other choice."

"And Malfoy?" Harry asked bitterly. "Did I have no other choice then?" He shook his head as if in answer to his question. "I could have stunned him at almost any time once I was in the room. But I didn't." He pulled back to look at her again, a dark and almost menacing expression on his face as he spoke. "I shot him. I killed him."

Again Hermione quickly thought of a way to help Harry justify what he did. She herself did not necessarily agree with all that he had done to rescue her, being of a reasonably peaceful nature, but she knew that Harry needed to find a reason or he would simply continue to tear himself apart with guilt over his actions.

Deciding to try and lead him to an answer, she asked, "What would have happened if you had let him live?"

"I don't know," Harry replied morosely.

"What do you think would have happened?" she asked, pressing him for an answer.

"He would have been arrested," Harry shrugged wearily. "Sent to Azkaban."

"And would have promptly broken out," Hermione promptly concluded. With a hint of amusement, hoping to lighten the mood, she added, "Again."

"Maybe."

"Killing him was the only way to make sure he wouldn't do that," she said. "The only way to stop him from trying to do something like that again."

There was a pregnant pause that lasted nearly a minute. Harry remained ensconced in Hermione's embrace, seemingly mulling over her reasoning.

"That's... not all," he finally said.

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

"Draco," explained Harry. Hermione had an idea where he was going and her suspicions were confirmed as he went on. "I... I tortured him, Nee."

"I know," was all she said.

Harry looked at her in surprise and asked, "What?"

Reaching up to gentle stroke at his cheek, Hermione explained, "The others told me what happened while you were visiting the twins."

"Oh."

"It's no different, Harry," she assured him, returning her hand to its place on his back.

"How can you say that?" Harry asked incredulously, pulling back to the point that he almost (but not quite) escaped her hold on him. "I tortured somebody, Nee!" he insisted. "If we hadn't been in the Great Hall, I would have willingly cast the Cruciatus on him!"

"But you didn't."

Ducking his head in what she recognised as shame, Harry confessed, "I wanted to."

Hermione winced and tried to alleviate his fears by repeating what Barty Crouch Junior, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, had told them in their fourth-year. "Harry, it takes a lot of power, a lot of force of will to properly cast any of the Unforgivables."

"I know," he said.

"Chances are you wouldn't have given Draco more than a bloody nose," she told him. "After all, you've never cast it before--"

"I have."

Those two simple words caused Hermione's heart to stop beating for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, feeling a shocked numbness settle over her.

"On Bellatrix Lestrange. At the Ministry, after she killed Sirius," Harry told her, his head still ducked low, so low that his chin was pressed against his chest. "I tried using the Cruciatus on her."

Hermione's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil over this revelation. Harry had, right now and earlier in the day, shown her a side that she had never wanted to see in her friend. The killer side of him. He had come into the Parkinson Lodge like an avenging angel, killing everyone that stood in his path with a cool efficiency that scared her when she thought about it. The same with the Death Eaters that had tried to kidnap her parents.

Finally she managed to rally herself enough to resume trying to comfort him. After all, she decided, it was Harry that had done all that. And she if she couldn't trust Harry with her safety and the safety of her parents and friends, then who could she trust?

"Did it work?" she asked.

"Not really," Harry admitted. "She said I didn't mean it enough. That I didn't hate her enough."

"Sometimes..." Hermione trailed off. Steeling herself, she resumed, "Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, Harry."

"Not if it means becoming like them. Like her. Like him."

"Would you ever try and cast the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry all but shouted, looking wildly at her. "How could you think I would?"

"I don't," Hermione assured him.

"But--"

"Harry, I trust you," she said, cutting him off with a silencing finger to his lips. "I believe in you." She hesitated for only a second before adding, "I love you."

She could feel Harry grow rigid in her arms, clearly reacting to this unexpected declaration of love. They had both, since the start of term, admitted to having feelings for each other that went beyond friendship. This, however, was the first that either of them had said anything of that nature.

"How can you love a monster?" he asked quietly, his head ducked low again.

"You're not a monster," Hermione told him.

"I can become one," he countered.

"So could I, if I made the choice."

"I don't believe that," Harry said shaking his head. "You could never become like that."

"And I don't believe you could either," she quietly insisted.

"I wish I did."

"Do you regret it?" asked Hermione. "Killing them to save me?"

"Not for a second," Harry answered without hesitation.

"Then don't let it eat away at you like this, Harry," she told him, cupping his chin in one hand and lifting his face so that she could look him in the eyes.

"Can't help it," he muttered, trying to avoid her gaze.

Seeing that she was not really getting anywhere, Hermione decided to change tactics. Acting on some primitive impulse, she leaned in close and kissed him.

As first startled, Harry did not react to the kiss, but slowly began to relax and reciprocate. Hermione did not know how long they stood there kissing, but it must have been for several minutes at least. She was tempted, several times, to try and deepen the kiss, but decided against it. This was a purely emotional intimacy, for the both of them.

At some point they slipped down to the balcony floor, Harry almost curled up in her lap. Feeling that they should probably say something at this point Hermione reluctantly broke the kiss. She had no time to say anything, however, as Harry lost the last of his composure and began to cry, clutching her like a man drowning.

They remained there for a long time, Harry clinging desperately to Hermione. Slowly, he began to rebuild his shattered composure and his muffled sobbing finally tapered off.

"I've turned into a blubbering idiot," was the first coherent thing Harry managed to say.

"You're not an idiot," Hermione said, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"That's a matter of opinion," he countered.

"And in my opinion," she told him with authority, "you're not an idiot."

Harry sniffled for a bit and then sat up, but did not release his hold on Hermione. They sat together, arms around each other, for a long while, neither speaking. Hermione noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten a little. Morning was clearly approaching. She had not realized how long they had been out on the balcony.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"You're welcome."

"Thanks, for believing in me," he continued. "Even when I can't."

"Always, Harry," she told him, giving him a comforting squeeze as she did.

It was visibly growing lighter and the pair watched as the sky cycling through a myriad of colours before the sun crested the horizon, signalling the start of a new day.

Glancing at Harry, Hermione asked, "You all right now?"

"I guess," Harry admitted with a sigh.

"You don't sound too sure of that," she noted.

"I'm not," he agreed. He smiled wanly and asked, "Still; beats living a boring life, doesn't it?"

"Harry, you just had what I'd call a nervous breakdown," said Hermione, looking at him askance. "How can you possibly be so flippant about this?"

"It's either that or start crying again."

"Oh, Harry..."

"You seem to say that a lot lately," quipped Harry. He leaned in for one last kiss. Hermione wanted to try and deepen it, but he pulled away before she could. He stood up and held out a hand for her, which she accepted, and helped her to stand as well.

Instead of standing on her own, Hermione leaned close and pressed against him, hands on his chest. Harry held her in his arms and glanced to the side, where their teacups were resting on the balcony rail. "Our tea's cold," he noted.

"We can always reheat it in the microwave," Hermione suggested.

"Ugh," protested Harry, grimacing at the idea.

"Come on, let's get inside," she said, drawing away from him. "Staying out here all night couldn't have been good for us, even if the weather here's warmer than at Hogwarts."

They gathered up the now tepid cups of tea, the jug of milk and the bowl of sugar, and re-entered the flat. They made sure to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake the others unnecessarily.

"I don't know," Harry whispered as they tiptoed into the kitchen. "I think it was rather cathartic being outside." He gave Hermione a shy look and said, "With you."

"You sure you're okay?" asked Hermione as she placed the teacups in the sink, while Harry returned the milk and the sugar to their respective storage spaces.

"As well as can be expected," confessed Harry.

He was about to leave the kitchen, when Hermione grabbed him by the arm, holding him back. "Harry... if you ever need to talk..." she haltingly said, "You know I'll always be here for you."

Harry smiled softly. "Thanks, Nee," he said and leaned in to give her an affectionate peck on the lips. Straightening up, he glanced down at his rumpled t-shirt and boxers. "I need to clean up. Have a shower," he evaluated, wrinkling his nose in disgust at his appearance.

With a sigh he predicted, "It's going to be another long day."

-oOo-

Ron continued to feign being asleep as he surreptitiously watched Harry exit the kitchen and cross the lounge. He kept his eyes half shut until his friend entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. After waiting several seconds he sat up and turned to Hermione, who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

"D'you think he's telling the truth?" he started, not bothering with a good morning or any other greeting. Instead he cut straight to the chase and asked, "That he's okay?"

"You were listening?" asked Hermione, ignoring his question as she glared at him.

"Woke up when Harry made you both tea," he answered with a apologetic shrug.

"Why didn't you say something?" she demanded unhappily, clearly upset at the revelation that her and Harry's conversation was not as private as they had thought.

"It's all right for a bloke to have a girl see him crying like a baby," Ron told her, feeling a bit uncomfortable under her intense glare. "It's not all right for him to have another bloke see him crying like a baby." He gave another shrug and a sheepish smile that he hoped would calm her down. "It would've only been embarrassing for the both of us."

Hermione huffed slightly and looked at him in exasperation. Her voice filled with indignation she informed him, "Harry wasn't crying like a baby, as you put it, when we moved outside."

"Maybe," Ron allowed, "but I kind of guessed you needed to have a private talk with him."

"And you eavesdropped on this 'private talk' for what reason?"

"It's not easy ignoring it when people talk louder than they should," he said, defending himself.

"I didn't think we were that loud," Hermione muttered, the fight going out of her at Ron's admission.

"Not enough to wake somebody up, but enough for me to hear," Ron assured her, hoping that would ease her concerns. After a bit of a pause he elaborated, "Not everything of course, but some parts were louder than others."

With a deep sigh, Hermione moved into the lounge and sat herself down on the couch where Harry had been sleeping at the start of the previous evening. Propping her elbows on her knees, she regarded Ron for a minute before asked, "So what do you think?"

"About which part?" Ron asked in return. "Torturing Malfoy? Knocking Dumbledore off his feet? Killing the Death Eaters that took you?" he went on to list, ticking them off on his fingers. He paused for a moment and reluctantly added, "Casting an Unforgivable?"

"All of them," she said.

Ron sighed and slumped back in his armchair. He pulled at his bottom lip for a minute as he gathered his thoughts, trying to arrange them into some semblance of order. Finally he began to speak, beginning with the first item that had been brought up.

"Torturing Draco... I can understand why he's worried about that."

"Why?"

"We told you what happened, Hermione," he answered, holding her impatient gaze for a moment before ducking his head. "You know what happened, but you weren't actually there. You didn't see it for yourself."

He looked up at her and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he thought back to the events that had played out in the Great Hall the previous morning. "Gods, I've never been afraid of Harry, but yesterday... I came close," he revealed, still shaking his head in disbelief of what he had seen. "He was so... so calm about it. I've seen him get more excited over having to choose between having apple juice or orange juice for breakfast."

Hermione waved his concerns aside by saying, "He was probably repressing his emotions."

"Hermione," he looked her in the eyes again, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "He didn't repress his emotions. He raped them, killed them and then cut the bodies into itsy bitsy pieces before burying them under the rose bushes!"

Realizing that he was starting to get a little excited over matters, Ron settled back into his chair and shut his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths. He did not want to lose control to the point that he passed out - something that had been happening all too frequently of late.

Feeling his heartbeat begin to slow and his breathing become more regular, Ron opened his eyes to see that Hermione was watching him with obvious concern. Running his hand through his hair again, he tried to explain.

"When he was questioning Malfoy, it was like only the two of them were in the room," he said. "Hell, the teachers threw a dozen Stunners at him and I don't think he took any more notice of it than most people would take notice of a fly buzzing around the head of someone in the house next door!"

They both sat in quiet contemplation for a minute or so, mulling over matters. The only thing to interrupt their thoughts was the sound of the shower starting in the bathroom.

"What about the rest?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable near silence. "Killing Malfoy's father and the other Death Eaters? And trying to use the Cruciatus on Bellatrix?"

"Killing the Death Eaters doesn't worry me as much as that last bit," Ron admitted. He waved a hand to indicate her and explained, "He was saving your life. And your parents. Nobody in their right minds could fault him for making sure they didn't get up after he laid them out."

Unable to remain in place any longer, the conversation was simply too much for him to take sitting down, Ron rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. It was a habit he had picked up from Harry and had to admit; it seemed to work.

"If it had been my family, or someone else I cared about..." he muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, "I would have done the exact same thing." He paused as he passed Neville, then continued, "I doubt the Ministry will approve, but I don't think they'll condemn him for it."

"And Bellatrix?"

"That has me worried," he confessed. "Very worried."

"You can't honestly believe Harry would turn dark!" protested Hermione, jumping to her feet and glaring so fiercely at him that Ron instinctively cowered and held his hands up in defence.

"Of course not!"

Seeing that Hermione would not be hexing him, at least not immediately, Ron returned to his armchair and dropped heavily into it. He took a deep breath, wondering why Hermione could not see the biggest problem about this particular subject.

"Hermione," he began, "Harry cast an Unforgivable Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. One of You-Know-Who's Inner Circle."

"I know that."

"Bellatrix must have told You-Know-Who what Harry did," Ron told her, trying to lead her to the conclusion that he had reached earlier.

"And?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"What do you think would happen if the Ministry, or the Daily Prophet, got word of the Boy-Who-Lived casting one of the three Unforgivable Curses?" he asked quietly.

Ron watched as the realization dawned in Hermione's eyes. The confusion she had been feeling gave way to understanding, which rapidly turned to horror. He was not surprised when she grimaced and spat out a curse, but was surprised by the vehemence with which she uttered it.

"Fuck!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he agreed.

"Shit!" Hermione swore angrily. "I can't believe I didn't think of that!" She smacked her palm against the side of her head, obviously berating herself, and swore again, "Shit!" This was obviously not enough to vent all of her frustration as she repeated herself once again. "Shit!!"

Ron was staring at Hermione in something akin to awed amazement. Not during the entire six years that he had known her had he ever heard Hermione swear like this. He guessed that the stress of the previous day's events had worn down her normal restraint.

"Now do you see the problem?" he asked rhetorically. "Even if there's no proof of it, the accusation alone will get Harry into more trouble than Fred and George could manage in their lifetimes."

"And with all the other trouble; killing the Death Eaters, torturing Draco..." Hermione trailed off.

"The Ministry could start an inquisition," Ron concluded, not liking the answer any more than Hermione did. After what Fudge and Umbridge had put Harry through the previous year, with the trumped up Dementor charges, none of Harry's friends wanted the Ministry involved.

"Do you think Dumbledore knows?" Hermione asked.

"Considering the strain between him and Harry right now?"

"Right, stupid question," she admitted. "I'm probably the first one he's told."

Ron stared at her for a while, thinking back to his conversation with Harry during the night. He knew that his friend had deep feelings for Hermione, but had not known if she returned them. Until now.

Visibly uncomfortable under Ron's scrutiny, Hermione asked, "What?"

"You love him," Ron declared with absolute certainty. "Don't you?"

"Oh, Ron..."

"That's why we wouldn't have worked out."

Hermione hung her head, hiding behind the thick brown curls that fell over her face as she did so. When she finally spoke, she did so in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ron told her gruffly, forcing down the surge of jealousy that Harry would be the one to have a chance with the girl he had spent most of the summer pining over. He glanced at the door to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running still audible.

Sighing a deep, heartfelt sigh, he quietly admitted, "Harry needs somebody to love him."

-oOo-

After speaking with Ron, a conversation she did not want to repeat any time soon - especially after such a trying day and night, Hermione quickly made her way to the bedroom. She wanted to get properly dressed before anyone else woke up.

Stepping into the room she saw that Ginny was lying alone in the middle of the bed. Luna was nowhere to be seen and she wondered how the other girl had left of the room without either Ron or herself seeing her exit.

"Good morning, Hermione," a soft voice whispered in her ear.

"Luna!" she gasped with a jerk of surprise. She turned to see Luna standing behind her, having apparently been standing behind the bedroom door when Hermione entered. Quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping Ginny, she hissed, "Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack!" With a huff she set her hands on her hips and demanded, "How long have you been awake?"

"Several hours now," Luna replied breezily.

"Hours?" repeated Hermione. "You mean..."

"Yes," Luna confirmed. "I overheard just about everything of relevance. Much as Ronald did."

"Crap," she groaned, beginning to get the feeling that Harry was right and that is would indeed be another long day.

"You shouldn't swear that much, Hermione," chided Luna.

"Why not?"

"It creates negative waves and will disturb the flat's wa."

Hermione rubbed at her temples, thinking that it was much too early in the morning (especially after such an emotionally draining night) to put up with Luna's eccentricities. She simply did not have the strength right now.

Glancing up, she only now noticed that Luna was standing in front of her completely nude. The only thing preserving the blonde witch's modesty was a large and fluffy crimson towel, which she had wrapped around her torso.

"Why are you undressed?"

"I'm going for a shower," Luna informed her brightly. She tilted her head and considered Hermione for a moment, her wide eyes blinking owlishly several times before she asked, "Care to join me?"

"I think I'll wait," replied Hermione in a dry voice. "Take my turn."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," she affirmed.

"All right," accepted Luna. She paused to give Hermione a critical once over, from head to toe, then gave a melodramatic sigh and said, "Pity though. I'm sure you would have enjoyed yourself."

"Right," she managed to groan out.

Hermione could feel a bit of a headache coming on as she turned away from Luna (hoping that the adage 'out of sight, out of mind' would apply) and began searching for the rest of her clothes. Unfortunately none of the three young witches had been particularly neat and tidy when undressing the previous evening, meaning that their clothes were scattered all about the bedroom.

She wanted to hurry up and get dressed, so that she could start on breakfast for the group. The sooner they were done eating, the sooner they could leave to visit her parents at number twelve Grimmauld Place. She was understandably eager to see for herself, Harry's assurances aside, that her family was indeed unharmed.

"I think you had best keep a close eye on Harry for the next few weeks, Hermione," said Luna, drawing Hermione's attention to the fact that the blonde witch had not yet left the bedroom. More than anything, the serious tone of Luna's voice, with a hint of worry underlying it, caused Hermione to stop and look at her. "I think we all should."

"I know," she admitted, however reluctantly. Thinking about it, Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip. "Even after talking about it, he's still tearing himself up inside."

"Harry is a man of deep feelings, Hermione," stated Luna. She glanced at the wall separating the bedroom from the bathroom, where Harry was currently taking his shower. "I do not know anyone else that cares as much."

"I know that," she acknowledged, spotting her socks at the foot of the bed and picking them up.

"You couldn't ask for a better boyfriend," Luna announced, watching closely as Hermione balanced on one foot as she pulled on first one sock, then the other.

Hermione smiled faintly, "Yeah," she agreed, "I know that too." Luna nodded solemnly before breaking into a typically broad grin. She pulled open the door and was about to leave when Hermione called out to her. "Luna?"

Luna paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder, and asked, "Yes, Hermione?"

"Have you ever heard of something called 'tact?'" asked Hermione.

"Of course," Luna confirmed after a second of thought.

"Maybe you should try using it from time to time," Hermione jokingly suggested.

Luna considered this piece of advice for a moment before nodding. She gave another brilliant smile and then stepped into the lounge, leaving Hermione to pick up the rest of her clothes.

With the blouse she had been wearing yesterday ruined (thanks to Cowan's cursed knife) she would have to wear one of Sirius' old t-shirts. Fortunately there were several spares for Hermione to choose from, even if they were several sizes too large for her petite frame.

She was busy searching through one of the drawers, looking for a fresh one, when the faint sound of running water finally filtered into her consciousness. Harry was obviously still busy with his shower, undoubtedly trying to wash away his troubles before the day began.

And Luna had said she was going for a shower...

"GAH! LUNA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" came a panicked shout from the bathroom. It was muffled, but clearly Harry's voice, which was enough to confirm where Hermione's train of thought had been leading. "I'M IN THE SHOWER!"

"I know," Luna's voice replied, rather loudly, "Do you mind if I join you? I'll scrub your back if you like."

Hermione froze in place as the realization of exactly what was happening hit her. The next instant she bolted out of the bedroom and made a wild dash towards the bathroom next door.

"What's going on?" she heard a bleary and only half awake Neville ask. "Death Eaters attacking?"

"No," replied Ron, who was regarding the bathroom with a broad and somewhat lecherous grin. "It's just Luna trying to jump Harry in the shower."

"Oh, okay," Neville accepted. He was just about to drop his head down and go back to sleep when Ron's words sunk in properly. He was suddenly wild awake and jolted up to ask, "What?!"

To her relief, Hermione found that the door to the bathroom was not locked. Muttering a brief thanks to whatever gods were smiling down on her for that, she flung the door open. She burst inside, almost slipping on the smooth floor tiles, and looked about frantically in search of her wayward friend.

"Luna Lovegood!" she yelled, spotting Luna's discarded towel folded neatly on the sink. She turned to the shower stall and yanked the sliding frosted glass door open. She immediately began to berate Luna, but quickly trailed off at the sight before her. "What do you... think... you're... do... ing..."

Luna had joined Harry in the shower, just as she had said she would. She stood under the spray, surrounded by rising clouds of steam, humming away happily (Weasley is our king) as she lathered up - completely unconcerned about her nudity. Or Harry's.

Harry, on the other hand, was practically climbing up the shower wall in an attempt to put as much distance between Luna and himself. It was not working all that well. This was mostly due to the fact that the shower stall was rather snug, as was everything in the flat, and thus Harry did not have that much space to manoeuvre in.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said in greeting. She seemed entirely unconcerned about the fact that she was starkers and standing less than two feet away from Hermione's equally naked boyfriend. She smiled lazily, the stream of water from the showerhead plastering her long blonde hair to her head, and asked, "Changed your mind and decided to join us?"

Hermione's thoughts, however, had been completely derailed by the sight of a naked Harry. He was pressed up against one corner of the shower stall, trying desperately to cover his nether regions with both hands. Apparently, even though he had no real interest in the younger witch, Luna's state of undress and close proximity had been enough to have an involuntary effect on his... male attributes.

Unable to help noticing that her nominal boyfriend was somewhat larger than she had imagined, Hermione found herself staring at Harry in a daze. Despite a sudden feeling of intimidation, it was all she could do not to lick her lips.

He looked at her and pleaded in a squeaky voice, "Help?"

TBC...

Backwards Compatible
Reactions to Action

It was an exceptionally foggy morning in London, making a stroll outside vaguely reminiscent of swimming through a thick pea soup. It was into this that Harry and his friends emerged, heralded by the appearance of one of Father's remote Gates. Stepping through the gleaming sphere of energy, the Ministry Crew found themselves standing just outside the front door to number twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Gah, wonderful weather," concluded Ron as the Remote Gate closed.

The contrast between London and Barcelona was a marked one that did nothing to instil any enthusiasm in the six young witches and wizards.

"Good thing Father dropped us off right outside the front door, and not at the end of the street," said Ginny, looking up and down the row of houses flanking Sirius' old home. She shook her head and held out an arm to illustrate her point. "I can barely see ten feet in front of me."

"At least you can see if this house of Harry's that's supposed to be here is actually here," muttered Neville, "because I can't see it."

"It's under a Fidelius Charm, remember?" Luna reminded him.

Harry, who had been quietly confirming with Father's scans that nobody was about to unexpectedly jump out from behind the rosebushes and ambush them (constant vigilance), gave the blonde witch a sideways glance.

Her actions, earlier in the morning, were still fresh in his mind. He was not quite sure what to make of her decision to join him in the shower. Harry suspected that she had done it in some sort of misguided attempt to push him and Hermione together, but considering the often convoluted turns of Luna's logic, he couldn't be certain.

He still felt somewhat mortified, thinking back on it, especially when he remembered the look Hermione had given him when she had burst into the bathroom in an attempt to stop Luna. He could feel a slight blush rising to his cheeks at the memory of Luna inviting his girlfriend to join them in the shower.

Shaking his head and bringing his thoughts back to the present, he remembered that Luna and Neville were the only members of the group that had never been to the Order's headquarters. As such he repeated what he had explained before they had left the flat, "You'll be able to see it once someone opens the door and let's you in."

"Come on," urged Hermione, impatient to see her parents - who had fled to Grimmauld Place the previous morning after their house had been attacked by Death Eaters.

Concentrating on the fact that number twelve was the secret headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, Harry watched as the house appeared out of nowhere. It seemed to squeeze into existence between number eleven and number thirteen and then push them apart. How the inhabitants of those houses failed to notice this, Harry could not understand.

Knowing that Luna and Neville were still unable to see the house, Harry grabbed Neville by the elbow and led him up to the front door. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Ginny doing the same for Luna, leading her by the hand. Doubtless the young Ravenclaw was enjoying the contact.

While only the secret keeper (in this case Dumbledore) could reveal the house's location, there was nothing to prevent either Luna or Neville from being led into the house. They would not, however, be able to see anything until actually crossing the threshold and when they left the house they would be unable to find it again.

Making sure to keep his grip on Neville's elbow, Harry used his free hand to knock on the door. He was not surprised when it was almost immediately flung open, revealing a fretful looking Remus and Tonks.

"You're here," breathed Remus in relief.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin," greeted Harry.

The two Order members stepped back and held the door open for them to file into the house, Neville and Luna being led inside by Harry and Ginny. Only after they had stepped over the threshold were they released by their guides, something that clearly left Luna feeling disappointed.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus. "And I thought I told you to drop the title," he admonished with a mock-chiding tone, "I'm not your professor any more."

