#and then ageofzero encouraged me

[fallintosanity]

Number 3 for meta asks plz!

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

(idk about “always” because I only recently came up with this but shhh)

“Go get something to drink,” Cloud told the boy as he closed the door of their rented room. “You’ve been playing all day.” 

“Yessir,” Luca said. He kicked off his sandals and ran barefoot over to the nightstand to retrieve one of the glasses sitting there, his hair shining almost blond in the dim golden light of the room’s single lamp. As Cloud bent down to untie his own boots, Luca darted into the bathroom toward the sink. The boy was too small to reach the faucet even on tiptoe, but he’d managed it last night by standing on the closed toilet lid, so Cloud wasn’t too worried. 

Then Luca yelped, and the sharp sound of shattering glass crashed through the room. 

Cloud stood back up, managing two whole steps across the room before Luca called, “I’ll clean it up! I’m sorry!” From here, Cloud could just see into the bathroom: the tile floor covered in glittering glass shards, and Luca lifting one bare foot to step directly into them. 

“No!” Cloud yelled. In the next heartbeat he was across the bedroom and halfway into the bathroom, glass crunching under his boots as he reached out to stop Luca-- 

--only to freeze himself when Luca flung his arms up and cringed down, clearly bracing himself for a blow. 

“Whoa,” Cloud said. “Hey, whoa. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Bright green eyes peeked warily at him from between Luca’s forearms, the set of the boy’s shoulders radiating skepticism. 

Cloud didn’t know how to process that, or what it implied about how Luca had been treated before now, and he didn’t have the energy to try. “Just... stay there. I’m going to get a broom--”

“I can do it!” Luca interrupted, dropping his arms. There was a familiar stubborn set to his jaw, strange to see on a three-year-old’s face, and again he started to take a step forward.

“No!” Cloud snapped again, and Luca went still, though fearful tremors shook his tiny frame. Cloud sighed, and tried to gentle his voice. “There’s broken glass everywhere. If you step on it, you’ll get hurt.” 

Luca studied him for a long, silent moment, but didn’t answer. Cloud said, “Don’t move. Not an inch. I’m going to go find a broom.”

Luca nodded once, short and sharp, but at least he seemed to get it. Cloud yanked his boots off without bothering with the laces, depositing them in a relatively clear spot in the bathroom so he wouldn’t track glass through the rest of the room. To his surprise, Imogen - the woman they were renting the room from - was just cresting the stairs when he pulled open the door. She held a broom and dustpan in one hand, and another glass in the other.

She smiled when she saw Cloud. “I heard the glass break,” she said. “Are you both all right?” 

Cloud nodded. “I can pay--”

“Oh, my dear, no,” Imogen interrupted gently. “Don’t worry about it. Kids that young break things, and I’ve got plenty to spare.” She pressed the broom, dustpan, and glass into Cloud’s hands. “Do you need any help cleaning up?” 

Cloud shook his head.

“If you’re sure,” Imogen said. “I’m right downstairs - holler if you need anything.” 

“Thanks,” Cloud said, and headed back into their room. 

Luca stood exactly where Cloud had left him, in exactly the same pose; apparently he’d taken that “don’t move an inch” literally. As Cloud bent down to start sweeping up the glass, Luca said, “I can help.” 

There was a tiny quaver in his voice, a note of fear, and rage surged hot and sharp through Cloud as he realized why. Hojo would have expected the boy to clean up the mess. Hojo would have expected a three-year-old to walk barefoot through shattered glass to get a broom and dustpan and sweep up the shards all on his own. Hojo would have probably taken notes the whole time about his specimen’s pain tolerance, or his accelerated rate of healing, or his ability to follow orders like a good little soldier. 

Cloud barely stopped himself from swearing out loud. Luca was still trembling, and Cloud didn’t want the boy to think Cloud’s anger was directed at him. Instead, Cloud threw himself into cleaning up the broken glass, sweeping carefully around Luca’s feet, then dampening one of the spare hand towels and wiping over the floor, and finally cleaning the glass out of his boots.

Luca didn’t move the whole time, though his sharp green eyes followed Cloud’s every motion with the caution of a rabbit who knows a hawk is nearby. When Cloud was done, he crouched in front of Luca and held out his hands. The boy hesitated, but then lifted his arms so Cloud could pick him up. Cloud rinsed Luca’s feet in the sink just to be safe - he’d broken enough glasses in his own childhood to know that shards found their way to the worst places. Then he filled the new glass with water from the sink, carried boy and glass over to one of the room’s twin beds, and sat down with Luca on his lap. 

“Here,” Cloud said, holding out the glass. 

Luca took it in both hands and drank carefully, still keeping one eye on Cloud from under his long bangs. When the glass was empty, Luca started to reach to set it on the nightstand, then hesitated, throwing a fearful glance at Cloud. It took Cloud a second to realize the boy was worried about dropping the glass again - or more specifically, was worried that Cloud was going to yell at him for risking dropping the glass again. 

Making his voice as gentle as he could, Cloud said, “It’s fine. Go ahead.” 

Luca hesitated a heartbeat or two longer, then leaned the rest of the way to set the glass carefully on the nightstand. Curling back in on himself, he folded his hands in his lap, his pale hair falling around his face. In a voice so quiet Cloud almost didn’t hear it, he asked, “Do I have to go to the punishment room now?” 

Cloud bit back all the questions that jumped to the tip of his tongue: what’s the punishment room? and Hojo punished you for things like that? and what did he do to you? He said, “No. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I should’ve done better,” Luca muttered in a tone that suggested Hojo had told him that, repeatedly and often.

Since Luca was still looking at his own hands like they were the most fascinating things in the world, Cloud let himself roll his eyes. “Accidents happen.” 

“Not in Project S,” Luca insisted. “I have to be perfect.”

Cloud shifted Luca on his knee so he could look the boy in the eye. Face to face like this, it was uncomfortably easy to see in the boy the man he would grow up to be - would have grown up to be, if Cloud hadn’t fallen back in time. But Cloud shoved those thoughts aside. The boy sitting in front of him was Luca now. Not Sephiroth, not anymore. 

"Hojo’s dead,” Cloud told him. “You don’t have to be perfect anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone.” 

Luca stared at him, his slit pupils almost round in the room’s dim light. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Luca considered that solemnly, then nodded once. His body relaxed, and he snugged into Cloud’s chest. “Can you read me a story again tonight?” 

“...Yeah,” Cloud said. “Yeah, I can.” 

[aidanchaser]

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson​

Chapter Fifteen The Heist

Luna Lovegood hated Hogwarts. Yes, she was in Ravenclaw, and yes, she loved learning, but school? School was where curiosity went to die in a long, slow, stretched out sentence.

For Luna, the transition from her family home, where her father had encouraged her explorations and experiments, to a place of high stone walls and demanding bells had been terrible for her, and she’d nearly quit after her first year.

Now she was glad that she had persisted, because school had one thing worthwhile: Ginny Weasley.

When Ginny had hexed those boys for calling her Loony, the stars in the dark night had burst into existence, and school had become not just bearable, but pleasant. Luna had skipped everywhere for the rest of the that week.

This year, however, there was no skipping. Even Herbology, one of Luna’s favourite subjects, was overcast by the horrid cloud that Snape and the Carrows left on the school.

At least Ginny and Neville were in Herbology with her. N.E.W.T.-level courses often combined sixth and seventh years, and Luna was glad to have her closest friends with her at least once a week.

They were currently repotting Venomous Tentacula, which involved lots of soothing whispers and gentle strokes to the stem and vines. Neville worked easily, and Luna did too, even humming a lullaby to her knot of vines as she transferred the plant into a larger pot and carefully aerated the soil.

“Ow!” Ginny hissed, drawing her hand away from her plant.

Luna patted one of her vines and paused her melody. “Did it bite you, Ginny?”

Ginny pressed her wounded hand to her mouth. “Just got me with its leaves. Bloody bastard hates me.”

“You have to be gentle,” she sang, and reached for a watering can.

“I am gentle!”

Luna giggled. Ginny could be gentle, but it was not her natural state by any stretch.

Once Luna had finished repotting her Tentacula, she moved to Ginny’s station to help her work.

“You have to be kind and patient.” Luna ran her fingers along one of the vines. “It’s a sensitive plant.”

Beneath Luna’s hands, the vines no longer lashed out with sharp, sudden outbursts of movement, but instead swayed in time to her humming.

“See?” Luna paused her song. “Now put your fertilizer in that pot.”

Professor Sprout praised them all for their hard work, and congratulated them for finishing the lesson without any bite accidents. “There’s usually at least one of you turned bright purple and on your way up to the hospital wing, but you all did excellent work today,” she beamed at them.

“Hospital wing’s full up anyway,” Hannah Abbott mumbled, just out of Sprout’s earshot, as she cleaned up her work station.

Hannah looked unusually wild today. Her thick plaits were uncharacteristically loose, and dirt streaked her cheeks. She wrestled her book into her bag with the sort of determination one might use when salvaging Snargaluff pods.

Neville reached across his station to hers and picked up her shovel and trowel. “Ernie will be fine,” he murmured, and returned her tools to the greenhouse shed.

Hannah tried and failed to regain control of her trembling lip, then hurried out of the greenhouse before Neville could come back.

It wasn’t just Ernie, who was recovering from a detention after he had called the Daily Prophet “rubbish” and added that he hoped Harry would show up at Hogwarts so he could “put Snape in his place.”

It was Parvati and Padma Patil, who had refused to attend Muggle Studies. Each night that they refused earned them a night of detention, until after three weeks both girls had become too ill to attend any of their classes.

It was Hugh Ward, who had defiantly announced to the boys in his Slytherin dormitory that he was a half-blood.

Luna didn’t know what curses the boys had used to try to punish Hugh for being so proud of his Muggle lineage, but he had been in the hospital wing all week. Luna had visited him, and the Patil twins. She made a point to visit anyone who had been in Dumbledore’s Army, because they were her friends.

On these visits, it was not uncommon for her to find Hannah, helping Madam Pomfrey change linens and administer medicine to those who needed it. Though Hannah never did any of the Charm work in the hospital wing, she watched closely each time Madam Pomfrey cast a spell.

Luna knew that Hannah wanted to become a Healer. Each time Luna visited the hospital wing, she thought about becoming a Healer, too. She liked caring for people, and she was taking enough N.E.W.T.s for it. But so much of Healing was urgent, and Luna had never done well with urgent.

“Must you always move so slowly?” Ginny snapped.

Luna frowned at her gloves as she packed them away. She much preferred the greenhouse to the castle and couldn’t understand why Ginny was so eager to get back. She’d much rather be down here with the fresh air than back with the Carrows.

“Come on,” Ginny whined, “I’m starved.”

Luna squeezed her Herbology textbook between her personal field guide and the thick tome for Transfiguration. With those three texts and her scaly Care of Magical Creatures book, her bag was nearly bursting at the seams.

“Why didn’t you eat breakfast?” Luna shouldered her heavy bag and hurried to the door where Ginny and Neville were waiting.

“I wasn’t hungry at breakfast.”

“Helen said she was sulking in the Owlery after a row with Harry,” Neville whispered, but not as quietly as he should have.

“We didn’t have a row! And anyway, don’t use his name. Someone might hear you.”

“Should we just call him You-Know-Who?” Neville asked with a grin.

Ginny shoved him, none too gently, and picked up her pace, leaving Neville and Luna trailing behind her.

Luna pursed her lips and looked up at Neville. There was something different about him this year, but Luna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Did you grow taller over the summer?” she asked, and tried to gauge if she was looking up more than she had looked up last year.

“What? Oh — yeah, I did. Gran sent out for a whole new wardrobe.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was only like, an inch I think, but she insisted. I think it was her way of apologising that Mum and Dad were gone most of the summer.”

Luna tilted her head. “I suppose they work quite a lot.”

Neville laughed. “I haven’t seen much of them since… well, I guess since Voldemort came back. I mean, a meal here and there, but usually only one at a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not bad.” He adjusted his bag. “Their work’s important. And I’ve always had Gran around.”

Luna looked down at her hands. There was dirt under her nails, and she supposed she ought to clean up before lunch, but she liked when her hands were dirty. It reminded her of her mother, who had always smelled like earth and soot. It also reminded her of her father, whose fingers were often stained with ink.

“But you miss them.”

It wasn’t a question. Luna didn’t ask questions she already knew the answers to. There were plenty of other questions to be concerned with.

“What do you think we should call Harry?” she asked. “And I suppose we’ll need names for Ron and Hermione as well. Should we all have secret names? Like cats, perhaps? I should like to be Turnip.”

When she and Neville reached the castle, Ginny was waiting impatiently at the door.

“You both walk slow,” she complained, and stormed inside.

“My,” Luna said, “it must have been quite a bad fight with Parsnip.”

Neville frowned. “No, I don’t like that one.”

“Butterscotch?”

“Hmm…”

“Pickled Herring?”

“Must it be food?”

“I like Pickled Herring, because it sounds like him, but backwards.”

“I suppose.”

Luna waved goodbye to Neville and joined the Ravenclaw table. She sat next to a girl named Kim Sheringham, who Luna did not consider a friend, exactly, but they had lived together for the better part of six years, which might count for something to other people. It just didn’t count very much to Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” said Kim.

“Hello,” Luna said, but remained focused on her lunch

“How was Herbology?”

Luna hummed. “Warm. Pleasant.” She reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of water.

“Sounds nice. Listen, do you think you could do me a favour?”

Luna stared at Kim and took a sip from her cup. She waited for Kim to ask for what she really wanted.

Kim faltered, but she’d always been more keen on small talk than Luna. Finally, she said, “Could you tell Flitwick I’m not well? I need to review for the Muggle Studies exam tonight. Please, I just can’t keep all the Sacred Twenty-Eight straight. Just tell Flitwick I fell ill after lunch or something. Any excuse will do.”

Ravenclaws, as a rule, did not skip lessons — unless they had an exam to prepare for.

“I could review with you,” Luna offered, and pretended not to notice the way Kim’s brow furrowed.

“That’s alright, thanks. Just tell him I’m not well. He’ll believe whatever you say, you know.”

Now it was Luna’s turn to frown. She didn’t understand what Kim meant, but she didn’t get to ask because Kim was already leaving.

Luna finished her meal alone, still puzzling over Kim’s comment, and wandered to Charms by herself. She apologised to Flitwick for Kim’s absence, and promised to take notes for two. Flitwick readily accepted her vague excuse, and this only puzzled Luna more. How had Kim known that Flitwick would not press her?

She was distracted throughout class, but her notes were no less for it. She was not sure that they would help Kim — no one ever asked to borrow Luna’s colourful, pictographic notes — but Luna would not mind explaining them.

After Charms, Luna had a free period, while the Gryffindors took their Charms lesson. She passed Ginny and Neville outside Flitwick’s classroom door and smiled. Ginny grinned back, which worried Luna. It was not the sort of grin that suggested Ginny was truly in a better mood; it was Ginny’s mischievous grin.

Luna waited until she was in the library to check the Galleon in her pocket. She had not noticed it grow warm during her Charms lesson, but it must have, for there was a new date and time inscribed where the identification number would be. Tonight, an hour before Muggle Studies.

Whatever Ginny had planned would get them all into trouble, certainly, but Luna at least knew that it would be fun, and fun was in such short supply these days.

There was plenty of time between now and then, so Luna set about working on their personalised field guides for Herbology. She had started adding to it, not just for Herbology, but also for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was sweet, but Luna did not find him an adept professor. She could appreciate the practicality of his lessons, at least, but had started recording what she learned from their field experiments into her Herbology project. She enjoyed this sort of work, collecting information and organising it. And decorating it.

Professor Flitwick had suggested a career studying magical plants and animals, doing field work, exploring, traveling and notetaking, making discoveries. Luna liked the idea of it, but the way he had presented it sounded tedious. He had mentioned the Ministry and paperwork, almost as if he had been trying to put her off from the job. He had even suggested that she spend her summer reaching out to people at the Ministry to try some job-shadowing, but Luna had a hard time finding people in the Ministry that were not involved with either the Death Eaters, the Rotfang Conspiracy, or the Heliopath Army.

Was it not enough to simply wander?

Luna had never been good at purpose. It was one of the many things she had always admired about Ginny. Ginny had always known who she was and what she wanted. Luna, for all her appearances of self-assurance, wondered and doubted far more than anyone knew.

Luna finished her note about Fire Crabs in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson and waited for the ink to dry. She swung her legs back and forth and stared out of the large window. Neither of her parents had ever made a living on the things they were passionate about. They did things that were uninteresting to fund their curiosities. She wondered if she would end up doing the same.

With a sigh, Luna closed her field guide and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Again, she ate alone, but she watched Ginny talk with one of the girls from her dorm. Ginny’s smile was wide but empty, and she tapped her fork anxiously against her plate.

Neville sat alone, picking at his food, and Seamus and Lavender sat together, but they had more interest in the professors’ table than in each other.

Luna shook her head. Gryffindors were always so obvious. If the Carrows were even a little bit smarter, they might have known to be suspicious.

Neville left dinner first, and after an exact count of thirty, Ginny followed. The rest of the D.A. made their way out of the Great Hall in staggered exits. Some relied on a count of their own choosing. Some relied on waiting until a certain number of people had exited before they made their way to the seventh floor.

If Umbridge had taught them anything, it was how to avoid getting caught.

Luna waited until Michael Corner loudly announced that he was going to check on Padma, and trailed after him at her usual aimless pace. When he headed for the hospital wing, Luna went all the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, but instead of climbing the stairs, she slipped down another corridor to the Room of Requirement.

The Room no longer looked as it had for D.A. meetings. In fact, Luna thought it looked rather like a proper classroom. There were even stacks of reference books on some of the desks.

“I thought if anyone did walk in on us, it would look like we were studying,” Neville said, when he saw Luna’s curious glance.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You should ask it not to let anyone walk in on us.”

Neville looked surprised, then frowned and sank into one of the desks. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully.

Luna always appreciated the way Neville took her ideas seriously, rather than laughed at them, or dismissed them instantly, the way so many of her peers and professors did.

Padma and Parvati returned from the hospital wing with Michael, and a small crowd surrounded them, asking if they were alright. Hannah and Susan were notable outliers, clustered by themselves and whispering quietly. Ginny, too, stood alone, trying to count heads, and another girl in a green headscarf, someone Luna had not spoken to since those early days of the D.A., sat by herself.

Luna slipped into the desk beside Atalanta Shafiq. She smiled pleasantly.

“Hello. It’s Atalanta, isn’t it?”

The girl stared at her with large brown eyes. Luna thought she was in fourth year, the same Dennis Creevey would have been in.

“You’re Luna.”

Luna’s smile widened. “How did you know?”

“Everyone knows you. You’re one of the people who went to the Ministry with Potter two summers ago.”

“Oh, you mean Pickled Herring.”

Atalanta stared at Luna as if she had lost her mind, a look Luna was used to, though she hadn’t seen it in a while. She hadn’t spent much time with new people recently.

“You’re friends with Hugh, aren’t you?” Luna asked her.

Atalanta nodded. “I know you visit him. How is he?”

“Oh — he’s well. Don’t you see him yourself?”

The girl turned to stare straight ahead. Her face was hard and her voice tight. “He asked me to stop coming. As if everyone doesn’t already know we’re friends — as if he has anyone else to bring him notes —” She broke off abruptly and her nostrils flared. “Everyone knows we were friends with the Creeveys anyway. My lineage doesn’t protect me as much as he thinks it does.”

“It sounds like he cares about you.” Luna hummed. “But you seem like someone who can take care of yourself. It’s okay for both of those things to be true, you know.”

Atalanta did not say anything. Luna appreciated the way the girl considered her words. It was like watching someone put together a puzzle, and Luna loved puzzles.

The door opened and closed one last time for Pearl Lais and Ginny announced, “I think that’s everyone. Let’s get started.”

All conversations ceased as she spoke. Ginny commanded a room with more ease than Harry had. Luna could not help but smile dreamily.

“So as you all know, tonight we have an exam for Muggle Studies.”

“I won’t take it,” Zacharias Smith announced loudly.

“And we fully plan to resume our protest,” Parvati added, voice defiant. Padma looked less confident, but she nodded when Parvati looked at her.

“Standing outside the Muggle Studies classroom is great,” Neville said, “but if we could do something more coordinated and subversive, we might be able to get more students on our side, and you wouldn’t have to go to detention.”

Padma raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned that won’t get us in trouble?”

“As long as we don’t get caught,” Ginny grinned. “I heard Snape threatened to take your Prefect badge. Your protest has been great, but it’s not worth that. We need people like you in charge as much as possible. Let me show you what we have in mind. It’s so easy, even Neville could do it.”

Neville did not look upset by the remark in the least, and pulled a stack of loose parchment from the desk at the front of the classroom. He began passing it out.

“It’s partly a Muggle-trick,” he said, “so it’s perfect for Muggle Studies.”

“There’s a bit of Charm, of course,” Ginny said, “to make it more interesting.”

Ginny and Neville explained the procedure of the prank to the members of Dumbledore’s Army. Everyone had several sheets to practice with, but Luna took to it right away. She found it a rather endearing bit of spellwork, but she knew that Alecto Carrow would hate it. Still, it was a harmless and funny prank. Even if they did get caught, the punishment couldn’t be too severe.

As Luna finished folding her third sheet of parchment, just for something to do with her hands, Ginny slid into the desk next to her.

“Hey,” she said, “I have a special job for you.”

Luna looked up from her parchment as Ginny pressed a small bottle into her hands.

“Neville got that from Herbology today. Can you smear it into Carrow’s book before the exam?”

Luna held up the colourless vial. “Should I wear dragonhide gloves?”

“No, it has to be ingested. Just the corners of the pages will do.”

“How will I get the book?”

“Just ask her for it. Say you need to check your notes or something. She’ll believe whatever you tell her.”

Luna stared into Ginny’s deep brown eyes. “Why?”

“You have an honest face. If I ask, she’ll know something’s up.”

Luna wasn’t sure what it meant that she had an, “honest face,” but it was the nicest compliment Ginny had given her all year, so she took it and pressed it into her memory like she pressed flowers into her field guide.

“I should go now, then,” she said. “So I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about getting caught,” Ginny said. “I’ve got something else planned and she’ll probably single me out for the whole thing.”

Luna didn’t mean to smile, but she did. “I would be honoured to have detention with you,” and she punctuated her statement with a curtsy. Ginny laughed, and it made whatever punishments Luna might receive for smearing poison into Alecto Carrow’s book worth it.

As Ginny had predicted, Professor Carrow did not suspect anything was amiss when Luna arrived at her office early and asked to check her notes against the enormous tome that she read out of during their lessons. She muttered something about Ravenclaws and perfectionism, then left Luna at a desk with her notes and the book.

Carefully, Luna dabbed some of the poison onto her finger and smeared it onto the upper right corners of each page. She pretended to skim some of the pages, and even made a few marks into her own notes to sell the lie, but she wondered if she even needed to. Professor Carrow hardly paid her any mind.

When she had finished, she thanked Professor Carrow, and waited until she was alone in the hallway to wipe her hands clean.

All students were required to take Muggle Studies, and the curriculum was entirely new, so everyone, from first year to seventh, took it together in the Great Hall three evenings a week. Luna found it slightly more entertaining than History of Magic, because while Professor Carrow could drone on much like Professor Binns, Carrow at least took questions, and Luna loved when her friends asked questions.

In their very first class, Neville had challenged every line of Professor Carrow’s reading. She had snappishly asked for his lineage not twenty minutes into class. With a wide grin, Neville had said, “Longbottom and Fawley.”

The other day, Ginny had asked Professor Carrow why they weren’t going to evaluate the Carrow family tree the way they had the Bones family. Professor Carrow had turned red and Luna had expected her to hex Ginny then and there.

Luna had not asked any questions yet, though she had, at one point, raised her hand to point out that it was unfair to accuse Muggles of being liars and cheats when Thicknesse was a continuation of Scrimgeour’s evil plot to bring down the Ministry through the horrors of gum disease. The other students had laughed, and Professor Carrow had given her a condescending smile.

“How could the Ministry allow such plots to happen right under their nose?” Professor Carrow had asked with a sickly smile.

“Same way they allowed Death Eaters to infiltrate and Voldemort to take over,” Neville had said loudly, and he’d gotten a week of detention.

The dining tables were removed from the Great Hall each night of Muggle Studies and were replaced with rows of desks. Students sat by year and by house, so Luna took a seat near the back of one of the Ravenclaw aisles. She thought it was a good thing that the D.A. was largely composed of upper-years. Professor Carrow would be less likely to notice them folding up their exams.

The Great Hall was quiet as students worked on their exams. Quills scratched against parchment and occasionally Luna heard the sound of a page turning as Professor Carrow licked her finger and turned the page of her heavy tome.

As she folded up her exam just like they had practiced in the Room of Requirement, Luna watched Professor Carrow closely. The woman coughed after five pages and reached for her tea. After ten pages, she rubbed her throat and finished her drink. By the fifteenth page, her cheeks were already flushed purple and she looked uncomfortable.

“Professor!” Ginny shouted. She didn’t need to shout, since the hall was as silent as O.W.L.s had been, but as her voice echoed, every head turned to her.

She had her hand stretched as high as she could and she bounced anxiously. “Professor!”

Professor Carrow stood from her desk and frowned down at Ginny. “This is an exam, girl. Be quiet.”

“It’s an emergency, Professor. Can I go? I’ll only be a minute.”

Professor Carrow’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “No.”

“Please, Professor? I mean, I’ll use my exam if I have to, but —”

Laughter rippled across the hall and Ginny grinned.

“Make it quick!” Carrow snapped at her, and Ginny sprinted from the hall.

She really was gone only a minute — both Luna and Professor Carrow counted — and Luna wondered what she possibly could have accomplished during that time.

Ginny maintained an appearance of studiousness as she returned to her exam, and Professor Carrow returned to her book. She rubbed her throat again and looked at her empty tea cup. She snapped her fingers impatiently. A house-elf appeared with a pop and poured her a fresh cup, then vanished just as quickly.

Luna forgot all about the clusters of parchment that decorated her desk. Her focus was wholly on Professor Carrow as the woman inspected the cup of tea. She sniffed it, tapped her wand against it, took a small sip, and seemed satisfied. She finished the cup and went back to her book.

Luna kept watching, and it was another seven pages before Professor Carrow licked her finger and paused. She looked at her hand, at the book, and then directly at Luna. Luna tried to shrink into her seat.

Carrow got to her feet and started down the aisle of Ravenclaw desks with a look of fury that might have cowed a dragon. Luna, however, was spared immediate consequences by a squeak that began on the Gryffindor side of the room, followed closely by a squeak from the Hufflepuff aisle.

Hastily, Luna Animated the collection of parchment mice that she had so carefully constructed during the exam. They joined the chorus of mice that now filled the hall, leaping off of desks and scampering towards Professor Carrow.

Luna didn’t think Professor Carrow was a woman who feared mice, but it at least startled her, and it certainly upset several of the other students, who screamed as the parchment creations scurried over their feet and onto their desks. Students leapt up onto chairs and desks, and the entire hall descended into chaos.

It was impossible to tell, as Ginny and Neville had probably planned, where the mice had come from. Carrow pointed her wand at the ones nearest to her, and they went up in flames, but they were quickly replaced with more. Some tried to climb her skirt while others scampered across the room, nibbling on exams and tearing every piece of parchment to shreds.

“Everyone out!” Carrow snapped, crushing one of the mice under her heel. “Orderly!” she added as a few of the more skittish students bolted for the door.

But even those that ran reached a wall of students who had, for some reason, stalled in the doorway of the Great Hall.

“What now?” Carrow elbowed her way to the front, and Luna stood on her tiptoes to peer over Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. She saw a message painted on the floor of the entrance hall in bright red, impossible to miss.

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY: NOW RECRUITING

Professor Carrow tried to vanish the mess, but it sparked with fireworks and she leapt backwards. A pair of first years stared in awe. A few upper years laughed.

“Weasley!” Carrow snapped, and a few of the older students waited for the inevitable joke of, “Which one?” before realising that Ginny was the only Weasley left at Hogwarts.

Ginny leaned against the pillar that framed the door into the Great Hall. She smiled at Carrow. “Yes, Professor?”

Professor Carrow lifted her wand. “You’ll get more than detention, brat —”

“Say, Professor,” Ginny said, “you’ve got a little something on your —” Ginny gestured to her face, then paused and gestured to Carrow’s hands, “well — everywhere.”

Professor Carrow looked down at her hands, now bright purple.

“That looks like Venomous Tentacula poison,” said Neville. “You ought to be careful around the greenhouses, Professor.”

Carrow whipped around and aimed her wand at Neville, then searched the crowd for Luna. “You,” she snapped.

Luna raised her eyebrows.

“What’s your name?”

“Lovegood,” Luna said, before it had even occurred to her to lie.

Carrow ran her tongue across her teeth. “Lovegood? Your father runs The Quibbler?”

“Er — yes, Professor.”

“You and Weasley, to the Headmaster Snape’s office immediately.”

Luna started for the stairs, but Ginny folded her arms over her chest and refused to move.

“Weasley!”

“Snape isn’t Headmaster.”

“I’ve had just about enough of you. Pureblooded or not —”

“Last week you called me a blood traitor, but this week you’re suddenly all concerned with —”

“Imperio.”

Luna watched, horrified, as Ginny’s posture relaxed and her dark eyes widened.

“Stop!” Luna cried, which, futile as it was, at least provided cover as Neville drew his wand.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted, and Professor Carrow fell backwards, sprawled over Ginny’s message on the floor.

A few of the students cheered and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Amycus Carrow and Argus Filch shoved their way through the crowd of students. They took in the mess of paint on the floor, the unconscious and purple professor, and Neville with his wand drawn.

“What did you do, you filthy brat!” Amycus snarled.

“She was only Stunned,” Seamus Finnigan shouted. “Seemed fair since she was using a bloody Unforgivable!”

“Another week of detention then?” Neville asked, with more bravery than Luna thought anyone should have, considering how many detentions had landed students in the infirmary.

“No, I think your punishment should be a bit more public and swift —”

“Professor?” Malfoy interrupted. He grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her forward. His Head Boy badge glinted in the candlelight. “Professor Carrow was just about to take Lovegood and Weasley up to the Headmaster’s office. Shall I help you escort them?”

Amycus Carrow did not do well with being interrupted. It was a challenge for him to hold so many thoughts in his head at once.

“Lovegood and Weasley?”

“Yes, sir. They’re responsible for this mess, too. Pansy can help Professor Carrow, here, and I’ll help you get this lot to Professor Snape.”

Luna did not fight Malfoy’s tight grip on her arm as he took her to Snape’s office, not the way Ginny pushed and pulled on Amycus as he dragged her up the stairs. Neville, too, was more docile in Filch’s grip, and he eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

Carrow announced the password, “Asphodel,” and the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster’s office parted with ease.

Luna was so rarely angry. Anger was a concept, something she witnessed in others, and maybe glimpsed in herself the way she could glimpse the edge of the Black Lake on a clear day. She did not feel true anger very often, but as she was pulled up to the Headmaster’s office, it rose in her chest with each step.

It was horribly unfair of Hogwarts, who had denied Umbridge access to the Headmaster’s office, to allow Snape control over it, when Snape was the very one who had killed Dumbledore.

Luna tried to swallow down her anger, but it refused to budge. She hated Hogwarts.

Carrow pounded his fist on the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open.

The Headmaster’s office was different from what Luna remembered. She’d only seen it once before, but she had adored it. There had been so many trinkets bobbing and whizzing about; it had been full of noise and life. It had reminded her of her mother’s office.

Now, however, it was cold and empty, with nothing but a Pensieve in a corner and a desk stacked with parchment. Fawkes’ perch remained, but was empty, and behind the Headmaster’s desk were the frames of all the previous Headmasters, including Dumbledore, fast asleep. She looked away, and settled on Snape’s face. As much as she disliked Snape, looking at him hurt less than looking at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Snape, seated at the Headmaster’s desk, kept his eyes on what looked to Luna like a letter.

“No, please, come right in,” he drawled. “I’m not busy or anything.”

“These students cursed Alecto,” Amycus said. “Stunned her right in the entrance hall.”

“They had nothing to do with it!” Neville snapped. “I Stunned her because she used an Unforgivable on Ginny! It was just me!”

With an eerie amount of care, Snape set the letter aside and finally looked at the group that had invaded his office. His face had no more displeasure than it usually did as he looked at each of them.

“Then give Longbottom a detention,” he finally said to Carrow. “Five feet of lines reading, ‘I will not hex my professors’ ought to do it.”

Luna could not tell if Snape was serious. Amycus appeared to be having the same problem. His jaw worked fruitlessly before he finally sputtered, “That’s it?”

Snape stood. “What would you like me to do? Expel him and send him back to his Dumbledore-fanatic parents? You’re in charge of discipline, Carrow. So discipline them. Can’t you control a few children?” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a cloak. “I have business off of the grounds tonight. I expect that this will be dealt with by the time I return.”

Snape held the door open for them, and Carrow reluctantly led them back down to the corridor. Snape swept past them, dark cloak billowing the way it had as he had paced the aisles during his Potions lessons, and disappeared down the stairs.

Carrow watched him go, a hard look on his face. “Are the dungeons ready, Filch?”

“Oiled the hinges this morning, sir,” Filch said. “Haven’t put the chains back in yet —”

“It’ll do for now.”

Ginny’s thrashing did not hinder Carrow in the slightest as he, Filch, and Malfoy took the three of them downstairs into the dungeons. Their wands were set on a nearby shelf, tauntingly visible but well out of reach, and then the three were left alone until Carrow could come up with something more creative.

“Did you see it?” Neville’s voice was steady, and he leaned almost comfortably against the stone wall.

The iron-wrought bars rattled as Ginny kicked them, but they did not budge. “Of course I saw it. We ought to go for it now, while Snape’s gone.”

Luna eyed a trickle of water that slid from the ceiling and into a small puddle on the floor. She wondered if it came from the Black Lake or a leaky pipe. “What did you notice?” she asked.

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Ginny said. “Didn’t you see it hanging under Dumbledore’s portrait?”

“Oh. Is it important?”

“Dumbledore left it to Harry,” Neville said. “He needs it. I don’t know how we could get it to him, though.”

“I can talk to him,” Ginny said. “If we could just get out of here —” She kicked again, but the bars did not budge under her assault.

“We aren’t getting out of here.” Neville retrieved a worn piece of parchment and a golden feather from his pocket. He searched for a dry spot on the floor and unfolded the old parchment. “But we can make a plan. Halloween would be good, when everyone’s at the feast.”

Ginny gave the bars one more kick for good measure, then joined Neville on the floor.

Neville pressed the tip of the feather to the parchment like a quill and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Ginny was forced to scrub the entrance hall clean until there was no trace of her graffiti, and students could see their reflection in the polished floor. It took her the better part of three full weeks and her hands were blistered and cracked when she was finished.

Luna spent every night reading out loud from Alecto Carrow’s horrible book, and if she faltered or hesitated in any way, she earned a welt and had to start over. It went on for two weeks.

Neville was left in the dungeons for a week, and did not appear for lessons nor meals. He said nothing about what happened to him, but he flinched when Seamus clapped him on the shoulder at his first meal back.

It wasn’t even an hour later that Susan approached Neville and asked what the revenge plan was. Neville told her to keep her head down until the Halloween feast.

To an outsider, it might have appeared that the Carrows had won. Muggle Studies lessons passed without incident. There were small protests in Dark Arts, but nothing more dramatic than civil disobedience. It was quiet at Hogwarts, until Halloween.

They started small. Seamus and Parvati slipped some of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Exploding Whizz-Bangs into the eggs at breakfast with a Switching Spell. After the chaos of breakfast, Alecto Carrow promised to hold the entire school for an extra hour of Muggle Studies that evening if no one confessed or gave up the perpetrator.

No one said a word.

Lavender took the leaflets from the Daily Prophet with Harry’s face and the bounty and modified them. Instead of “Undesirable No 1” the leaflet read, “Desirable Chosen 1” which was enough of a change to get their point across. She lamented that Dean could have done better, but the rest of the D.A. praised her work.

The leaflets were blown up to twice their size and pasted into windows all across the castle, with the help of everyone in the D.A. Every common room, from Gryffindor to Slytherin, was plastered with Harry’s face.

By lunch, the Carrows were scorching walls left and right, and Atalanta Shafiq told everyone that the Carrows had accidentally blasted a hole through the Slytherin Common room right into the Black Lake and flooded the dormitories.

Neville’s job was an unfortunate one, but he took it with grace. He waited until lunch was nearly over, then shouted at Crabbe and asked, “I know you said you’re a pureblood, but isn’t there a bit of troll in your tree? Was it on your mother or father’s side?”