"Sorry," Harry apologised. "Habit." He turned to Tonks, standing by Remus' side, and tipped an imaginary hat as he greeted her. "Wotcher, Tonks."

"Oi, that's my line," the azure-haired Auror cheerfully protested.

After Remus closed the door there was a pause as everyone took a moment to look around at their surroundings. For Luna and Neville this was their first time ever inside the Order's headquarters. For Harry it was the first time he had been here since Christmas the previous year.

Harry immediately clamped down on that line of thought, all too aware of the fact that thinking about last Christmas would lead to memories of Sirius. And his death. He had long since come to terms with his godfather's death, mostly thanks to having his future self's memories imprinted in his mind during Father's arrival at the start of the summer. Regardless of that, the pain of his loss still struck him at times and would (he knew) never truly go away.

Instead he forced himself to concentrate on the house, taking in the various changes that had been made since last he was here. Before his death, Sirius had been working almost every day to renovate Grimmauld Place into something more to his (and everyone else's) liking.

There was still a great deal to be done, but a fair bit of progress had been made. The walls to the entrance hall had been painted, a sort of light tan with cream highlights. The original drab and moth-eaten carpet had been replaced by one that was thick underfoot and a rich golden brown in colour. All told, the place was looking almost welcoming - at least in regards to the rest of the house.

"Where are they? My parents?" asked Hermione anxiously as she bounced from one foot to the other.

"In the second floor sitting room," answered Remus.

Hermione was running off and up the stairs before the former professor had finished speaking. Ron and the others (save Harry) made to follow after her, but were intercepted by Tonks.

"Uh uh, that's a family only reunion," she told them. "You lot should wait in the kitchen."

With some obvious reluctance, the Ministry Crew accepted her instructions and turned to go. They paused just before leaving the entrance hall and looked back at Harry, who had not moved to follow them.

"Harry?" asked Ginny.

"You chaps go on," said Harry. "I need to speak with Remus and Tonks."

"You sure you don't want us to stay?" asked Neville.

"It's okay," Harry assured them. "I'll be fine."

Accepting his reassurance, Harry's friends continued towards the kitchen, being led by Ron and Ginny, who knew the way.

"Drawing room?" asked Harry, once the others had left.

"Let's go," agreed Remus.

The three hurried into the drawing room, which Tonks sealed with a variety of non-regulation spells. Harry watched her with interest, taking note of a Silencing Charm, a Detection Ward and three Locking Spells that he had not encountered before.

As Tonks finished up, with a few whispered suggestions from Remus, Harry took a seat and waited. Sitting down in a plush armchair, he mused that he would almost be willing to kill for a Mars Bar to snack on. He had developed something of an addiction to the chocolates over the summer and generally had one every day, usually after his morning exercises.

He was shocked out of his musings by Remus, who grabbed him by the shoulders and began looking him over, no doubt searching for any sign of injury.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine, Remus," Harry tried to assuage. He made a point of keeping his voice as calm and soothing as possible, while trying to extract himself from his guardian's grip. "Honestly, I'm fine. Not a scratch on me."

Not appearing fully convinced Remus reluctantly let go and dropped into the nearest chair, Tonks following suit and dragging her chair closer.

"Damn it, Harry," Remus sputtered, shaking his head. "Running off like that... what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that Hermione's life was more important than my supposed safety," Harry replied calmly.

"But why go running off on your own?" demanded Remus.

"I had help," answered Harry simply.

"I won't argue that your friends are quite exceptional witches and wizards, Harry," Remus countered, rubbing at his temples in clear frustration, "but to ask them to go up against Death Eaters..."

"Actually... I kind of tricked them out of it," admitted Harry, feeling a bit sheepish of the admission. Seeing Remus look at him in confusion, he elaborated, "I sent them to a safe place only I know of, and rescued Hermione without them."

"I thought you said had help?" asked Tonks, looking just as confused as Remus did.

With a silent command, Harry summoned Father. The Gatekeeper had been residing entirely in subspace for the bulk of the morning, mostly in the hope of putting everyone at ease. Now it to shimmered into view just above Harry's right shoulder, its charcoal black sphere bobbing up and down in the air.

"I did."

"Ah, yes," groused Remus unhappily. He glared at the drifting sphere. "'Father'."

"That bloody thing..." grumbled Tonks.

Getting the impression that neither of his companions were thinking fondly of his Gatekeeper, Harry decided to change the topic of conversation. Before anything more could be said, he asked, "I gather Hermione's parents arrived here without fanfare?"

"Without fanfare?" repeated Remus incredulously. He laughed loudly at the thought. "You certainly have your mother's talent for understatement, Harry."

"Oh?"

"Those five drones of yours almost started a panic amongst the Muggles when they arrived outside."

"Well..." Harry was slightly embarrassed and gave a helpless shrug. "It was the only way I could think of to get the attention of whoever was inside. Neither of the Grangers have been here before, and the Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore put on the house makes it a little hard to lead someone to the front door - especially if the drones leading them have never been here either."

"Yes," Remus wryly agreed, "but having them shoot their machineguns into the air was a bit much."

"They did what?" asked Tonks, looking incredulously from Remus to Harry and back.

Remus nodded in confirmation and elaborated, "Fired their weapons into the air until I looked out the window, realized what was going on and ushered them inside before the Muggle army made an appearance."

Harry looked up in surprise and asked, "The army was here?"

"Mmm."

Harry could feel himself blushing slightly at the thought of having caused such an incident. Resigning himself to being in even more trouble than he originally thought, he asked, "What's the official story then?"

"According to the Times ," Remus told him, eyes sparkling with repressed amusement, "a complicated deal between Jamaican drug dealers, Somali gunrunners and some Serbian terrorists went bad when the Jamaicans decided to keep everything for themselves."

"The Ministry must be frothing at the mouth," wondered Tonks.

"Actually, it was one of the Ministry Obliviators that came up with that particular cover story when they were modifying the Muggles' memories. Took them most of yesterday afternoon to get everyone."

Considering the situation for a while, Harry decided that (despite the trouble he would be in) it was better than the alternative. With a heartfelt and slightly resigned sigh, he concluded, "Oh well... at least they're safe."

"Confused as hell about what happened," agreed Tonks, "but safe."

"I'll try to explain before we go back to Hogwarts," said Harry.

He resolved talk to Mr and Mrs Granger before returning his fellow students and himself to the school. Having holographic doubles of yourself kill some Death Eaters on your lawn was, he felt, not the best way to make a good impression with your girlfriend's parents.

"Dumbledore told us, Harry," said Remus unexpectedly.

Harry looked at the werewolf blankly, not having the faintest idea where the other wizard was coming from. He shook his head to express his confusion and asked, "Told you what?"

"The prophecy."

"What?"

"All of it," Remus confirmed sombrely. "He showed it to us last night."

Harry was stunned almost speechless. This was something he had never expected Dumbledore to do. In the original timeline the old man had continued to guard the prophecy until his dying breath. That he would do something this drastic, so soon in the relative scheme of things, was shocking proof of just how much Harry had changed the present.

"He actually told you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Sucks being you, doesn't it?" commented Tonks cheekily, obviously trying to inject some good humour into an otherwise serious conversation.

"TONKS!" bellowed Remus, rounding on the suddenly cringing Auror.

"It's okay, Remus," said Harry, cutting off Remus' outraged exclamations. "Really, it's all right." He slouched in the armchair and graced Tonks with a tired smile, letting her know that she had not hurt his feelings with her remark. "She's not saying anything you or I weren't thinking ourselves."

The was a brief and uncomfortable silence before Remus tentatively spoke, "Harry..."

Not liking the sombre tone that had settled over his guardian, Harry forced am easy-going grin and said, "At least now you know that I was perfectly safe the entire time."

"Huh?" said Tonks articulately.

"The important bit of the prophecy, remember?" Harry prompted, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms behind his head. He made sure to keep his light-hearted tone of voice as he elaborated, "The part where only I can kill Voldemort and visa versa."

"That's your excuse for gallivanting about the country with complete disregard to your own safety?" asked Remus with open disbelief. He sputtered for a moment, at a loss for words, before raising his hands in aggravation. "You could have be hurt! Or captured! Or worse!"

Harry ducked his head, hiding his eyes behind his long fringe, and regarded his heads - which he had dropped into his lap. "Please, Remus, try to understand," he pleaded softly, aware that Remus was only worried for his safety. "I couldn't just leave her."

Having replaced Sirius as Harry's guardian, the former Defence professor was already anxious enough about fulfilling his new role properly - and having his ward running off into the proverbial snake's nest, was doubtless doing very little for his confidence right now.

It was only because Fudge had been eager to please Dumbledore, and not stir up any more trouble for his flagging public image, that the previous Minister of Magic had not contended Remus' appointment as the Boy-Who-Lived's legal wizarding guardian. He would have tried to do so later, in the original timeline, but that was no longer a concern.

"I know that, Harry," said Remus, "but you could have come to the Order for help."

"Don't be insulted by this Remus," said Harry, "or you, Tonks," he added glancing her way, "but while I do trust you both, implicitly, I will never trust the Order with my friends' lives."

"But why?" asked Tonks earnestly.

"Because you follow Dumbledore's lead," replied Harry.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Dumbledore's a firm believer in the so-called 'Greater Good'," Harry explained, his thoughts turning briefly to the Dursleys and the years he had spent trapped under their thumbs.

He compressed his lips into a thin line at the memory of the abuses he has suffered because of Dumbledore's insistence that Harry be placed in their care of the death of his parents. That single act had all but destroyed Harry's childhood, though he had not yet told the old wizard that much.

Shaking himself from his progressively darker thoughts, he finished, "Because of that he's not willing to do whatever it takes to win this war."

"Like torturing Draco Malfoy for information?" asked Remus, without sarcasm.

"Amongst other things, yes," Harry agreed, though his thoughts now turned to Hermione and the fact that Dumbledore had been willing to leave her to the Death Eaters non-existent mercies, rather than risk rescuing her.

"There must have been other ways to find out what he knew, Harry," Remus insisted.

"Yes," Harry readily agreed, "but none as expedient."

"Harry--"

"Remus," Harry interrupted, "if Lucius Malfoy had kidnapped my Mum, what would my Dad have done?"

For a brief second Remus looked surprised at the question, before his eyes lost their focus as he lost himself in his memories. Finally he returned to the present, his eyes resting a solemn gaze on Harry, and said plainly, "He would have killed the bastard."

"And what would you have done?"

This time there was a longer pause as Remus closed his eyes, this time looking not into the past, but into himself. His introspection lasted nearly a minute before he opened his eyes again. With a deep and reluctant sigh, he admitted, "I would have helped him do it."

.oOo.

It was now late morning, almost noon. Harry had spent most of that time in the drawing room with Remus and Tonks, while Hermione had been cloistered in the second floor sitting room. Everyone else, that being Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna, had passed the time in the kitchen. In all three instances the topic of conversation was, unsurprisingly, the events of the previous day.

As it was now time for the six students to return to Hogwarts, the occupants of Grimmauld Place had gathered by the front door to say their farewells.

Hermione watched as Harry quietly spoke to her parents, apologising for the abruptness with which the surveillance drones had relocated them yesterday. It was clear to everyone that he was anxious to make as good an impression as possible, seeing as Hermione was now his girlfriend. It was equally obvious that he was worried about their reaction.

Fortunately Hermione had anticipated this, both Harry's actions and his nervousness, and had told her parents that they were to say nothing which might upset her new boyfriend. It had taken some explaining, mostly a slightly censored recount of Harry's breakdown earlier that morning, but both her mother and father had acquiesced to her request.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Granger, Mrs Granger," said Harry as the somewhat awkward exchange drew to a close.

"The pleasure was ours, Harry," Hermione's father assured, holding out a hand.

"Thank you, sir," Harry accepting, taking said hand and giving a firm shake.

"No, thank you, for saving our daughter's life."

"Not to mention our own lives," added Hermione's mother.

"It was nothing, Mrs Granger," said Harry with his usual modesty.

"Please, Harry, you can call us--"

"FILTHY MUGGLE SCUM!"

"Oh, that insufferable painting!" exclaimed Hermione, turning to where Mrs Black's portrait hung.

"HOW DARE YOU BRING THESE UNCLEAN SAVAGES INTO MY HOUSE?!" screeched the painting in a shrill tone which could match one of Molly Weasley's howlers. "KREACHER! KREACHER! GET RID OF THEM! KREACHER!"

"Your treacherous little house-elf is dead, you miserable hag!" snarled Remus, running up to the portrait. He bent down to gather up the black drapes which were supposed to cover it, but had somehow fallen to the floor.

"A HAG!" repeated Mrs Black indignantly. "HOW DARE YOU?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Harry stepped up to face the protesting portrait, looking unnaturally calm. This left Hermione feeling just the tiniest bit worried.

"It's not your house," announced Harry blandly. "It's my house."

"What?" asked Mrs Black, so surprised that she forget to yell.

"Grimmauld Place is my house now," Harry informed her. "Sirius left it to me."

"I SHOULD HAVE GUESSED MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SON WOULD BETRAY HIS OWN BLOOD EVEN IN DEATH!" the portrait shrieked, the sheer volume of its yelling almost knocking Remus on his backside. "ONLY HE WOULD STAIN THE NOBLE NAME OF BLACK BEYOND REDEMPTION LIKE THIS!"

"The name of Black died with Sirius."

"AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO HIM, THE SHAMEFUL TRAITOR!"

"Sirius was a great wizard and a good man," said Harry calmly.

Too calmly.

Mrs Black glared at him and spat, "HE WAS A TAINTED LOVER OF MUDBLOODS AND MUGGLES!"

Harry cocked his head and regarded the painting for a moment. His eyes then flicked to Father, whose sphere was hovering alongside him. He gave a curt nod and then held out his hands, just in time to catch the phased plasma rifle which faded into being.

"Goodbye Mrs Black," said Harry, still using that unnaturally calm tone of voice. He hefted the weapon he was holding and levelled it at the portrait. "I think we're going to enjoy the peace and quiet."

"WHAT--"

Blue fire erupted from the muzzle of the rifle, the glare so intense that those watching winced and turned slightly away. Harry maintained the plasma barrage for well over half a minute, though it certainly seemed much longer, before finally stopping. He was panting slightly from exertion, as the rifle drew most of its power from its wielder's magic.

Once the smoke clear, and after everyone managed to blink away the spots dancing across their vision, they could see that Mrs Black's portrait was no longer present. It had been completely burnt away by the searing plasma. For that matter, most of the wall behind the painting was also no longer present. Hermione could actually see through and into the next room in several places.

"Bloody hell, mate," breathed Ron in awe.

"What d'you think, Remus?" asked Harry, glancing at his guardian.

"Harry?" asked Remus, frozen in place where he was sitting on the floor next to Harry.

"An improvement, no?"

.oOo.

Arriving at Hogwarts, not far from Hagrid's hut, the Ministry Crew discovered that the weather could only be described as atrocious. Despite the fact that it was only late morning, it was so dark outside that you could almost mistake it for night time. Heavy, leaden-looking clouds hung low in the air and rain was pouring down in droves.

"Bloody hell, this is even worse than in London!" yelled Ron as they ran to Hagrid's hut, where they planned to have a late tea with the groundskeeper (to find out the state of affairs in the school) before going inside.

"Come on, before we get soaked through!" urged Hermione.

"Too late!" shouted Ginny, "We're already soaked through!"

Reaching the hut, the group huddled close to the door (not entirely fitting under the overhanging roof) and waited impatiently as Harry pounded on the door.

Hagrid's voice called out from inside, "Who is it?"

"Just us, Hagrid," answered Harry.

"Harry!"

The door swung open so abruptly that Harry almost toppled inside. He was saved from this, however, by an emerging Hagrid, who enveloped the Boy-Who-Lived in one of his patented hugs.

"Yer back!" the half-giant boomed happily.

After squeezing just about all the air from Harry's lungs, he set the gasping boy down and proceeded to scold him. "Where have yeh been? Do yeh know how much trouble yer in?"

Between breathes, Harry nodded, "I have a pretty good idea."

Hagrid finally noticed everyone else, still standing in the rain behind Harry.

"An' the rest of yeh! Runnin' off like tha'!" he admonished before catching sight of a bedraggled looking Hermione. "Hermione! Yer safe!"

"Hello, Hagrid," greeted Hermione.

Hagrid pushed past Harry, almost knocking him off his feet, and swept Hermione into a hug. Swinging her around with his usual enthusiasm, he laughed, "I knew he'd get yeh back! I knew it!"

"Can we come in, Hagrid?" asked Harry when the large man finally put Hermione down. She was looking a bit dizzy after being swung around like that. "We'd really like to talk to you before going back to the castle."

"Bugger that," interjected Ron. "I just want to get out of this rain."

"Sure, sure, come on in," invited Hagrid.

He ushered the six youngsters into his hut, where they spread out to found places to sit or perch, keeping close to the roaring fire.

While settling down, Harry noticed that the girls' shirt were clinging tightly to them, thanks to the drenching they had received from the rain outside. Hermione's robes had been abandoned in Sirius' Barcelona flat, while Ginny and Luna had left theirs at Hogwarts the previous day, thus leaving the three witches nothing to cover themselves with.

Seeing that Ron and Neville had also realized this (if the somewhat glazed stares were any indication), Harry forcibly turned their gazes away from the girls. He did not let go of their shoulders until Hagrid passed by, handing out some oversized, fluffy towels for them use.

"Tea? Rock cakes?" he offered as he went past.

"Just tea, thanks Hagrid," accepted Harry. He knew, from long experience, that eating Hagrid's rock cakes was to endanger your teeth. So as not to hurt his large friend's feelings, he gave the excuse, "We ate something before we came."

Hermione, Ron and Ginny, who also had some experience with Hagrid's cooking, said much the same thing. Neville, who had never interacted with Hagrid much before now, followed their lead and also declined the offer to eat.

Luna, on the other hand, nodded her head so vigorously that it seemed in danger of separating from her neck. In a very eager voice, she said, "I'll have a rock cake, please."

"Great! I just finished a batch," said Hagrid, beaming happily.

As Hagrid turned to fetch the tea and Luna's rock cake, everyone, even Harry, stared at Luna in disbelief.

"Hagrid's rock cakes are very good at attracting Nargles," said Luna by way of explanation, having doubtless noticed her companions' dumbfounded expressions.

Remembering one of his first encounters with Luna, over Christmas the previous year, Harry asked, "I thought Nargles infested Mistletoe?"

"They do," Luna confirmed, "but you can use the rock cakes to draw them out."

"Why would you want to do that?" asked Hermione. A second later she seemed to think better of it and held up a hand to forestall Luna before the blonde witch could answer. "Actually, don't answer that. I probably don't want to know."

Hagrid returned from putting the kettle on the fire and started handing out teacups to everyone. "Here yeh go," he said, depositing a cup in front of Harry. "Won't be a minute, then we can have a nice cup."

The group sat in amiable silence as they waited for the tea to boil, all save Hagrid; who was giving them a running commentary on the process. The only thing to distract them from their thoughts was when Fang huddled closer to Ron and slobbered over his shoulder.

"First the rain, now the bloody dog," Ron grumbled, trying to push the boar hound away from him. "I'm never going to get properly dry."

"There we go," announced Hagrid, lifting the kettle from the fireplace. He crossed over to the table and started pouring out the tea.

"So, Hagrid," said Harry as his friend filled Ginny's cup, "What are people's reactions to yesterday?"

"Not good, Harry, not good," Hagrid admitted.

"How 'not good'?" asked Harry.

"Well..." Hagrid hummed thoughtfully as he poured Luna's tea. "Twas the gossip of the day amongst the students it was. Professor McGonagall had to cancel classes because of it."

"Oh my," gasped Hermione.

"Please don't say that's a tragedy," said Ron.

"I wasn't going to, Ron," Hermione retorted. "I was actually looking at this."

She reached out and picked a copy of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, which Harry had somehow failed to notice until then, off the table. Remembering all the negative publicity he had been subject to the previous year, thanks to Fudge and the Ministry's smear campaign, Harry groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

Not looking up he asked, "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," admitted Hermione.

Harry held out a hand, resigned to his fate, and said, "Give it here."

Hermione reluctantly handed him the newspaper, her expression doing nothing to ease his concern. Harry unfolded the paper and took in the headline at a glance.

BOY-WHO-LIVED GOES ON TORTURE AND KILLING SPREE !
by Rita Skeeter

Early yesterday morning the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, went on the rampage and attacked fellow Hogwarts student, Draco Malfoy. No reason has been given as to why Potter did...

Seeing who had written the article, Harry hardly bothered reading past the headline. Clearly Rita had returned to her old ways, now that Hermione's ban on her writing had been lifted. Unfortunately she was not continuing to report on actual facts, such as she had the previous year - when she had interviewed Harry about Voldemort's return.

Worse than the bold headline, was the picture splashed across the page beneath it. It showed a terrified Draco hanging in the air (courtesy of Father's GM fields) and an expressionless Harry repeatedly breaking various fingers.

The sight was enough to cause Harry's jaw to clench tight. He knew only one person in the school who always had a camera on hand. Though it eluded him how and why Colin Creevey would send such a picture to the Prophet, Harry made a note to have a "talk" with the fifth-year Gryffindor.

The sidebar story briefly caught his attention, mostly due to the small photograph next to the title. Recognising the face glaring out at him, Harry quickly scanned over the text.

LUCIUS MALFOY FOUND DEAD
by Sean Lander

Officials at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have confirmed that the body of Lucius Malfoy was discovered yesterday in the ruins of the Parkinson family lodge. Malfoy was a confirmed Death Eater and wanted for the assassination of previous Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. It is unclear...

Harry stopped there and proceeded to quickly page through the rest of the newspaper. The first few pages were filled with articles about himself and his friends. All-in-all it was slander, pure and simple. No mention was made of Hermione's abduction. The stories made it out as if Harry had attacked and killed the Death Eaters for no good reason, and painted Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna and even Hermione (who was the victim) in the worst possible light.

Finally, feeling his temper beginning to boil, he flung the paper aside in pure disgust.

"Crap!"

"That bad?" asked Ron.

"When's it ever good?" asked Harry in return.

"Let's have a look then," said Ginny, picking up the paper. Luna, Neville and Ron crowded round to read over her shoulders as she held it up.

Perhaps sensing his growing frustration, Hermione reached over and placed a soothing hand on his forearm. "It could be worse, Harry," she told him quietly.

"They're saying I went on a homicidal rampage, Nee," he retorted unhappily, waving an accusing hand at where Ginny and the rest were reading. "I don't see how they could make it worse."

"At least they're admitting that they were Death Eaters," said Hermione.

"Who I apparently attacked and killed without provocation or reason."

"Here," said Hagrid, leaning over the table with the teapot, "have some tea t' soothe yer nerves."

Harry grudgingly accepted the cup of tea, quickly picking it up and taking a sip. He found himself wishing for a Mars Bar to snack on - he found the sugar rush distracted him. Perhaps he should have Father keep a few stored in subspace.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron, his face twisted in disgust. He pulled the Prophet from Ginny's grasp and angrily thrust it aside and ranted, "I can't believe they're still printing rubbish like this!"

"This is troublesome," agreed Luna, her normally cheerful demeanour temporarily replaced by a serious one.

"They're stirring up a cauldron of trouble, that's for sure," muttered Neville, shaking his head as he picked the Prophet off the hut's floor and tossed it onto the table. He looked unhappily at Harry and said, "The only thing they're not doing is telling people to hex you on sight."

"Don't worry," Harry assured him wryly, "I'm sure my 'adoring public' will work that idea out for themselves."

"We can fight this," Luna stated with remarkable confidence.

"How?" asked Harry.

"By using the Quibbler, of course."

"Of course," said Ginny, nodding in agreement. "Just like last year, when Rita did that interview for you."

"Yeah, that could work," agreed Neville, after a moment's consideration.

"It won't be easy turning public opinion, but that's probably our best chance," concurred Hermione thoughtfully, nibbling on her bottom lip as she eyed the discarded newspaper.

"Hermione's right as usual, Harry," said Hagrid, picking up the Prophet and stuffing roughly it into one of the many pockets in his moleskin coat. "Once the people get behind yeh, the Prophet'll have to follow."

"Don't bet on it," grumbled Ron, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling unhappily. "The only way to get the Prophet to stop slandering Harry, and the rest of us, would be to buy the bloody thing."

Harry had been sipping his tea during this and almost choked when Ron's words registered. He coughed as quietly as he could, so as not to draw attention to himself, and set the teacup down - staring at his friend all the while.

On first glance, the idea seemed ridiculous. On second glance, however...

"Come on, enough o' this, yeh'll have too much time t' worry once yer back in th' castle," declared Hagrid in an attempt to change to topic.

"You're right, Hagrid," agreed Harry, "but it's not easy to take my mind off this."

"Well then, yer in luck," Hagrid beamed, "I have just the thing t' distract yeh!"

Hagrid bustled over to one corner of his hut, near the fireplace, where a large wooden crate was sitting. Everyone, with the exception of Harry and Luna, exchanged worried looks. They all knew of Hagrid's penchant for exotic creature of a less than amiable nature - the Blast-Ended Skrewts and Mister Green Turtle being prime examples.

The only reason Harry was not as concerned about Hagrid's latest acquisitions was because he already knew what the half-giant had in the crate.