Crabbe threw a hex that sent Neville flying five feet backwards and when he got up, he was puking up something slimy. Hannah escorted him to the hospital wing.

Ginny’s role for the day revolved around being as suspicious as possible without getting into real trouble. She ducked through hidden corridors. She paused to fiddle with her bag or her shoes. Luna stayed close with her for most of it, until after Transfiguration, they ducked out of Amycus’ careful watch by slipping into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Demelza was waiting for them. “Ready?” she asked.

Ginny nodded and plucked out a strand of her hair.

Luna left the bathroom with Demelza, but Amycus Carrow saw exactly what he expected to see: Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley heading down to the Halloween feast.

Luna watched Demelza sit next to Helen Donoghue and engage Helen as easily as if she really were Ginny. Amycus stood at the door, eyes intent on Ginny. Luna could not help but smile, despite her trepidation at her own task.

She ate slowly, unsure how full her stomach ought to be. She looked at the professors and bit her tongue when she noticed that Snape was missing. Their plan hinged on Snape being out of his office.

Well, it was too late for them to change course now. Neville was waiting for her in the hospital wing, and Ginny was probably already hiding out by the Headmaster’s office.

Luna took a deep breath, pulled the bright yellow half of a Fainting Fancy from her pocket, and swallowed.

She woke with a headache in a corridor not far from the hospital wing with Neville and Michael Corner leaning over her. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the spiced pepper flavour that seemed stuck to her tongue. She decided that she didn’t care for the second half of those Fainting Fancies.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked her.

Luna sat up and rubbed her throbbing head. “I fell,” she said.

“I tried to catch you. You should have warned me when you were going to do it.”

“It’s alright,” Neville said.

Luna gagged. His breath smelled like Porlock dung.

“You’d better get back to the feast,” Neville told Michael. “The less time you’re with us, the better it’ll look for you.”

“Are you alright?” Luna asked Neville as Michael hurried back to the Great Hall.

Neville grimaced. “I was hoping for boils. Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be tasting acid for a week, but she was at least able to stop the puking, so we can go ahead with the plan. Everything seems to be going well so far.”

“Oh… there is one thing…”

Luna told him that she had not seen Snape at the feast. Neville checked the map while they walked.

“I don’t see him at all,” Neville frowned. He ran his finger across the Marauder’s Map. “Oh — he’s just arrived at the gates. What do you think he left for?”

“Perhaps he’s joined a league of vampires. Halloween is a special holiday for them.”

“Then I guess we’d better hurry up before he finds us and drinks our blood.” Neville squinted at the map. “You catch up with Ginny. I have an idea. Peeves is just around the corner and if he can stall…”

Neville was still talking as he disappeared behind a tapestry of Mordicus Egg cooking over an open fire. Luna paused to watch the heavy tapestry resettle in Neville’s wake. The threads of the flames seemed alive as they rippled back and forth, until finally the tapestry stilled.

She skipped on ahead to the gargoyle at the end of the corridor. She spun around once in a circle, and did not see Ginny. So she spun again, and this time Ginny stepped out from behind a suit of armor.

“How’s Demelza doing?” Ginny asked.

“She’s very good at being you,” Luna said, then said, “Asphodel,” to the statue. It stepped aside easily and Luna hummed. “I really thought he would have changed it.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. Where’s Neville?”

“He said to go on without him.”

Ginny was already halfway up the stairs. “Alohomora,” she said, and the lock on the office door clicked open. She shoved the heavy door with her shoulder.

Ginny ran in for the sword, and Luna listened at the door. While she listened, her eyes roved over the portraits. Their oily eyes were fixed on Ginny as she lifted the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from its display.

“Breaking and entering!” one portrait shouted. “In the Headmaster’s office!”

“Put that sword back, child,” Dilys Derwent said in a kinder voice. “I’m sure you mean well, but —”

“Thievery!” Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked at her. “Unheard of! In my time —”

“Treachery!” one woman with a thick wand shouted.

“You’re the traitors!” Ginny shouted back at them. “Letting Snape in here — helping him — and after what he did to Dumbledore!”

She broke off and stared at Dumbledore’s portrait. It’s gold frame glistened, and the impression of Dumbledore stared back at her, as still and as unmoving as any Muggle portrait.

Luna abandoned her post at the door and came to Ginny’s side. She stared at Dumbledore’s portrait and felt her heart grow heavy, the way it did each time she passed her mother’s office in the basement of their family home.

“Ginny,” she whispered, “we should go. You can’t argue with what’s been done.”

“It isn’t fair.” Ginny turned her fierce glare on all the portraits, then back onto Dumbledore’s still portrait. “You know what the sword is for, what it can do. Tell them.”

The portrait did not so much as blink at her.

“Ginny.” Luna tugged on her arm.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled, and she turned away from Dumbledore’s portrait. Luna pulled her towards the door, but froze on the first step.

Ginny heard it too — footsteps coming up for them.

They backed into the office, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run as Snape and the Carrows burst into the office. Ginny brandished the sword as she might a wand for a duel. Luna did not have time to reach for her wand as Amycus Carrow thrust Neville at her. He fell into her and she staggered under his weight.

“You two,” Alecto Carrow sneered, “are supposed to be in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, but I feel much better,” Luna said. Neville only groaned.

“How’d you find us?” Ginny snapped.

“Hogwarts is a castle filled with portraits, Miss Weasley. I think you can figure out the rest.” Snape waved his wand and Ginny jumped as if the sword had burned her. It clattered to the ground and she clutched her hand to her chest.

“I thought,” Snape drawled, “I asked you two to control these children.”

“We did —” Amycus protested. “We have — she was just in the Hall, I swear.”

“I think a detention in the Forbidden Forest ought to teach them a lesson or two. Every night for the next week. From sundown to midnight.”

Luna tipped her head to one side. “But —”

Ginny squeezed her wrist and she stopped talking.

But that meant they would be with Hagrid instead of at Muggle Studies lessons. She wondered if Snape just didn’t realise when Muggle Studies lessons were. Did he think they were during normal lesson hours?

“And what if they try it again?” the Carrows asked.

Snape removed his cloak and pulled out a smudged piece of parchment from his pocket. “I expect you’ll prevent them from trying again.” He glanced at the sword on the floor. “I’ll have it removed from Hogwarts, then this will no longer be a problem.”

As he tucked the parchment into a book on his desk, Luna was certain that the smudge of ink was actually a small black pawprint. She supposed if Snape was a vampire, he must have a familiar by now.

Snape took a seat at his desk and surveyed the small crowd in his office. “Well? Is there a reason you’re all still here?”

The Carrows shoved Ginny towards the door, and Luna helped Neville limp down the stairs.

“Yes, I know,” she heard Snape say as the door closed. “I can have a duplicate ready in days.”

And as the latch on the door clicked, Luna thought that she heard the familiar rumble of Dumbledore’s voice.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

It was midnight, but no one was keen on heading back to the castle just yet. Ginny sat down in the grass and leaned against one of the trees on the edge of the forest, still in view of Hagrid’s hut, but away from where Neville was helping Hagrid pick Moondew for Madam Rosmerta’s Butterbeer.

Luna crouched down beside her.

“Do you think the Carrows will come and collect us?” Ginny asked. “Or could we stay out here all night?”

Luna ran her hand over the trunk of the tree. She loved the transition from the soft moss to the rough bark and back again.

“It’s just so empty in the common room,” Ginny said. “Is it like that in Ravenclaw?”

Luna crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She thought for a moment. “A bit. Terry Boot never came back. Mandy checks for his name in the paper every day. Anthony Goldstein wasn’t a Muggle-born, but his family left for Canada after Dumbledore’s funeral, and they don’t plan to come back any time soon.” She plucked a small dandelion flower from the grass by her knee. “I expect it’s worst in Hufflepuff.”

Ginny folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars over Hagrid’s hut. “I miss him, Luna. I miss him so much, but when we talk it’s like he isn’t there. And I — I know you probably don’t want to hear it — I’m sorry — but I don’t know that I have anyone else —”

Luna reached for another dandelion and folded the stems into the beginning of a flower chain. “I will never take half of you,” Luna said, “and I don’t believe that you are one to give halves.”

Ginny’s laugh was sad. It made Luna’s chest ache. She leaned against Ginny and continued working on her flower chain.

They sat in silence, until nearly two, when Hagrid insisted they return to their bunks.

“I’ll walk yeh ter the castle,” he said, “but don’ let Filch catch you on your way up.”

Neville waved the map. “We’ll be alright. As long as any portraits don’t get involved.”

Luna tied off the flower chain into a crown and stood. She spun in a circle and dropped the circlet on Ginny’s head. “Up we go,” she said, holding her hand out to Ginny.

Ginny took it. “Thanks, Luna.”

Luna smiled. She pulled Ginny along and hurried to catch up with Neville. She took his hand as well.

Luna hated Hogwarts, and she had no desire to go back behind those high stone walls, but at least she did not have to go alone. At least she could go with friends.

[fallintosanity]

i would like to thank the academy @ceescedasticity for encouraging me, and @ageofzero for screaming about these boys and this ridiculous scenario with me

part 1

part 2

Cloud finished his pancakes slowly, mostly to give Genesis time to get bored loitering outside the farmhouse hoping Cloud would change his mind, and go to the helicopter like he’d said. When Cloud thought it was safe, he slipped out of the house and found the little trail that led to the river.

As he’d expected, Noctis Lucis Caelum sat by the water’s edge once again, fishing pole in hand and a line stretched into the water. Caelum looked up when Cloud approached, then glanced around for the others, but when he saw Cloud was alone, he turned back to the water without saying anything. Cloud sat down a few feet away, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head back to feel the sun on his skin.

He couldn’t blame Caelum for turning Tseng down so abruptly yesterday. Cloud hadn’t exactly been gung-ho about joining ShinRa himself, and the only reason he’d done it in the end was to get closer to his goal of killing Hojo, Jenova, and Sephiroth. With Hojo dead, Jenova burned to ash, and Sephiroth staying firmly on the side of humanity with all his friends to support him, Cloud could have left. But sometime over the nearly two years he’d spent in the past, they’d become his friends, as well. Plus, someone needed to make sure ShinRa turned itself around before it killed the Planet with its reactors.

Cloud might not know Caelum’s story, but he knew what it was like to roam the world alone. And he couldn’t help but be curious about the guy. A warrior as strong as he apparently was didn’t just appear from thin air. Cloud hadn’t heard about him in the future, either, which struck him as odd. Granted, there was most of a decade between now and then for something to happen to Caelum, for him to die in any one of the major disasters that had befallen the Planet over the years, or even die an ignoble death in a backwoods village somewhere when he bit off a bigger mission than he could chew. But it was still strange.

Fifteen or so minutes after Cloud had sat down, it was becoming clear Caelum wasn’t going to say anything. Cloud spent another ten minutes trying to figure out what to say; talking wasn’t exactly his forte. Finally he ventured, “Nice work with those harpies last night.”

Caelum jumped so hard he almost dropped his fishing pole, and spun to face Cloud with wide, startled eyes. Cloud held up his hands, trying to look harmless. They’d been sitting in silence, sure, but that was a hell of an overreaction. “Sorry,” Cloud said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Caelum stared at him for another second or two, then relaxed slightly. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t, uh. I didn’t realize you can talk.”

Cloud’s eyebrows shot up. “Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?”

“Uh…” Caelum looked down, rubbing the back of his head in obvious embarrassment. Cloud waited, and finally Caelum admitted, “Everyone I’ve talked to said SOLDIERs are monsters manufactured by ShinRa. I thought…” He hesitated again, his voice trailing off to a mumble that even Cloud’s mako-enhanced hearing had trouble making out: “I thought you were empty.”

At least that explained why Caelum had refused Tseng’s offer. Cloud sat up, turning to face Caelum, letting him get a good look. “SOLDIERs aren’t monsters,” he said. “We’re people, just like you.”

“Your eyes are glowing,” Caelum pointed out.

“Mako eyes,” Cloud said, and sighed. His eyes no longer glowed as brightly as they had immediately after escaping Hojo’s clutches, but in a dim room it was still obvious they were much more intense than other SOLDIERs’. Caelum looked confused by his words, so Cloud asked, “These people you talked to, they say how ShinRa makes SOLDIERs?”

Caelum shook his head. Cloud explained, “They inject you with mako.” And Jenova cells, he didn’t add. With Jenova gone, he wasn’t certain what, if anything, they were using in her place. “It makes you stronger, faster, tougher. You heal more quickly.”

“And your eyes glow,” Caelum said dryly.

Cloud couldn’t help smiling a little. “And your eyes glow,” he agreed. “But that’s it. We’re not monsters.”

He was painfully aware of the irony in his words. A year and a half ago, he’d told his younger self to stay away from SOLDIER because it was a den of monsters. Now he was… if not actively trying to convince Caelum to join, at least denying the monster part.

But then, a year and a half ago he hadn’t been friends with any of them. Now Hojo was dead and the Science Department was under new management and much closer scrutiny. Genesis and Angeal hadn’t succumbed to degradation and madness, and Sephiroth had chosen humanity over Jenova. The company as a whole might have a long way to go yet, especially with President ShinRa, Rufus, and Scarlett still around, but Cloud couldn’t honestly say that SOLDIER was nothing but a den of monsters anymore.

Caelum studied him for a moment. Young as he looked, there was something old about his eyes, the same sort of weariness Cloud used to see in Tifa’s, and in Aeris’s in his own time. He might not have turned up on ShinRa’s radar until recently, but it was clear he’d been fighting for a long time. Not unlike Cloud.

Carefully, Cloud said, “You got family somewhere?”

Caelum looked away, his hair falling around his face like a shield. “I… no. Not…” He blew out a harsh sigh. “They’re gone.” Cloud waited, and after a minute or two, Caelum continued reluctantly, “I had to… leave them behind. But now I can't get back to them.”

That sounded unnervingly like how Cloud had left his own friends behind when he came to the past, though Caelum seemed to have done it deliberately. Cloud thought about Tseng’s suggestion that Caelum was like Cloud - but that was impossible, wasn't it? What were the odds that someone else would travel through time to this era? Cloud shook his head, banishing the thought.

“What?” Caelum said.

“Nothing,” Cloud said. “Just… I know what it’s like to… to lose everyone.”

Caelum’s hand clenched into a fist at his side, the leather of his gauntlet creaking. “I can’t think like that,” he said. “They’re still alive - they have to be. I just… have to find them.”

The pain in his voice was all too familiar to Cloud, so he didn’t press further. He only said, “That job offer’s still on the table, if you want it. You’ll have access to ShinRa’s resources - they might be able to help you find your family.”

Caelum looked up at him, a frown furrowing his brow. “But I’d have to do that mako thing.”

“Maybe,” Cloud said. “If you’re nervous about the injections, you can talk to the Science Department first. See what the process is for yourself before you agree to anything. If you can keep up as a SOLDIER without them, you might even be able to put something in your contract about not getting the injections.”

“You think they’ll let me?” Caelum asked. “I heard they’re not the negotiating type.”

Probably from the same people who told you we’re monsters, Cloud thought, but all he said was, “They made concessions on my contract when I joined, for the same reason they’ll probably do it for you - they’d rather have us where they can see us.”

Caelum snorted. “That’s all this is, huh? Keep the weirdo where you can see him?”

“ShinRa didn’t get to be as powerful as it is by being stupid,” Cloud admitted. “If you don’t take the offer, they’re going to keep watching you to make sure you’re not a threat.”

“Watching,” Caelum repeated, in a tone that suggested he’d picked up on the part Cloud wasn’t saying - that eventually watching wouldn’t be enough, and ShinRa would try a more forceful tactic to exert control.

Cloud flashed a wry smile. “Look at it this way. It’s a place to sleep, three meals a day, a decent paycheck. Better than scraping a living by taking odd monster-slaying missions around the Western Continent. And you’d have help finding your family.”

Caelum made a reluctant sound of agreement. “When you put it that way, it’d be stupid not to, huh?”

Cloud rolled to his feet and held a hand out to Caelum. “Let’s go talk to Tseng.”

* * *

Tseng accepted Caelum’s change of heart with polite excitement, and readily agreed to Caelum’s stipulations regarding the mako injections. Whatever crisis he’d been dealing with was apparently less important than getting Caelum back, because he suggested they leave for Midgar immediately. It wasn’t until they were climbing into the helicopter, and Tseng gave Cloud a satisfied smirk, that Cloud realized what had happened.

A softer approach, Tseng had said at breakfast.

Cloud snorted. Well, Turks would be Turks. Caelum had agreed to come with them to Midgar, which was the important thing. As far as Turk manipulations went, Cloud could tolerate this one.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Thirteen Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff

Ginny and Ron weren’t speaking to each other, and Hermione wasn’t speaking to either of them. Harry had copied her essay onto clean parchment for her, and only the last paragraph started to look less like Hermione’s neat handwriting and a little more like Harry’s untidy scratches. Harry said it looked like she had written the whole thing and just gotten tired at the end. Hermione still rewrote the last paragraph.

Gryffindor’s second Quidditch match was approaching quickly, and Harry’s anti-dementor lessons weren’t improving. He could do little more than hold the shield. He kept waiting for his patronus to turn into something that would charge the dementor down but it never did anything more than hover.

Uncle Remus telling him that he was making excellent progress for his age wasn’t as encouraging as it should have been.

Friday night before the match, Ron went with Harry to practice. Harry was feeling better than he had in a while, possibly because Remus had canceled their lessons on Thursday, due to the lunar calender. Ron, however, was still mad at Ginny and made a bit of a scene about going to ride Harry’s Firebolt after practice in front of Ginny.

“You could be a little nicer to her,” Harry said as they walked down to the Quidditch pitch.

“You didn’t see the way she was with Mum over the holidays. And the way she spoils that cat. I should tell Mum about her playing Quidditch.”

Harry let Ron complain, knowing Ron probably wouldn’t follow through on his threat. Ron was a lot of things, but he wasn’t much of a tattletale. “At least Scabbers is okay,” Harry said.

“Yeah but I can’t take him anywhere. He has to stay shut up in the dorm. And when we get home, Mum’s going to favor the cat. She’s always said she wanted one to keep gnomes out of the garden.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to help with that, but summer was a long way off.

In practice, while the Chasers passed Quaffles, and Fred and George hit Bludgers at them, Harry easily wove through them all.

The Firebolt was truly the best broom Harry had ever ridden. It seemed to react more on impulse than conscious direction. It made Harry’s reflexes in the air even better than Oliver’s. He didn’t think Hufflepuff had much of a chance.

Oliver Wood was more confident than ever. He told Harry that Cedric Diggory would be playing as Hufflepuff’s Seeker. Not only would Harry have an advantage with his new broom, but Diggory was broad for a Seeker. “Just be careful he doesn’t knock you off your broom,” Wood added.

Harry’d gone up against Marcus Flint his first year, so he was pretty sure he’d be alright.

After warm-ups, Oliver let the Snitch out of the box. Harry had no trouble chasing it down on his Firebolt. Ron cheered excitedly from below every time Harry caught the Snitch. It was hard not to feel confident about tomorrow’s game.

Even Oliver Wood, who had been positively dismal about their upcoming match was overcome by the wonder of the Firebolt. He clapped Harry on the shoulder after practice. “Now, as long as you have that dementor problem under control —”

“Yep. Perfectly alright.” Harry knew his patronus was feeble at best, but in the moment of flying his Firebolt, he felt like he could produce a pretty decent shield.

“Alright, team. Make sure you get a good night’s rest.”

Harry agreed, but stayed out a little later so Ron could fly the Firebolt. He waited down below on the pitch while Ron took the Firebolt out for a spin. Even though Harry was watching from the ground, he couldn’t help but grin at Ron’s excited cheers. Harry wasn’t even sure how he was going to get Ron back down until Ron tried a loop and nearly fell off. He came down from that a little green and handed Harry back the Firebolt.

“What a ride,” he said breathlessly, and began to talk animatedly about the pinpoint turns and its phenomenal acceleration speed.

They said goodnight to Madam Hooch and walked back to the castle, still discussing the Firebolt’s superior qualities over other brooms. Harry glanced up at the full moon. It was so bright tonight, they could see all the way down to the castle from the Quidditch pitch.

Then suddenly, Ron grabbed Harry’s arm. “Do you see that?” he hissed and pointed.

A large black shadow was running into the Forbidden Forest. Harry thought it looked exactly like a big dog.

“I don’t see anything,” Harry said and took his glasses off. He pretended they were smudged to avoid Ron pressing him further. He couldn’t imagine why Sirius would be out right now as a dog. Unless Uncle Remus was out in the Forbidden Forest. But that wasn’t right. There was the house in Hogsmeade for them to use tonight. He couldn’t think why they’d be all the way out here.

He put his glasses back on and looked at Ron, who looked white as a ghost.

“What’s the matter?”

“It was the Grim, Harry.”

Harry laughed.

“I’m not joking. You didn’t see it. Only I saw it!”

“You need to do less Divination homework. Professor Trelawney said I was going to be the one to die.”

“She said around Easter someone was going to leave forever!”

“Well it isn’t quite Easter, is it?”

“But it’s around Easter!” Ron said desperately.

Harry was trying to think of anything he could to pacify his friend when something walked out of the Forbidden Forest — an orange tabby with a squished face.

“It’s only Crookshanks,” Harry said. “You must’ve just seen him in the shadows and thought it was a dog.”

Ron didn’t not look convinced and when they got back to the dorm, he climbed into bed, still looking very pale and very terrified.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry’s match against Hufflepuff could not have been more different from their match against Slytherin.

For starters, the sun was shining brightly. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. And instead of looking glum, Wood looked positively giddy. He walked downstairs with Percy, chatting animatedly about the perfect weather conditions and how wonderful everything was. Harry set his Firebolt down next to him while he ate breakfast and Wood fought off a crowd of onlookers.

“Don’t you dare sabotage it, Diggory,” Wood snapped.

“I just want to look at it,” Cedric Diggory protested. “Harry, will you let me look?”

Harry would’ve said yes, but Oliver Wood said, “You’ll look when it’s zipping past you to get that Snitch. Now clear off!”

“It’s fine, Oliver, really,” Harry said. “Sit down and eat.”

“I’m not letting anyone sabotage our star broom — er, Seeker. We’ve had too many accidents with you. Not today.” Oliver Wood eyed the Slytherin table suspiciously.

Draco Malfoy called out from the other side of the hall, “Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?”

“Yeah, reckon so,” Harry shouted back.

“Got plenty of special features, doesn’t it? Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute in case you get too near dementors.”

“Shame yours doesn’t come with zipper, so you can shut your fat mouth.”

“Harry!”

Harry winced. He knew that scolding voice anywhere. He turned to see his parents walking into the Great Hall.

“Hi, Mum,” he said and quickly took a sip of his juice.

“If I was still a teacher I’d take five points for talk like that.”

His dad, however, winked at him. “I’d give you ten points for your wit.”

Lily slapped James lightly on the chest, then turned all her attention to Harry. “Well, are you excited? Nervous?”

“It’ll be good,” Harry said with a grin. He grabbed his Firebolt and stood. “I could take on the world today.”

“That’s my boy,” James said and clapped him on the shoulder.

They were about to head down to the pitch when Lily touched Harry’s elbow. “Harry, is Ron alright?” She pointed to the end of the table, where a very squeamish Ron was nibbling on a piece of toast.

“He — uh — he thinks he saw the Grim last night.”

James stifled a laugh, very poorly. “I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“You will not,” Lily said and smacked James a little harder this time. “I do wish Remus was here, though. Come on, James, we’ll make sure he sits with us.”

“How is Uncle Remus?” Harry asked quickly, before his parents could retrieve Ron.

“It was a hard night,” Lily said. “Nearly a super moon. But he’s doing well. He said to send you our best. Sirius too.”

“I’m glad Sirius is with him,” Harry said.

Lily smiled and brushed Harry’s bangs out of his face affectionately. “Don’t be late to change. We’ll see you down on the pitch.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He ran down to the pitch, broom in hand. Oliver Wood was right on his heels. Everyone else was already changing in the locker room.

Oliver Wood delivered his usual impassioned speech about victory, and slipped in a few extra sentences about praise for the Firebolt.

“Let’s get on with it,” Fred finally groaned. “Come on, Oliver. Harry’s lost the Snitch once, and it wasn’t his fault. It’ll be great. Better than great.”

That didn’t make Harry feel too confident. He made sure to tuck his wand into his shirt under his robes in case he needed to cast his Patronus. Spells weren’t legal in Quidditch, but that was more to prevent hexing other players. Harry thought it would be fine to cast a Patronus if he needed to.

On the pitch, captians Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory shook hands and mounted their brooms. The earth was firm and spongy. Perfect for a kickoff. Harry’s heart began to pound with the excitement of the match. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, the teams took to the air.

Harry deployed his usual strategy of hovering over the stadium and hunting for the Snitch. Cedric Diggory wove in and out between the players. Harry wondered if he should be doing the same. It wouldn’t be difficult on his Firebolt, but his strategy of hanging back had served him well in the past — except in the rain — so he figured he’d better stick to it.

But when he heard Lee Jordan on the announcer, praising the Firebolt, he couldn’t help but show off a few sharp turns and duck underneath a few Bludgers.

Then McGonagall scolded Lee Jordan for spending more time talking about the Firebolt than the game, and Harry returned to hovering above the pitch.

He caught sight of the Snitch flitting near one of the barriers on the ground and dove straight after it. Diggory was close on his heels.

He was only a few feet from the Snitch, quickly outstripping Diggory, when he had to turn to avoid a Bludger. He missed the Snitch by inches and when he was resorted, he didn’t see where it had gone.

Diggory went straight up and Harry followed, but the two ended up hovering over the stands together.

Diggory grinned at him, then dove back down into the fray of the fight.

Harry was about to follow, but he realized that’s what the Hufflepuff Seeker wanted. Harry had feinted for the Snitch before, but he’d never had anyone try it on him. It caught him a little by surprise.

Harry stayed where he was, scanning the pitch for that tiny flutter of gold wings. He glanced in the crowd once to see his parents sitting with Hermione, Ron, Dean, and Seamus. He didn’t see Neville or Ginny. He wondered where they were. Surely Ginny wouldn’t be missing this match. Maybe she just wouldn’t want to sit with Ron.

When Harry looked back at the field, he saw the Snitch diving in-between the Gryffindor goal posts. Harry took off for it like a rocket. He wasn’t worried at all about outstripping Diggory. The Firebolt would out pace him any day. So even though Diggory was ahead of him, he wasn’t concerned.

But as he drew closer to the Snitch, closer to passing Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker banked sharply and blocked Harry’s path. Harry collided with him and nearly tumbled off his broom. There was a sharp gasp from the stadium. He felt like everyone was holding their breath until he got his balance back.

“Alright?” Diggory called out, and it looked like he was genuinely concerned. “Thought you’d dive out of the way with your pinpoint turns and all.”

“Thought I’d knock you over instead,” Harry joked and lifted up so he could survey the whole field again. This time, Diggory did the same.

The two stayed just above the action, surveying the field for the Snitch. Harry finally saw it a third time on the Ravenclaw end, but Harry didn’t head that way just yet. Instead, he dove straight down. Diggory followed.

Harry went low as he could before banking hard and heading to the Ravenclaw end. Diggory had trouble with the hard upturn and fell several paces behind Harry. Harry could still see the Snitch high above them and started for it as fast as he could. He had to swerve under a Bludger, and Diggory managed to catch up just on his heels.

Then he heard Diggory shout, “Hey!” very angrily, and it didn’t sound like it was meant to distract Harry. He knew he shouldn’t, but he glanced back, just to see what happened.

Three dementors, three tall, black, hooded dementors were looking up at him.

Harry reached into his robes without a thought. He pulled his wand out and shouted, “Expecto patronum!”

It wasn’t his usual unsteady shield. It was something large, and the silver-white figure charged towards the dementors. Harry didn’t even pause to see what the figure was, or how the dementors reacted. He was still burning with the adrenaline of the game, and he reached out for the Snitch. As his fingers closed around it, Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded.

Before Harry could even get on the ground, his team rushed him. Gryffindors in the stands cheered so loud, Harry wondered if he was going deaf.

Students rushed onto the field, Ron right in front, apparently over his fear of the Grim in the wake of Gryffindor’s victory. And then his parents were right next to him. His mother hugged him and his father was grinning like mad.

“I can’t believe you cast a Patronus,” Lily said in astonishment. “Where did you learn it?”

“Uncle Remus taught me,” Harry said quickly, “in case the dementors came to the match again. It worked pretty well, didn’t it?”

James covered his broad smile with his hand. “Well — I’m sure it would’ve been, but they weren’t exactly dementors.”

This didn’t make any sense to Harry, and he followed his parents out of the crowd to where they could see the “dementors” lying in the grass.

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint were floundering in three sets of long black cloaks. Professor McGonagall was giving them a lecture worse than any Harry had ever heard. She was shouting, practically red in the face.

“An unworthy trick! A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!”

Harry felt worlds better. This absolutely made up for his loss against Slytherin last fall.

“Harry!” George shouted. “Party in the common room! Let’s go!”

Harry quickly hugged his parents goodbye. “Tell Uncle Remus about my Patronus,” he said. “And don’t be mad at him for teaching me. I really needed to learn.”

Lily laughed, and he knew she had definitely been planning to scold Remus for teaching such a high-level spell to Harry. “Of course we won’t be mad at him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be excited to hear about it,” James said. “Now go on, celebrate with your friends. We’ll see you when you play Ravenclaw for the cup.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

The Gryffindor party lasted all day and most of the night. Even Ron and Ginny sort of made-up, the way siblings do, where they just sort of move on from being mad at each other because they have a new joy to share in. Hermione, however, still under stress from her classes, spent the entire evening in her corner with her books. Harry tried to get her to join in, but she insisted she had too much work to do and would appreciate it if he could leave her alone to do it.

“Have you considered dropping a class? I think Professor McGonagall —”

“Absolutely not! I could never!”

“Because I’ve been thinking about dropping Divination.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said. “But I do have four hundred and twenty-two pages to read.”

“At least have something sweet.” Harry handed her a bottle of butterbeer, smuggled out of Hogsmeade courtesy of Fred and George, and of course with the help of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

She stared at the butterbeer for a moment, then finally accepted it. “Thank you. Now may I please finish this? It’s due Monday.”

Harry did.

The party continued until one in the morning, when Professor McGonagall came in and told them to get to bed. Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Dean were still talking animatedly at the match as they climbed the stairs to their dormitory. Neville was already sound asleep when they arrived, but Harry felt like he could stay awake for hours, even as he put on his pajamas.

But all of them, the minute they climbed into their beds, fell asleep right away.

Harry dreamt he was walking in the Forbidden Forest, Firebolt in hand. He was chasing something silver-white, winding its way through the trees. He could never quite catch up with it, or catch a glimpse of it. He managed to get it into a clearing, and he was just close enough to see what it was when he heard a loud scream.

Harry sat up and realized the scream was not in his dreams. It was Ron, one bed over. He quickly opened his bed curtains, and heard others doing the same.

Dean Thomas lit a lamp and they saw Ron, sitting up in bed, hangings torn on one side. He was deathly pale, like last night when they’d seen the Grim.

“Black!” he whispered. “Regulus Black — standing over me with a knife!”

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Seven The Boggart in the Wardrobe

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape. He dipped his ladle into Neville’s potion and let it splash back into the cauldron so everyone could see.

Neville went very pink, and started trembling as badly as he had in Professor Trelawney’s class. Potions might’ve been Harry’s least favorite class, but he wasn’t sure he dreaded it half as much as Neville did.

“Does nothing penetrate that thick skull of yours?” Professor Snape went on. “Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Harry thought Neville looked like he might start to cry.

“Please, sir,” Hermione began, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” Snape said.

The Slytherin table laughed. Harry shot them a glare, but they only laughed harder.

“Longbottom,” said Snape, “at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Snape moved away, and Harry stared after him. His own Shrinking Potion glittered dangerously close to red, and he quickly added his shrivelfig.

“Help me,” Neville mouthed to Hermione, his face the epitome of utter desperation.

Seamus Finnigan leaned over Harry’s cauldron to borrow his brass scales. “Hey, Harry, have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Regulus Black’s been sighted.”

“Where?” Harry and Ron asked quickly.

Neville dropped an extra caterpillar in his cauldron. Hermione quickly hissed at him to grab it before it dissolved into the potion.

“Not too far from here,” said Seamus. His eyes glinted with excitement. “It was a Muggle who saw him. ‘Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned in the hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”

“Not too far from here….” Ron looked between Harry and Neville. Then he noticed Malfoy watching them from across the classroom, so he made a face at him.

“But he can’t get into the castle,” Harry whispered to Ron. “He has to know that.”

“There’s dementors everywhere,” Ron agreed.

“And Dumbledore,” said Harry. There was no way anyone could get past Dumbledore.

“You should have finished adding your ingredients by now,” said Snape. “This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we’ll test Longbottom’s.”

Harry took his scales back from Seamus and started packing his things. He looked over to Neville, whose potion was now a yellowish-green. Hermione was still muttering instructions to him while she packed up her own very large bag.

Then Snape went and stood by Neville’s cauldron. “Everyone gather ‘round, and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Harry had to bite back at least seven foul things he wanted to say to Snape. He couldn’t understand why Snape always picked on him and Neville, but he thought it was a bit too early in the school year to start earning detentions. Especially detention with Snape.

It was so silent you could have heard a quill fall from a desk as Snape picked Trevor the toad up. He dripped a small spoonful into Trevor’s mouth and when the toad swallowed, he turned into a tiny tadpole in Snape’s hand.

Snape’s face was sour as he dripped another potion from his robes onto Trevor and Trevor returned to a regular-sized toad again.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

Harry shoved his things into his bag and helped Neville clean up the potion. He, Neville, Ron, and Hermione climbed the steps back up to the entrance hall.

As soon as they were out of the dungeons, Ron said, “Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was alright!”

“Snape’s a jerk,” Harry agreed. “How’s Trevor?” he asked Neville.

“Alright, I think,” Neville said, and put Trevor back into his pocket. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Hermione —”

But when they turned around, Hermione wasn’t there.

“Where’d she go?” Ron asked. “She was right behind us.”

But the only people coming up the steps were Malfoy and his cronies.

“How’s your toad, Longbottom?” Malfoy sneered. “Good thing you have Granger around to do your potions for you. Expect her to stop Regulus Black for you, too?”

Neville went very pale and Harry stood between him and Draco. Ron did the same.

“Back off, Malfoy. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s eyes glittered. “No? So, I take it Longbottom’s going to catch Black single-handedly, then? Are you going to help? Don’t you think you’d just pass out at the sight of a dementor?”

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Neville said suddenly.

Malfoy scowled at Neville. “I know enough to know that if Regulus Black did to my family what he did to yours, I’d have gone after him myself by now. I wouldn’t be hiding in the castle like a —”

They never found out what Malfoy was going to call Neville, because he was cut off by a gasp that sounded like Hermione. Ron, Neville, and Harry, pushed past Malfoy and found Hermione at the bottom of the stairs, bag ripped open, and books spilled out on the stone floor.

Harry, Ron, and Neville helped her pick them up. Ron turned over a particularly large Ancient Runes book to look at the cover.

“Why do you have all these books?” he asked.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” she said as she mended the seam on her bag.

“But it’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” she said and took her books from Neville. “I hope there’s something good for lunch. I’m starving.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

When the Gryffindor students showed up for Defense Against the Dark Arts, their teacher wasn’t present. The students sat down and took out their parchment and quills. Harry realized he hadn’t seen Uncle Remus at lunch, and he wondered if Remus had slept in late.

But Remus was only a few minutes late, and Harry was relieved to see how much better he looked today than he had on the train.

“Good afternoon,” Professor Lupin said. “Go ahead and put your books away. Today’s lesson will be practical.”

The class packed away their books excitedly. They’d never had a practical lesson, even with Professor Potter. The closest they’d come was Professor Lockhart’s pixie disaster last year, in which Ron’s wand had broken.

Neville and Pavarti seemed appropriately nervous. Seamus and Dean, however, followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom eagerly. Harry was right behind them.

Professor Lupin took the class down a deserted corridor and then around a corner. They came across Peeves the Poltergeist, stuffing chewing gum into a locked door. Then the ghost took note of Lupin and blew a loud, wet raspberry at him.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang loudly. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin.”

Harry, who had grown up with his father and Sirius jumping to Remus’s defense over everything, felt incredibly angry with Peeves. If James had heard anyone call Remus “loony” there would have been an all-out brawl. And then Remus would have chided him for making a scene. Harry wondered if Peeves knew Remus’s secret. He wondered if Remus was nervous about it at all.

But Uncle Remus was still smiling at Peeves and said, “I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves. Mr. Filch won’t be able to get into his brooms.”

But Peeves only continued with his song. The only people Peeves listened to were the Bloody Baron, Professor Dumbledore, and on occasion, Professor McGonagall. Peeves never listened to even Snape, so it was no surprise that he ignored a request from Professor Lupin.