"I was gonna show 'em off yesterday," said Hagrid as he bent over the crate and lifted the lid to reach inside, "but... well..."

"I never thought I'd say this, but; thank God for Malfoy," whispered Ron, just loud enough for them to hear.

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione.

"You insensitive twit!" said Ginny, emphasising her displeasure by smacking Ron on the head.

Luna, who was sitting next to Ginny, nodded in agreement. She was not on as good terms with Hagrid as the rest of the Ministry Crew were, the Care of Magic Creatures Professor being considered something of a joke by most of the Ravenclaws, but she did have her eye on winning Ginny's affections. As such, she loudly proclaimed, "Shmuck!" and followed through by reaching over and also smacking Ron.

Ron held up both hand and protested weakly, "Sorry! Sorry!"

"Here yeh are."

All eyes turned from a beleaguered Ron to a beaming Hagrid as he gently set a fluffy ball of golden fur onto the table.

"Oooh! It's so cute!" squealed Ginny, causing Ron and Neville to stare at her in amazement. She reached out to stroke the animal, paused just short of it, and asked, "What is it? Can I hold it?"

"Course yeh can hold it," Hagrid said, beaming broadly from behind his bushy beard. He waved a hand to indicate the ball of fur, which had somehow shuffled closer to Ginny. "This, my dear, is a tribble."

Without any further hesitation Ginny picked up the tribble, which immediately began to purr contently. Ginny grinned and held it up to her cheek and cooed, "Oh, listen to that."

"Sounds like a very happy kitten," commented Hermione, looking at the tribble with obvious approval.

"It's not dangerous, is it?" asked Ron warily.

"Course it ain't! Yeh don' think I'd make yeh study a dangerous creature, do yeh?" asked Hagrid indignantly. The six students traded wry looks at this proclamation. "Besides," he continued, oblivious to their brief exchange, "tribbles have no teeth."

This, considering most of Hagrid's previous pets, was something of a miracle.

"So what do they eat?" asked Neville curiously, reaching out to stroke the tribble as Ginny continued to press it from one cheek to the other.

"Well, I don't rightly know," admitted Hagrid, reaching up to scratch the top of his head. He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders and said, "They haven't refused anything I've given 'em yet."

"You've been feeding them?" asked Harry warily, fully aware of what happened if you fed a tribble too much. Bracing himself for the worst, he asked, "How much?"

"As much as they want," answered Hagrid.

Harry regarded the tribble, which had now changed hands to a curious Luna.

"Fascinating. It's purring seems to have a soothing effect on the human nervous system," the blonde witch noted as she held the cooing ball of fluff up to her ear. Her usually dazed expression became even more vacant than usual as she began absently stroking the tribble. Her voice trailed off as she spoke. "Fortunately I am... immune... to... its... effect..."

"Y'know, it's kind of cute," admitted Ron reluctantly.

"I think I'll like taking care of one of these," agreed Neville.

Harry, who knew where this was going to lead, dropped his head into his hands and muttered, "Snape and Filch are going to have coronaries."

.oOo.

Leaving Hagrid's hut, the six teenagers found that the weather had not improved. If anything, the rain was falling even harder than before. They made a wild dash from the hut to the castle's nearest entrance, quickly getting drenched by the downpour.

"Crap, this weather's horrible!" shouted Ron as they ran.

"Shut up and run faster!" admonished Ginny.

Finally they were inside, soaked to the bone. Again.

"I say," Luna announced brightly, "that was invigorating."

"Invigorating?" repeated Ron incredulously. "We're drenched!" He waved a hand to indicate his sopping clothes. "I don't think I'll ever be dry again."

"A simple Drying Charm should suffice, Mister Weasley," answered a voice to one side.

"Oh yeah, thanks," said Ron sheepishly. A moment later he realized just whom it was that had spoken and promptly came within an inch of choking to death as he nearly swallowed his tongue. "Urk!"

There, standing off to one side and watching them with decidedly unamused expressions, was Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.

"Potter," intoned Snape. "You're coming with us."

"In a moment, Professor," replied Harry unhurriedly.

"Not in a moment," hissed Snape angrily. "Now!"

"In a moment," Harry repeated with a hint of steel in his voice.

Snape looked ready to try hexing Harry, but was stopped when Professor McGonagall put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Do not take too long, Mister Potter," she said, peering sternly at Harry from over the rim of her spectacles. "You do not wish to keep the headmaster waiting."

"If I had any choice in the matter I would," muttered Harry.

"Potter..." growled Snape.

Ignoring the fuming potions master, Harry turned to his friends, who had been watching warily.

"I'll see you in the common room," he told them.

"Don't you want us to come with you?" asked Ginny.

"The old man and I need to talk," he replied with a shake of his head. He sighed and admitted, "I think it would be best if we could be alone so that we can do so freely."

"You sure about that?" asked Neville.

"I'll see you in the common room," Harry assured.

"Overconfident to the point of arrogance, as always," commented Snape vindictively. He seemed to loom forward and snidely asked, "What makes you think you're not going to be expelled for that stunt you pulled yesterday?"

Professor McGonagall took a step forward and began, "Professor Snape, please refrain from--"

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted. He gave a small shrug. "I won't be expelled."

"Don't be too sure of that, Potter," countered Snape. "This time..."

Harry turned to his friends, positioned so that Snape could not see his face, and rolled his eyes. With a forced grin to wish them well, he strode off. He paused as he passed the professors, as if waiting for them to catch up.

"Dumbledore won't expel me," he said confidently. "He can't afford to."

Hermione ran up to him, brushing past Snape in the process, and hugged him tightly. Before releasing her hold, she whispered in his ear, "You sound pretty sure of that."

Harry whispered back, "I'm a good actor."

He kissed her quickly on the cheek before pulling out of the hug.

"I'll see you back at the tower," he promised, turning to follow the two professors down the corridor. His friends watched for a minute, until he disappear round a corner, before leaving to make their way to the Gryffindor Tower.

.oOo.

As he was escorted through the school's corridors by Professor McGonagall and Snape, Harry's thoughts were turned to the meeting he was about to attend. He had a feeling that he would not be in a good mood when he left.

It was not, he knew, a question of whether or not he would be expelled. After all, Dumbledore needed Harry far more than Harry needed Dumbledore. The headmaster would pull every string he could to keep Harry at Hogwarts. Besides which, it was Malfoy that had instigated the entire incident. Harry had simply... overreacted.

In less time than he had expected, he and the professors had arrived at the gargoyle leading to the headmaster's office. Once it had stepped aside (to the password "Everlasting Gobstopper") the group proceeded up the rotating staircase, where Professor McGonagall gave the office door a brisk knock.

"Enter," called Dumbledore from within.

Snape pushed the door open and stormed into the office, almost knocking Harry over as he brushed past. Harry glared at the man's retreating back before proceeding inside himself, followed by Professor McGonagall.

Looking about as he stepped further into the office, Harry saw that Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk. Most of the portraits of previous headmasters were pretending to be sleep and Fawkes' perch was empty, the phoenix being elsewhere. After a moment, the sound of horns and drums registered in Harry's consciousness. His eyes sought out and found an old (probably enchanted) gramophone, which was playing an equally ancient vinyl record.

"Ah, Minerva, Severus, I see that Mister Potter has returned to us," said Dumbledore, remaining seat behind his desk as he waved Harry forward. "Thank you both for bringing him to me."

"Of course, headmaster," said Professor McGonagall. "Do you need anything?

"No, thank you." Dumbledore motioned for the two professors to exit. "You may leave."

Until now Harry had been focused on the music, which he recognised but could not place a name to. It was Father, thanks to the information uploaded by the future Luna, who identified the tune. Mars, The Bringer of War , by Gustav Holst. Harry did not know what to make of Dumbledore's choice, save for a slightly ominous feeling.

"Are you certain about that, sir?" asked Snape. "After what happened yesterday in the hall--"

"An accident, Severus, I'm sure," Dumbledore interrupted.

"He might try something."

"I can assure you, Professor Snape, that I am perfectly safe while in Mister Potter's presence."

"Very well," Snape relented. He glared at Harry and said, "But rest assured, we will not go far."

"That is most considerate of you," allowed Dumbledore. "Now, please, Harry and I need to speak." After a brief pause, he added firmly, "Alone."

Professor McGonagall and Snape left the office, albeit with visible reluctance. Harry found that, while he could care less about Snape's animosity and suspicion, he did not like the fact that his head of house did not trust leaving him in the same room as Dumbledore.

In a casual display of wandless magic, Dumbledore waved his hand at the gramophone - stopping it from playing. Silence descended over the headmaster's office.

"Please, Harry, sit down," Dumbledore requested, motioning Harry to the seat opposite him.

"Thank you, sir," Harry accepted, moving to sit down.

"Lemon drop?" asked Dumbledore, holds out a paper bag filled with the sweets in question.

Harry thought about it for a second. He knew that Dumbledore had a tendency of offering out these particular sweets to anyone that crossed his path. After a moment's consideration, he decided, why not?

"Please," he said.

He reached out and plucked one of the sweets into his hand. Examining it for a second, Harry was able to determine that there were no obvious charms or enchantments on the lemon drop. That determined, he popped it into his mouth.

Turning his attention back to Dumbledore, and shifting the lemon drop from one cheek to the other, Harry saw that the old wizard was staring at him in what looked like frank astonishment.

"What?" he asked uncertainly.

"You're the first person in fifteen years to take me up on that offer," explained Dumbledore, his surprised expression changing into one of pure delight, with some small amount of satisfaction.

"Ah," said Harry, unable to think of anything to say in response. Not knowing if this was a good thing or not, he managed to add, a tad uncertainly, "My pleasure?"

"Delighted," Dumbledore beamed, reaching into the bag and taking a lemon drop for himself - which he promptly popped into his mouth with obvious relish.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute, content to simply suck on their sweets. Harry had to admit, if only to himself, that the lemon drop was actually rather good - though not something he would indulge in on a regular basis.

"How are you? After yesterday?" he asked, noticing that Dumbledore was slouching somewhat in his chair. This was odd from a man who normally held himself in a dignified posture.

"Ah, alas, my old bones are not as resilient as they once were," Dumbledore answered. "Fortunately Madam Pomfrey is a proficient healer and was able to fix me up, right as rain."

"Sorry," Harry apologised.

"No need to apologise, dear boy," said Dumbledore with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I understand that it was unintentional."

"Still... I'm sorry it came to that," repeated Harry. And he was. He had never intended to knock Dumbledore flying like than. Unfortunately Father had interpreted his desire to keep Dumbledore away from him rather freely.

"From what I am given to understand, Harry, your actions yesterday saved three lives," Dumbledore told him, shifting slightly, as if to find a more comfortable position. "Do not apologise for that."

"The ends justify the means?" asked Harry unhappily.

"Not always, but sometimes," granted Dumbledore.

"I killed ten people," Harry reported dully.

"Ten?" repeated Dumbledore, sitting a little more upright. "The Ministry only found five bodies at Parkinson Lodge, plus four at the Granger residence."

"You won't find a body," Harry clarified ruefully. "I didn't leave one."

"Oh?"

Harry held out his hand to accept the dagger which Father had been holding in storage. He set it down on Dumbledore's desk and elaborated. "His name was Cowan. Whether that was his first or last name, I don't know. He managed to catch me when I wasn't looking. Stabbed Hermione with this." Repressing a shiver at the memory, and another as he recalled his reaction, Harry muttered, "I lost my temper and... well... there was nothing left of him after I was finished."

"I see," said Dumbledore. He reached over to pick up the blade and examined it closely. "I gather you were able to disarm it, seeing as Nymphadora reported yesterday that Miss Granger was unharmed."

"It wasn't easy, but I managed."

"A remarkable feat, Harry, for a sixth-year student."

"Thanks," accepted Harry, feeling a slight blush rise to his cheeks from the praise.

"And you?" asked Dumbledore. "How do you feel after yesterday's events?"

"I'll probably have nightmares about it for a few months," he admitted, "but I'll manage."

"Harry--"

"Professor," Harry cut the older man off, "as nice as this is, let's just cut to the chase."

"Yes," Dumbledore conceded. "I suppose we should."

.oOo.

Dumbledore settled back in his chair and regarded Harry for several moments, peering at him from over his half-moon spectacles. He noted that Harry appeared to be waiting, with a sort of tired resignation, and deduced that he would have to be the one to initiate this conversation.

"You've put me in a difficult position, Harry," he said.

He paused expectantly, to see if Harry had anything to say. A silent stare was his only reply.

With an audible sigh, an indication of his own weariness, he went on. "Your actions against young Mister Malfoy... I cannot fully shield you from the consequences."

"I don't expect you to."

"Regardless of that, I assure you... I will try," Dumbledore vowed.

"Thank you, sir," accepted Harry, the barest hint of relief and gratitude in his voice.

"I understand you were both angry with Draco as well as fearful of Hermione's safety," continued the headmaster, now adopting a somewhat chiding and exasperated tone, "but did you have to do what you did in the Great Hall?"

Harry actually chuckled, a laugh with very little humour behind it. He dropped his head and shook it as he ruefully admitted, "It wasn't the smartest thing to do, was it?"

"No, it most certainly was not," confirmed Dumbledore.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid that most of what is to come is now beyond my control, Harry," Dumbledore explained. He chewed on his bottom lip for a brief second before revealing, "The school board of governors will be the ones to decide your fate."

Harry's response was an eloquent, "Shit."

Dumbledore's lips quirked into a wry smile as he agreed. "Quite."

There was a long pause as Harry seemed to contemplate this latest problem to confront him. Dumbledore kept a keen eye on the younger wizard, who was shifting restlessly in his seat.

"When?" Harry finally asked.

"Fortunately, we have some time."

"How long?"

"The board will be holding a hearing, which will take place the day before the start of the Christmas holidays," Dumbledore informed him blandly, bracing himself for an angry explosion of indignation. He was pleasantly surprised when the response he was expecting did not materialise.

"Okay," accepted Harry, nodding slowly. "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, I fear that I have no other option than to suspend you indefinitely, pending the results of your hearing before the governors." Dumbledore sighed deeply and lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Harry with a deep sigh of his own. "I expected as much, all things considered."

"Now, ordinarily, a suspended student would be sent home. Luckily I was able to convince some of the governors that removing you from Hogwarts, and its protections, would endanger your life. Thus you will be permitted to remain here for the time being, rather than return to your family in Surrey."

Harry sighed again, this time in obvious relief, and slumped forward. He looked as if a burden, one of many, had been removed from its place on his shoulders.

"Thank you, sir," he said gratefully. "I appreciate you doing that for me."

"Do not thank me just yet, Harry," Dumbledore cautioned. "There are certain conditions, which the governors insisted upon, for you to remain here."

"What are they?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore decided to start off with the basics. That way he could work his way to the less pleasant restrictions that were now being imposed on the Boy-Who-Lived.

"To begin with, naturally," he began, "you will not be permitted to attend classes. You will also not be permitted to take part in any inter-house Quidditch matches, or even practices."

"Which is par for the course when a student is suspended, old man," said Harry curtly, apparently not in favour of starting off with the basics. His voice was tinged with impatience and a hint of the coldness that usually surfaced when he spoke to Dumbledore. "I thought we'd agreed to cut to the chase."

"I apologise, Harry," Dumbledore immediately assuaged, holding up a placating hand. "I did not know you were aware of all a suspension entailed."

"Well, I do, so get on with it," demanded Harry.

"Right." Dumbledore wondered at how Harry's mood had been shifting so rapidly since the start of term. He seemed to swing from one emotional extreme to another with mercurial speed. "You are not allowed to make use of any school facilities--"

"What?!" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "D'you expect me to piss out a window or something?"

Dumbledore was briefly puzzled by this interruption, until he thought back on his words.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Harry, I should have phrased that better," he said with a slight chuckle. "What I mean is that you cannot use such things as the school library and the like."

Harry frowned. "What about the Room of Requirements? Can I still use that for the DA?"

"Technically... no, as it is a part of the school," admitted Dumbledore. "However, I do not think the governors will protest over something they do not know about."

"Thanks."

"The last condition, however, I fear you will find somewhat..." he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase it in a delicate manner.

"Difficult?" suggested Harry.

"Humiliating," said Dumbledore, deciding to be blunt about it rather than circumspect. This was something he noticed that Harry seemed to appreciate. "After your attack on Draco the governors are somewhat wary of having you interact with the other students. They fear you might repeat your actions on someone else."

"You expect me to spend the next month in isolation?" asked Harry, arching an eyebrow almost to his hairline.

"Of course not."

"What then?"

"During meals you will be required to give your wand to either myself or Professor McGonagall for safekeeping. You will do so immediately upon entering the Great Hall and will reclaim it only after you have finished eating, at which point you will be expected to leave the room."

Harry sat back in his chair, considering this. His expression was an unhappy one, but after nearly a minute of silent contemplation he appeared to accept the necessity of it.

"I don't like it, but I suppose I can live with it," Harry muttered. He then smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood and noted, "At least I won't have to put up with the ferret until after the new year."

"I beg your pardon, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, not sure of what he was referring to.\

"The ferret," explained Harry. "You know; Draco Malfoy."

"I am aware of the nickname, Harry, but I think you are operating under some false assumptions."

"What d'you mean? The little bastard's been suspended as well, hasn't he?"

Dumbledore had a sinking feeling in his stomach that the meeting was about to go downhill from here.

"Hasn't he?" repeated Harry, this time with an edge to his voice.

"Harry--"

Whatever Dumbledore planned to say, his words were swept away by the pulse of magic that almost exploded outwards from where Harry was sitting. The force of it was enough to upset the papers on his desk and cause several of the nearest portraits to shake unsteadily where they were hanging on the wall.

The magic was rolling off Harry in waves, almost a palpable presence, as the young wizard rose to his feet. His hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides. Through clenched his teeth and jaw, he demanded, "You better not being telling me that shit-headed ponce is getting off Scott free!"

"Without any witnesses to back up your claims, Harry, there is nothing I can do," explained Dumbledore, putting as much of his own magic into his voice as he could. He only hoped it would be enough to calm Harry down somewhat. "He is portraying the part of the victim quite convincingly and pleading ignorance in the matter of Miss Granger's abduction."

Sadly, Dumbledore's hopes were not enough. Nor was his magic. Every single article in the headmaster's office that was made out of glass shattered under force of Harry's anger.

"The victim?" snarled Harry.

Dumbledore's alarm grew as the various metallic objects in his office started to warp out of shape. He could literally feel the magic radiating from Harry, who's expression was one of pure fury. For a brief moment, Dumbledore entertained the notion that those burning emerald eyes were the last thing Lucius and his companions had seen, before Harry ended their lives. That thought did not ease his worries.

He started to wonder if he'd have to restrain Harry somehow, before his office was wrecked completely. He had, shortly after telling Harry the prophecy, offered to let Harry destroy more of his possessions, should he ever feel the need. He had not expected, however, for it to happen in such a manner. He could actually see the wood of his desk, at the side where Harry was standing, beginning to char and smoke.

Abruptly, it stopped. Harry's magic withdrew, back into him, with an audible crack.

For several breathless moments, Dumbledore allowed himself to feel relieved. That is, until he noticed Harry's expression. It was closed off and turned into one of deadly intent. He recognised it as the same expression Harry had worn when he had been torturing Draco for information.

All things considered, Dumbledore decided, he would rather have Harry raging about than looking as he did.

"No witnesses, eh?" asked Harry in a voice of pure ice.

It was not just Harry's voice that was cold, but the very air surrounding him as well. As he spoke, small clouds of vapour formed, billowing out from his mouth.

Dumbledore's attention was pulled away by the sudden change in temperature as Father shimmered into view, just above and behind Harry's right shoulder. The headmaster took note of the fact that the sphere's colour had changed from its original pitch-black to a dark, charcoal grey.

Before he had a chance to ponder the significance of this change, a small crystal, roughly half the size of Father, also faded into view. It hung suspended in the air for a moment before dropping into Harry's hand.

"Watch," commanded Harry as he set the crystal on Dumbledore's desk, which was still smoking slightly from the head of his earlier anger.

Leaning forward to examine the object now resting in front of him, Dumbledore could see that the crystal had a variety of runes engraved on the largest of its faces. They had to have been carefully and painstakingly carved, lest they cause the crystal to shatter. From what he could recall, the runes were ones concerned with memory and binding, not too dissimilar with those runes used around the edge of a pensieve basin.

A sudden flare of light within the crystal startled Dumbledore, causing him to jerk away. He watched, amazed, as an image flickered into being, suspended above the glowing crystal. Gathering himself, he examined the translucent image and was quick to realize that he was looking at what appeared to be a picture of Hermione Granger facing off with Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"This is..." he trailed off, unable to voice his suspicion.

"Yes," confirmed Harry.

"How?" asked Dumbledore, astounded by what his young pupil seemed capable of.

"I suspected Voldemort would try to get to me through my friends. The first drones I built, after the one I left with the Dursleys, I assigned to keep watch and protect them," explained Harry, his voice still frigid and business-like, as he waved a hand to indicate the image between them. He continued, "Hermione's drone wasn't able to prevent her abduction."

With an unhappy grimace Harry ducked his head, his voice dropping to a mutter. "I didn't expect them to simply toss a Portkey to her."

Resuming his normal volume, he looked to meet Dumbledore's sympathetic gaze and state, "It did, however, record the entire incident." He glanced at the sphere bobbing in the air next to him. "Play it."

Dumbledore sat back and watched as the image began to move, accompanied by sound. The experience was not dissimilar to watching a Muggle movie, he concluded.

Watching attentatively he saw how Hermione was clearly on her guard around Draco, wary of something happening. During the entire encounter it was always the young Malfoy who was the antagonist. He also had to admit that Hermione seemed far more prepared and confident than he would have expected something he attributed to her training in the DA, under Harry's tutelage.

The recording ended with a close-up on Draco, who turned smugly to Crabbe and Goyle after Hermione was whisked away by the Portkey he had thrown to her.

"Now the mudblood will get what she deserves," Draco's image declared.

"D'you think your father will let us have a turn with her?" asked Goyle, with a lecherous grin.

"Why not?" said Draco, shrugging. "Even if she is a mudblood, I think I'd enjoy shagging her."

"Pity we'll have to wait until the holidays," commented Crabbe.

"Yeah," agreed Goyle. "Nothing worse than sloppy seconds - or sloppy dozens."

The three Slytherin boys walked out of frame, laughing wickedly at what would have been Hermione's fate had Harry not charged off to rescue her. The image remained for a second, displaying the now empty corridor, before flickering and collapsing. All that remained was the crystal, which rested placidly on the headmaster's desk.

The pair sat in silence for a while, the import of the recording laying heavily in the air between them.

To his slight surprise, Dumbledore realized that he was actually in danger of losing his temper. He tried to analyze his anger and found that it was focused mostly at himself, for failing to stop Draco from turning dark. It was, he understood, something he might have been able to prevent, if only he had curbed the young wizard's actions in earlier years.

There was also, he noticed, some measure of his anger directed towards Professor Snape - for much the same reason. Dumbledore had hoped, before Draco began his studies at Hogwarts, that Snape would set a better example for the Malfoy heir to follow, rather than his father Lucius.

Drawing on his long years of experience, as well as his Occulmency skills, Dumbledore reined in his anger. It would not do for the headmaster to unleash a wave of accidental magic.

Reaching out, he picked up the crystal. Holding loosely in his hand, turning it over to examine it more thoroughly, he asked, "May I keep this?"

"Of course," said Harry readily.

"Is it possible to operate it without using Father?" he asked, hoping for a positive answer.

"Yes," Harry confirmed with a brisk nod. He obviously knew what Dumbledore planned to do with it. "Just tap the crystal with the tip of your wand and say, 'play'. That will activate the runes."

Dumbledore briefly allowed his attention to wander back to the runes engraved on the crystal. It was a truly remarkable example of magical construction. Somewhat crudely fashioned, true, but more than sufficient to accomplish its purpose. He had to wonder how, when and where Harry had learned to empower runes, seeing as he did not take Ancient Runes.

"Thank you, Harry," accepted Dumbledore. He narrowed his eyes as he thought to the meeting he would be having not long after this one. "I believe I shall be needing to call a meeting of the governors tonight."

"And Malfoy?" asked Harry expectantly.

"Having seen this," Dumbledore held up the recording crystal, "I fear I shall have no recourse but to suspend Mister Malfoy, as well as Messrs Crabbe and Goyle."

"Good." Harry cocked his head and asked, "Will they be allowed to stay at Hogwarts as well?"

"I don't believe they would be at risk if they were to return home," said Dumbledore after thinking it over for a moment. "Indeed, in Draco's case, I think it would be best if he did - seeing as his father is no longer with us."

"That's a relief," said Harry. "I don't think it would be... healthy... for him if he stayed."

"Even if he did stay, Harry," said Dumbledore, "I assure you that the staff and I would keep a close eye on him." A frown made it way onto his face as he recalled what he had seen in the recording. "He will not have a chance to repeat his actions against Hermione."

"He better not," said Harry calmly. "If he does, I'll kill him."

His tone was too calm, too even, for Dumbledore to hope that he was not utterly serious.

"I'd strongly advise you to try and avoid doing so," he advised. "Your actions at Parkinson Lodge, as well as the Granger's home, as caused something of a stir at the Ministry. Madam Bones wants to know, and I quote, 'what the hell is going on with the Potter boy', end quote."