But Remus, still smiling, took out his wand. “Pay attention, class. This is a very useful spell.” He pointed his wand straight at Peeves and said, “Waddiwasi!”

The chewing gum bolted out of the keyhole and straight up Peeves’s nose. The class erupted into laughter.

Harry’d seen Sirius use that spell on his father once. His mother hadn’t been pleased to come home and find the kitchen torn apart.

“Cool, sir!” said Dean.

“Where’d you learn that?” asked Seamus.

“A good friend of mine invented it. Shall we proceed?” He tucked his wand back into his robes and led them further down the corridor, all the way to the staffroom. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

Harry had been in here once before, last year, when he’d come to tell the teachers what they’d learned about the Chamber of Secrets. The wardrobe he and Ron had hid in was in one corner, and at the table of mismatched chairs sat Snape. Snape did not look very pleased to see the class and stood.

“Leave the door open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.” When he reached the door, he paused and turned around. “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went red, and Harry watched something tighten in Remus’s jaw, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I’m sure he will perform it admirably.”

Snape’s sneer sharpened, and Harry suddenly remembered his first year, when Sirius and Remus had mentioned some sort of history with his parents and Snape. He’d forgotten about it, because his mother had seemed to get along with Snape so well when she was here. But it all came back to him now, as Snape closed the door with a relatively loud bang.

“Now then,” said Remus, and he led the class to the old wardrobe Harry had hidden himself in just three months earlier. The wardrobe wobbled against the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” Remus said as some students stepped backwards. “It’s only a boggart in there.”

Harry thought a boggart was definitely something to worry about. In fact, about half the class took another step away from the wardrobe. Even Harry thought this might be outside their ability to manage. He didn’t know why Uncle Remus was giving them this for their first day of class.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” Remus explained. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock.”

Harry had heard that story. He’d been too young to remember it himself — only a few months old. The clock that he’d grown up with, chiming every hour and at odd intervals in-between, had become home to a boggart. The story got retold a lot because apparently Sirius had discovered it and refused to fight it. He’d held Harry in the kitchen while James, Lily, Remus, and their friend Peter finished off the boggart.

Harry was not particularly excited to fight anything Sirius was terrified of.

“Firstly,” Remus began, “What is a boggart?”

“A shape-shifter,” Hermione said. “It takes the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Very good,” Remus said, and Hermione beamed. “So the moment I open that wardrobe, he’ll immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means we have a huge advantage before we even start. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

Harry eyed the wardrobe warily. He tried to think of the story he’d heard from his parents, and how it compared to their situation now. “Er — because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”

“Precisely,” Remus said. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart.”

He then explained to them how to use the spell necessary to fight the boggart. The class repeated, “Riddikulus,” until Remus was sure they had it right.

Then he called Neville forward. “The spell is the easy part, I’m afraid. This, Neville, is where you come in.”

Neville looked as white as he’d looked in Potions just hours earlier. Harry wondered if he should tell Remus that maybe Neville wasn’t the best person to single out in a classroom, but ultimately Harry trusted Remus, so he said nothing.

“First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

Neville’s answer was so quiet, Remus bent down closer and said with a smile, “Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry.”

In the barest whisper, Neville said, “Professor Snape.”

The class laughed. Even Remus looked amused. “I see. And, I believe you spent part of your summer with your grandmother this year?”

“Er — yes, but I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

“No, of course not. I’d like to picture your grandmother’s clothes very clearly in your mind. Can you see them, Neville?”

“Er — yes.”

“When the boggart bursts out of the wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand — like this — and say, ‘Riddikulus,’ and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. Can you do that?”

Neville nodded nervously.

“Alright then.” And Remus, with a flick of his wand, opened the door of the wardrobe.

Out stepped Professor Snape, a little taller than Harry remembered, nose a little larger — clearly the boggart was merely reflecting all the things about Snape that terrified Neville, including his intimidating glare.

Neville took a step backwards, wand arm shaking. “R-riddikulus!” he squeaked.

There was a loud crack and Snape stumbled. Suddenly, he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress, an enormous hat with a stuffed vulture on top, and he carried a large, bright red purse.

The class erupted into laughter and the boggart paused, terribly confused.

“All of you,” Remus said, “picture what you fear most and find a way to make it comical. Parvati, your turn.”

Parvati stepped forward eagerly. The boggart turned to her and changed into a mummy, blood-stained and bandaged. She raised her arm and said, “Riddikulus!” and the mummy became tangled in its wrappings. It tripped and its head rolled off.

“Seamus, you next!” Snape called.

Harry watched Seamus turn a banshee silent and wondered what he should do about his boggart. His first thought, of course, was Lord Voldemort. He remembered the terror he’d felt facing the dark wizard when he was eleven, and again, at the age of twelve, destroying the diary. He thought maybe he could make a basilisk funny by replacing its fangs with false teeth, but he wasn’t sure the boggart would turn into a basilisk. How did he make Vol — but then he remembered the dementor, and the cold fear that had taken over him while he was on the train. He remembered the scream and the flashes of light. Harry had no idea how to fight that.

The boggart shifted quickly as each student stepped forward. Ron’s greatest fear was spiders, and Ron turned it into a spider without legs. The spider rolled towards Harry. He raised his wand, still not sure what he would change about a dementor to make it less terrifying, but Remus suddenly came between him and the boggart.

For a brief moment, the boggart became a silvery-white orb, then Remus said, “Riddikulus,” as easily as he might ask Lily to pass the salt.

There was a crack and Remus called Neville forward to finish the boggart off.

They had a brief, final glimpse of Snape in a lacy dress before Neville laughed and the boggart exploded into a smoke and was gone.

“Excellent,” Remus said. “Well done, everyone. Five points for every person to tackle the boggart — ten to Neville who did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said, a little put-out that Remus hadn’t let him fight the boggart.

“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of class. Alright, everyone, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me. Hand it in at your next class. That will be all.”

The class gathered their things excitedly, but Harry was not quite as thrilled.

“Did you see me take that banshee!” Seamus shouted.

“And the hand,” Dean said eagerly.

“Snape in the hat,” laughed Pavarti.

“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” asked Lavender as the class left.

Harry knew what that shining orb had been, and he was glad everyone else had misinterpreted it. He waited at the door for Remus instead of following his class.

“Uncle Remus,” he said.

Remus smiled at him, “Professor Lupin, Harry.”

“Er — yeah, sorry. I’ll adjust. I was just…. Why didn’t you let me fight the boggart?”

Remus laughed gently. “I thought it was obvious. I assumed it would turn into Lord Voldemort. I didn’t think Voldemort materializing in the staff room was a very good idea.”

“Er — no, I suppose not.” Harry wondered if he should tell Remus that it wasn’t Voldemort he was so terrified of, but the dementors instead. He was still ashamed of passing out on the train, and he didn’t want Remus to think he was afraid of anything, really.

“I believe you have a History of Magic class to get to? And I have some first years to instruct. We can talk more about this later, Harry.”

“Okay, yeah.” Harry picked up his bag, not feeling much better.

As Harry and Remus walked to their respective classrooms, Remus paused before they split corridors and asked, “Before you go — was Draco Malfoy in class this morning?”

“Yeah. He was particularly mean to Neville about Regulus Black being spotted. Why? Can you give him detention for me?”

Remus laughed. “I will do my absolute best to. I’m just glad Madam Pomfrey got him all fixed up.”

“It was just a cut. Buckbeak wasn’t trying to hurt him. Malfoy just wasn’t listening —”

“I believe you. However, Draco reminds me of his father in some ways, and I couldn’t help remembering — Ah, we’re both late now, and I shouldn’t be making a habit of this. Go on. I’ll see you soon.”

Harry had never left a conversation so confused and bewildered, and still disappointed he didn’t get the chance to prove himself with the boggart.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Everyone Lives

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Fifteen Aragog

Lily Potter enjoyed being a teacher more than she had expected. Though, that really wasn’t saying much because she had expected to hate it.

Patience was not something she considered her strongest suit. She frequently lost her temper, and she felt like she spent so much of her time frustrated at James or Harry or Sirius, or even Remus. But after a tea with Minerva, she’d been reminded not only of her patience and tenderness as Head Girl, but also that James was an especially trying case, and she shouldn’t judge herself harshly for losing patience with him. The fact that they had been married thirteen years was truly a testament to her enduring patience.

That gave her a bit of courage, and while she did find herself perpetually frustrated with her first and second years, she never lost her temper. And she found that she thoroughly enjoyed her N.E.W.T. level students.

She hadn’t considered the fact that her name alone bore a lot of weight with the older students. They would have been between four and six during the Wizarding War. They would have heard her name and Harry’s name all throughout their childhood. They were old enough to know about some of the more gruesome battles, and young enough to be curious about the details.

It wasn’t the praise or awe they gave her that she loved. It was the way they were so eager to learn Defense from her. They trusted her knowledge of the Dark Arts based on her personal experiences, and they wanted to know what she knew. She found that was her favorite part of teaching, and on the days she wasn’t teaching N.E.W.T. classes, it was much harder to get out of bed.

Being separated from James was also much harder than she had expected. She’d thought he was being dramatic by complaining he’d only see her once a week. Truthfully, without Harry at the house, she’d grown quite bored and irritable. She’d been more than ready for a change, and she had to admit there was a small part of her that had been ready to leave James behind when she began teaching.

But of course, within the first two days she missed him more than anything. House hunting that weekend in Hogsmeade had been the highlight of her week, and she wrote to him daily. Sometimes twice a day. He wrote to her just as frequently.

Today, however, she was more than glad she’d taken Lockhart’s teaching position. She couldn’t imagine leaving Harry and the rest of his classmates and peers in this school with only Lockhart standing between them and the monster that lay hidden in the Chamber.

He’d brandished his wand as Dumbledore left, saying they were sure to be rid of the beast now that Hagrid was leaving, but Lily felt unsettled in her stomach. She was glad she was here to stand with the other teachers and protect the students, even if she did dread re-teaching first years a Lumos Charm for the fifth time that month.

Monday, however was not a day for first years. She actually had her favorite class — the sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. students — right after breakfast. She put on her usual purple robes and headed down to breakfast. She stared a moment too long, however, at the empty Headmaster’s seat, until Minerva sat down. They exchanged small, weary smiles.

Since Minerva was filling in as Headmistress in Dumbledore’s absence, and still teaching her Transfiguration classes, Lily and Severus had picked up a lot of the extra work that needed to be done. They organized the patrols for the professors and prefects, and they made sure students were safely in bed and not too terrified to sleep. Lily tended to go back and forth between the Towers, and Severus stayed near Slytherin and Hufflepuff’s Common Rooms, so they did not see each other too often.

But when they could see each other, she tried to be friendly. So far, he hadn’t made it very easy.

They’d been paired together on patrol that first night after Hermione Granger had been Petrified. James had been paired with Gilderoy Lockhart, and while he seemed to have mixed feelings about being paired with the wizard who’d cost his son all the arms in his bone, he hadn’t said a word about Lily and Severus. Unfortunately, Severus had said enough words to make up for it.

Lily wondered if her friendship with Severus was only pleasant in hindsight. She believed they had been very good friends for many years, but they’d taken different paths in adulthood, and she didn’t know if they were able to repair that fracture.

Lily and James had discussed Severus over the years. A long time ago, Lily mentioned trying to repair her friendship with him, shortly after Harry was born, and James eventually came around to the idea. He still hadn’t been entirely convinced — “I don’t trust him or like him, Lils, but I do trust and love you, so if you think it’s a good idea, then sure,” — until Professor Dumbledore had made it very clear that he trusted Severus. James had been all about making friends with Sev after that.

Lily wondered if she ought to be offended that her husband trusted Dumbledore’s judgment over her own, but then again she would trust Dumbledore’s judgement over James’s without hesitation.

So since they both agreed it couldn’t hurt to try to repair their relationship with Severus, Lily tried to make friends with Severus, especially during those first few days when she missed James the most. She really just needed a friend. Things went wonderfully that first week. They exchanged greetings at meals, he stopped by her classroom twice to make sure Fred and George Weasley weren’t causing her any trouble, and they even had tea with Hagrid one afternoon.

But when that first Saturday rolled around, and she mentioned she was going into Hogsmeade to look for a small cottage for her and James to share on weekends, Severus had turned cold. Now he barely spoke with her, and when he did it was usually to make a snide comment about James.

She wondered what he’d expected. That she would leave James and stay at Hogwarts with him? That their friendship would be just like it used to be? She’d become a different person over the last fifteen years, and she’d hoped Severus would want to get to know her as that new person. She wanted to share the last fifteen wonderful years of her life with him. She wanted to tell him about the first time Harry rode a broom, or the time a griffin wandered into their backyard and James and Sirius thought it would be a good idea to wrestle it and she and Harry had come home to a house covered in mud. She wanted to tell him how scared she was about the future, but every time she mentioned James or Harry, Severus would close up and become incredibly sharp with his words.

She’d learned to avoid talking about James in front of him, but it made her heart break. She felt like their new friendship was an illusion constructed of glass and colored light that could shatter with the barest touch. It didn’t feel like a friendship at all.

With these heavy thoughts, she arrived to her first class.

A few were scribbling down the final sentences of the essay she’d assigned over the weekend. Leo Nott, unsurprisingly, had his neatly rolled and tied with a yellow ribbon. It was sitting on his desk, ready to be handed in. He was the most studious Hufflepuff she’d ever met. His seat, however, was empty. He was hovering over Anne Scrimgeour’s desk, making teasing comments while she hastily finished her essay.

The only student not either anxiously finishing their own essay or anxiously helping a friend was Percy Weasley, who sat quietly at his desk. Penelope Clearwater’s remained empty beside him.

Lily gave him an encouraging smile and called the students to their seats.

“Essays forward.” As the students hastily tied ribbons around the scrolls, or added Qwick-Dry Sealing Wax to them, she asked, “Who wants to tell me one of the advantages of the Fidelius Charm’s protections?”

Leo raised his hand. She nodded in his direction.

“You can’t be found by anyone who doesn’t already know where you are.”

“Very good. That is, essentially, the point of the charm. Point to Hufflepuff. How many people can be privy to the knowledge of a Fidelius Charm?”

Miss Smythe answered, without waiting to be called on, “Seven.”

Lily raised her eyebrows, and a Gryffindor boy named Christian said, “As many as you want, Helena.”

Helena turned around in her seat to glare at him. “Seven is the most stable number.” She looked back at Lily. “Isn’t it, Professor?”

“True, seven is a healthy number in most spell work, Miss Smythe, but Mr. Thelborne is correct. The Fidelius Charm is actually not affected by the number of people who know of the secret.”

Leo Nott raised his hand. She knew he was going to say exactly what the class needed to hear, so she pointed to him.

“Anyone can be a part of the Charm, but seven Secret Keepers is the highest stable number of Secret Keepers.”

“Very good! Another point for Hufflepuff.” Lily said with a wide smile. “Now, someone tell me the drawbacks of the Fidelius Charm.”

Leo Nott raised his hand, but instead, Lily chose to call on Anne Scrimgeour.

Anne hesitated a moment before finally answering, “If something bad happens to your Secret Keeper, all your Secondary Keepers are made Primary Keepers.”

“Unless you’ve established an order of Secret Keepers, yes. Very good. That is the worst drawback of the spell, and why keeping your numbers limited is so important.”

Marcus Flint raised his hand, and though Lily was sure he had nothing useful to say, she tried to make a policy of never ignoring her students.

“Yes, Mr. Flint?”

“What if you made someone the Secret Keeper on your house, but the house caught on fire, and you couldn’t put it out, and your house would burn, and no one would be able to help you, because no one could see your house because it was under the Fidelius Charm. Then you would burn to death. That’s a drawback, right?”

Oliver Wood tried very hard not to laugh. He succeeded in looking like a very angry tomato with a twitchy mouth.

Lily turned her wand over in her hand. “Yes, that is technically a drawback to putting the Fidelius Charm on a house, and making its location the secret no one can know.”

Marcus grinned. “So if I wrote that in my paper, do I get full points?”

“If it’s in legible English,” she said, “then yes. Now everyone push your desks aside, it’s time for some wordless spell practice. I don’t want to hear a single Leviosa.” There was some groaning, but no verbal spells as the students cleared the floor to make space for dueling.

After her N.E.W.T. class, she had her Hufflepuff O.W.L. level students, who were their own kind of stress, very different from her first years. It wasn’t their fault that the biggest exam of their lives couldn’t be postponed because of the Chamber of Secrets. And the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students were her most stressed students. She spent more time reassuring them that everything would be fine than she did actually reviewing exam content. She intended to be on topic today, though she would have to be gentle with her fifth year Gryffindors at the end of the day. Their anxiety over what had happened to Hermione Granger would still be fresh.

Reviewing with the Hufflepuffs proved to be difficult, not because they were weary and scared, but because Gilderoy Lockhart decided second period would be a perfect time to help out.

He had a habit of coming in and out of classes, careful to choose the ones where some of the girls were still loyal to him, and Lily could not actually force him out. Even though she was the teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart was still on the grounds as a consultant for her class, no matter how much she might wish he wasn’t. At least, after class, she forced him to be useful by walking her students down to History of Magic.

She had the second-year Gryffindors for her third class. They were far more subdued than they had ever been as they walked into her class, escorted by Professor Sprout. As they sat down, she noticed Harry was avoiding her eyes. She didn’t blame him for being upset they’d told him to leave the Chamber of Secrets situation to the adults.

With the class so glum, she assumed no one would be in the mood to learn a Tickling Charm, so she decided to review the Melofors Jinx. She dared a few students to cast it on her, though only Neville Longbottom, after much cajoling from Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. managed to make any change: her face became as orange as a pumpkin, with an odd texture to it that was not quite flesh, not quite pumpkin. She laughed and turned her head back to normal.

At the end of class, she walked them down to History of Magic, and made sure the last class, her fifth year Hufflepuffs, made it safely to their Charms class, since Professor Binns was not a suitable escort. He might be enough to chaperone the students, but convincing him to break from his routine was truly impossible.

She had second-year Hufflepuffs for her fourth period, and they were a little more excited about the Melofors Jinx than her Gryffindor students had been. Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan were whispering quietly to each other when they walked in, and it continued throughout the lesson. Ernie kept glancing at Lily, but Hannah kept pulling his attention back to her. She knew Ernie and Hannah were close with Justin Finch-Fletchley, so she let them be until after class.

As she escorted the class to their fifth period, she told Hannah that if they needed to speak to her about anything, they were welcome to ask.