"I would have thought it was obvious what was going on."

"Harry, you killed nine - ten people."

"Death Eaters," corrected Harry dismissively. "No great loss to society." He paused for a moment, as if struck by a thought, and then observed, "I should be getting a medal for doing the world a favour."

"Harry--"

"I did it to save Hermione's life. And the lives of her parents," Harry interrupted, a tad brusquely. "That's all they need to know."

"I'm afraid they will not let it rest at that," said Dumbledore.

"Too bad," replied Harry.

"The Wizengamot have called for an investigation, Harry," Dumbledore explained carefully. Considering his previous encounters with the Ministry, he doubted the young wizard would like what he had to say. "There will be a hearing, I'm afraid."

Harry groaned, dropping his head into a hand. "First the governors, now the Ministry," he grumbled. He looked up, over his hand, and asked, "When?"

"December 18th," Dumbledore answered.

Lowering his hand, Harry gave Dumbledore a pointed look. "Are they going to stick me in that damned courtroom again?"

Dumbledore almost winced. Fudge and Umbridge's scheme to put Harry on trial the previous year had soured Harry against the Ministry almost irreparably. And Dumbledore's lack of council at that time had not helped matters.

Reluctantly he admitted, "I'm afraid so."

"If they try putting me in chains, I'll fight," Harry informed him.

"It won't come to that."

"You sure?"

"You haven't, as yet, been charged with anything," explained Dumbledore, feeling very relieved at that fact. "This is a preliminary hearing - more of an inquiry to find out what transpired yesterday. Its findings will determine what happens after that."

Harry sat back and steepled his fingers in consideration. Father, Dumbledore noted, had begun drifting about the office, as if it were taking a look around.

"How do you see it turning out?" Harry quietly asked.

"You're responsible for the death of ten people, Harry," said Dumbledore after a moment. "Even if it was done to save Miss Granger, the Ministry will expect you to account for it." He bobbed his head sideways a few times and concluded, "I do not believe, however, that they will charge you with murder."

"How about manslaughter? Culpable homicide? First, second or third degree?" asked Harry, arching an eyebrow.

"The magical world is somewhat behind the Muggle world in such matters," Dumbledore revealed. "Most wizards would likely not know what you are talking about."

"So then what?" Harry snorted and observed, "I'm sure they won't let me off with just a slap to the wrist."

"You will probably be given a provisional pardon, what the Muggles call a 'suspended sentence'."

"What would that be?" asked Harry curiously.

"The Ministry will set down certain conditions to govern your behaviour over a set period of time," explained Dumbledore, adopting the tone he normally used when presenting a lecture. "Should you break any, then the Ministry will pass sentence - a monetary fine or the seizure of your assets. Possibly some prison time - though that is unlikely, as you are still a minor."

Harry hummed as he mulled over this, propping his chin on the his steepled fingers.

"Of course," Dumbledore concluded, "this is only if the hearing finds cause to bring you to trial."

"You don't think they will?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore smiled, having already thought out a means for Harry to turn the Ministry to his side. "I assume that Father was with you at Parkinson Lodge?"

Harry nodded, for the first time in this meeting looking unsure, and said, "Yes?"

"Is he capable of making recordings as well?" asked Dumbledore, sparing a quick glance at the crystal he was holding which had been used to display the events leading up to Hermione's abduction.

Harry's eyes lit up in comprehension and his lips cut a predatory grin. "Yes, it is," he almost purred. "And so were the drones at Hermione's home."

"Presented with such evidence," Dumbledore concluded, "I doubt the Wizengamot, or Madam Bones, will require anything more than the inquiry."

Harry then frowned as if something had just occurred to him.

"What about the others?" he asked. "Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna? What will happen to them?"

"They will be deducted fifty house points each and given detention every evening until the start of the Christmas holidays. I will also be marking a reprimand in their records. Mister and Miss Weasley will have their prefect status revoked for the remainder of the school year," Dumbledore told him, reciting the various punishments.

"That seems... harsh," noted Harry.

"How so?"

"They had nothing to do with what happened at Parkinson Lodge or Hermione's house," Harry told him earnestly. In what was typical Harry Potter, his concern for his friends had surfaced. "They were in... a safe place the entire time," he went on, alluding to wherever it was that Tonks had reported accidentally stumbling upon while keeping a watch on the Weasley twins. "You can check their wands if you like."

Dumbledore nodded, certain that Harry was telling the truth. All he could do, however, was say, "Even so, Harry, your friends did leave school grounds without permission."

Harry immediately countered, "Something we've done on more than one occasion in the past."

"True," admitted Dumbledore in agreement, thinking back on Harry's many adventures over the years. "Their punishments, however, were decided by Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick."

"As the heads of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," said Harry.

"Yes."

"I see."

Hoping to maybe return to Harry's good graces, Dumbledore offered, "I will speak with the professors and see if I can convince them to be more lenient."

Harry sighed softly and nodded. "Thank you."

They then sat in silence for several minutes, not saying anything. Everything that needed to be address had come and gone, as well as several extra topics of discussion. Dumbledore briefly contemplated offering Harry another Lemon Drop, but decided such an offer would go against the tone their meeting had followed.

"I believe that should be all for the moment, Harry," he finally said. Knowing that he was done and wondering if Harry had something to add, he asked, "Unless there is anything else you wish to discuss?"

"The Grangers," said Harry.

"Yes?"

"What will you be doing with regards their safety?"

"They are, of course, welcome to remain at Grimmauld Place for as long as they wish," said Dumbledore, aware that Harry would accept nothing less. Hermione cared greatly for her parents and Harry would therefore move the very earth itself to keep them safe.

"And their home?" asked Harry.

"I have asked Alastor Moody to see about placing various wards around the house," Dumbledore informed Harry, wondering if the younger wizard knew that similar wards had already been placed at the Granger home before the start of summer.

Sadly those wards had not been particularly effective, as evidenced by the four Death Eaters that had met their fates at the proverbial hands of Harry's drones. Still, Dumbledore thought, those wards had been relatively basic ones, similar to what almost every wizarding dwelling had as a matter of course. The new wards would be much more proactive in guarding the Grangers.

"Can't you spare someone to stand watch?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid the Order has been stretched too thin in our efforts against Voldemort to do so," replied Dumbledore regretfully.

Dumbledore could tell by the way Harry's eyes narrowed that he was not pleased.

"The results of your 'efforts' have not been encouraging," Harry remarked scathingly.

"Harry--"

Harry interrupted by pushing back his chair and abruptly rising to his feet.

"Against my better judgement, I will leave the safety of the Grangers in your hands," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. "If they are hurt through your negligence, I will repay their injuries upon you. If they should die," his voice dropped a register, "then I will personally dispatch you to keep them company."

He cocked his head to one side, regarding Dumbledore coldly, and asked, "Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes," was all Dumbledore could think to say.

Harry held his gaze for a long moment before nodding, apparently satisfied.

"See you at dinner," he said, departing without further comment and with Father trailing behind him.

In his wake, Harry left a deeply worried Dumbledore. As he mulled things over, Dumbledore absentmindedly restarted his old gramophone, picking up from the beginning of Saturn, The Bringer of Old Age . Lord only knew, he was feeling particularly ancient after this confrontation.

With a wave of his hand he opened the doors to the glass cabinet next to the gramophone. Another wave lifted a bottle of brandy into the air and set about pouring its contents into the nearest available snifter. One last gesture summoned the glass to him and closed up the cabinet.

Taking the glass of brandy in hand, Dumbledore set down the crystal Harry had left in his care. Taking a sip, he used his wand to activate the device. He watched as the recording of Hermione's abduction played out before him once more, this time focusing on the details he might have missed before.

As the recording ended he was more convinced than ever that young Draco had been fully aware of his actions, not to mention their consequences. A less than charitable part of Dumbledore's thoughts remarked, in ill-humour, that the one consequence Draco had not been aware of had been that Harry would torture him for information.

Having ignored his brandy thus far, Dumbledore sank back and took another sip. As he drank he let his thoughts drift, only vaguely aware of the music in the background, the gramophone now playing Uranus, The Magician .

With the loss of Lucius Malfoy from their number, he did not doubt that the school governors would be reasonable in their judgement of Harry's attack upon Draco. And with a few subtly planted hints and suggestions on the headmaster's part, the focus could easily be shifted off Harry and onto Draco.

Dumbledore's thoughts continued along this vein, plotting the schemes and mapping those strategies which would best serve in protecting Harry from the fallout of the previous day. After several minutes there was a knock on the door, which startled Dumbledore out of his almost trance-like musings. He had been thinking so deeply that he had not even sensed the approach of his visitor.

"Come in, Rhys," he said, after collecting himself to present the proper appearance.

The door swung open and Professor Smythe-White stepped inside.

"Hello, Albus," he said in greeting, closing the door behind him. "I passed Mister Potter in the halls."

"And?" asked Dumbledore.

"He did not seem in the least bit concerned about what happened yesterday," observed Smythe-White as he crossed to take a seat opposite the headmaster. "That concerns me."

Dumbledore felt exactly the same way.

.oOo.

Harry strode purposefully through the corridors, making his way to Gryffindor Tower. It did not escape his notice that those few students he did cross paths with made a point of getting out of his way - clearly scared of him.

Resigned to being a pariah for the remainder of the year (much like his second and fifth years) Harry soon found himself outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. He briefly wondered if the password had been changed since the day before. It that were so, he decided, then he would have to rip the portrait off the wall, using Father's GM fields.

"Lion's Pr--"

The words cut off abruptly as Harry realized what he had just been thinking.

With a frown he reviewed his thoughts over the past few minutes, during the trip from Dumbledore's office. He quickly concluded that he had been thinking in the same manner that his future self would have do.

With a grimace he realized that the future memory induced feedback was not only growing more intense in nature, but also recurring more and more often. He had been practicing Occulmency every day, during his morning exercises and immediately before going to sleep. Apparently he needed to increase his efforts in that regard.

"Well, young man," prompted the Fat Lady impatiently. "Do you want to come in or not?"

"Lion's Pride," Harry muttered.

The portrait nodded in acknowledgement and then swung open, allowing Harry to climb into the common room. Because classes were currently in session the room was empty, save for the Ministry Crew. They were gathered around their regular table, Luna occupying what was normally Harry's seat, and were clearly waiting for his arrival.

"Harry," called Hermione, jumping up and running to him.

Harry greeted her with a possessive hug, burying his face in her bushy hair as he held her close to her. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that the rest of his friends had also risen to their feet.

"What happened?" asked Ron. "What did Dumbledore say?"

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, seeing Harry's disgruntled expression as he released her so that they could join their friends at the table.

"I have good news and bad news," Harry informed them.

"Bad news first, bad news first," sang Luna eagerly. "That's the tradition."

Harry sat down in the chair Hermione had been occupying, literally dragged there by the girl in question. Once he was seated, she surprised him (and everyone else, for that matter) by settling down in his lap, rather than draw up another chair.

"Well?" asked Ron impatiently.

"The bad news is what we thought it would be," said Harry with a sigh.

"You've been suspended?" asked Neville.

"Pending a hearing the day before Christmas holidays," confirmed Harry.

"That's not so bad," said Ron.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and the greater urge to sigh at his friend's cluelessness, Harry announced, "There's more, Ron."

Ron winced and swore, "Ah, bugger."

Harry explained, in brisk sentences, that Malfoy and his goons had almost been able to talk their way out of trouble. There was much protest and exclamation, mostly from Ron, at this revelation. The group was somewhat mollified when Harry told of how Dumbledore had viewed Father's recording of events and would now be suspending the three Slytherins as well.

He ended his tale with the news that he would be having a hearing in front of the Wizengamot, to explain his actions with regards to Malfoy and the Death Eaters. His reassurances that no charges where being pressed against him, for the time being at least, did little to raise their spirits.

"Enough of the depressing stuff, Harry," announced Ginny. "What's the good news?"

"That there is no more bad news," he replied blandly.

Once the weak laughter to his bad joke died down, Harry turned to Hermione and told her of Dumbledore's plans to ward the Granger's house. He also assured her that he planned to do his own part in ensuring her parent's safety, primarily by replacing the five Surveillance Drones guarding then with Combat Drones.

Of course, Harry would first have to build these drones. The six he had were already otherwise occupied. Five had been dispatched to guard his friends, one assigned to each of them, and the sixth was currently keeping an eye on Remus and Grimmauld Place.

Fortunately his suspension worked in his favour, as he now had enough free time to build the drones (amongst other things) far sooner than he would have.

"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione softly.

She leaned close to quickly kiss him on the cheek, much to the amusement of the others. Harry glanced at Ron, checking that his friend was all right with such a public display of affection. He was relieved to see that the redhead appeared to be taking it in stride.

Looking around at the empty common room, he asked, "Did you have any trouble letting Luna in here?"

"No," said Ginny. "Actually, everyone was more interested in Hermione's health and what happened to her."

"Curiosity gripped the cats," pronounced Luna sagely.

The six remained around the table for a while, just talking to pass the time. Harry was talked into a game of chess with Ron, one which he lost in short order. He was replaced as an opponent by Luna, whose gameplay was so chaotic and seemingly pointless that Ron found himself unable top anticipate her moves, leading to a long match that ended in a befuddled Ron losing for the first time in memory.

Naturally he demanded a rematch. Which he lost. After watching this second game, and the first few minutes of the third, Harry excused himself and went upstairs to his dormitory. There he stripped out of his clothes, which despite having been drenched by the rain outside were still the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. After a steaming hot shower, thankfully without an interruption from Luna, he put on a clean change of clothes.

Snacking on a Mars Bar, he sat down on his bed and started writing some letters. With the war against Voldemort now in a more active phase, he had several tasks he needed to work on. With the suspension freeing up even more time for him than usual, he would be able to work on some of them simultaneously.

Finishing up, he headed back downstairs. Waving to his friends, who were watching Ron curse up a storm as Luna took one of his knights, he opened the portrait hole.

"Where're you off to, Harry?" asked Neville.

"It's almost time for dinner, are you going down early?" asked Hermione.

"Just going to owl a few people," he told them, holding up the letters he had just finished writing. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall."

"If you see any ferrets on the way," called Ron, having calmed down, "break their arms for me!"

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione.

Shaking his head at his friends' antics, Harry slipped out the portrait hole and began walking to the owlery. He had not gone far before becoming preoccupied with his thoughts. Ron's words had unwittingly brought Harry's encounter with Draco yesterday to the fore, replaying before his mind's eye. It was disturbing to recall how he had acted in that situation.

Entering the owlery, having missed most of the journey there, so lost in his thoughts, Harry shook himself back to the present and looked around for Hedwig. He spotted her just as she dived from her perch, settling down on his shoulder.

"Hey, girl, how're you doing?" he said in greeting, scratching behind her ears. Hedwig hooted softly and gave him an amiable nibble on the ear, expressing her pleasure at seeing him.

It had taken a lot of convincing on Harry's part to have the snowy owl to remain at Privet Drive with the Doppelganger. While not something either of them had wanted, it had been necessary so that she could continue delivering the drone's letters to the Order, furthering the illusion that Harry had still been staying there.

As a 'thank you' for helping in that deception, Harry had presented her with a dozen fat, juicy mice when he had returned to Hogwarts on September first. Since then, however, he had seen Hedwig on a handful of times - usually when she came up to the Great Hall to share in his breakfast bacon.

"That's good to hear," he said. He held up the letters he had written and asked, "I've got a bunch of letters I need delivered. Feel up to it?"

Hedwig gave him a disdainful look, affronted that he would suggest otherwise.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said with a grin. A bob of her head was his answer. Harry turned serious. "I need to ask you something first though, if that's all right," he began, unsure if his friends would consent to the next bit. "I can't have anyone know about these letters, so I need to put a charm on you - so nobody can recognise you."

It took her a minute or two of consideration, obviously uncertain out this, but Hedwig eventually nodded reluctantly.

"Thanks, Hedwig," said Harry. He pointed to a nearby perch, for when an owl had to wait for someone to write whatever it was they had to deliver. "Could you wait on that perch for a minute, while I set up the spells?"

Hedwig flew to the perch and waited patiently for him to get to work.

"All right, here we go."

Holding his wand out, Harry quickly cast a series of Glamours on his owl. He watched, anxiously, as her wings, back and tail changed to a chocolate brown in colour. After a second spent checking the stability of the charms, he then added a speckling of black to her chest and legs.

"There," he concluded. He conjured a small mirror and held it up for Hedwig. "What d'you think?"

Hedwig examined her new appearance, turning this way and that to get a good look - otherwise making a small production out of it. Being an owl, she was also able to turn her head fully around, so that she could check her back. Finally, after a minute's deliberation, she gave a hoot of approval.

"Glad you like it," said Harry. He hands over the letters he needed delivered. "The charms will only last a week, ten days at the most," he told her as she took the letters in her beak, "so you have to deliver these before then, okay? Don't wait for replies, they'll be able to send those themselves."

Hedwig hooted and, unable to give his fingers an affectionate nibble with her beak full, bobbed her head up and down before flying off. Harry was relieved to note that the rain had let up slightly, so she wouldn't have too hard a time flying through the downpour.

"Godspeed, Hedwig," he whispered, watching her disappear for view.

Now all he could do was wait for the replies. Hopefully they would be to his liking.

.oOo.

The rest of the Ministry Crew had eventually departed from Gryffindor Tower, several minutes after Harry had left for the owlery, and were currently enroute to the Great Hall for dinner. They planned to meet Harry in the Entrance Hall before going inside, wanting to present a united front to the rest of the students - more for the Boy-Who-Lived's sake than their own.

Hermione had actually wanted to go via the owlery, hoping to catch Harry before then, but had been convinced not to by Ginny and Luna. She would not admit it to anyone, other that herself and Harry, but she found herself feeling a little insecure without the knowledge that he was nearby.

They had just passed through the Trophy Room, pausing for a few moments to inspect the Special Services awards Harry and Ron had received at the end of their second year, when they were intercepted by Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger," she said by way of greeting.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, puzzled as to why her head of house was there.

"If you'd be so kind as to follow me to my office?" McGonagall ordered, phrasing her command as a question. "I have something to discuss with you."

Before Hermione could reply, everyone was startled back a step when Ron pushed his way between her and the professor, drawing his wand in the process and aiming it at McGonagall.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

"Ron!"

"Mister Weasley!"

"How d'we know you're really Professor McGonagall?" asked Ron, glaring suspiciously at the witch before him. He jabbed his wand in her direction for emphasis, some stray sparks emerging from the tip as he did so. "You could be a Death Eater in disguise --Polyjuice Potion or something-- trying to kidnap Mione again!"

"Don't call me that!" Hermione snapped, her wonder at Ron's actions turning into anger.

She absolutely hated being called 'Mione' - something one of her aunts (a Muggle) insisted on using. In point of fact she had never much liked any of the various abbreviations given to her name, with the exception of Harry's use of 'Nee'.

Professor McGonagall peered sternly at Ron and said, "I assure you, Mister Weasley--"

"If you so much as twitch..." interrupted Ron, his warning trailing of in a silent threat.

Confronted with such stubborn opposition, McGonagall acted in a perfectly understandable manner. She ducked her head in frustration and reached up to massage her temples - most likely to ward off the onset of a headache. Unfortunately this action went against the warning Ron had just issued, causing the red-haired wizard to cast the first spell that came to mind.

" Expelliarmus !" Ron yelled excitedly.

" Protego ," countered a calm voice from one side.

A shimmering shield of magical energy sprung into being between Ron and the startled professor. It followed so quickly on the heels of Ron's spell that the Disarming Spell splashed across its surface almost immediately after emerging from the tip of Ron's wand.

"Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Ginny as everyone turned to see the source of the protecting shield.

"Good evening," said Dumbledore cheerfully, as he walked towards the group. He appeared completely unconcerned about the fact that he had just interrupted one of his students from attacking one of his colleagues.

"Sir!" breathed Ron in obvious relief. He spared the headmaster only a brief glance before returning his attention to McGonagall, clearly unwilling to risk letting her out of his sight. "This Death Eater's trying to kidnap Mione again!"

"Don't call me that!" snapped Hermione, punctuating her order by stomping her heel on Ron's left foot with all her might.

"GAAOOOWWWWCH!" screamed Ron, dropping his wand and clutching his bruised foot with both hands. He was hopping about on his good foot as he protested, "Hermione! That hurt!"

Hermione smiled and gave a satisfied nod. "Much better."

Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling with amusement as he stopped to pick up Ron's wand. "Rest assured, Mister Weasley," he said, a hint of his good humour in his voice, "Professor McGonagall is not a Death Eater."

"I know that, sir," agreed Ron, bouncing unsteadily on one foot for few extra seconds before standing up properly.

"He thinks she's an impostor," explained Neville, having worked out what had caused Ron to attack McGonagall.

"I see Alastor not only taught you 'constant vigilance'," Dumbledore observed, returning Ron's wand to him, "but also a healthy degree of paranoia."

"Professor Dumbledore," muttered McGonagall in a strained voice.

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall her next words and said, "Please, Professor McGonagall, I'm sure you understand."

"Considering yesterday's events," McGonagall agreed, her eyes flicking from the headmaster to Ron and then Hermione as she spoke. "I'm willing to let the matter drop."

"Very good," said Dumbledore happily.

"You mean... that's really Professor McGonagall?" asked Ron uncertainly.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you!" confirmed an exasperated Ginny.

Ron paled, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to the rest of his face. He swallowed nervously and asked, "I'm in even more trouble now, aren't I?"

Luna patted him on the back and said, "Seems that way."

"Oh," was all he said.

"Now, Hermione," said Dumbledore, startling the witch in question by using her first name. "If you would please accompany Professor McGonagall and myself to her office?"

Curious as to what would require her presence in McGonagall's office, with Dumbledore in attendance, Hermione quickly bid her friends farewell and followed after the two professors.

As they walked, Hermione concluded that they must be wanting to talk to her about her experiences the day before, when she had been Lucius' prisoner. She was puzzled, however, as to why they had taken so long to speak to her. Or, for that matter, why they had not waited until after dinner.

"Here we are," announced Dumbledore when they arrived. He opened the door and indicated for Hermione and McGonagall to enter before him. "After you, Miss Granger. Professor."

Stepping into the office, Hermione was surprised to see Harry, Smythe-White and Snape waiting for them. This, she knew, meant that they were most likely not here to talk about her abduction.

"Hello, Professor Smythe-White," she greeted. "Professor Snape."

"Come now, Hermione," Smythe-White chided lightly. "I've told you many times that I'd prefer if you'd call me Rhys."

"Yes, Professor, you have," Hermione replied, preferring to use the title.

By now McGonagall had entered the office. Dumbledore followed after her, shutting the door behind him. Hermione quickly moved to stand next to Harry, who was standing apart from the professors and closer to the door. McGonagall went straight to her desk, where she sat down, while Dumbledore crossed to join Smythe-White and Snape by one of the bookshelves.

"Harry? Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"No problems," Harry replied. "You?"

Hermione shook her head in reply and asked, "Do you know what this is about?"

"Not a clue."

"I gather you had no difficulty in finding Harry, Professor Smythe-White?" asked Dumbledore.

"None at all," replied the Defence professor.

"Very good," accepted Dumbledore. He turned to the students and clapped his hands. "I am certain you are wondering why you have been asked to join us here."

"The thought had crossed our minds," said Harry dryly.

"Very good," Dumbledore said, beaming broadly. He turned to Snape. "Professor Snape?"

Stepping slightly forward, Snape looked like a condemned man with constipation. Hermione began to have an inkling about what this meeting was all about, but did not say anything. She had a feeling this would be interesting.

"Potter. Granger," Snape hissed through a jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder he didn't crack a tooth. He managed to grind out the words, as if they were painful to say. "I apologise."

Even though she had been more or less expecting it, Hermione was still almost in disbelief upon hearing that. She took a look at Harry, just in time to see him blink in consternation.

"What?" he asked.

"You heard me, Potter."

"I heard you," agreed Harry. "I'm just wondering if it was a hallucination."

Snape ground his teeth together so hard that Hermione could hear them grating against each other.

"Please, Harry, try not to interrupt," advised Dumbledore, trying to head off the inevitable argument. "Professor Snape is trying to give an apology."

Hermione doubted the sincerity of Snape's apology, clearly seeing how his jaw muscles were bunched and straining, but again she did not say anything.

"Yes," Snape confirmed in a sibilant hiss.

"Sorry," Harry apologised. He then turned to Snape and asked, "What are you apologising for, anyway?"

"You know what," Snape bit out.

"Not really," replied Harry. He shrugged. "It's hard to guess what you're supposedly sorry for. There's so much to choose from."

It was obvious that Snape was beginning to grow angry. The fingers of his right hand were twitching and the hand itself was inching to where his wand was pocketed. Relief came in the form of McGonagall, who rose up from behind her desk and quickly interposed herself between Harry and the potions master.

Hermione really didn't care much about Snape. Truth be told, neither did Professor McGonagall. As far as either witch was concerned, getting in a fight with Harry (and being soundly thumped in the process, might actually do the man some good. Still, they both understand the potential for homicide if Snape actually did something rash while in Harry's presence.

"Professor Snape, I thought you were mature enough not to allow yourself to be baited by a student," said McGonagall scathingly. She then turned to Harry and berated, "As for you, Mister Potter, I'm sorely disappointed that you would behave like this."

"Why shouldn't I?" challenged Harry. "Snape's done nothing but belittle and torment me from the moment we met." He looked past McGonagall at the sneering man. "I haven't seen any indication that he will ever change."

"Harry, he is trying," insisted Dumbledore.

"An insincere apology is no apology at all." Harry countered.

"Professor Snape is sincere about this, Mister Potter," said Smythe-White, stepping up and putting a restraining hand on Snape's shoulder, subtly pulling him back a pace or two.

Harry appeared dubious, but relented when Hermione gave him a pleading look. The day had already been stressful enough, not to mention yesterday, so she was almost desperate to avoid a fight - even if it was one of only words.

"Fine," said Harry, sounding a bit petulant. "If Hermione accepts his apology... so shall I."

"Most agreeable of you, Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile. He turned to Hermione and prompted, "Miss Granger?"

Hermione considered it, eventually deciding that she would probably never have a better opportunity. That decision made, she began be saying, "I would consider accepting," she paused just long enough for Snape to start looking relieved, before adding, "but Harry does have a point." She then turned to Snape and asked, "What exactly are you apologising for, Professor?"

Snape looked incredulous. Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. McGonagall dropped her head in her hands. Harry looked like Fred and George on Christmas morning. All-in-all, it was exactly the result Hermione had hoped for.

"I am apologising," Snape growled, "for the words I said about you and Potter in the headmaster's office."

"You mean the comment about Harry and I sharing a bed?" Hermione elaborated.

"Yes."

"Very well then," Hermione nodded. "I accept."

She then levelled a stare at Snape and, thinking of what Malfoy almost did to her, spoke in a voice that was just as cold as anything Harry had been able to manage.

"Just bear in mind, Professor ," she warned. "If you say anything like that again... I'll do worse than simply slap you silly."

Snape's lips thinned to an almost invisible line. Instead of saying anything, he just gave a curt nod and then turned to see what Harry had to say. Harry stepped up close to the man, almost nose-to-nose.

"You hate me."

Everyone was a bit surprise by this statement, even Snape (who blinked).

"I can accept that, because, quite frankly, I hate you too," Harry continued. His eyes narrowed and he practically growled the next few words. "But by involving Hermione, or any of my friends, you crossed the line."

He then stepped back, his dangerous expression gone, replaced with an icy mask.

"Insult her or my friends again," he said blandly, "and you won't live long enough to apologise."

Seeing that Harry looked as if he was actually hoping that would happen, Hermione grabbed him by the arm and forcibly dragged him towards the door.

"Thank you for the apology, Professor Snape," she called over her shoulder. "We'll just be on our way." Releasing one hand, Hermione opened the office door and shoved Harry through. "We need to get to the Great Hall before Ron eats all the food. Bye!"

Not giving any of the professors a chance to speak, she slammed the door closed and resumed dragging Harry, this time down the corridor leading the Great Hall.

"Damn it to hell and back, Harry," she snapped. "What was that?"

"What was what?" asked Harry, having a hard time keeping up with her rapid pace.

"Don't play with me, Harry, you know what."

"Not really."

"The bit where you threatened to kill Snape!"

"Ah," Harry said ruefully, "that."

"Yes, that!"

Hermione released her grip on him and watched impatiently as Harry tried to answer.

"I can't help it," he finally said, "the moment I'm in the same room as the man, a part of me wants to hit him with the Cruciatus Curse until his heart explodes under the strain of it."

It was not difficult for Hermione to grasp the fact that Harry was talking about the feedback he experienced from his future memories. As she recalled, the future Harry had tortured Snape to death, using the Cruciatus Curse.

"That worries me, Harry," she said.

"It doesn't exactly thrill me either," Harry replied.

"Correct me, if I'm wrong..."

"Which you seldom are."

"...but it seems to be getting worse," said Hermione, ignoring the short interruption.

"I sure it's just stress," dismissed Harry. "After what happened yesterday, my future self's memories have come closer to the fore than they usually are."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Well, no, not really," Harry admitted, "but I'm pretty sure I'll be back to normal in a couple of days when the intensity of the feedback fades."

They resumed their course towards the Great Hall, Harry tentatively taking hold of Hermione's hand as they walked.

"I hope you're right about this," she said, giving Harry's hand a squeeze.

"So do I, Nee," Harry agreed, returning the gesture. "So do I."

TBC...

Backwards Compatible
A Day in the Life

Harry woke up, reluctantly, nearly an hour and a half before dawn. He had been doing this since early in the summer, part of a fitness regime he had begun to follow. After all; he was supposed to be a hero and heroes weren't allowed to be scrawny little boys that toppled over after only a few minutes exertion.

Also, he now knew, a sound body and mind not only aided his Occulmency, but his magic as well. A fit and healthy wizard could generate more magic than an unhealthy one, and they were better able to bear up under the strain of that extra power.

He found it odd that the wizarding world was not more aware of this - as evidenced by the fact that Hogwarts had no physical exercise for any of its students (aside from Quidditch, which really did not count). He could only conclude that it was nothing more than pure laziness on the wizards' part, letting themselves be content to do everything with magic instead of their own muscle.

Shortly after having departed number four Privet Drive, Harry had gone to a professional gym and made enquires about a fitness program. He asked for something to build both his stamina and strength, in that order. In each country he visited he would stop at a new gym and do the same. He combined all the best parts of these different programs into a single one, which he followed almost religiously every morning.

A prompt from Father reminded him that he had to get up and start.

"Right," he acknowledged softly.

Harry threw back the covers and rolled out of his bed, quickly stripping out of his pyjamas. Having grown up in a cupboard for a decade, Harry found himself less bothered by the cold than his roommates, and thus was wearing only a simple Muggle t-shirt and pair of boxers.

He crossed to his wardrobe and picked out some exercise clothes, as well as what he planned to wear for the day. As he quickly dressed himself, he glanced over at Ron's bed.

The curtains weren't fully closed for once and he could see that his friend was tossing and turning in a fitful sleep. This was another result of Ron's injuries at the Ministry; that he was plagued with nightmares. He had even gone so far, Harry knew, to cast a Silencing Charm around his bed, so not to disturb the other boys during the night.

As he dressed, Harry thought about what he knew of the future. He knew that Ron would revisit St. Mungo's over Christmas, where some new potions would be supplied to him. These would help, but only so much. The brain-tentacles caused a lot of damage to Ron's mind, namely those parts that controlled his emotions.

The potions would help keep his emotions more stable, but his thought processes would remain somewhat disorganized and chaotic. In fact, Ron would almost be refused entry into the Auror program because of that (despite the Ministry lowering standards to bolster their ranks).

The Aurors would eventually decided to train Ron in Occlumency, which involved organising the mind, your memories and to a lesser degree your thoughts. This would prove to help Ron more than any of St. Mungo's potions. Harry pondered making an offer to teach Ron some of what he knew of Occlumency.

Finished dressing, in a clean t-shirt, a jumper and a pair of tracksuit pants, Harry silently exited the sixth-year boys dormitory. He descended the stairs down to the common room, passing through the portrait hole and out into the Gryffindor Tower. He did not bother using his invisibility cloak or the Marauder's map.

Proceeding directly to the Room of Requirements, Harry paced back and forth three times, picturing a place where he would be able to complete his exercise routine properly. The resulting room was massive, bigger than even the Great Hall, and with a full-sized racing track circling around its edge.

Harry spent a few minute stretching, concentrating primarily on his legs, before setting off on his morning run. He did five laps around the track, stopping to do twenty push ups and sit ups after each lap. As far as a warm up went, Harry felt this was more than enough to get his heart and blood pumping to all the right places.

Finishing his run, Harry proceeded to the open area inside the athletic track, and began to work his way through the various weight machines provided there. The Room had based them off what he had seen and used in several gyms throughout the world over the summer. Doing a quick twenty reps on each machine before moving on to the next, Harry worked his way through three complete circuits, each one using progressively more weight than the last.

After spending a few minutes stretching his muscles out and cooling down, Harry settled down on the floor in what was commonly called the "Lotus" position. There he spent several minutes meditating, clearing his mind and organising his thoughts. He had not found anyone to teach him exactly what to do, or how to do it, so he had more or less made up a routine himself.

Father's null-magic field could protect him from Legilimency, which was a field of magic after all, but Harry did not want to rely on an outside force to protect himself. And the only means to do so, was to master the art of Occlumency.

He spent fifteen minutes doing that, focusing his mind, before he started to work his way through the various Occlumency exercises he knew. These Harry remembered from his future memories, as well as what he had gleaned from several books he had bought on the subject when he was travelling over the summer.

The most important action he undertook was that, as a wizard, he had to make sure that his Occlumency shields were tied into his magic. If this single step was neglected, then all his efforts would accomplish nothing more than simple Muggle meditation. This was far beyond anything Snape had ever bothered to teach him.

Harry had to forcibly push down the swell of resentment and anger which came with that thought. What was frightening was that he could not tell if it was feedback from his future memories, or his own feelings. He concentrated on clearing his mind of this distraction and then prepared to begin picturing the array of defences he had designed to shield his mind.

"Start timing," he told Father.

The first layer of his defence was a thick fog, hiding his thoughts from sight. The next layer was a myriad of useless thoughts, designed to confuse any intruder. The next few layer following this were imaginary walls of all kinds. Gigantic children's alphabet blocks (which Harry had seen Dudley throwing about when they were younger). Then there was a wall of brick, after that one of stone and finally a barricade of solid steel. These were the outer layers of Harry's mental defences, and were almost entirely harmless.

Finally Harry began to set the inner layers. The last two layers.

The penultimate layer was a fake layer, similar to the second of the outer layers. It was filled with memories, none of which were of any true consequence. Quidditch matches. Quidditch practices (lots of them and all very mundane). First and second year class (Mostly history of magic and those Defence lessons with Lockhart). If these didn't bore any intruders to death, Harry didn't know what would.

The very last layer, however, was the one Harry was most proud of. Something that was not found in any books on the subject, past or present. It was something Harry had devised by himself, inspired by the perpetual presence of Father in his mind.

It was also the one layer that actually frightened Harry, because it made him wonder what kind of person he had become to be able to create and expect to use such a thing.

All in all, once he was finished, there were eight layers in place. Most masters of Occlumency had at least twenty layers to prevent mental intrusions, some managed as many as thirty. Harry had only been practicing true Occlumency (not that claptrap Snape had fed him) for about four months. Taking that into consideration, eight layers of mental shielding was a remarkable accomplishment - most other people would take years to do as much.

Of course, nobody had tested themselves against his shields yet, but Harry was confident that they would do their job. Even if Voldemort did make it passed the outer shields, the eighth layer would stop him cold. Not to mention encourage him to never try again.

"Time?" asked Harry, opening his eyes. He listened intently to his Gatekeeper's reply. "Hmm, five seconds faster than last week. Good."

His Occlumency exercises completed, and his shields reinforced for the day, Harry quickly stripped down and changed into a swimming costume. There was a pool in the centre of the room, just to the right of the exercise machines. Harry wasn't a very good swimmer, but had improved thanks to lots of practice over the summer.

He did forty laps of the twenty-five metre pool, working out to an even kilometre of work. Every couple of hundred metres he changed strokes, (avoiding Butterfly, which often threatened to cause him to drown) before climbing out.

Crossing over to a small change room, near the door leading out of the Room of Requirements, Harry took a long, hot shower to relieve his aching muscles. The exercise might have been good for him, but it certainly left him feeling as limp as a string of spaghetti afterwards.

Exiting the shower, Harry brushed his teeth and then shaved. Unfortunately, he forgot that it was the present, not the future, and that he did not actually need to shave. The Shaving Charm thus gave him a bit of a rash around his cheeks, chin and throat.

Cursing his absentmindedness, he quickly got dressed. Because he had been suspended, Harry did not bother putting on a school robe, but rather some plain all-purpose robes that he had bought in America over the summer.

Turning to one side he groaned, "Ugh, I hate this part."

This was the last part of Harry's efforts to work himself into peak physical condition. He unstoppered and gulped down several nutrient and energy supplement potions, designed to stimulate body and muscle growth. He also took a variety of Muggle vitamin tablets and pills, finishing off with a banana flavoured protein shake and a Mars Bar.

Checking his wristwatch, Harry saw that he had about fifteen minutes to get back to Gryffindor Tower before Ron and Neville came down from the boys' dormitory. Hermione and Ginny, he knew, would already be waiting in the common room.

Stepping out of the Room of Requirements, the door to which faded from sight as he closed it behind him, Harry leisurely made his way to join his friends.

.oOo.

Harry and his friends were walking down to breakfast. Harry was in the lead, with Hermione and Ginny on either side. Ron and Neville were bringing up the rear, talking about their Transfiguration homework. Ron still hadn't done his and Neville wasn't too sure of his own attempt at it.

"Harry, where did you go this morning?" asked Hermione.

"It's been over two months since the start of term and you're only asking me now?" asked Harry with amusement.

"I was worried," she explained.

Harry was quick to realise that Hermione must still have been feeling very insecure, following her abduction by Malfoy. He had overheard Lavender and Parvati the previous morning, discussing a nightmare that Hermione had the first night back from Sirius' Barcelona flat. He immediately slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her to him.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he apologised softly. "I was in the Room of Requirements."

"What were you doing in there?" asked Ginny.

"My morning exercises," Harry answered.

"Your what?"

"Morning exercises."

Having overheard this, Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Mate," he said, "You're already the best dueller in the DA, probably the school. What d'you need more practice for?"

"I'm not practicing duelling, or spellwork," explained Harry. "I'm exercising."

"You mean... like going to a gym?" asked Hermione, her brow puckered with a faint frown.

"Exactly."

As they walked past the Trophy Room, the five Gryffindors had to sidestep a bunch of cooing tribbles which were crossing the corridor. Ginny made a few cooing noises as they went past and Neville bent down to pat one or two.

Ron in the meanwhile looked from Harry to Hermione and back before asking, "What are you two talking about?"

"I go running in the morning," Harry said simply.

"You don't go outside, do you?" asked Hermione, a tad anxiously.

Harry shook his head. "The Room turns into a track that I use," he explained reassuringly, knowing that she must have been worried that he was taking an unnecessary risk by leaving the castle. "After that I do some weight training and my Occlumency exercises," he continued. "I usually finish off with a short swim."

His friends stared at him with various degrees of disbelief. Ron began to mutter quietly, something about possession by Oliver Wood, Ginny nodding in agreement. Neville simply shook his head in wonder.

"You must wake up at the crack of dawn to do all that before we get down to the common room," commented the still slightly chubby (but starting to lose his baby fat) young wizard.

"Five o'clock," confirmed Harry.

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Ron. "Why?

"It's good for you."

By now they had reached the Entrance Hall, where several mixed groups of students were milling about. It did not go unnoticed that everyone grew quiet when Harry and his companions walked past.

"Come on," Harry sighed. "I'm hungry."

The group entered the Great Hall, where most of the students were having breakfast. There was also a fair helping of tribbles having breakfast. Again, most of those present fell silent when they noticed Harry's arrival.

"GOOD MORNING CHAPS!!" yelled an eager voice.

All eyes turned to Luna, who was sitting in her usual spot at the Gryffindor table. She was smiling brilliantly at her friends and waving in vigorous greeting.

"I saved you some seats!" she called

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at the Ravenclaw witch's antics. He then glanced to the staff table. "I have to hand my wand in," he said. "Join you in a minute."

Hermione and the group headed over to join Luna, who was still waving enthusiastically. She greeted both Hermione and Ginny with equally enthusiastic hugs (Ginny's lasting perhaps a tad longer than was proper) before settling down.

Still chuckling at her antics, Harry made his way to the staff table. As he walked he was acutely aware that everyone was staring expectantly at him. He noticed that some of the students shied away, as if afraid of him, as he passed by them.

Conspicuously drawing his wand and twirling it in his fingers, Harry made his final approach to the table. Some of the students squawked in alarm, one or two squealing out loud as well. Harry came to a halt right in front of Dumbledore and could see a twinkle of amusement in the old wizard's eyes at his actions.

"Headmaster," Harry greeted coolly.

"Mister Potter," acknowledged Dumbledore with a slight nod of his head.

Harry flipped his wand end over end, so that he was holding it by the tip, and presented its handle to Dumbledore.

"Here you go."

"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore as he accepted the wand.

"I'll fetch it before I leave," Harry informed him.

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed.

Professor McGonagall, sitting to Dumbledore's right, looked at Harry with some concern.

"Are you all right, Mister Potter?" she asked.

"I feel fine," Harry assured her, puzzled by the question.

"Your cheeks seem rather red," elaborated McGonagall.

"Yeah, uh," Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He reached up with one hand to nervously scratch at the back of his neck as he admitted, "I, er, forgot that I don't need to shave, and used a Shaving Charm..."

"Ah, yes, a shaving rash," said Dumbledore, nodding in understanding. He indicated the length of his silvery beard and said, "One of the reasons why I decided to grow a beard."

Harry made an about face and strode to the Gryffindor table, amidst whispers from the students. From what he was able to overhear, it was a mixture of relief and simple gossip. He honestly had no idea what the fuss was about; as he had done the same thing the previous day.

"You okay, Harry?" asked Ron as he approached.

Harry dropped himself into the seat between his red-haired friend and Hermione. Ginny, Luna and Neville were seated on the opposite side from them. There was also a fair number of tribbles scattered about the table, nibbling on whatever food they could get hold of.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed tiredly. He rubbed at his temples, feeling the onset of another headache. They seemed to be as much a part of his life these days as eating and breathing. "I've gotten used to people acting like this whenever something happens."

"Don't mind them, Harry," Hermione told him, "it's just gossip. Things will go back to normal in a couple of days."

"I know," he admitted resignedly.

He started to fill his plate, snatching up a basket of toast that three tribbles were trying to get into. They warbled in disappointment before wiggling towards a nearby plate of muffins.

"What're you going to do today, if you're not coming to classes with us?" asked Neville as Harry selected two slices of brown toast.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find something to do," he said.

Harry set down the toast basket, which was immediately assailed by tribbles. He then poured for himself a glass of orange juice. He looked up and down the length of the table and silently lamented the lack of coffee at Hogwarts. He had gotten used to it while on his summer "holiday".

"Anything in particular?" asked Ginny.

Harry hid a smile and decided to see what his friends would have to say about his plans for the day. He started to butter his toast as he spoke.

"Well, first I'm planning on stealing a couple of tonnes of raw material from a Muggle warehouse," he began at a brisk pace. "Then I'll sneak into the Chamber of Secrets, where I'll shape the metal into casings for the plasma rifles Fred and George are going to be building for me. After that I want to have a look at some books on Power Rituals in the Restricted Section."

Everyone was staring uncertainly at him, not sure if he was joking or not. Luna was the only one who did not seem the least bit concerned about it, concentrating on her breakfast instead.

"Busy day," she commented, tucking into her eggs.

"And that's just before lunch," agreed Harry, grinning as he took a bite of his toast.

"So what are you doing after lunch?" asked Ron - obviously convinced it's a joke.

Washing the toast down with a gulp of his orange juice, Harry resumed listing his planned itinerary.

"My first stop after lunch will be Diagon Alley. I need to drop off the rifle casings at the twins' shop, as well as some of the other materials they need to build the rifles. Then I'm going to stop by Ollivander's to collect some books he has waiting for me. After that I plan to drop in on Gringotts; just to make sure that all my finances are all in order. I might even make a few stock investments. Once all that's done, I'll come back to Hogwarts where I'll be making a few enquiries about maybe having some Slytherins join the DA."

Finished reviewing his plans for the day, Harry stopped and took another bite of his toast. While he chewed, he took note of his friends' expression.

"Ha!" barked Ron. "I could almost believe most of that," he said through his laughter, "but, Slytherins in the DA? Yeah, and the Muggles will put a man on the moon."

"Actually, the American Muggles did that about thirty years ago, Ron," supplied Hermione dryly.

"What?"

"How did Muggles get all the way up to the moon?" asked Neville.

"Well, they certainly didn't ride a broom," commented Ginny.

A round of laughter ensued as everyone imagined the Muggles flying through space on broomsticks, highlighted against the moon in much the same way that they tended to stereotype witches.

Harry, however, was wondering at how ignorant the wizards could possibly be not to have heard of the Lunar landings in the sixties and seventies. They had been one of the great achievements in human history, yet most of the magical world were still unaware of it ever having happened. It was, he realized, yet another sign of how isolated they had become.

"So, those are your plans for the day, hmm?" asked Hermione as they resumed the earlier conversation.

"Pretty much," Harry admitted as he selected several rashers of bacon. "I do plan to spend an hour or two working on the challenge for Smythe-White's class."

"You mean the steel wand you're going to make?" asked Ron around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"I'm already set to make that," Harry informed him.

"You are?" asked Ginny.

"It's really rather simple."

"What are you going to do then?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Something a little more... complex."

.oOo.

Harry held his breath to avoid detection by a pair of steel workers as he hid behind several shipping crates in the warehouse adjoining a steel mill in Llanwern, Wales.

"Did she really say that to you?" he heard the one ask the other.

"Yes," confirmed the second worker. "Can you believe it?"

Listening with half an ear to their conversation as they walked by, Harry mentally took stock of how much steel he needed to make the casings for a hundred plasma rifles. Looking at the stacks of steel I-beams filling the warehouse, he tried to gauge how many he would need to take to get the required amount of material.

"So what did you do?" asked the first man.

"What d'you think I did?" countered the second.

"I know what I would have done."

"Then you have your answer."

Harry was also planning to use some of the steel to make armour plating for the various Surveillance Drones he had employed. This would essentially upgrade them to something closer to the dedicated combat drones, which already had hardened steel armour.

With the use of the Gatekeeper's Gravity-Manipulation fields to shape, temper and otherwise forge the metal into the desired form, it would be almost pathetically easy to produce hardened combat chassis for both the drones and the rifles.

There was a question, however, of whether he should have Father add anything to the steel to make the armour and casing even stronger by making it an more advanced alloy. In the end, however, Harry decided not to try anything too fancy, as Surveillance Drones were unlikely to need such heavy protections against attack.

"So," prompted the first worker, "how was she?"

"What do you mean?" asked the second.

"You know what I mean."

"No," said the second. "I don't."

Harry wondered what was taking those two particular idiots so long. They must have been walking extra slowly, probably so that they wouldn't have to get back to work as quickly as they otherwise would.

He decided that it would be a bit excessive to use Father's GM fields to fake an accident and knock the two unconscious so that he could get to work. Instead, he would just have to wait for them to leave.

"I thought you said you... you know."

"What? I didn't say that."

He briefly poked his head out to see what the two workers were doing and saw that they were slowly meandering between the many rows of stacked I-beams. Fortunately they had already passed by him and were on their way out of the warehouse. In the distance, Harry could see someone driving a forklift. Everyone, he noted, was wearing a hardhat. The pair walking slowly away from him were wearing bright blue ones.

"What did you say?"

"Why do you even have to ask?"

"I didn't think I had to ask, but I guess I was wrong."

"You should get your mind out of the gutter," muttered the second worker, his voice barely audible.

Poking his head out of his hiding place again, Harry confirmed that the coast was clear.

"Finally," he muttered, relieved that he wouldn't have to waste any more time.

Stepping out from behind the crates, he told Father to begin lifting the I-beam into the air and shift them into subspace storage. The process took a remarkably short amount of time compared to how long he had been waiting. At the rate it was going, Father would have all the steel they needed in less than a minute.

"How much longer?" he asked.

Father gave him an estimate, which was closely in line to Harry's.

"Take extra then. Double what we planned for," he told the Gatekeeper. "We have the time."

Acknowledging the command, Father continued lifting the massive beams of steel into the air and shifting them into subspace storage pockets. While he did this, Harry continued to keep watch, wand at the ready should he need to stun anyone that might spot them.

"That should be about it, right?" asked Harry after another minute had passed.

Father confirmed that it only had three I-beams left to lift and pocket in subspace before they had double of everything they had come for.

A noise caught Harry's ear and he looked to the right. There he could see a forklift barrelling towards where he was standing, moving a speed he was certain was unsafe for such a small vehicle.

"Time to go," Harry told the Gatekeeper.

With a quick pop he and Father appeared back at Hogwarts. More specifically, they appeared deep below Hogwarts, in a room Harry had not been inside of since the end of his second year.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Using his wand to light the room up a bit, Harry almost stumbled over the still decomposing remains of the basilisk he killed while saving Ginny from the diary. The stench was truly horrendous. Skirting around that section of the Chamber, and casting an Isolation Charm around it to keep the smell in, Harry found a spot with lots of room to work in.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," remarked Harry.

Father made a snide comment.

"Don't you start," Harry ordered. "We've got what we needed, so let's get started."

While Father did just that, being a machine intelligence and thus more precise than any human, Harry sat down on the cold stone floor to work on his wandless magic skills. He took out three gobstones from his robe pocket and would be trying to levitate them as part of his practice. Levitating multiple small objects simultaneously was one of the most basic exercises for developing one's wandless magic.

Thus far Harry could manage raising up one gobstone without too much difficulty, though he had to concentrate more than if he were using his wand. Adding the second gobstone made Harry's control a little shaky, but he could do it for extended periods without too much strain. The third gobstone, however, usually proved too much for him. He knew that he could do it, however, because his future self had eventually been able to.