Ernie frowned and Hannah shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you, Professor,” Hannah finally said.

Ernie, unusually, said nothing, and took Hannah’s hand as they walked into Transfiguration.

Lily reviewed Dark Creatures with her Gryffindor fifth-years, and thankfully Gilderoy Lockhart did not show up to make a performance during this lesson. She thought it might be because Gryffindors were more prone to spontaneous hexing than Hufflepuffs were.

After dinner, Lily escorted the Gryffindors back up to their tower. Again, she noticed Harry wouldn’t look at her, and neither would Ron. Harry wasn’t just upset with her; he and Ron had something reckless planned.

Lily left them without saying anything. She had a few hours to figure out what they were up to, and there would be plenty of teachers and prefects on patrol to catch them.

She wrote her usual letter to James, assuring him that she and Harry were still fine. She told him she had not yet heard from Dumbledore, but she did ask James if he would like to invite Lockhart over for tea during the week, if only to keep him from hovering in her classroom and boasting about the monster being vanquished.

She had her usual cup of evening tea as she graded her N.E.W.T. class’s essays on the Fidelius Charm. As unusually shy as Anne Scrimgeour had been in class, and for finishing her essay at the last minute, her grasp on the charm proved to be thorough. But Anne tended to stress over charms, Lily had noticed. Anne was one of those rare witches with a remarkable grasp on theory, though she struggled at actually producing strong Charms. Her Jinxes and Hexes, however, were a completely different story.

Marcus Flint’s, though riddled with sarcasm, humor, and absurdly morbid examples, was also accurate enough to receive an E. Oliver Wood’s was full of sour remarks about the cancelled Quidditch match, and all of his examples included Ravenclaw team captain Roger Davies meeting a violent end.

At the least, grading her N.E.W.T. student’s essays was entertaining.

Around midnight, she heard a knock on her door. She assumed it was Severus or Minerva, come to put her on patrol.

She was surprised to find Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot standing outside her office.

“What are you two doing out of bed?” But she was not about to send them back down the hall on their own, so she let them inside.

“You said we could ask you anything,” Ernie said.

“Of course, but at midnight, when you’re supposed to be in your dormitories is not really the best time, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s an emergency,” Hannah said.

“Did you ask Professor Sprout?”

Hannah shifted her feet. “She sleeps very heavily. And we thought… because you’re the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher….”

“Is it true you know what Petrified Justin?” Ernie asked.

Lily bit down on her tongue. “Who is saying that?”

“We heard Harry say it to Ron in Herbology today. He said that the teachers knew what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was.”

“Is it a spider?” Hannah asked.

Lily took a deep breath. “We don’t want you to worry about the Chamber. I know, especially when your friends are hurt, it’s hard to sit by and let someone else take care of it. But we want you to focus on your studies and let your teachers handle this. Can you do that?”

Ernie didn’t answer.

Hannah shook her head. “Justin is our friend. We can’t do nothing.”

Lily was not exactly surprised. Harry was very much the same way, except she imagined Harry would’ve lied to her, instead of being honest like Hannah. She wondered what Harry was doing right now to help Hermione.

“Did Harry, by chance, say anything else today about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Hannah and Ernie exchanged another glance.

“That was the other thing,” Hannah said slowly. “We didn’t want to tattle.”

“But I think we should tell you,” Ernie said quickly.

Lily knew Ernie very much liked to tattle. He liked thinking of himself as having an adult’s authority, and when he wasn’t treated like he had an adult’s authority, he went and got an adult’s authority. She noticed it more when he and Harry were younger, and Ernie often tattled on Harry or Fred or George. But in these last few months at Hogwarts, she thought he’d gotten better now that he had his own friends, and didn’t have to compete for attention. Apparently he’d gotten better enough that Hannah Abbott could persuade him to keep quiet.

“I honestly believe you should sort your own troubles out,” Lily said, “but if you think Ron and Harry are going to do something dangerous, please tell me.”

“They’re going to the Forbidden Forest,” Hannah blurted out.

Lily highly doubted Ron was willingly going into the Forbidden Forest. “Did they say why?”

“The spiders,” Ernie said. “Harry pointed at the spiders, and Ron said they couldn’t follow them just yet.”

Lily could very well ground Harry for an eternity. If he had been in front of her right then, he would have been done with Quidditch until he graduated from Hogwarts and he would have lost all summer visiting privileges.

She wondered if she could’ve prevented this by telling Harry what was in the Chamber of Secrets. She wondered if it was better to tell Harry everything. But he was only twelve, and there were things twelve-year-olds did not need to know.

“I’m very glad you told me,” she said slowly. “I’ll walk you back to your dormitories and take care of Harry and Ron.”

As soon as Ernie and Hannah were safely behind the barrel near the kitchen, Lily stormed up to the Gryffindor Common Room. She woke up Minerva McGonagall and together they discovered Harry and Ron were not in bed.

After convincing Dean and Seamus to get back in bed, they knew they had to go to the Forbidden Forest.

“We won’t catch up to them if we walk,” Lily said as Minerva led her outside the castle onto the grounds.

Instead of starting for the Forbidden Forest, Minerva started towards the Quidditch Pitch. “We’ll be taking the Slytherin team’s brooms.”

Lily wondered if that was the most effective course of action or if Minerva really just wanted an commandeer a Nimbus 2001.

“I don’t really fly —”

“The ride will be simple. The brooms are very well designed, and you’ll need to come because I couldn’t possibly fit both boys onto one broom.”

Lily swallowed hard as Minerva handed her a Nimbus 2001. It was a smooth handle, unlike the brooms she’d tried to ride when she was in school. She remembered her fifth date with James, when he’d offered to teach her to ride his broom. It was top-of-the-line then, advertised as a maximum of two knots per handle, and fifteen percent twig loss. She’d been thrown to the ground so hard, she’d woken up in the infirmary.

“It can tell when you’re nervous,” James had said. “Next time, you just need to relax a bit.”

The next time had been after the war, when Harry was learning to fly, and James had insisted they take Mommy-and-Son Flying Classes together.

“Learning to fly a broom is an important skill,” he’d told her. “It’s like — like when you tried to teach me how to ride an un-motor-bike.”

Except James had never actually learned how to ride a bike, and Lily had only gotten the basics of flying. When she tried to play Quidditch with her boys — Sirius included — she was good for little other than launching fake Beaters at them. And even that required she take a hand off her broom, which made her shaky.

She took a deep breath as she mounted the broom, trying to remember James’s advice from their date. Shoulders straight and relaxed. Hands back a little. Little farther. Now kick off.

She followed Minerva as fast as she dared towards the Forbidden Forest.

“How will we find them?” she called over the wind.

Lily was answered with a high-pitched scream that had to be Ron Weasley. Minerva dived sharply towards the forest. Lily followed at a more reasonable curve.

She and Minerva landed in a small clearing next to Harry and Ron, surrounded by huge spiders. Lily stifled a scream similar to Ron’s.

“Mum!” Harry shouted. “What are you doing here?”

Ron scrambled onto the back of Minerva’s broom without being asked to, and she took off the moment he was straddling the handle. Lily wondered if it had been Ron or Minerva that actually took off.

“Get on!” she shouted to Harry.

Harry climbed onto her broom and shouted, “Depulso,” but it bounced off the spider. Lily didn’t have time to correct him on how to fight an Acromantula.

“Wait!” he said before she could kick off. “Fang!”

Harry grabbed the collar of the enormous boarhound and pulled it onto the broom, hanging over the middle. “Mum! Take off!”

She wanted to scream at him and cry all at once. She threw an Incendiary Jinx to keep the spiders from coming any closer.

“Harry, I can’t fly this with a dog!”

“Then you hold the dog!” he shouted back at her and climbed onto the front of the broom.

Lily put Fang between her and Harry and bit back a scream as Harry kicked off. They rocketed into the air and it was all she could do to keep one hand on the dog and the other on the broom.

Her heart was hammering when they touched back down on solid ground outside the castle. Fang went bounding off to Hagrid’s hut, howling desperately.

She wanted to shout at Harry, but she needed to collect her breath first. Minerva was already halfway through scolding Ron.

“— especially at a time like this!” she was saying. “You two could have been killed — would have been killed — if we hadn’t found you!”

“How’d you know where we were, Mum?” Harry asked.

Lily couldn’t understand why he was so calm. At least, he sounded calm. In the light of the half-moon, she could tell he was white as a sheet. Surely the spiders had terrified him as much as they had terrified her.

“It doesn’t matter how,” she said. “I’m just glad we found you in time. What were you thinking?”

“Hagrid said to follow the spiders for answers.”

“Oh, Hagrid said that, did he?”

“Yeah.” Harry adjusted his glasses. “And you weren’t giving us any answers, so we went to get them ourselves.”

He sounded so much like James. It was the same way Harry’d talked about smuggling a dragon out of the castle, and the same way James talked about running through Hogsmeade with a fully-transformed werewolf. They would do anything for their friends.

“Detention, both of you,” Minerva snapped. “From now until the end of the school year!”

“How are we supposed to serve those detentions if we aren’t allowed out of our dorms after six?” Harry asked.

Minerva, instead of being angered, considered it for a moment. “I suppose I’ll simply have to write to your parents and have them administer punishments as they see fit.”

“Mum’ll kill me,” Ron whispered.

Harry looked at Lily and she frowned. “For starters, that was the last time you’re ever flying a Nimbus 2001. I’ll be discussing with your father the rest of your punishment.”

Harry’s face fell.

After Minerva and Lily had seen the boys back to their dormitories, Lily asked, “Do you think we should tell them? About the… monster?”

Minerva sighed heavily. “I hope running into Acromantulas taught them a valuable lesson about going into the Forbidden Forest at night. I don’t think it wise for them to know what the monster is. Knowing Harry and Mr. Weasley, I expect letting them solve the mystery of what is in the Chamber will prevent them from trying to solve the mystery of how to fight it.”

Lily thought that Harry would be much safer researching in the library than hunting for hidden corners where the Chamber might be hidden. But still, she decided that if nothing had been found by the end of the week, she would have to tell Harry and Ron everything she knew.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Everyone Lives

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Ten The Rogue Bludger

Lockhart’s classes had gotten worse than the pixies. They were as boring as Professor Binn’s lectures, and for Harry they were twice as embarrassing.

After the disaster with the Pixies, Lockhart had proceeded to teach only by reading passages from his books, and occasionally he would ask for a volunteer to reenact dramatic fights with him. Of course, Harry didn’t need to volunteer because Lockhart called on him every single time, no matter how many times Harry said no.

Harry’d used lots of excuses — “My throat’s sore from the screaming last time,” or, “I caught a cold in Quididtch practice yesterday,” or, “Why don’t you ever ask Ron to do it?” — and sometimes they worked. Today, however, Hermione told him he needed to play along without protest. They needed Lockhart to be in a good mood for their plan to work.

Harry was ready to reenact a ghoul banishing or a moderate household pest escalated to the level of a Shakespearean drama. He was not, however, ready for Lockhart to open up Wanderings with Werewolves and begin reading.

He inevitably called Harry to the front of the class to play the part of the werewolf. Harry cast a glance at Hermione who gave him an encouraging nod. He tried not to groan as he got to his feet.

“Nice loud howl, Harry,” Gilderoy said — Harry growled — “No, a howl, Harry.” Harry mimicked a pitiful wolf howl, and Lockhart moved on. “Exactly, and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced — like this —” He leapt at Harry. “— slammed him to the floor —” And Harry dropped, face red with embarrassment and fury, “— thus, and with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm — he let out a piteous moan — go on, Harry ”

But Harry could keep quiet no more. He pushed Gilderoy off him and got to his feet. “You can’t hold a werewolf down with one hand! It would bite your hand off. And the Homorphus Charm doesn’t work on werewolves! Everyone knows the proper way to treat a werewolf is with a Wolfsbane Potion.”

Hermione looked like she might throw her book at him. The rest of the class sat in shock. If they had been bored before, they were paying attention now. No one had ever undermined Lockhart’s authority like this. But before Lockhart could tell Harry to sit down, or correct him, the bell rang.

Gilderoy Lockhart got to his feet and dusted off his robes. “Homework — compose a poem about my very accurate and true defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!”

The class left with a quiet murmur, but Hermione lingered until everyone was gone. Ron and Harry waited at the door.

Hermione nervously approached Lockhart’s desk. “Professor Lockhart, er, I was trying to understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms, and —”

He sighed heavily. “And is my other favorite student about to tell me how venom from ghouls cures boils and burns?”

“No, not at all, I thought your defeat of the ghouls was clever and wonderful, really, especially with the tea-strainer,” Hermione said, and Lockhart seemed to perk up a bit at this praise. “I found a book that would help me understand it better, but it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I was wondering if —”

“Anything to help out the best student of the year,” Professor Lockhart said, and signed the parchment without even looking at it.

“Th-thank you,” Hermione said, and quickly went to rejoin Harry and Ron.

“That easy?” Ron snorted. “Really, Hermione, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I can’t believe he actually said the Homorphus Charm would cure a werewolf,” Harry seethed. “No Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher should say that. I can just imagine what Mum and Dad would say if they knew how awful he really was.”

“Your parents are Order of Merlin, aren’t they?” Ron whispered as Hermione handed the permission slip to Madam Pince. “Ask your dad to teach.”

“No way,” Harry whispered back. “My dad would be so annoying as a teacher. You think Lockhart plays favorites? I know my dad would try to come to all my Quidditch practices, and be in the dorm all the time — no way. I’m not asking my dad to teach.” Harry did love his father, but Sirius and James wanted to be so involved in Harry’s life that he thought having them at school would be something of a nightmare.

“You’ve got to ask him though,” Ron said, as Hermione led them to the location of Moste Potente Potions.

“He’d want to know what we were doing all the time,” Harry sighed. “He’d want to know why we had this book, what we were doing with it. He’d probably offer to turn into Snape and go with us!”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Ron laughed.

But Hermione wrinkled her nose. “He sounds like a terrible teacher.”

“He can’t possibly be worse than Professor Lockhart,” Ron said as they took the potions book out of the library.

Harry shrugged. “Well, if you’re so sure, you can ask him yourself tomorrow.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

When tomorrow did arrive, Harry was not excited. He stayed in bed for thirty minutes wondering if there was anyway to save himself the embarrassment of losing to Malfoy. He saw no way out of it other than to get it over with.

He nibbled at his breakfast, while Ron asked all kinds of questions about how much Harry’s parents knew about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Apparently, he was quite set on asking them to teach, despite Harry’s warnings.

And on the other side of Harry, Hermione was making a list of all the things they would need in a Polyjuice Potion.

Ron paused in his questions and leaned over to look at Hermione’s notebook. “Bits of whoever we’re turning into? How do you imagine we’ll get our hands on that?”

But Hermione’s response was interrupted by Sirius’s shout from the entrance of the Great Hall.

“Harry!”

Harry’s ears disappeared into his shoulders.

“You’ll be fine,” Hermione said encouragingly, and stood up.

With his heart in his stomach, Harry got up from the table. Hermione and Ron walked with him to greet his parents, Uncle Remus, and Sirius, then they walked down to the Quidditch pitch together.

“Are you feeling alright, Harry?” Lily asked as they walked. She pressed a concerned hand to Harry’s forehead.

“I’m alright,” he mumbled and pushed her hand away.

“You’ll be great,” James said and squeezed his shoulder.

Harry made a vague sort of “Hm” that was neither assured nor disappointed as he went off to change into his Quidditch robes. As he was walking away, he heard Ron ask, “So, you guys are all Order of Merlin, right?”

In the locker room, Wood gave his usual speech about how this had to be the year they won. George whined about it raining again, and Harry morosely fitted his braces onto his arms before they walked onto the pitch.

There was, finally, one thing that made Harry less sure of their impending loss and more determined than ever to win, and that was seeing Draco’s arrogant smirk as the teams mounted their brooms. Finally, when faced with a challenge, Harry prepared to give this game his all and make everyone see that Draco was a terrible Seeker, Nimbus 2001 or no.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the players kicked off the ground.

Harry went straight up, prepared to keep an eye for the Snitch from a distance. Malfoy shot under him, more interested in showing off the speed of his broom than finding the Snitch first.

“Alright there, Scarhead?” Malfoy taunted over his shoulder.

Before Harry could thinking of a quick-witted retort, a Bludger came straight for him, and he barely managed to get out of its path.

“Close one, Harry!” George sped by and knocked the Beater back at Slytherin. It traveled a few yards from the force of the bat, but came whizzing right back at Harry.

Harry ducked under it, and George tried knocking it at Malfoy, but again the Bludger came right back at Harry.

Harry zipped towards the other end of the field, and he could hear the Bludger zooming straight for him. He went past Fred, who intercepted it and knocked it away, but again it went back for Harry.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” Lily asked James.

“No,” James frowned, “it’s been charmed somehow.”

“We should stop the game,” Sirius said. “It’s cheating.”

“You saw the box opened and the game started. No Slytherins have touched that Bludger.” James shook his head. “It’s not right, but there’s no foul to call. Can’t say I even know what charm to use to stop it.”

“We could just explode it,” Sirius suggested.

“Or try Finite,” Remus said.

“If you want to be boring about it,” and Sirius shrugged.

Remus got up to tell Madam Hooch to stop the game, but James grabbed his arm. “We can’t interfere with the match. One of the teams could call for an inquiry, but it would forfeit the match. We can’t ask Harry to do that.”

“Of course we can,” Lily snapped, and gasped as Harry made a particularly sharp dive to avoid the bludger. “That thing will kill him.”

“No one’s died in Quidditch,” James said, though he sounded at least a little nervous.

“Not since the early nineteenth century, anyway,” Sirius said.

Lily looked about ready to leap onto the Quidditch pitch, so James quickly said, “Not because of the game — it was an entirely unrelated incident with the trees storming the stadium.” And he shot Sirius a stern glare for stirring up Lily.

On the field, Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the Snitch if he had to dodge the Bludger the whole time, but it wasn’t letting up. He’d told Fred and George to back off; they couldn’t keep it off him anyway, so they might as well defend the team from the other Bludger. But between the rain and the nauseating turns he had to keep up in order to avoid the rogue Bludger, there was no time to look for the Snitch.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” Malfoy taunted after Harry finished a particularly complicated spin to dodge the Bludger.

Harry took a moment to glare at Malfoy as the Bludger whistled past him. And then — he couldn’t believe it — flitting right over Malfoy’s laughing head was the Snitch. But how to dive for it without alerting Malfoy it was there?