A flash of anger towards Dumbledore surged through Harry. Because of the old wizard's decision to hand Harry over to the Dursleys, Harry had been mistreated to the point that he was far behind where he should rightfully be. He was a powerful wizard, on par with Dumbledore and Voldemort, but the many years of starvation, malnutrition and other hardships had a debilitating effect on not just his body, but his magic as well.

If he weren't as powerful as he was, and thus able to unconsciously compensate, Harry would only now be achieving the level of most second-year students. As it was his magic was so strong that, even stunted as it was, he had been able to keep up with the rest of his classmates. He was even a bit ahead of them in some ways.

If he had been properly cared for, Harry's magic would have been as strong as a fifth-year before he even came to Hogwarts. By now he should have been on the same level as the stronger professors and rapidly gaining ground on the headmaster.

Harry's future self had only reached his full potential sometime in his mid twenties, at which point it was too late for him to stand a chance of beating Voldemort. He was practically unstoppable against ordinary wizards and Death Eaters, but could never match the Dark Lord's power. He had tried, several times, and failed. Usually painfully and with high casualties amongst his companions.

"Let me know when you're done," he told Father. "I'll be practicing in the meanwhile."

He assumed a typical Lotus position and tried to ignore the sudden sweltering heat that burst into being behind him as Father began using its GM fields to melt down the stolen I-beams. Setting the gobstones down on the floor in front of him, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the magic inside of him.

To do wandless magic properly wizards had to be able to connect to their magic on a more primal level. Then they had to bring it to the forefront, channelling it through their bodies, rather than through implements such as wands or staves.

"Ninety-nine," Harry began to count down, "ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six..."

This was one of several focusing techniques; counting back from a hundred. Each time he counted, Harry pulled his magic closer to the surface. He could almost feel it pulsing beneath his skin. He could also feel the extreme heat from Father's smelting, but ignored it as he concentrated inside of himself

"Seventy-four, seventy-three, seventy-two, seventy-one..."

Finally Harry felt a strange prickling sensation, like being numb with cold and then jumping into a hot both. This was the sign that he had reached the correct stage to being the true exercises of wandless magic.

"Forty-seven," he concluded.

There was a brief moment of elation which Harry ruthlessly suppressed. Keeping his magic in place was difficult and he could not afford to let his concentration slip. The reason for his pleasure was that a count of forty-seven was a new record for this particular exercise. Previously it had taken Harry to the count of forty-two before he slipped into the proper mindset.

With his magic now right beneath the surface, Harry began to work through the next technique; pulsing his magic. This had an effect similar to that of flexing a muscle; only on a magical level instead of a physical one.

"One," Harry began to count; up this time instead of down. "Two... three... four..."

With each count Harry forced his magic to briefly expand past his skin and out beyond his body. If his eyes had been open, he would have seen a faint golden aura forming around him. This exercise was even more tiring than bringing his magic to the surface in the first place and soon left him sweating from exertion.

"Nine... ten."

The warm-up exercises finally complete, Harry now turned his attention to the three gobstones. Opening his eyes, he looked at the gobstone in the middle of the trio and gently pushed at it with his magic. The trick there was to relax and not to force the magic to do what he wanted it to do.

Harry smiled thinly as the middle gobstone hesitantly lifted into the air. It was a bit unsteady at first, but was soon floating serenely in front of him. He could feel the magic holding it up, pulsing and throbbing in the air.

Directing his attention to the second gobstone, Harry sent out tendrils of his magic and tried to lift it into the air to join the first one. This was more difficult. Wandless magic required a far more delicate balance between control and power than when using a wand. The more power Harry put into doing something, the less control he had over what happened.

As luck would have it (bad luck most likely) Harry had just a bit too much power at his disposal. This was why he found it slightly more difficult than others to control the finer forms of magic.

He let out a soft sigh as the second gobstone rose shakily into the air, hovering alongside the first. Licking his lips and giving a silent prayer for it to work this time, Harry focused on the last of the three gobstones.

The gobstone began rocking in place, shaking as Harry's magic tried to get a proper hold on it. As more of his attention turned to the third stone, his control over the first two began to waver and they trembled in place, losing altitude.

Panicking slightly, Harry hurriedly reasserted his control over the two stones. This caused him to lose his focus on the third gobstone. Without the proper focus, he hit the gobstone in question with a river of magical power, rather than just the trickle levitation required. As a result, the gobstone rocketed into the air like a bullet fired from a rifle.

His control lost, the other two stones spun wildly out of control before falling to the floor, just as the third gobstone smashed into the ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets with a loud crack. Several seconds passed before the shattered remains fell to the floor, sprinkling over Harry in a fine cloud of dust.

"Bollocks," he swore, summing up his feelings on the matter.

Gathering the two surviving gobstones, Harry set them back in place in front of him. He reached into his robes and plucked a replacement from the inner pocket. It was a good thing he had the forethought to bring a lot of spare gobstones, otherwise he would run out of them very quickly. He set the third stone down next to the first two.

Gritting his teeth, Harry closed his eyes and tried again.

"Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven..."

And again. And again.

.oOo.

It took Father nearly two hours to melt down the stolen I-beams and forge them into the casings for the plasma rifles. Using the GM fields to temper and shape the steel the results were as resilient as anything produced by the most advanced Muggle engineering. As they had taken considerably more steel than they needed, there was still plenty let over for when they decided to go about upgrading the drones.

Now, having Gated up from the Chamber of Secrets and taking a quick shower to get rid of the cloying stench of decayed basilisk, Harry was waiting near the library. He made a visual sweep of the various corridors and confirmed that there was nobody else in the area. He then ducked into an alcove, which used to hold the statue of Amber the Audacious, but was now empty as the statue had been badly damaged by some of Fred and George's fireworks the previous year.

"Ready to try this?" he asked.

Father gave an affirmative and a moment later a holo-projection crystal emerged from subspace, hovering patiently in front of Harry. He plucked it out of the air and deposited it in his shirt pocket.

Patting the pocket down so that it lay smoothly against his chest, Harry glanced at Father's dark grey sphere and asked, "Are you sure the clothes won't affect the projection?" Father gave an inaudible snort, affronted by the question. "And the voice modulation?"

A shiver passed through Harry, centred on his throat, as Father activated a localised GM field.

"That's it?" asked Harry. He paused in surprise at the sound of his voice, which was no longer his voice. He blinked and then grinned in appreciation. "Damn, this is a nice trick."

After hearing his new voice for a second time, Harry's grin grew broader as he decided to test it out more fully. Clearing his throat before starting, Harry smoothly intoned, "Potter! Stop breathing without permission! A thousand points from Gryffindor and detention for the rest of your life!"

Father commented that Harry had the attitude just right, but was lacking the correct sneer to go with it. The Gatekeeper then activated the projection crystal and enveloped Harry in the hologram it contained.

"Well?" asked Harry, unable to see the results and having to rely on Father for an opinion.

The Gatekeeper replied by releasing another projection crystal, which hung in the air before Harry for a moment before flickering to display an image feed from one of Father's drones.

Harry looked at the picture and arched both eyebrows as high as he could manage. Staring back at him was the somewhat curious and amused face of Professor Severus Snape.

"Excellent," he concluded. "Now we just have to wait for Zabini to leave the library."

The pair waiting in silence for several minutes, knowing that it was almost time for the next class on the timetable. Before too long one of Father's drones reported that their target was on the move.

"Right," said Harry. "Here we go."

Drawing himself up and twisting his lips into a passable 'Snape Sneer â„¢', Harry stormed out of the alcove he had been hiding in and stalked down the corridor leading to the library. He arrived at the library doors in a billow of holographic robes just as Blaise Zabini was exiting.

"Mister Zabini," said Harry imperiously.

"Professor Snape," replied Zabini politely.

"I have considered your request to submit an assignment for extra credit in Potions," Harry told the Slytherin student, speaking as if he expected Zabini to know what he was talking about.

Zabini simply gave Harry a quizzical look and asked, "Sir?"

Harry stepped close to Zabini and held up a folded slip of paper. "To aid you in your work," he said, "I have compiled a reading list that you should find... illuminating."

The note was not actually a reading list, but rather a message telling Zabini to meet him after dinner in an abandoned classroom in the less frequented part of the dungeons. He and Father had painstakingly constructed the note using snippets of Snape's handwriting from old Potions assignments as a template.

After a moment's consideration Zabini accepted the note, delicately plucking it from Harry's outstretched hand. He unfolded it and glanced briefly at the contents. Folding it back up, he then tucked it away inside his robes.

"Thank you, Professor," said Zabini, giving a barely perceptible nod. "This is very generous of you."

"Naturally," drawled Harry.

Giving a nod of dismissal, Harry stepped past Zabini and into the library, leaving the young Slytherin wizard to continue on to his next class.

As he entered, Harry made a point of glaring at two Ravenclaw third-years that were leaving. When the boys picked up their pace and scurried away in fear, Father commented that he seemed to be enjoying himself. Ignoring the Gatekeeper, Harry made his way directly to the checkout counter, where Madam Pince was busy working.

"Madam Pince," he greeted as he stepped up.

"Professor Snape? What brings you here?" asked Pince, looking up at him in surprise.

"I need access to some of the more obscure potions books, for a project the headmaster has me working on," Harry told the librarian, giving an excuse for his presence. "If anyone asks for me, I will be in the Restricted Section."

"Of course, Professor," Pince readily accepted. "Call me if you require any assistance."

"No need," replied Harry dismissively. "I know what I'm looking for."

Harry gave a curt nod and then left without further comment, which he felt was an action perfectly in character for the potions master. Entering the Restricted Section, he headed straight to the shelves where the books on Power Enhancing Rituals were kept.

This field of magic was considered dangerous, even by the standards of the Restricted Section, which was why most of the books were physically chained to their shelves. There was also at least a dozen charms on each book to prevent them from being removed should the chains be broken.

But, with Voldemort moving against him sooner than expected, Harry felt a need to gather every edge he could. Even with the improvements he had gained from his exercising and the nutrition potions, he was still only at a fraction of what his full power would eventually be. He needed to kick-start his potential... and this was the fastest way to do it.

Of course, it was definitely not the smartest either. Harry knew that if Hermione ever found out about this, she would definitely hit him over the head with a copy of Hogwarts: A History.

Those rituals which caused truly significant increases in one's magic, either by bolstering the casters magical core or by increasing their access to that core magic, did so in dangerous ways. Almost all of them were less than perfectly safe, more often that not causing physical or mental injury to those performing them.

It was a testament, however reluctantly Harry was to admit it, to Tom Riddle's strength and resilience that he had not been killed or seriously maimed by the many rituals and ceremonies he had performed on himself to complete his transformation into Lord Voldemort.

Harry, however, had no intention of risking his life, or worse - his sanity; the possibility of being warped into something that might give Voldemort a run for his Galleons unnerved The-Boy-Who-Lived beyond words. Thus he was limiting his perusal of Ritual Magic to the more mundane and less powerful methods.

After all, every little bit helped.

Most of the rituals he would be looking were the ones that focused more on purifying one's magic and streamlining it to a more efficient state. These did not increase one's power, but rather allowed access to more of what you already had available. Sometimes small increased in one's true power could be produced, but more often than not it was a negligible improvement.

It was similar to how Muggles would fine-tune a car's engine to get better performance.

"Just what I was looking for," Harry commented, still in Snape's voice, as he opened one book and began paging through its contents. He glanced over his shoulder to where he expected Father's sphere to be hiding in subspace and ordered, "Start recording."

Since he could not take these books out of the Restricted Section, unlike how he, Ron and Hermione had taken the Moste Potente Potions during second year, Harry was having Father make a visual record of each book he looked at.

Working quickly, and as quietly as possible, Harry made his way through a dozen of the tamer books on Ritual Magic. Then his attention turned to the very, very few Rituals which were potent enough to cause increases in the user's magic of considerable proportions without the usual risks that accompanied such rituals.

Unfortunately almost all of them were Sex Magic of one kind or another.

Harry knew that Luna would be more than willing to help him perform these rituals, as she had done so rather often in the future. However, the idea of trying to talk Ginny or, worse, Hermione into aiding in such things was something that left him feeling very uncomfortable.

Harry did not want to know whether his discomfort was caused by the thought of their reactions to his asking, or by the mental images that were going through his mind - involving himself, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and a very large bed. While he had no real interest in Ginny and Luna in a romantic sense, he had to admit that he did find both witches just as physically attractive as Hermione.

The idea of the three of them in bed with him...

Hurriedly processing the books on Sex Magic Rituals, Harry spent most of the time reminding himself that he was under a disguise field and was currently wearing the face of Professor Snape. Returning the last book to its place on the shelf, Harry moved onto Thaumaturgy - the art of blood magic and its rituals, most of which were borderline dark by their very nature.

Still, Harry's mind continued to wander back to the various images and descriptions that filled the pages of the books he had just finished recording.

"I'm going to need a long, cold shower after this."

The only sound to greet his comment was the rustle of turning paper and Father's silent laughter.

.oOo.

After having worked his way through seventeen books (which constituted slightly more than a third of the Restricted Section's collection on Ritual Magic, Harry left the library without a word and quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom. There he dropped the disguise field that allowed him to masquerade as the potions master.

Having returned to his usual appearance, Harry hurried to meet up with his friends for lunch. They had arranged to meet outside the Great Hall, which would allow them to enter as a single group.

"Harry!" called Hermione, spotting him immediately after he arrive in the Entrance Hall. She waved for him to join her and the rest of the Ministry Crew where they were standing near the doors leading into the hall.

"Hi," said Harry a tad breathlessly.

"Hi," replied Hermione.

Harry greeted her with a brief hug, as he usually did, when he reached the group. Separating from her, he turned to the other three members of their party; Luna, Ginny and Neville. Ron had entered the Great Hall by himself when Harry had arrived.

"Hello, Harry," said Luna dreamily. She cocked her head at an angle, eyes wide with curiosity, and enquired, "Did you have a pleasant morning building plasma rifle casings in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Actually, Father did most of the hard work," Harry replied truthfully, seeing no reason not to tell the truth. He had a feeling that his friends still thought he had been joking. "I spent most of my time practicing wandless magic."

"Come on," urged Neville, waving for them all to enter. "We'd better get in there before Ron eats everything."

"Now that wasn't very polite," said Hermione, commenting on how Ron had left them in favour of getting lunch.

"That's Ron," explained Ginny.

"A walking stomach if there ever was," Harry agreed.

The group (barring Ron, who was already at the table) entered the Great Hall together. They made a brief stop by the staff table, for Harry to give his wand into Dumbledore's safekeeping, before proceeding to join their missing companion at the Gryffindor table.

"So Ron, how were classes?" Harry asked as he sat down next to his friend.

"Can't talk," Ron managed around a mouthful of turkey and mashed potatoes. "Food. Eating."

"God, Ron," Ginny made a disgusted face. "Chew, then swallow!"

"Forget that," said Neville, taking a seat. "Somebody teach him not to speak until after swallowing!"

"Won't work," Ginny informed him unhappily. "We've been trying for years."

"You just need the correct motivation," said Luna.

"What d'you call Fred and George?" Ginny asked ruefully.

With a demented grin, Luna answered by drawing her wand from its usual place (tucked behind her ear) and then turning to Ron. The red-haired wizard saw her movements and almost had a panic attack when he realized that Luna was once again waving her wand in his direction.

"Uh uh! No! No!" he protested loud, holding up both hands in defence. "I'm not saying anything, so you can't use a Silencing Charm on me! Uh uh!"

"I wasn't going to cast a Silencing Charm," Luna told him.

"Right," said Ron, not believing a word.

Luna nodded earnestly, so much so that it almost seemed as if her head would fly off, and said, "I'm going to charm your mouth so that you won't be able to open it while there's food in it."

For a moment it looked as if Ron was actually considering the offer, but finally he shook his head.

"Uh uh, nope. No deal," he affirmed staunchly.

"Oh, poo!" pouted Luna, folding her arms.

While this little byplay had been going on, everyone else had been filling their plates as they watched with amusement. Getting the food onto their plates, however, required that they had to avoid the small army of tribbles that were cooing and wiggling about the table top.

"Say, is it just me," asked Neville as he moved a tribble that was trying to get onto his plate, "but are there more of these things than there were at breakfast?"

"It certainly seems like it, but it can't be," replied Hermione.

"Oh, why not?" asked Harry, repressing a smile.

"Nothing breeds that quickly, Harry," Hermione told him.

"Except tribbles," corrected Harry, his smile beginning to break through despite his efforts.

Hermione suddenly got a suspicious look about her and directed it at Harry.

"Harry... what d'you know?"

"Just that they're practically born pregnant," Harry explained, indicating the cooing tribbles.

"Quite a time saver that," commented Luna amiably.

"I know," agreed Ginny in amazement, "but really."

"They're bisexual, reproducing at will," continued Harry. He glanced about at the mounds of tribbles dotted all about the Great Hall. "And, brother, have they got a lot of will."

"But at this rate, by tomorrow we're going to be hip deep in them," Hermione protested.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry confirmed.

"Oi! Gerrof!"

All eyes turned to Ron, whose plate of food appeared to be under siege by a small army of tribbles. Ron was trying to fend them off, but whenever his attention was occupied in one direction, the tribbles would begin to approach from the other.

"They're eating my food!"

"So, Neville," said Harry, turning away and ignoring Ron's plight. "Whatever happened to that plant you had last year?"

"What? My Mimbulus Mimbletonia?" asked Neville.

"The one that spews out all that smelly goop?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah, that's it," Harry confirmed. He turned to Hermione and asked, "Nee, can you pass that bowl of fruit?"

Said bowl was in the process of being overrun by a group of tribbles, including a particularly large one with a rich, chocolate brown pelt. Hermione brushed the creatures aside and passed the bowl to Harry, who selected a couple of oranges from it before setting it down. The tribbles were crowding around it again not long after that.

As Harry began to peel the first of the oranges, further down the table Seamus Finnegan jumped out of his seat with a frustrated cry.

"My chicken sandwich!" cried the Irish wizard. He held up his plate, which held nothing but tribbles. "They're going after my chicken sandwich!"

"They're going after everything!" grumbled Dean, who was sitting next to him.

Sitting opposite the two boys were Lavender and Parvati, who were both holding armfuls of tribbles that they were doting over in an almost idiotic fashion. Looking closer Harry saw that several of the tribbles actually had small bows (of all different colours) tied into their fur. Both witches immediately leapt to the tribbles' defence.

"But they're so soft!" protested Lavender.

"And they make such a cute sound! Listen!" said Parvati, holding up a cooing fluffball.

After watching the exchange for a brief moment the Ministry Crew returned their attention to Neville. That and ignoring Ron, who was fighting his own battle with the tribbles. For some reason the voracious creatures seemed determined to get whatever food was on his plate.

"Bloody things, sod off!"

"I asked Madam Sprout if I could keep it in Greenhouse Two," said Neville, referring to his pet plant. "It was getting a bit large to carry around like I used to."

"He still talks to it," added Hermione.

"Whenever I have a spare moment during Herbology," Neville confirmed.

A bit of an argument was developing down the table, where Dean and Seamus were rallying indignantly against Lavender and Parvati's defence of the tribbles. Seamus' Irish accent was noticeably thicker than it normally was, a sign that his temper was starting to get the better of him.

"I don't care how soft they are--"

"Or how nice they sound!" interjected Dean.

"--just keep them the bloody hell away from my chicken sandwich!" Seamus roared angrily.

Only half listening to that confrontation, as well as Ron's attempts to gain allies in his own struggle to keep his food from the tribbles, Harry and the Ministry Crew continued to discuss the Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

"None of the other plants have tried eating it, have they?" asked Ginny.

"Considering the stench, I doubt it," grumbled Harry, remembering his first encounter with the plant on the Hogwarts Express the previous year.

"Harry," Hermione softly chided.

"But it's true!"

"But not very polite!"

Conversation at the table continued along much the same vein; people talking amongst themselves, interspersed with the occasional protest over the tribbles annexing a plate of food from under someone's nose. Ron seemed to be a favourite target amongst the cooing balls of fur.

"Come on," Harry eventually said. "We'd better get going."

Finished eating, Harry and the others got up to leave. As his friends gathered up their school bags, Harry quickly checked with Father, confirming Wormtail's current location within the castle. A Surveillance Drone had been following the unwitting rat animagus ever since Harry discovered him on the grounds.

Receiving almost exactly the answer he wanted, Harry absent-mindedly reached out in the general direction of his wand, which still rested on the staff table by Dumbledore's plate. Everyone was greatly surprised, Harry included, when it unexpectedly leaped from its place and spun across the hall into Harry's open hand.

There was a moment of eerie silence that was finally broken by Harry's whispered, "Son of a bitch."

"Harry?" asked Hermione, looking worriedly at him.

Harry struggled not to break out into a broad smile. His practice seemed to be paying off. Certainly something was on the go, if his wandless magic was beginning to operate on a more conscious level than before. It was not much, true, but it was a start. A very important start.

"Was that... wandless magic?" asked Ron, looking impressed.

"Wicked," breathed Neville.

"Yeah," agreed Ginny.

Pocketing his wand and not bothering to explain, especially with so many people watching, Harry linked his arms with Ginny and Luna. "Come on ladies," he told them, "You have Charms next, if I'm not mistaken, and luckily for you - I'm heading that way."

Grinning as she accepted his offer, Luna curtseyed and said, "Most gracious of you to escort us, kind sir."

With Ginny and Luna giggling on his arms, while Hermione looked on with a small amount of jealousy, Harry and his friends left the Hall without interruption. As they exited, Harry could here the students erupting into hushed whispers. Yet one more reason for them to gossip about him. Still, he was too elated by this success to let it bother him.

Harry, Ginny and Luna parted ways from Hermione, Ron and Neville in the Entrance Hall. The sixth-years were heading to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures, with Hagrid where they would been trying to work out exactly how the tribbles moved.

As he walked Ginny and Luna to class, Harry arranged to allow Wormtail the opportunity to listen in on their conversation. Despite himself, Harry was actually impressed to note that he wouldn't even have noticed that Wormtail was there, following behind them in the hallway, if it hadn't been for the hidden Surveillance Drone keeping track of the little rat.

While they walked he and the girls discussed how an anonymous Death Eater wanted to defect and had supposedly contacted Harry shortly after Halloween. The man had passed on the information about Hermione's abduction and where they had taken her as a show of good faith.

The entire thing was staged, of course, planned out inside a null-magic field Father had provided for them the previous evening. It was part of his plan to pass disinformation on to Voldemort, but Harry knew that Wormtail would dutifully report this, and thus sow dissension and fear amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"So, d'you think he's for real?" asked Ginny, keeping to the script they had discussed.

"Of course he's real," insisted Luna. "If he wasn't then Harry would be hallucinating."

Luna paused, skipping a step or two, as if an idea had just occurred to her. She turned to Harry, her bright blue eyes alight with mischief as she asked, "You haven't been drinking any illegal Pleasure Potions lately, have you?"

"I'm not sure I fully trust him yet," said Harry, ignoring Luna's teasing, "but the information he owled me about what Malfoy was going to do was good."

Over the course of the next few months Harry planned to slowly feed enough false information to Wormtail that one or more of Voldemort's surviving inner circle would be implicated as a sympathiser to the light. With luck this would divert some or most of the Dark Lord's attention away from Harry and his plans, as he would be too busy trying to root out a traitor that did not exist.

The hardest spy to find, Harry knew, was one that wasn't really there.

"Well, ladies," Harry announced as they arrived outside the Charms classroom, "this is your stop."

"Bye Harry," said Ginny, giving him a quick hug goodbye before stepping away. "See you at dinner."

"Have a good time at Diagon Alley," chimed Luna, leaning up on her tiptoes to peck Harry's cheek.

Harry grinned as the two witches entered the classroom. He waved through the door at Professor Flitwick and then turned back down the way he had just come, strolling down the corridor at a deceptively unhurried pace. He was fully aware that Wormtail was continuing to trail behind him, no doubt after some information about what Harry did during the day now that he had been suspended.

After passing by the silver pawed rat, who managed to hide himself surprisingly well in the shadows at the feet of one of the suits of armour lining the corridor, Harry rounded the first corner came to. Hidden from sight for a few precious seconds, he made a quick dash to a nearby alcove.

Harry confirmed with Father that Pettigrew would not be able to see him for several more seconds and then Gated out of the school and to his destination in London.

.oOo.

Harry popped into being in the back room of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He also managed to scare the bejeezus out of Lee Jordan in the process.

"Bloody hell!" gasped Lee, clutching a hand to his chest. "Harry! Where did you come from?"

"Lee? What are you doing here?" asked Harry, glancing around and not seeing the twins.

"I asked first!" insisted Lee.

"I came from Hogwarts," Harry explained. He looked at the dreadlock-haired wizard, whom he really had not been expecting to see, and asked, "So, what are you doing here?"

"Helping Fred and George with their stock..." replied Lee, still not fully recovered from his fright. "But I thought it was impossible to Apparate from Hogwarts."

"It is."

"Oh."

Looking at the door leading out to the front of the store, Harry could hear the muffled noise of several people speaking. From the sound of it there were several young children, accompanied by some adults. He clearly heard Fred announcing a special on fake wands.

"I'm guessing the twins are out front?" he confirmed with Lee.

"Yeah," Lee nodded, his dreadlocks bouncing at the motion.

"Can you call them for me please?" requested Harry. "I'd rather not let everyone know I'm here."

"Incognito, eh?" asked Lee with understanding. "Sure, let me give them a yell."

Lee went over to the door and opened it to stick his head through. "Oi, Fred! George!" he called. "Your investor's here for that meeting you had planned!"

In short order the twins had exited the front section, leaving it in Lee's capable hands (his years of announcing at the school Quidditch matches made him an excellent salesman). They joined Harry in the back store room, where they did most of their work.

"You have the stuff?" asked Fred.

"That was fast," commented George.

"Don't forget, Gred," noted the other twin, "this is Harry we're talking about."

"Right," agreed George. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

"If anyone can get what we need in only a couple of days--"

"--it's our beloved almost brother, Harry."

"Right," was all Harry could say.

Fred and George took Harry by the elbows and led him to a small storeroom to one side, between the boxes of Liquorice Laughs and the crates of Skiving Snackboxes. This was where they were storing the supplies to make the phased plasma rifles. It was mostly empty at this point, aside from a few wooden crates and a folding table with a half-built rifle laying in the open.

"Ron and Ginny were telling us that Snape apologised to you," said George.

"And Hermione," added Fred as he elbowed his twin for forgetting Harry's girlfriend.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, busy looking for the best place to set down the rifle casings.

"Did you have Father record it?" asked Fred eagerly.

"We'd love to see the expression on his face," agreed George.

Fred leaned close and, in a hushed whisper, offered, "We'll pay you a Sickle for it."

Harry could almost imagine the twins selling that recording, particularly to the vast majority of Snape's past and present students - who would probably pay good money for such a sight.

He was discouraged, however, by the thought of Snape's reaction if he ever found out. Fred and George, as well as Harry, would be living in fear of their lives if that ever happened.

"Some other time," he demurred. "Ready?"

"Are we ready, George?" asked Fred.

"We're ready, Fred," said George.

Fred turned to Harry and gave a thumbs up. "Ready, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes at their clowning around and silently ordered Father to bring the rifle components out of storage. The casings Father had smelted before lunch (while Harry practiced his wandless magic) shimmered into view one-by-one as they dropped out of subspace. Holding them aloft with GM fields, Father moved them swiftly and surely to one corner, where it stacked them neatly in place.

"Damn, Harry..." breathed George.

"You work fast," concluded Fred.

"It's only been a couple of days!"

"You've even worked the stuff into the proper shape!"

"That'll cut construction time in half," mused George, fingering his lower lip.

"Less even," agreed Fred as he watched Father work.

"That's the idea," said Harry. He frowned darkly and muttered, "I have a feeling that we don't have a lot of time."

The twins exchanged a worried look before turning back to Harry.

"How long?" they chorused.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, "but soon."

Harry looked at the growing stacks of gleaming steel casings. He gave a soft sigh and ruefully observed, "He's going to want to prove that what I did at Parkinson Lodge and the Grangers was a fluke,"

"But it wasn't," protested Fred.

"Was it?" asked George uncertainly.

"Of course not," said Harry, somewhat indignantly, "but his ego won't let him believe that."

The twins exchanged another look, holding an entire silent conversation in that way which was completely unique to twins like themselves.

"We'll cut back work on the store and focus on the rifles," George announced firmly.

"That way we should be able to turn out five or six a day," stated Fred.

Harry considered their offer for a moment. He knew how much the joke shop meant to them both, something they had been planning since their sixth-year at Hogwarts, at least. He decided to give them a way out if they wanted it and asked, "Can you afford to do that?"

"Yeah," George answered easily. "Shouldn't be that much of a loss."

"With so many kids at Hogwarts and the other magic schools, we're not doing that much business," explained Fred.

"We have enough stock to tide us over for a couple of months."

"At a rate of five a day we should be finished in time for the Christmas rush anyway."

"Unless you have any other crazy tasks you want us to work on?" asked George.

"Maybe," Harry confessed.

He considered it for a bit longer. He absently gave a nod of confirmation to Father, who had finished setting out all the rifle casings. Its charcoal grey sphere bobbed once before drifting into place above and behind his right shoulder.

"All right," he finally said. "If you think you can, then do it."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," saluted Fred.

"Full steam ahead, me hearty!" agreed George, also snapping a salute.

Harry stepped out of the storeroom and into the main workroom. Once there he turned back to the twins, who had followed behind him.

"I'll stop by again in a couple of days," he told them. "By then I should have the crystal arrays you need to focus the plasma stream."

"Any idea how long to get the acceleration coils?" asked Fred.

"Those'll probably be the most difficult," added George.

"Certainly wasn't easy for us to put one together."

"Gold plated copper, in a titanium framework."

Harry could imagine that building such a part would have been very difficult for the twins, even with the use of magic. Using Father, however, it became almost as easy as shaping the steel into the rifle casings, only more time consuming.

"The copper and gold are taken care of," Harry assured his business partners. "I'll be picking up the raw titanium on Friday, so I'll probably have the assemblies ready for you by Sunday."

"Damn Harry..." breathed Fred.

"You work fast," finished George, repeating what they had said earlier but reversing the roles.

Harry glanced at the door leading out to the store front. He pondered if it really was worth the expenditure of energy to Gate from the twins' shop to his next destination. After all, he could get there just as easily and almost as quickly by foot. It was just a question of doing so incognito, as Lee had said.

"Don't freak out, okay?" he told the twins.

"Huh?"

"Sure?"

"Father," Harry glanced at the hovering sphere. "Activate the holographic projector. Use the 'John Doe' configuration we put together earlier."

There was a shimmer and a whisper of air as one of Father's hologram projection crystals emerged from subspace. It drifted through the air and slipped into one of Harry's shirt pockets. With a flicker of coherent light, for the second time that day, Harry assumed a new identity.

"Bloody--"

"--Hell!"

The twins exchanged a delighted look before grinning (somewhat dementedly) at Harry.

"Brilliant!"

.oOo.

Under the cover of one of Father's holographic disguise fields, similar to how he had impersonated Snape earlier in the day, Harry made his way down Diagon Alley. With his now sandy hair, blue-grey eyes, large horn-rimmed glasses and slightly rounder face, he looked sort of like a cross between Neville and Seamus.

The Alley was quieter than he remembered, though it had been several years since he had a chance to roam through Britain's largest wizarding shopping district. Harry knew that people were trying to avoid spending too much time outside and in public places, through fear of been caught in a Death Eater attack now that Voldemort had returned.

Reaching his destination Harry stepped into the shop, the bell ringing gently as he opened the door. He looked around and could not see any noticeable difference between now and the last time he had been here. Waiting by the counter, he peered down the various shelves of boxed wands, wondering where the owner was.

"Ah, Mister Potter," announced a voice from behind.

Harry just about jumped out of his skin in surprise. Ollivander, his pale by intense eyes glinting with amusement, had somehow managed to sneak up behind him. Considering it the fact that Father had several invisible drones arrayed about Harry's location, this was nothing short of amazing.

The wandmaker had also addressed him by name, though Harry was not too surprised to learn that the strange man was somehow able to see through Father's projected disguise field.

"I've been expecting you."

"How do you do that?" Harry asked.

"Trade secret," replied Ollivander with a mysterious smile.

"I hope you're willing to at least part with some of your 'trade secrets'," said Harry.

One of the letters Harry had sent out, after returning to Hogwarts from rescuing Hermione, had been to Ollivander. He had made a plea for any books, materials and advice the wandmaker could spare on the topic of building a wand. He had received an positive answer the very next day.

"Some," Ollivander conceded as he crossed to behind the counter.

Harry went up to the counter, standing opposite him, absently asking Father to drop the holographic disguise for the time being. As Ollivander knew who he was and could be trusted to be discrete about this meeting, he had no need of it.

"Most of what I can give you is the more general knowledge regarding the manufacture of wands and like instruments of magical focus," said Ollivander, reaching beneath the counter. He brought out a stack of four very thick and very dusty books, which he set down with a slight bang. "The more advanced techniques, however," he continued, "have been in my family for generations and are only ever passed down from father to son."

"I don't think I'll be needing anything more than the basics," Harry told him. "I just want to make sure I don't do anything... inadvisable."

"If you follow the books, you should avoid any unfortunate accidents," replied Ollivander.

The wandmaker then briefly disappeared from view as he ducked down to pull out several small boxes, which he stacked next to the books.

"These are the few samples of various woods and magical cores that I can spare you. There should be enough for you to practice making two or three wands with."

"Excellent, thank you," said Harry sincerely.

"You are most welcome, Mister Potter," said Ollivander.

Harry reached out to take the books and the boxes, planning to have Father shift them into subspace pockets as soon as he left the wand shop. He was stopped, however, when Ollivander gently grabbed him the wrist.

"I am curious, Mister Potter, as to why you have taken such an interest my craft," Ollivander professed. His eyes then narrowed suspiciously and he asked, "You have not had any problems with your wand, have you?"

"No, it's working just fine," Harry told him. He nodded at the books and boxes. "This is for... a research project I'm working on for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Ah yes, Rhys Pisqual Smythe-White," said Ollivander, releasing his hold on Harry's wrist. As expected, he recited, "Oak with a core of dragon heartstring. Ten and three quarter inches. More suited for healing than combat."

Harry did not use this opportunity to collect the supplies he had come for. Instead he thought of what he planned to with the help of those materials and study material. Noticing that Ollivander was peering intently at him, he decided to give the man an invitation.

"I should be done in a couple of weeks, definitely before the end of the month," said Harry. He then offered, "Perhaps you'd like to come to the demonstration when I'm ready?"

"I think I would like that, Mister Potter," Ollivander graciously accepted. "I anticipate that you will be accomplishing something quite remarkable."

"If my idea works," Harry told him, "you'll have an entirely new avenue of wand making to explore."

"May I enquire as to the fundamental idea behind your work?"

Harry stacked the boxes of materials on top of the books before picking up the entire lot. He made his way to the door and opened it before answering. He looked back to Ollivander, who was waiting expectantly for an explanation.

"Conducting magic through steel and other metals," Harry revealed calmly. To his disappointment the only reaction to this statement was that Ollivander's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "I'll send you a letter when the time's right. Good day, Mister Ollivander."

With that small titbit, Harry stepped outside. Just before the door managed to swing fully shut, he heard Ollivander's quiet murmur, "Quite remarkable indeed."

.oOo.

Leaving Ollivanders with his acquisitions safely tucked away in subspace, Harry made his way directly to Gringotts Bank, the John Doe disguise field back in place. Ostensibly he wanted to check on his finances. Of course, thanks to Father's knowledge of the future, he already had most of the details concerning them.

He paused outside the back, taking the time to read the warning by the large outer doors once again. He noticed, as he stood there, that there appeared to be more guards on duty than the last time he visited.

Entering the building, Harry walked up to the nearest available teller. There was a fair amount of people doing business, despite how quiet the alley outside might have been. Still, there were not enough to occupy all the goblins in the foyer.

"Hello," greeted Harry as he stepped in front of the teller he had chosen.

"Yes?" asked the goblin, not bothering with pleasantries.

"I would like to speak to someone about my account," said Harry, "as well as possibly making some investments."

The goblin, whose left ear had apparently had a chunk bitten out of it at some point, looked extremely bored as he recited, "Gringotts' financial advisors are available for consultations at a modest fee."

"Then I'll have to insist on the most immodest advisor you have."

Now the goblin decided to pay a bit more attention to Harry, but only so that he could look the young wizard over with a disdainful eye.

"If you're sure you can afford it," the goblin finally said.

Harry smirked and asked Father to drop the disguise field. The holographic projection shut down the next moment, revealing his true appearance to the teller.

"I don't think will be a problem," said Harry smugly.

The goblin stared across at Harry in amazement. Blinking back his surprise he began to say, "Mister Po--"

Harry held up a hand and cut the teller off. With a silent command to Father the disguise field reactivated, enveloping Harry in a brief flicker. He looked at the goblin with an unblinking gaze and said, "Gringotts has an unequalled reputation for being suitably discreet in such matters as client confidentiality."

"But of course," agreed the teller.

"Then, could you please direct me to your ablest financial advisor."

"Certainly," the teller nodded. He turned to one side and called, "Snagtrim!" Another goblin appeared several seconds later and waited patiently next to the till. The teller waved a long fingered hand at Harry and said, "Escort this gentleman to Gramtoil's office,"

Snagtrim nodded and moved off, obviously expecting Harry to follow. They quickly left the foyer and entered the bank proper, where the big business deals were conducted. Harry kept pace with Snagtrim, allowing himself to be led through a small maze of corridors before finally reaching their destination.

"Here you go," announced Snagtrim, the first words he had spoken to Harry in nearly fifteen minutes of walking.

"Thanks," replied Harry as the goblin opened the door and allowed him to enter.

Stepping inside, Harry looked around the office. It was very large, easily as large as Dumbledore's office, only far more opulently decorated. Goblins prided themselves on displaying their wealth. Gold busts of various historic goblins were arrayed alongside one wall, in front of a display of goblin halberds. Several of the ancient weapons had not been cleaned since they were last used, dried blood still on their blades.

The owner of the office was sitting in a throne-like seat behind a desk that was almost as large as Harry's four-poster Hogwarts bed. There was a plague situated near the front of the desk, in both English and Gobbledygook, proclaiming the goblin as being Gramtoil, as well as his official title; Senior Financial Advisor.

Gramtoil himself was a wizen-looking goblin that must have easily been over two hundred years old. His nose was extraordinarily long and he was dressed in a finely tailored green and gold velvet, three-piece suit.

"A wizard to see you, Gramtoil," said Harry's escort.

"Thank you, Snagtrim," acknowledged Gramtoil. "You may go."

Harry moved to stand in front of Gramtoil's desk, but did not take a seat in any of the four chairs laid out for visitors. This was an important part of goblin protocol, which Harry had read up on the day before. Guests did not seat themselves under any circumstances until invited to do so.

As he waited for Gramtoil to speak, Harry noted that it was a slight insult that the goblin did not stand to greet him. Most wizard probably would never had noticed, or realized the significance of that.

"What can I do for you, Mister...?"

With a nod, Harry had Father drop the disguise field. Gramtoil's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but otherwise the old goblin displayed no outward reaction to Harry's identity.

"Mister Potter," the goblin greeted.

"Senior Financial Advisor Gramtoil," said Harry.

"Well, this is unexpected," Gramtoil admitted. He looked quizzically at Harry and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"I've been suspended, and thus don't need to attend classes," Harry replied. He glanced pointedly at a copy of the newspaper on Gramtoil's desk. "As I'm sure you've read in the Prophet."

"Indeed," said Gramtoil. The goblin leaned back in his plush chair and steepled his fingers. "It would seem that you are no longer hailed as The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"Oh?"

"Miss Skeeter is now declaiming you as The-Boy-Who-Killed."

This was something Harry had not been aware of, as he had not bothered to read the Daily Prophet for weeks. He simply did not consider it worth his time, as most of what it reported was little more than gossip and slander.

Still, learning that little titbit was enough to set Harry's blood on the way to boiling. Remembering that he was in a meeting, a very important meeting at that, he forcibly clamped down on his anger. It was a bit of an effort, but he managed to project and outward calm, rather than tear the office apart with accidental magic.

"So, I'm not the 'lone voice of truth' anymore, eh?" he asked rhetorically. "How predictable."

"Indeed," agreed Gramtoil. "Now, Mister Potter, again, what can I do for you?"

"For starters, Senior Financial Advisor Gramtoil," Harry began, making it a point to use the full title, "you can rise to greet me... as the Tenets demand." He watched with satisfaction as Gramtoil jerked upright in surprise. "Then you can invite me to sit down... as the Tenets demand."

Gramtoil almost jumped to his feet, nearly upsetting his chair in the process. He bowed low from the waist, the tip of his nose actually touching his desk.

"My humblest apologies, Tradesman Potter," Gramtoil said, both surprise and chagrin in his voice. He was also using a more respectful honorific, one which the goblins only gave to people they respected doing business with. "I did not imagine you, or any wizard, would be aware of the Tenets of Dealing ."

"Professor Binns seldom teaches anything but a long list of so-called Goblin Rebellions," Harry wryly explained. "I thought it would be a good idea to do my own research regarding other magical races."

"You show greater wisdom than most wizards, Tradesman Potter," replied Gramtoil. He gestured to the seats in front of his desk. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I avail you of anything to eat or drink?"

"Thank you, Senior Financial Advisor," said Harry, sitting down in the chair he had been standing next to. Considering the offer, he replied, "I would like to try some Spiced Gold Tea, if it's not an inconvenience."

Gramtoil now looked positively stunned, though it was difficult to tell from his craggy features. Spiced Gold Tea was an exclusively goblin drink and not something Harry imagined many wizards would ever ask for.

"Not at all," Gramtoil finally managed. He hit a small gold bell on his desk before resuming his seat. A moment later the door to the office opened and a young-looking goblin stuck his head in. Gramtoil barely bothered to look at him before he ordered, "Grimtide, fetch a pot of Spiced Gold for my guest and I. Quickly!"

Grimtide's eyes almost bulged out of his sockets upon hearing this. He stared at Harry for a moment, his gaze briefly flicking up to the lightning bolt scar, and then he disappeared in a hurry. Harry had no doubt that within a minutes all the goblins in Gringotts would know of The-Boy-Who-Lived's choice of beverage.

Nodding in approval that his orders were being followed, Gramtoil asked, "Do you wish to begin now or after the tea?"

Harry almost suggested that they wait, but managed to remember that the Tenet's demanded that; business always takes place before pleasure. In fact, where goblins were concerned; business was pleasure. Harry then realized that Gramtoil's offer was a subtle test to see how well he had studied goblin culture and customs.

"Now would be best," he answered.

"Very good, Tradesman Potter," said Gramtoil. He settled back in his chair again and asked, "How may I help you?"

"I have practically no knowledge whatsoever of my financial holdings. In fact, until this summer, I wasn't even aware that I had any beyond the Hogwarts trust vault my parents left me," replied Harry. "I want to fix that."

"I see," said Gramtoil.

"I also need to know the total liquid assets value of the Black Estate," Harry added as nonchalantly as he could.

Gramtoil looked at him, his beady eyes narrowing a fraction. After some consideration he said, "Sirius Black's last will and testament is currently under contention by Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco."

Being Sirius' cousin, Narcissa had a fairly solid claim on the Black family fortune. This was especially true as Sirius was still considered a convict and wanted man. As such she was trying to have his will declared invalid. From what Harry had learned of the future, in the original timeline this had gone on for most of the year, until Peter Pettigrew had been captured and Sirius declared innocent.

"You have a way around that," said Harry.

"What do you mean?" asked Gramtoil.

"The Reasonable Expenditure clause," Harry replied.

This was a clause inserted into most of Gringotts' high profile banking contracts, which allowed the bank itself to make investments and payments using an estate's holdings. All that was required was for Gringotts to be able to provide proper justification for such expenditure of those assets.

"True," admitted Gramtoil thoughtfully, "but only with approval from the Black Estate's custodian."

"Which, according to Sirius' will, is me."

"A fine distinction."

"But perfectly legal."

"True."

There was a soft knock on the door, which then opened to reveal Grimtide and the tea he had been sent for.

"Your tea," said Grimtide.

"Thank you, Grimtide," said Gramtoil. He pointed to a side table next to his desk. "Set it down over there."

Grimtide placed the tea set where designated and then quietly exited the room, casting sideways glances at Harry whenever he could. Once the other goblin had left, Gramtoil got up and moved to the tea set, quickly pouring two cups. He did not add milk or sugar, as these were not included in traditional goblin tea.

"Honey, Tradesman Potter?" Gramtoil asked.

"Just a dash, please," replied Harry.

Goblins only ever added honey to their tea (they apparently liked the golden colour) and even then; only in small amounts, so as not to overwhelm the flavour of the tea itself.

"Very good," said Gramtoil.

Harry watched closely, but surreptitiously, and was ecstatic to see that Gramtoil added the honey to the first cup he had pour. This was a subtle sign of respect towards Harry - preparing and then serving his drink first.

Gramtoil handed Harry the cup of tea, handled facing to Harry's left (another sign of respect). The cup was made from fine china with gobbledygook runes inlaid in gold. Gramtoil took his own cup in hand before returning to his seat.

"I trust you will find the Spiced Gold to your liking, Tradesman Potter. Very few wizards ever acquire a taste for it," said Gramtoil. By way of explanation he added, "They tend to find it somewhat stronger than they would prefer."

Harry looked down at his full cup (yet another sign of respect, as normally it would be only half filled). The tea was the same colour as molten gold and had a rich smell, not unlike a mixture of cinnamon and thyme.

"I like strong," he said.

"Very good," said Gramtoil. He held up his teacup in salute. "Let this be a profitable meeting."

This was a traditional goblin phrased, used to bless the commencement of a successful business transaction. Harry raised his own cup and replied with one of the six proper responses. He was careful to choose the one used with the transaction stood to benefit both parties.

"May our wealth never tarnish."

Together they lifted up their teacups and took a sip. Harry quickly discovered that Gramtoil had not be exaggerating and that the tea was very strong. In fact, it was almost overwhelming. Harry could not detect even a hint of the honey that had been added.

Still, despite its strength, the taste was not unpleasant. Not sweet and not bitter, but rather an odd mixture of the two. He couldn't quite describe the flavour either, except that it was vaguely similar to some molasses he had once tasted.

"Interesting taste," Harry finally said, after noticing that Gramtoil was watching him closely. Doubtless the goblin was waiting for him to give an expression of distaste at the flavour. "Unlike anything I've had before."

"I will admit that I am greatly impressed, Tradesman Potter," confessed Gramtoil, giving Harry a thin but pleased smile. "You are the first wizard I have ever seen, in over two hundred years, that did not choke on his first taste. Even Albus Dumbledore almost coughed up his own tongue."

Harry grinned in return, careful not to show any teeth as that was a sign of aggression amongst goblins. He did not give a verbal answer, preferring to just lift up his cup and take another sip. It went done easier this time, as he now knew what to expect.

"So, Tradesman Potter," Gramtoil began, returning to business. "Might I enquire as to what you require Gringotts to do with the Black Estate?"

"I want to make an investment," replied Harry.

"Oh, in what? Gold? Platinum? Diamonds?" asked Gramtoil. "Those are generally the most popular options."

"In a business, actually," said Harry.

"Ah, yes," Gramtoil nodded. "I am aware of your previous investment in... what was it? Weasley's Wizard Widgets?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, yes," Harry confirmed.

"Are you planning to finance the start of another business, Tradesman Potter?"

"No, I have an existing company in mind."

"Oh? Who?"

"The Daily Prophet," Harry answered before calmly taking another sip of tea.

Gramtoil almost dropped his teacup in surprise. He stared at Harry in obvious shock, this time actually visible on his weathered features. He quickly recovered however and repeated, "The Daily Prophet?"

"Yes," confirmed Harry. This time he gave the Senior Financial Advisor a smile that exposed a sliver of teeth, a vicious smile by goblin standard. "I want to buy a controlling interest."

"You want to buy the Daily Prophet," deduced Gramtoil, taking a big gulp of his tea.

"I don't want to buy it," corrected Harry. "I just want to be able to control what it prints."

Gramtoil nodded his head as he considered what Harry was saying. Goblins were a naturally sly people, very Slytherin by nature, and it was not difficult for him to see what Harry had planned.

"The Daily Prophet is the most prominent wizarding news agency in Great Britain," Gramtoil said, eyes narrow in sly consideration. "Whoever controls it, controls public opinion."

"Exactly."

The old goblin leaned back in his chair and sipped at his tea. His gaze was staring off into space as he mulled over what Harry was suggesting.

"Even without checking the books," he finally said, "I can tell you that what you're asking will all but empty the Black family vaults."

"That much?" asked Harry, slightly surprised.

"The Daily Prophet is almost as old as the Ministry of Magic," Gramtoil informed him. "Such a vintage brings with it great value... and a hefty amount of power as well."

"Power over the masses perhaps," Harry agreed. "The Prophet is little more than the Ministry's propaganda machine."

"You are very direct, Tradesman Potter," said Gramtoil, his lips twitching into an honest smile.

"I've found it saves time," said Harry, sipping at his tea.

"A fact we goblins are in complete agreement with."

Harry considered what Gramtoil had told him and suggested, "What if I used some of the Potter Estate as well?"

"I'm sad to say, Tradesman Potter," Gramtoil replied, "that, until you come of age, the steward of your parents estate is Albus Dumbledore."

Harry mentally swore up a store and only just managed to bite back some very vocal cursing.

"For us to use the Potter Estate to supplement the Black Estate in this endeavour," continued Gramtoil, "we would require his authorization."

"Which means you'd have to tell him what we're planning," finished Harry.

"I have met with Headmaster Dumbledore on a few occasions," revealed Gramtoil. "If I judge his character correctly, he would never approve of your plan."

"That's what I was afraid of," admitted Harry.

"While the inability to use the Potter Estate is inconvenient, you should still be able to make do with the Black Estate. The difficulty will be in explaining such a purchase as being a Reasonable Expense."

Harry sank back in his chair and sipped his Spiced Gold. Inside his collected exterior (which was taking some effort to maintain) his thoughts were raging furiously as he tried to come up with a solution.

The money itself meant nothing to him. Even without Sirius' inheritance Harry was already a wealthy man. The big problem was the Narcissa had enough pull to stop Gringotts if they couldn't come up with proper justification for purchasing the Daily Prophet.