His split second pause was a mistake. The Bludger slammed into his arm. He could see Malfoy laughing at him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears from the intense pain in his arm. He thought he would pass out, but no, he had to get that Snitch.

He shot forward at Malfoy, holding his hurt arm against his chest. Malfoy misinterpreted the sudden approach as an attack and dove out of the way. Harry stretched out his good arm and grabbed the Snitch. Then his broom skidded to the ground and he laid down in the mud beneath the rain.

When Harry managed to open his eyes again, he expected Madam Hooch, or Oliver Wood, or even his parents over him, but instead he saw Professor Lockhart. Even though he wanted to pass out again, he tried to sit up.

“No, not you. Where’s Sirius?” Sirius was the best at healing spells. Or Madam Pomfrey. Anyone but Lockhart. He looked around for help, but most of the Quidditch team was helping Fred and George wrestle the Bludger back into the box.

“Not to worry,” Lockhart said. “I’m only going to fix your arm.”

“It’s fine, thanks,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“We can take him to Madam Pomfrey,” Oliver Wood said, and dropped his broom.

“No need, just lie back, Harry. It’s a simple charm I’ve done countless times.”

Even his mother wasn’t very good with healing spells, so Harry knew they were anything but simple. He was about to very angrily tell Lockhart no again, when he heard the click of Colin’s camera.

“Colin, please stop. Professor — where are my parents?”

“They’re coming,” Angelina said, and Alicia helped him sit up.

“Stand back, everyone,” Lockhart said. Harry tried to say no again, but Lockhart twirled his wand and he felt a strange tingling sensation in his arm. The crowd gasped, and Harry didn’t dare look down. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel anything in his arm, actually, but he didn’t want to know what everyone was gasping at.

“That can sometimes happen,” Lockhart said. “The important thing is —”

And then he heard his mother. “Harry! Harry, are you alright— oh!” It was a cry of alarm he knew well, from his injuries when he was younger, and an anger in it he also knew well — usually aimed at Sirius.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Sirius punch Gilderoy Lockhart in the face.

Then Remus grabbed Sirius and said, “You can’t go around punching people! Do you want to end up in Azkaban?”

“It’s not a crime to punch idiots in the face!” Sirius growled. “Look at Harry’s arm!”

Harry finally looked down at his arm and thought he was going to be sick. His arm was as limp as a rubber glove. The bone certainly wasn’t broken anymore — there were no bones at all.

“The important thing,” Lockhart said, holding his nose, “is that Harry isn’t in pain anymore. I just couldn’t bear to see how hurt he was, and had to do something immediately.”

“You’re an absolute idiot!” Lily shouted. “How dare you! How dare you try to treat my son when you’re only a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, when there are plenty more qualified wizards nearby, when his family is nearby — Who do you think you are?!”

James gently took her arm and tried to lead her away, but she refused to stand down.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked like a woman had never yelled at him in his life. “Madam,” he tried in an appealing tone, which also had an oddly stuffed sound to it, because his nose was dripping blood, “I understand you’re upset, but I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. I assure you that I am perfectly qualified to perform a simple healing spell on a broken arm.”

“Oh, is that what you did? Simply healed my son’s arm? How would you like me to vanish all the bones in your nose off?” Lily pulled out her wand, and Harry seemed quite sure his mother would hex his professor. He had no complaints about this.

James grabbed Lily’s arm again, very aware that Colin was still snapping photos and Dumbledore had arrived on the Quidditch pitch, lead by Professor McGonagall.

“Lily,” he said quietly, “I think we ought to get Harry to the hospital wing.”

This seemed to be the only thing that brought any sense back into Lily. “Yes. Right.” She stuffed her wand back into her robes, but her face was still red with fury. Harry was a little disappointed with his father for stopping her. He would’ve loved to see Lockhart without a nose.

Sirius leaned close and whispered into Lily’s ear, “And, for future reference, there are no bones in the nose.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Lily did not end up walking Harry to the hospital wing after all. She had a few more words with Dumbledore, who, realizing the publicity of the situation and the volume of her anger, calmly lead her away to his office, and motioned for an unusually sheepish Lockhart to follow. James and Sirius went along to keep Lily from getting violent, which meant that it was Remus who walked Harry to the infirmary along with Ron and Hermione.

That left Remus, Hermione, Ron, and Harry to listen to Madam Pomfrey’s tirade, which was arguably easier to listen to than Lily’s.

“You should have come straight to me!” she said furiously. “I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back — it’ll be painful. You’ll have to stay the night.” She set a pair of pajamas on the bed for Harry, then disappeared into her office. Ron drew the curtains around the bed and Uncle Remus helped Harry into his pajamas, since it was rather impossible to do with one arm.

“Can’t stick up for Lockhart anymore, eh, Hermione?” Ron said as he helped Remus pull Harry’s limp arm through the pajama sleeve.

“Professor Lockhart,” Remus corrected automatically, but even he sounded like he thought the title was ill-placed, and Harry laughed.

He did not laugh, however, when Madam Pomfrey gave him a cup of Skele-Gro. It was disgusting, and he nearly spit it out. After choking it down, he quickly gulped down a glass of water.

The Quidditch team came in to celebrate, with sweets and pumpkin juice, which perked Harry up, until Madam Pomfrey came storming through.

“This boy needs rest. He’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!” And Ron and Hermione were shooed off with the rest of the Quidditch team, leaving only Uncle Remus behind, laughing quietly.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked.

“When I spent days in the hospital, your father and Sirius and Peter all came to keep me company. They probably made enough noise for an entire Quidditch team.”

This reminded Harry of Lockhart’s lesson the previous afternoon, and he shared the story with Remus, who frowned.

“Yes, he was highly inaccurate, but you didn’t need to make a scene about it, Harry.”

“He was wrong! He’s a terrible teacher. Ron says Dad should be our teacher.”

“Goodness, no,” Remus laughed. “He and Sirius would be equally awful teachers. As smart as they are, and gifted in Defense Against the Dark Arts, there’s much more to teaching than knowledge in a subject.”

Harry and Remus laughed together about this for a moment, just until Harry’s parents arrived. They did not look very happy with each other, but Sirius looked thrilled. Harry couldn’t imagine what had happened in Dumbledore’s office.

“How do you feel?” his mother asked, and Remus stood so Lily could sit.

“I don’t feel anything yet,” he said. “Did you hex Lockhart?”

“Professor Lockhart,” Remus corrected wearily.

And Sirius burst out laughing. “Not anymore.”

“You got him fired?” Harry asked in shock.

Lily sighed heavily. “Not exactly.”

“It was brilliant,” Sirius said. “Your mum was incredible. She scolded Lockhart all over again, embarrassing him in front of Dumbledore, and then scolded Dumbledore for hiring him in the first place, and demanded Dumbledore hire someone else. And then Dumbledore told her, in his quiet and calm Dumbledore way —” Sirius put on a very solemn and serious face “ —‘There were no other applicants for the position, but if you’d be willing to fill it, you are more than welcome to.’ And Lockhart looked so furious!” Sirius started laughing so loudly, Madam Pomfrey came to kick him out, which only amused him more.

“Getting kicked out of the hospital wing? I would never,” he laughed.

Madam Pomfrey was not amused. “You’re more harm to my patients than you are helpful, if I remember correctly, Mr. Black.”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble, as usual.” Remus smiled gently, and led Sirius into the hallway, leaving Harry alone with his parents.

Harry stared at his mother. “You said you’d do it? You said yes?”

James folded his arms over his chest. “I told her not to. I told her she didn’t have to.���

“It’ll be fine,” Lily said and held onto Harry’s good hand. “Lockhart won’t be leaving. He’ll be staying on as an advisor, and of course I’ll need to use his books as the foundation for the coursework, even if they are terrible, but I can’t ask the students to get new ones. Really, James, if you don’t want me to stay, convince Remus to take the position.”

“He wouldn’t,” James sighed, and twisted his wedding band around his finger. “What am I supposed to do for the next seven months by myself?”

Lily gave an exasperated sigh and counted each task off on her fingers. “You could clean the house, take care of the garden, take care of Remus’s potion, make that practice Quidditch pitch you’ve been talking about for years, practice cooking since you dislike mine so much — honestly, there are a million and one things you can do. You’re being overdramatic.”

James did not seem to think he was being overdramatic. “What about Christmas?”

“You can come here for Christmas.”

“What about Valentine’s Day?”

“You can write a letter. I’m sure it will be lovely.”

“What about Easter?”

“James, really, you can visit on weekends. We’ll take Saturday trips into Hogsmeade. You could even buy a cottage there if you wanted to.”

That was the only suggestion that seemed to mollify James at all.

Around dinner time, Madam Pomfrey asked them to let Harry sleep. Lily kissed Harry’s forehead and told him she would see him in class Monday afternoon.

Harry was only allowed a bit of chicken broth for dinner. Solid food was not good for the bone regrowing process, so Madam Pomfrey said. After his broth and tea, Harry fell asleep surprisingly quickly. It had been a long and exhausting day.

He awoke in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in his arm and a house-elf sponging his forehead.

“Get off!” he said, and then he recognized the large eyes and snivelling house-elf. “Dobby? What are you doing here?”

“Harry Potter came back to school,” Dobby said sadly. “Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah, sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby? Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir….”

As Dobby sobbed into the filthy tea cloth, Harry sighed and leaned back onto his pillows. “I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving.”

“Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make —”

Harry sat back up suddenly. “Your Bludger? You made that Bludger to try and kill me?”

“Not kill you, sir!” Dobby wailed. “Never kill you! Dobby only wanted to save Harry Potter’s life! Better to be sent home, grievously injured, than to remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

Dobby sobbed into his tea cloth again. “If only Harry Potter knew what he meant to us, the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world. Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir. We house-elves were treated like vermin. Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir, but mostly life has improved for my kind, since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir…. And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are about to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more —”

Dobby froze, suddenly. He’d said too much, so he grabbed Harry’s water basin and smashed it against his head. Harry looked frantically to Madam Pomfrey’s office, but there was no movement. He needed answers, fast.

“Tell me, Dobby, what do you know about the Chamber of Secrets? Who opened it before?”

“Ask no more of Dobby, sir, please. Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter, please.”

“If you can’t tell me,” Harry said, and winced as he tried to move his arm, “is there another house-elf who can? Another house-elf who remembers when Volde —” Dobby looked terrified, so Harry quickly corrected himself, “— He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in power?”

“There are many house-elves who still remember,” Dobby said, and sniffled, “but many of them are not free.”

“Do you know about a house-elf named Kreacher? He was supposed to help You-Know-Who with something a long time ago. I read about it in a letter. Is it about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Kreacher serves the house of Black,” Dobby said, “but I do not know if he is free to speak. His masters are —”

Dobby froze again, and Harry wondered if he was about to hit himself again, but instead, there were footsteps in the hallway outside the infirmary.

“Dobby must go!” and then there was a crack as the house-elf apparated away.

Harry sighed and fell back into his pillows. He’d been so close to answers. He would have to look more closely at the book Sirius had given him as soon as he got out of the hospital.

The door opened suddenly, and Dumbledore and McGonagall carried in what looked like a statue. They set it on the bed and then Professor McGongall disappeared into Madam Pomfrey’s room.

Harry pretended to be asleep, and heard Madam Pomfrey whisper, “What happened?”

“Another attack,” said Dumbledore. “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

Harry lifted his head as much as he dared to see who it was. His heart sank into his stomach. Little Colin Creevey was lying on the bed, camera pressed against his face.

“Petrified?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Professor McGonagall said. “You don’t think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?”

Harry heard the pop of the camera backing, and then smelled the burnt film and the hissing of steam.

“Goodness gracious,” Madam Pomfrey said. “It’s melted. What does this mean?”

“It means,” Dumbledore said calmly, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“The question is not who, but how.”

Harry bit down on his lip as the pain in his arm increased, and he knew he had to get answers. If he couldn’t get them out of Dobby, he would get them out of his book, and if he couldn’t get them out of his book, he would get them out of Kreacher. Even if he had to ask Sirius Black for help.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

June 28, 1976

Dear Regulus,

I spoke to my mother, and asked her to calm Auntie Walburga down. She said she would talk to her, but my father and your mother seem to be quite firm in their decision. Uncle Alphard has tried to speak on Sirius’s behalf as well, but it sounds like Auntie is ready to blast him off the tree, too, if he says much more.

I’m so sorry. I know you must feel how I felt when we lost Drommie. But we’ll carry on. We’re the youngest ones and it seems that we must bear the burdens of our older siblings’ mistakes. I remember how hard it was to be at home right after we lost Drommie, and you’re welcome to spend your summer holiday with Lucius and I. The manor is positively splendid, and there’s an entire farm of peacocks I’ve been dying to show you. They’re beautiful creatures.

Don’t worry about Sirius too much. Family sticks together, and if he refuses to stay, he isn’t family. I know it’s hard to hear, but the sooner you can accept that, the easier the loss will be to bear.

I’ll write a formal invitation for you. Lucius is hardly home — his work in the ministry keeps him so busy — but he’s quite the conversationalist when he is home. And Bella loves to stop by. It would be wonderful to have you. Please accept the invitation.

Love, Narcissa

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Six Talons and Tea Leaves

Harry couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than breakfast on the first day of classes. As he, Ron, and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, Malfoy made a show of fainting. The Slytherin table erupted into laughter.

Harry slunk into the Gryffindor table, trying to disappear between Fred and George.

“Git,” George grumbled, and passed a plate of toast to Harry. “Wasn’t so cocky about it last night, was he?”

“Came running into our compartment looking like he was going to wet himself,” Fred agreed.

“I wasn’t too happy myself. They’re horrible those dementors.” George shook his head and quickly took a sip of his orange juice, like it might wash out the memory.

“Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?” Fred said.

“But neither of you passed out,” Harry complained. He took a bite of his toast and tried to look as sturdy as possible. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was going to faint at the drop of a hat.

“S’alright, Harry,” Fred said. “We’ll get him in Quidditch. First game of the season’ll be against Slytherin and you’ll get to show him up on the pitch for real this time.”

Last time Harry had been in a Quidditch match with Draco, Harry’d been bombarded by a rogue bludger that had broken his arm. He’d still managed to catch the Snitch before Malfoy, but Harry was looking forward to a fair Quidditch match, where he could show Malfoy up proper.

While they looked over their schedules, owls began dropping off the morning mail. Harry wasn’t expecting anything on the first day of classes, so he was surprised when Hedwig dropped two letters and a package into his lap. Uncle Remus was at school, and he wasn’t speaking to Sirius, so Harry couldn’t imagine why he was getting two letters.

“Hermione,” Ron said, “there’s something wrong with your schedule. You’ve got about ten subjects a day.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“But look,” said Ron, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies, And — look, underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. How are you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well, then —”

“Pass the marmalade.”

“But —”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

Harry found himself quite glad he’d dropped Muggle Studies as he opened his first letter, with his father’s loopy handwriting on the outside. Whatever arrangement Hermione had made with Professor McGonagall sounded like too much work on top of learning new subjects and Quidditch practice. It was already shaping up to be a difficult year.

His father’s letter, unfortunately, didn’t offer a lot of encouragement.

Dear Harry,

Remus wrote and said you’d taken ill on the train. I hope everything’s alright. Dementors are nasty things. Remus and I had to visit Azkaban on business once and it was the worst thing I’d ever been through. You probably don’t remember — you were barely two — but it took about three days for me to feel right again. Be sure you let Madam Pomfrey know if you need anything.

Or, you’re always welcome to come home until this Regulus Black business is sorted. If the dementors start giving you nightmares or you feel like you can’t focus, your mum and I will gladly teach you at home, at least until the dementors are no longer at Hogwarts.

Love, Dad

Harry crumpled the letter immediately. He didn’t need everyone worrying over him. It was bad enough Draco made fun of him for passing out. He didn’t need his parents swooping in and whisking him off like he was some sort of toddler who couldn’t take care of himself.

“Everything alright?” Ginny asked.

Harry gave a start — he hadn’t seen her sit down across from them. “Er — yeah. Uh, how are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said, and quickly took a bite of her porridge. Her cheeks seemed to turn more pink the longer he looked at her, so Harry quickly opened the second letter.

He recognized his mother’s neat print, as if she were a Muggle-typewriter, and his heart sank at what she might have to say. He also was surprised his parents were writing separately. They’d never done that before. Sure, while his mother was teaching, his father had sent him letters, but in all the time his parents were at home together, they’d never written to him separately. He wondered if everything was alright at home.

Dear Harry,

I’ve already written a strongly worded letter to Dumbledore and the Ministry about the dementors. Honestly, boarding the train, where the students were! It’s completely unacceptable, and I can’t imagine how things would have gone if Remus hadn’t been there. I’m so sorry you had to experience that. I can’t say I’ve ever run into a dementor, but the way your father and Remus have described them — it sounds horrendous. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I do hope you’re feeling better. I know lots of chocolate is recommended, so I’ve sent on some for you and your friends to share, if you have need of them.

And please, do talk to Remus if you need anything. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you. And I think the company would do him good. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he does get very lonely very quickly. So make sure you talk to him when you can. He’s already told your father and I not to visit Hogsmeade. I’m sure he’s told Sirius the same, though I doubt Sirius will listen. You know how the two of them can be about these things.

Best of luck with your studies. I know third year can be a hard year, with new classes and busier schedules. Maybe you were right to drop Muggle Studies, though honestly I wish you’d dropped Divination. I suppose it’s just a little hard for me to hear, since I did grow up in the Muggle world. You were so fascinated with it when you were little that I thought it might be a class you would enjoy. I’m sure you’ll like Divination just fine. I don’t know anything about the new professor, though. Surely she’s better than the one we had. I know Professor Dumbledore was thinking of removing the class entirely when our professor retired, but changed his mind and hired Professor Trelawney, so she must know what she’s doing. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.

Love, Mum

Harry felt a lot better about his mother’s letter than his father’s. He slipped it into his school bag and made sure to wave at Uncle Remus before he, Ron, and Hermione went off to find the Divination classroom.

Unfortunately, nothing about their morning went the way Harry’s mother predicted. To start with, they couldn’t even find the Divination classroom. It was in a tower none of them had ever been to, and they finally found it by getting directions from a squat little portrait-knight, who made up for his size with large words and a loud voice. Sir Cadogan led them on their “quest” to the North Tower, where they found Sybil Trelawney's classroom — or rather, the plaque on the ceiling that said her classroom was directly above them.

The Gryffindors waited below, suggesting ways they could get to class, until the trapdoor opened of its own accord and a silver ladder descended from the ceiling.