Even if he was the custodian of Sirius' inheritance and the Black Estate, Harry simply could not reasonably explain an action that would all but empty the Black coffers.

His thoughts drifted to Luna, particularly her father - who owned the Quibbler. If he could not find a way to buy out the Prophet, then using the Quibbler for retaliation would probably be Harry's only option. Then an idea occurred to him.

"What if I could arrange a group investment?" he asked Gramtoil.

The old goblin arched his bushy eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Harry leaned forward, showing his eagerness as the solution to his problem presented itself. "What if I could get another family, or two, both reasonably wealthy, to join me?"

"A partnership?" asked Gramtoil.

"Yes," confirmed Harry.

"That is a possibility," Gramtoil mused thoughtfully. "What do you have in mind?"

.oOo.

After spending several hours working with Gramtoil, fleshing out the details of Harry's planned takeover of the Daily Prophet, Harry had spent the remainder of his afternoon browsing through the shops at Diagon Alley - his identity hidden beneath Father's holographic projection.

He had enjoyed a large caramel and mint toffee sundae at Florean Fortesque's Ice-Cream Shop, which he had not had a chance to visit since the summer before his third year.

He had been heartened, while sitting inside, to hear the old ice-cream maker himself comment to one customer when the Daily Prophet would make up its mind and realize that Harry Potter was as nice a young wizard as you could find. His spirit feeling much higher, Harry had departed, leaving a full Galleon as a tip.

He had made a brief stop in Madam Malkin's, where he had made some enquires about the various robes she had available, what materials she used, what custom styles she was able to tailor and (perhaps the most important of them all) where to find the best quality dragon-hide.

This last was because Harry was thinking about utilizing dragon-hide in combination with the Muggle body armour he had stolen from the Los Angeles police. While he had worn the armour during his assault on Parkinson Lodge, none of the Death Eaters had survived long enough to actually curse him - thus leaving the armour untested.

By combining the Muggle materials with what was widely considered to be the toughest magical material available, Harry hoped to create something formidable enough to grant the wearer a hitherto unreached degree of security.

He had no doubts that it would prove completely useless against the Killing Curse, and probably the Imperious, but still held hopes that it would absorb and hold off the Cruciatus. Even if it was only for a few seconds, that would be enough time to either duck out of the curse's way or retaliate.]

Returning to Hogwarts again, only fifteen minutes before the start of dinner, Harry found himself almost unable to walk for all the tribbles filling the corridor. The little furballs were everywhere - even climbing up the walls (though how they accomplished this without any means of locomotion was a mystery).

"Harry, there you are."

Harry paused in his attempts to squeeze past a particularly large pile of purring tribbles that was blocking the corridor leading to the Trophy Room. He turned around to find Dumbledore, in purple robes with a cyan cloak, walking towards him. The eccentric old wizard had a tribble perched either shoulder, both cooing happily.

"You're a rather difficult young man to find when you don't want to be found," said Dumbledore.

"Oh?"

"I've been wanting to talk to you since after lunch," Dumbledore explained as he drew to a halt. "Instead I've found myself led on quite the merry chase through Hogwarts while looking for you."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Harry apologised. "I was... not inside the school for most of the afternoon."

"Indeed?" asked Dumbledore. "How odd, I made a point of checking the Quidditch Pitch and around the lake several times."

"To be honest," Harry started to pick his way past the tribbles again, Dumbledore trailing him, "I was a bit further a field than that."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked puzzled for a moment before an alarmed expression briefly flitted over his face. "You didn't leave school grounds, did you, Harry?"

"Would I be in trouble if I had, old man?" asked Harry.

There was a slight edge in Harry's voice, not to mention the fact that his future self's cold attitude towards Dumbledore was beginning to surface. Harry did not like the idea of Dumbledore, or anyone else, being able to restrict his movements. He had grown used to that freedom over the summer and was loathe to give it up.

"Thanks to your suspension, no," Dumbledore admitted, "but I don't believe it would be safe for you to stray too far outside of Hogwarts' wards."

"I don't think any Death Eaters would risk attacking me in the middle of Diagon Alley," commented Harry dryly.

"You were in London?" repeated Dumbledore. His bright blue eyes slid to Father, who's charcoal sphere was drifting indolently by Harry's shoulder. "Such a wonderful device you have there."

"Father can prove useful when it wishes to," Harry confessed.

By now they had managed to squeeze past the tribbles and were continuing to the Great Hall at a more normal, unrestricted pace of walking.

"So," asked Harry, "what did you want to talk about, sir?

"Why were you in London?"

"Don't push, old man."

The headmaster seemed to understand that forcing Harry to tell him something would not do their strained relationship any good. With obvious reluctance he let the matter drop and returned to the original reason he had sought Harry out.

"There was a brief meeting amongst the staff, during lunch," he explained, "and the general consensus is that you cannot afford to fall behind in your studies. Especially when considering the importance of your role in the upcoming war against Voldemort."

"Upcoming?" asked Harry incredulously. "Old man, the war isn't 'upcoming'. It's already here."

"Voldemort has not made any significant attacks since his return," Dumbledore countered.

"Azkaban? The Ministry of Magic? Hermione and her parents?" listed Harry.

"Freeing his people from Azkaban was hardly an attack, seeing as the Dementors were aiding the escape," replied Dumbledore dispassionately. "The battle at the Ministry was not an attack, but actually a miscalculation on Voldemort's part. He was not actually attacking the Ministry, nor do I believe did he plan to have his servants fight you and your friends. It was purely an attempt to gain the prophecy through the most readily available means of subterfuge he had at his disposable."

Harry unhappily rubbed the palm of one hand against his scar. It hadn't so much as twinged since Father arrived, thanks to the small null-magic field the Gatekeeper kept in place around Harry's head, which effectively prevented any attempts at Legilimency against him.

"And Grangers?" asked Harry through grit teeth. "There was no subterfuge involved there - it was an attack, plain and simple."

"True," Dumbledore agreed, "but the nature of that attack was different to what constitutes a full-scale war."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. Now it was his turn to return the conversation to its original topic. "So what did you and the other professors decide at the staff meeting?"

Dumbledore acquiesced to the fact that he and Harry had more important things to discuss than whether or not the war with Voldemort had yet to fully start or not.

"As I said; the consensus was that you could not afford to miss too many classes."

"Well, unless they found a way to have my suspension lifted, I don't see what they can do about it."

"If you wish, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick and Professor Smythe-White have offered to tutor you for several hours each evening," Dumbledore informed him.

"They'd do that?" asked Harry in surprise.

"While I may have the occasional lapse," Dumbledore wryly admitted, "all of Hogwarts' professors want only to help their students."

A cold fury rose up inside Harry, brought about by the fact that Dumbledore was once again playing the ignorant. Harry was in danger of becoming truly angry at how Dumbledore could include Snape, not to mention most of their past Defence Professors, as a professor that wanted only to help his students.

"And what of you beloved Death Eater spy?" Harry asked in a brittle tone as he stopped in place. His breath came out in a small cloud of vapour as his magic made his cold fury something literal. "Our illustrious potions master?"

Dumbledore quickly realized the mistake he had made and hurried to correct it.

"Doubtless there will be some rough patches ahead," he said, "but I have high hopes that Professor Snape will make every effort to correct his behaviour."

"He'd better," Harry told him, resuming his walk to the Great Hall.

"What do you mean by that, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, obviously worried.

Harry remained quiet for several moments, knowingly feeding the headmaster's fears that Harry was hinting that he would remove Snape from his position by the simple means of killing him - as he had threatened with the previous Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

"What I mean," Harry finally said, once he felt that Dumbledore had agonised long enough, "is that the students now know that the governors..." unable to resist a slight dig he added, "and you as well, I suppose," and then continued, "can actually be bothered with their feelings on matters like Snape and how he treats them. If he steps a toe out of line again, I guarantee that you and they will be getting letters of complaint in the owl post the next morning."

Dumbledore looked sadly at Harry and sighed deeply.

"I cannot say it often enough, not do I believe I ever will," said the headmaster quietly, "but I am truly sorry for all the hardships you have had to face, dear boy. I would have willingly taken the burden upon myself, and spared you that pain, if I could have."

"Don't be sorry for what's done and gone, sir," replied Harry, responding to Dumbledore's sincerity in kind. "Instead, be hopeful for the future. Because this will all be over sooner or later, and when it is we can both sit down in your office and have a glass of firewhiskey to celebrate."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, both pleased by this slight extension of an olive branch, as well as slightly surprised by the melancholic maturity the young wizard was displaying.

"You've grown up, Harry," he observed.

"It was unavoidable, sir, all things considered."

"Perhaps my greatest failing, not to have realized it," mused Dumbledore.

"These things happen," said Harry.

With a shake of his head, Dumbledore extended a hand to beckon for Harry to lead the way as they continued their trek towards the Great Hall. They walked side-by-side, frequently having to step over or around the many tribbles that dotted the corridor floors.

"When did you grow so wise beyond your years, Harry?"

Harry was not exactly sure of the answer to that, but had the feeling that is was a combination of Sirius' death at the Department of Mysteries and the rather unexpected arrival of Father, with all the accompanying memories of what was yet to come.

"When I accepted the fact that life wasn't going to give me what I wanted," he finally replied. "That if I wanted something, I'd have to fight for it; tooth and nail."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding, as if the answer made perfect sense. "I expect your upbringing with the Dursleys taught you that lesson very early in life."

"It was something I knew, yes," Harry admitted, "but not something I wanted to accept."

"Yet, you have," Dumbledore noted.

Harry shrugged and said, "We all have to grow up sometime"

"I've been trying to avoid that," countered Dumbledore.

The pair continued to walk down to dinner, their conversation turning to matters of a lighter nature and of less importance than the fate of the world.

.oOo.

"Is it just me," asked Neville between bites of his banger and mash, "or are there even more tribbles now than there were during lunch?"

Harry and his companions paused from eating their dinners to look up and down Gryffindor table. Or rather, the carpet of wriggling and cooing furballs that covered said table. Getting to the food before the tribbles did was not an easy thing to accomplish. A glance around confirmed much the same happening at the other three house tables, as well as the staff table.

"It's not you," chirped Colin, who was sitting two places down from Harry. There was an uncharacteristic grumble to the normally cheerful boy's voice. "There are more of the little blighters."

"Yeah," agreed his brother Dennis, who was sitting opposite him. "Colin and I almost broke our necks tripping over them on one of the staircases."

Everyone in the nearby seats agreed with this assessment and began to mention their own encounters with the tribbles, with the exception of Luna - who was too busy glaring menacingly at Colin.

Her unblinking stare was beginning to unnerve the poor lad, who was twitching in his seat as he tried to ignore it and carry on with dinner. He obviously remembered having been on the receiving end of Luna's Flaming Skull of Death on more than one occasion since the start of term.

"I honestly wouldn't have believed anything could multiply as quickly as these tribbles," commented Hermione. She lifted her plate off the table and held it over her lap so that the tribbles could not get to it.

"These things are terrible," said Ron, also holding his plate away from the tribbles. "They're eating all the food before I can get it onto my plate."

"You think this is bad?" asked Harry with a grin. He was one of the few people who's plate was still on the table and the only one thereof who's plate was not losing food to the tribbles. An unexpected benefit of having a Gatekeeper that could use GM fields to repel any approaching furballs. "Wait till you see what breakfast is like tomorrow."

"That's if we can even get to breakfast," grumbled Ginny. "The tribbles will be completely blocking the corridors."

Luna picked up a tribble and stroked it briefly, eliciting a soft purr. She then put it back down, on the floor rather than on the table itself.

"At least mealtimes are very soothing," she said.

"Yeah," Neville complained unhappily, "but I wish they didn't purr like that the rest of the time. I almost fell asleep in both Transfiguration and Charms classes today."

"McGonagall wouldn't have liked that," Harry observed sagely.

"Nor would Professor Flitwick," agreed Luna.

"I can imagine how Snape will react," said Hermione. "I have double Potions tomorrow morning."

"Nobody could fall asleep in Potions," insisted Neville.

"I could," supplied Ron.

"You could fall asleep anywhere," countered Ginny.

"Not any where, Gin," Harry corrected. He grinned mischievously and said, "After all; nothing on this earth can get between Ron and a meal."

"True," Ginny readily agreed with a wicked grin.

"Hey! Harry!" protested Ron. "You're my best mate, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"Actually, I'd be interested in seeing how Snape reacts to the tribbles themselves," commented Luna. She indicated the staff table with her fork. "He hasn't attended any meals since our return from Barcelona."

"He's hiding in the dungeons," said Harry.

"Hiding?" asked Hermione. "From what?"

Some high pitched and keening screeches from the direction of the main doors interrupted before Harry could reply. As all eyes turned to the source of the disturbance, Harry chuckled.

"Let's just say that the tribbles have an opposite reaction to Snape than they do to Filch," he said.

Indeed, there was the school's caretaker, Argus Filch. He was standing just inside the entrance to the Great Hall, where all the nearby tribbles were reacting violently to his presence. He looked very much like a man suffering from insomnia, mixed together with several other disorders of varying severity.

"Ouch," winced Neville at the sight. "He looks like he's had a rough time of it,"

"Good," concluded Ron.

"Ron," Hermione chided.

"Oh," said Ginny, breaking into another grin. "I get the feeling this is going to be good."

"Headmaster!" called Filch. He began to approach the staff table, looking very haggard as the tribbles surrounding the house tables began shrieking as he passed. "Professor Dumbledore! Sir!"

"Mister Filch, what seems to be the problem?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"The problem? The problem ?" Filch repeated incredulously, his voice rising to a shout by the end. He swept a hand to indicate the masses of tribbles crawling about the hall. "My God, man, do you even need to ask?"

Dumbledore looked blankly around the hall, as if unsure at to what the squib caretaker was referring. Finally he turned his, somewhat too innocent gaze, back to Filch and asked, "Hagrid's tribbles?"

"There's... too many of them..." Filch muttered, shaking his head. "They're all over the castle... in every nook and cranny..." He was warily looking about, as if expecting the tribbles to suddenly jump at him. "And they shriek whenever I go near them..."

Filch paused his tirade long enough to glare insanely at the tribbles dotting the staff table in front of the headmaster and muttered, "Horrible fuzzy things..."

By now the caretaker had reached the staff table. He stood before Dumbledore and McGonagall, reciting everything that had been plaguing him for the past few days. As he talked Filch's voice rose in pitch and volume as he became more and more agitated.

"They got into food stores in the kitchens... Some even managed to get into the hidden passages... And they're breeding... more each hour... They even found a way into my office..."

His breath began to get away from him as Filch started to hyperventilate.

"And they shriek..."

"And Mrs Norris..."

"And they crawl..."

"And inside the suits of armour..."

"And they wriggle..."

"And... and..."

Filch finally broke off his outburst, his face flushed a deep shade of purple as he panted and gasped for breath, no longer able to articulate what he wanted to say.

"And what, Argus?" asked Dumbledore kindly.

"AND I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!!" screamed Filch at the top of his lungs. He then burst into tears and collapsed onto the staff table in a limp heap, bawling loudly. "BWAAAAAAAAA!!"

Everyone in the Great Hall watched in silence as Filch had a nervous breakdown before their eyes.

"He's not handling this very well, is he?" commented Neville blandly.

"Sad thing to see," said Ron with a shake of his head. "A grown man crying his eyes out like this."

"Can't you two be a little more respectful?" Hermione scolded. "He's having a nervous breakdown!"

Ron and Neville exchanged a look, then they both exchanged similar looks with Harry and Ginny. The four of them almost tried to exchange the same look with Luna, but then thought better of it.

Finally, as a group, they turned to Hermione and chorused, "So?"

"Oh, I give up," Hermione sighed dejectedly and threw her arms up into the air. "You lot have no sympathy for your fellow human beings."

"Personally," said Ron, "I've doubted that Filch was human ever since our first year."

"You're impossible," Hermione told him.

"I try," Ron replied.

As Hermione huffed in frustration, tinged with some good humour, the other members of the Ministry Crew laughed out loud at the friendly banter. This was quintessential Ron and Hermione interaction and not something they would ever change for anything. Except maybe all the Butterbeer in Ireland.

Harry slid closer to Hermione and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him in a loose hug. In a rare display of public affection, he leaned in to peck her on the cheek.

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Dumbledore will have it all sorted out in a couple of days."

"Pity that," said Ron jokingly. "If the tribbles do completely block off the corridors, then we wouldn't be able to get to classes for the day."

"I could do with a couple of days off," agreed Neville.

"That reminds me," said Harry, snapping the fingers of his free hand. He pulled slightly away from Hermione to address his friends. Quickly looking around to make sure that not too much attention was on them, he said, "The next DA meeting will be next Friday, usual time. Spread the word. Quietly."

"Why the long wait?" asked Hermione.

"I need to arrange a few things first," he said.

Luna nodded in agreement and added, "It will also give the other students time to come to terms with what happened when Hermione was kidnapped."

"Yeah, that too," agreed Harry.

"I wonder if anyone will show up," said Ron thoughtfully.

"Ron, you git!" snapped Ginny, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Geouch! What'd I say?"

Harry, however, was not bothered by the idea that most of the students were now making a point of staying clear of him. Truthfully, he expected to lose at least half of the DA roster, perhaps as many as three-quarters. They would be, he guessed, mostly from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses. He felt that almost all of the Gryffindors would stick by him this time.

It would be inconvenient to lose so many allies, but not cripplingly so. After all, Harry had already set in motion the plans to recruit extra help. He made a note to leave a little early so that he would not miss his appointment.

.oOo.

Harry stood waiting in the far corner of the abandoned classroom, third door on the right from the end of the southernmost corridor of the dungeons. He was hidden underneath his invisibility cloak, which he no longer kept stored in his trunk, but rather in one of father's subspace pockets - something far more convenient and secure.

He also had the holographic Snape disguise field projected over him, as well as the voice modulator. This was all done in the hope that it would prevent his guest from bolting at the first sight of him.

"How long?" he whispered to Father.

Father replied that the target Surveillance Drone Thirteen was tracking would be arriving at the classroom door in approximately seven seconds.

"Good, he's on time," said Harry, still whispering.

There was a loud creak as the door to the classroom swung inwards. Harry was mildly surprised by this, having expected the entering Slytherin wizard to cast a Silencing Charm before opening the door.

"Professor Snape?"

"Blaise," Harry responded.

Zabini looked around frantically for the source of Snape's disembodied voice, but could not see anything. He did know the general direction Harry had spoken from, so faced that area of the empty classroom.

"Sir?" he asked cautiously.

Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak, revealing his location to the other wizard. The Slytherin boy looked at him for a moment, then at the cloak, which Harry shrugged over one shoulder.

"You're prompt," Harry observed. "I like that."

"My Father's always said that the hallmark of a good businessman is punctuality," Zabini replied.

"I imagine it is," agreed Harry.

The two stood opposite each other in what might have been an awkward silence, except that Zabini was a Slytherin and they did not have awkward silences. Harry simply waited, knowing that his companion must have had a slew of questions he wanted to ask.

"Why did you call me here?" Zabini finally asked. "Why not your office, or even your classroom?"

"Because this is a... say we say... an unofficial meeting," explained Harry.

"About?" asked Zabini, now even more cautious than before.

"What d'you think," asked Harry, leading him on.

Zabini looked strangely at Harry for a moment, probably because of his loose use of language, which was not typical of how Snape usually spoke.

"You want to discuss the events of Monday," he said slowly. "Not only did Potter torture Draco for information about where they'd taken Granger, but he also killed nine of the Dark Lord's servants when he got there."

"Five there and five at Hermione's home," Harry corrected.

Now it was obvious that Zabini was confused. The person he thought was Professor Snape was not acting as he had come to expect from the potions master. Referring to a non-Slytherin student by name, rather than surname? Decidedly odd.

Zabini then did the math and asked, "Ten? Why do the Ministry reports say only nine?"

"Because there wasn't a body left when I was finished with the tenth one," Harry told him.

He then ordered Father to drop the holographic projection of Snape and deactivate the GM fields producing the professor's voice. There was a shimmer and soft hum as the various fields shut down, exposing Harry's true identity to Zabini.

Zabini stared at Harry in dumbstruck amazement and barely refrained from drawing his wand and starting to throw curses at him. In less time than Harry had expected, the other boy regained his composure, even though it was obvious that he was somewhat nervous to be alone in the presence of the recently dubbed, Boy-Who-Killed.

"Potter."

"Blaise."

This also threw Zabini for a bit of a loop. The Golden Boy of Gryffindor call him to a secret meeting was strange enough, but calling him by name as well? Stranger things had most likely happened, but Zabini doubtless could not think of any.

"I never knew you had an Invisibility Cloak," said Zabini, saying the first thing that sprung to mind.

"It was my dad's," said Harry.

"So this is how it starts, huh?" Zabini asked after several more moments of silence. His voice had a slightly resigned sound to it. "Stopping the Dark Lord from gaining any more followers by killing off his recruitment pool."

"I really hate the Daily Prophet," Harry muttered angrily. He looked at Zabini with no small amount of frustration and asked, "Why d'you think I'm going to kill you?"

"It's what I would do if I was in your shoes," Zabini replied candidly.

"Fortunately, you're not in my shoes. I am," countered Harry.

With a tired sigh at being considered a killer by his schoolmates, Harry drew his wand with the intention of conjuring up some chairs for them to sit on. Zabini, however, reacted rather badly to this. His own wand was quickly in hand, drawn with surprising fluidity, and he was then taking aim at Harry, a curse on his lips.

"Oh, put that away," Harry told him as he conjured the chair.

He completely ignored the threat Zabini presented with his wand pointed at him. This was mostly because Zabini really wasn't a threat, as Father would be able to absorb almost any spell the boy could throw at Harry. The other aspect of Harry's reaction was that he wanted to come across as unprovocative as possible.

"If I wanted to kill you," he continued, "I'd hardly need to incriminate myself by using a wand that could be trace. For that matter, I wouldn't have bothered taking off my invisibility cloak. Now, sit down."

"If you don't want to kill me, or torture me for information," countered Zabini, keeping his wand on Harry even as Harry tucked away his own wand and sat down, "then why arrange all this? Why go to the trouble of impersonating Professor Snape just to get me alone?"

"Why else would I arrange a meeting? Because I want to talk to you," Harry answered. He indicated the empty chair opposite him and invited, "Sit down."

"Talk? You want to talk?" repeated Zabini incredulously. He slowly lowered his wand a fraction, but kept it aimed in Harry's direction as he remained standing. "What the hell could you want to talk to me about?"

"You and I haven't tried to kill each other recently, have we?" asked Harry.

"No," Zabini responded, unsure what that had to do with anything.

"Have we ever tried to kill each other?"

"Not that I can recall," Zabini lowered his wand some more.

"Have you insulted me recently?" asked Harry curiously.

"Whenever another Slytherin speaks your name," replied Zabini, having given up trying to understand the reason behind Harry's line of questioning.

"I meant face-to-face," Harry corrected dryly.

"Ah, in that case; no," Zabini admitted, "and not any time in the past either. This is the first time we've actually had a conversation of any sort."

"So basically, you've stayed out of Malfoy's little clique of junior Death Eaters; the school's Potter and Gryffindor haters," concluded Harry with a pleased nod.

"My family have always valued our neutrality," Zabini informed him stiffly.

"Why's that?"

"As they say at Gringotts; it's good for business."

"Your father has a lot of dealings with the goblins, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Zabini ground out, a hint of frustration and impatience entering his voice. "Now get to the point, Potter."

Harry pointed at the empty chair and retorted, "Then will you kindly sit your arse down?"

With visible reluctance Zabini took the seat opposite Harry. Despite accepting the offer, he was still wary and kept his wand in hand, even though it was no longer aimed at his companion.

"So what's all this about?" he asked impatiently.

"Simply put, there's only three Slytherins in our year I feel safe talking to," explained Harry.

"And I'm one of them?" Zabini guessed.

"Along with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis," confirmed Harry.

"You aren't including Theodore Nott in that number?" asked Zabini, curious. "You've had about as much contact with him as you have with me or the girls."

Harry explained his reasons for excluding Nott from his upcoming proposal. "Because Nott spends far too much time with Malfoy for my liking," he paused for a second before finishing, "and I killed his father two days ago."

Zabini blanched slightly and leaned back in his chair, as if trying to put some distance between them.

"So that's why he went home so suddenly," he muttered to himself.

"Yes," confirmed Harry. He allowed himself a tight, slightly cold smile. "Somehow I don't think he'd be in a very receptive mood, even if I did feel I could talk to him."

"All right, now I understand why you're talking to me ," Zabini accepted. He finally pocketed hi wand, despite still looking a tad nervous in Harry's presence. "Now why don't you tell me why you're talking to me at all."

"Because I have a proposal I think you'll find interesting," Harry replied. "Two of them, actually."

"Proposal?" repeated Zabini thoughtfully. "What kind?"

"One personal, between us," answered Harry, "and one business, between our families."

Zabini sat in absolute silence for well over a minute, clearly debating what to do. Harry watched him expectantly. He had no doubts that Zabini would be willing to listen to what he had to say. It was getting him to agree to it, once Harry had finished outlining his plans, that would be the tricky part.

"All right," Blaise finally said. "Start talking."

TBC...