No one seemed brave enough to climb it first, so Harry took the opportunity to remind his classmates that he was not weak nor ill from dementors and began to climb.

The Divination classroom was unusual for a classroom, and their professor even more unusual. Instead of desks, there were several round tables with red and pink table-cloths draped over them. The light in the room was dim and rose-tinted, which Harry thought odd for a classroom. It was also oppressively warm, probably due to the fire that provided most of the light in the room, and it smelled like an old perfume that Harry thought he recognized but couldn’t quite place.

Until Neville came up behind him and whispered, “It smells like my grandmother, but worse.”

That was where Harry recognized the smell from.

Seated in a large armchair beside the fire was Professor Trelawney herself. She had large, frizzy hair, huge thick glasses that made her eyes look enormous, and a collection of heavy necklaces draped around her neck so that she looked like a very thin and jeweled beetle.

“Welcome,” she said. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last. Sit, my children, sit.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione selected one of the round tables with armchairs. Neville ended up falling into a nearby pouf.

“Welcome to Divination. My name is Professor Trelawney,” she said, and stood. “You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye.

“So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field….”

Hermione looked startled, and Harry and Ron couldn’t help grinning.

“Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the field mysteries of the future,” their professor went on. “It is a Gift granted to few.” She surveyed the class, as if looking for the most gifted student, or perhaps the least. “You, boy,” she gestured at Neville, “is your grandmother well?”

Neville’s voice shook as he said, “I think so.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, my dear.”

Neville looked as white as a ghost, and Harry felt a little bad. It seemed a little unfair to pick on the kid who had, like Harry, spent half the summer hiding from an escaped prisoner who supposedly was hunting down his family. Harry wouldn’t have liked it if she’d picked on him, either.

Harry remembered his father saying he and his friends had been rubbish at Divination. Harry wondered if he would be any better at it. He also remembered Uncle Remus saying something about centaurs being very skilled in Divination, but as Professor Trelawney went on to explain what they would be learning as the school year went on, she didn’t say a word about centaurs. Tea leaves, palmistry, and crystal balls, but nothing about centaurs or stars. Harry was a little disappointed. Though she did give a cryptic message, insinuating someone was going to die around the Easter holidays. Harry thought that a little far-fetched.

“I wonder, dear,” she said, and waved a hand towards Lavender Brown, “if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?”

Lavender took the teapot off the shelf and handed it to Professor Trelawney.

“Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading — it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October.”

Lavender was shaking as she took her seat again.

Harry was beginning to feel a little annoyed as Trelawney went on to explain their tea-reading lesson. He was starting to wonder if he should have taken his mother’s advice and dropped Divination instead of Muggle Studies.

They got up to get teacups, and Professor Trelawney caught Neville by the arm, “And dear, after you’ve broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.”

And as soon as Neville reached for a cup, he knocked it off the shelf and it clattered to the floor. Trelawney handed him a dustpan and reminded him to take a blue one. Harry got a blue one and filled it for Neville, then took his seat at a table with Ron. They drank their tea as quickly as they could without burning their tongues, then swirled the leaves as instructed. Then they traded cups.

Harry stared into Ron’s future blankly. Even with Unfogging the Future, he wasn’t quite sure how to read it.

“What can you see?” Ron prompted.

“Uh, black soggy tea leaves,” Harry said, then consulted the book again. The heavy perfume scents in the room made him feel sluggish and he couldn’t imagine why Remus said he enjoyed the incense. Different professor, different scents?

Professor Trelawney started to walk around the class, pointing things out to students, and scolding Seamus and Dean, who were giggling over their teacups. Harry tried to focus. “Okay, so, you’ve got a crooked sort of cross….” He looked into his book. “That means you’re going to have ‘trials and suffering’ — sorry about that — but there’s this thing here that could be the sun… hang on… that means ‘great happiness’ ... so you’re going to suffer, but be very happy….”

“You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me,” Ron said, and Harry tried very hard to hide his laughter.

Ron took his turn. He looked into Harry’s teacup and squinted. He turned it, to try to see what might be in Harry’s future. “There’s a blob a bit like a bowler hat. Maybe you’re going to work for the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry wrinkled his nose.

“But if you turn it this way it looks more like an acorn…. What’s that?” He checked his textbook. “‘A windfall, unexpected gold.’ Excellent, you can lend me some… and there’s a thing here that looks like an animal… yeah, if that was its head… it looks like a hippo… no a sheep…”

Harry had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter as Professor Trelawney whirled around.

“Let me see that, my dear.” She practically snatched the cup from Ron.

“The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy.”

“Everyone knows that,” Hermione said and rolled her eyes.

Trelawney stared at her, and so did Harry and Ron.

“Well, they do,” she protested. “Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who.”

Professor Trelawney ignored Hermione and turned her eyes back to Harry’s cup. “The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…. The skull… danger in your path, my dear….”

Just as Harry was beginning to wonder how there were so many shapes in that soggy mess, Professor Trelawney gasped and then screamed.

Neville dropped his teacup and it shattered on the floor.

As Trelawney sank into a chair, everyone crowded around Harry’s teacup. Harry didn’t see anything particularly scary in it.

“What is it, Professor?” asked Lavender Brown.

“No, no, it’s better if I don’t say it.”

“What?” Pavarti pressed.

“My dear,” she began slowly, and stared straight at Harry with her large eyes, “you have the Grim.”

A shiver coursed down Harry’s spine. He knew the stories about large black dogs as omens of death. They were the most common horror story told at home, because all of them ended in a punchline about Sirius Black.

“A what?” Dean Thomas asked.

“The large black dog that haunts church graveyards!” Professor Trelawney exclaimed. “An omen of death!”

Harry looked back into his teacup, but he didn’t see anything that looked like a dog.

“I don’t think it looks like a Grim,” Hermione said.

Professor Trelawney looked over Hermione with pursed lips. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little of aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.”

Then Seamus said, “It looks like a Grim if you do this,” and he squinted his eyes so tight they were nearly closed, “but it looks more like a donkey from here,” and he leaned to the left.

Harry was not very impressed, but Lavender, Parvati, and Neville looked at him like he’d caught plague.

“I think we will leave the lesson here for today,” Professor Trelawney said in a distant voice. “Yes… please pack away your things.”

The class was silent as they returned their teacups and packed their bags. Harry was beginning to regret his class choice. He wondered if the large black dog in his teacup was not so much a sign of death but a sign that he should make-up with Sirius. He really didn’t want to.

They had Transfiguration next, and the class was quiet through the whole lesson. No one even gasped nor applauded when Professor McGonagall demonstrated her lesson on Animagi by transforming into a cat. For Harry’s part, he was too annoyed at Sirius to be impressed. For the class, he assumed they were all still terrified he was going to die.

Harry had faced death more times than anyone in this class even knew about, and he’d come out fine so far. He had no intention of dropping dead any time soon.

When McGonagall asked what was wrong, Hermione told Professor McGonagall they’d just come from Divination, and McGonagall sighed.

“I see,” Professor McGonagall said. “And tell me, which of you is to die this year?”

Everyone looked at Harry, and Harry only rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to die.”

“I should say not,” Professor McGonagall said. “Professor Trelawney has predicted the death of at least one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class.”

This seemed to relieve some of the tension, but even as they walked to lunch, Harry still felt like his classmates gave him a wide berth, as if they could catch his dismal future by proxy.

Even Ron, at lunch, said, “But Professor Trelawney was right about Neville’s cup.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Professor McGonagall has said before that Divination is a very imprecise branch of magic.”

Ron looked very intensely at Harry and asked, “You haven’t seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?”

Harry laughed, because he had, but it wasn’t a Grim; it was only Sirius Black. He couldn’t tell Ron that, though, so he just said, “No. No omens of death have crossed my path. Well, just a stray black cat, but Mum says that’s a Muggle superstition.”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, “you’re being ridiculous. Harry’s not going to die just because Professor Trelawney saw something in his tea leaves that might be a dog.”

“You’re just mad because Professor Trelawney said you don’t have the right aura. You can’t stand being bad at something for a change!”

Hermione stood so quickly she jostled her bowl. “If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!” And like that, she was gone.

“What’s she talking about?” Ron frowned. “She hasn’t been to an Arithmancy class yet.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry was excited to get outside, breathe fresh air. He felt like his head finally cleared of the fog left over from Professor Trelawney’s heavily perfumed classroom. And he was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid.

At least, until, he recognized the backs of three people walking down to Hagrid’s hut in front of him — Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Malfoy had his hands stuffed in his robes as they walked down to Hagrid’s and his shoulders hunched near his ears. Harry briefly wondered what had Malfoy in such a sour mood, but he mostly just hoped Malfoy wouldn’t take it out on Hagrid’s lesson.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the door of his hut. He had several weasels draped over his shoulders and he motioned for them to follow him. “C’mon now! Got a real treat for yeh today! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

Hagrid led them around the edge of the forest to an empty paddock. Harry wondered briefly if they were going to work with something invisible. That sounded kind of exciting and a little terrifying.

“Everyone gather ‘round, make sure you can see.” Though Harry had no idea what they were supposed to see. “Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books.”

“How?” said Draco Malfoy with a roll of his eyes.

“Eh?” asked Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy held up his book, bound tightly with a rope.

Hagrid stared at the class, but all of them looked as confused as Malfoy, and held books belted or clamped shut.

“Yeh’ve got ter stroke ‘em,” said Hagrid. “Look,” and he took Hermione’s copy. She’d bound it with Spellotape, but Hagrid carefully removed it. The book tried to bite him, but he ran his finger down the spine of the book. It shuddered and fell open in his hand.

“Oh, of course,” Malfoy said. “Why didn’t we think of that? The first thing I think when a book tries to bite my hand of is to pet it.”

Harry, however, thought that it was the perfect book for Hagrid’s class. It was so… Hagrid. And it was exactly the way Hagrid saw magical creatures. Which was probably why Hagrid had no trouble in the Forbidden Forest.

As Hagrid went to get the creatures for the class, Malfoy sighed dramatically. “God, this place is going to the dogs.”

Harry didn’t mean to stiffen at the mention of dogs, but he really couldn’t help it. It had been a rough day.

“That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him —”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

“Careful, Potter, there’s a dementor behind you —”

“Yeah, and I expect a Grim, too? Do you ever —”

But Lavender Brown squealed in excitement and pointed towards the other side of the paddock. “Look!”

Hagrid was leading the strangest looking creatures over to them. Their heads and front legs were like an eagle, and they had wings, but their size and hind quarters were like a horse. It reminded Harry of a centaur, but with a bird head. Their stare, at least, was just as intimidating as the centaurs Harry had met, and he didn’t think they’d have any guilt about ripping into him with their talons.

Hagrid tethered the creatures to the fence and smiled broadly at the class. “Hippogriffs! Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

Harry was inclined to agree. Terrifying, as he had come to expect from Hagrid’s taste in magical creatures, but beautiful.

Hagrid directed them to the page in their textbooks on hippogriffs, and told them to ignore the rubbish about the anatomy of a hippogriff. He did highlight their diet, which consisted largely of weasels, polecats, and small rodents. He mostly, however, focused on how to treat them. “They’re proud,” he said, “an’ easily offended. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”

When Hagrid asked for a volunteer to meet a hippogriff, no one stepped forward. Hagrid looked so disappointed that Harry finally said, “I’ll do it.”

“Harry, remember your tea leaves!” Parvati whispered to him.

Harry hopped the fence with newfound confidence.

Hagrid led one of the hippogriffs away from the others and to Harry. “This here is Buckbeak. Yeh’ve got to keep eye contact, now try not ter blink… Hippogriffs don’t trust yeh if yeh blink too much….”

Harry bowed as instructed, and backed away when Buckbeak didn’t return the gesture. Then, slowly, Buckbeak knelt on its scaly forelegs and lowered his head.

“Well done, Harry,” Hagrid said. “Right! Yeh can touch him now, pat his beak, go on.”

Harry pet the hippogriff. It was a little awkward and strange, but he thought about petting Hedwig, and even though Buckbeak was a lot bigger, he seemed to like it just as much.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid, “I reckon he might let yeh ride him!”

That had not been on Harry’s agenda for the day. But he didn’t have time to really protest as Hagrid helped him onto the hippogriff.

“Jus’ there, behind the wing joint, an’ mind ye don’ pull any of his feathers out, he won’ like that….”

Harry didn’t know where else to hold on. Everything was feathers. But before he could make a decision, Hagrid slapped the hippogriff’s hindquarters, and the beast took off.

Harry far preferred a broomstick. His Nimbus 2000 was smooth and steady. He had control over it. The hippogriff’s wings jostled him every time they moved up and down. He had nothing to hold onto and no idea where they were going. He imagined riding a pegasus might be similar, but at least you could use a bridle on a pegasus.

The hippogriff took him once around the paddock and landed jarringly. Harry had to take a moment to be sure he was steady before climbing down.

“Well done, Harry,” said Hagrid, as everyone cheered. “Who else wants a go?”

The rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied each of the hippogriffs for the class. Lavender and Parvati took a dark-colored hippogriff with white dapples on her hindquarters. Ron and Hermione practiced bowing for a chestnut hippogriff. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, took Buckbeak.

Harry was content to watch. He felt he’d participated in class enough for one day.

“This is very easy,” Malfoy said, as he patted Buckbeak’s beak. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it. I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you, you great ugly brute?”

There was no malice in Malfoy’s voice, but it didn’t matter. Buckbeak reared and his talons cut through Malfoy’s arm. Hagrid was there immediately, wrestling Buckbeak away from Malfoy and back into his collar. Malfoy rolled on the ground, clutching his arm and screaming, blood soaking his robes.

“I’m dying,” he wailed, “Look at me! It’s killed me!”

“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid. Hagrid quickly scooped Malfoy up and Hermione held the gate open while Hagrid carried Malfoy up to the castle.

Pansy Parkinson broke into a sob. “They should fire him straight away!”

“Hagrid said don’t insult a hippogriff,” Dean Thomas snapped.

“And it’s in the book,” Hermione added.

This didn’t appease the Slytherins, who still grumbled complaints about Hagrid all the way up to the castle. Pansy disappeared to the infirmary, while everyone else went to their common rooms.

“Do you really think he’ll be alright?” Hermione asked nervously, as soon as they were out of earshot of the Slytherins.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Madam Pomfrey’s fixed up far worse for me. He’ll be fine.”

“Trust Malfoy to mess things up for Hagrid,” Ron grumbled.

Harry planned to give Hagrid some words of encouragement, but Hagrid wasn’t at dinner.

“They can’t have fired him,” Hermione said, staring at her dinner without eating it.

“They’d better not,” Ron agreed. He, also, had hardly touched his food.

Malfoy and Pansy were also not at dinner. Harry couldn’t understand why. There was no reason Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix a cut in seconds.

After dinner, Harry made sure to catch Remus before they returned to Gryffindor Tower.

“Uncl — Er, Professor Lupin —”

Remus gave him a rather amused smile. “Yes, Harry?”

“I just — wanted to see — how was your first day of classes?”

“It was fine, Harry.” Remus looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “And how was yours?”

“Er — fine.”

But Uncle Remus raised his eyebrows, and Harry let out a heavy sigh.

“Divination was awful, and everyone thinks I’m going to die. And Malfoy got injured in Care of Magical Creatures because he insulted a hippogriff, even though Hagrid warned us not to, and now Hagrid’s going to get fired.”

“I don’t think Hagrid will be fired,” Remus said, and rested a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry you aren’t enjoying Divination. I don’t know Professor Trelawney very well, but at least give it some time. It might get better.”

It wasn’t the most encouraging set of words Harry had ever heard, but they still went a long way to lift his spirits. Uncle Remus had always been good at that: Saying what he truly needed to hear, not necessarily what he wanted or thought he needed.

They said goodnight, and Harry went back to the common room with Ron and Hermione. From the window, they could see the light on in Hagrid’s hut and decided to go down and visit him, just to make sure he was really alright.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Remus left dinner as soon as he was sure Harry was feeling better and on his way up to his common room. Then he went upstairs to the infirmary.

He knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. Draco Malfoy was lying in one of the beds, with Pansy Parkinson spoonfeeding him soup. Remus wasn’t sure if he should laugh or leave.

Then Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, and her initial irritation melted at the sight of him.

“My favorite patient,” she smiled. “How are you doing, Remus? Feeling alright?”

“No, I’m quite fine today,” he smiled. “I actually came to see if Draco was doing alright, but he seems well-tended to.”

Draco straightened in the hospital bed and used his un-slinged arm to push Pansy’s hands away.

“I heard you got into a brawl with a hippogriff,” Remus said to Draco. “I must say, you seem like you came off rather well for such a large beast.”

“It’s a manic bird,” Malfoy said. “Seems rather inappropriate to have such dangerous beasts around students.”

“Ah, yes, all the students who were injured have said the same thing,” Remus said with a smile and fished into his pocket for a chocolate frog. “I heard from a friend that you liked these, so I thought I’d bring you one to cheer you up.” He set it down on Malfoy’s bedside table. “I wish you a speedy recovery —”

Madam Pomfrey scoffed. “Recovery! He’s perfectly fine and is welcome to leave at any time.”

“— and I do still expect to see you both in class Thursday evening. Have a wonderful night,” Remus said, nodding to Pansy and Draco.

As he left, Madam Pomfrey insisted he come back another evening so they could have tea and chat, and he promised her he would.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @ccboomer. @aubsenroute, and @somebodyswatson

Chapter Twenty-One The Unknowable Room

“That book isn’t going to help.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Hermione?” Harry grumbled.

“I’ve told you: appeal to Slughorn’s better nature,” Hermione said. She did not look up from Ron’s essay on dementors.

Neville was still working on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. He, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had managed to snag their favourite chairs by the fire while he and Ron did their Defense homework, Hermione caught up on her Ancient Runes translations, and Harry pored over Advanced Potion-Making. Ron had just finished his essay and was waiting for Hermione to finish looking it over, while Neville still struggled to combine his notes from Snape’s lecture with the lesson Harry had given them at their last meeting of Dumbledore’s Army.

The trouble was that his notes from Snape’s lectures insisted that the best way to face a dementor was to focus on a single, all-consuming obsessive thought that brought neither fear nor joy. There had been no mention of Patronuses, even though Harry had told them how he had successfully warded off dementors twice using a Patronus. Though Neville had never conjured a corporeal Patronus, he had managed to produce a steady shield, and when Snape had told them they would be learning about dementors, Neville had been eager to practice his Patronus. Snape had not given him that opportunity, so Neville thought he ought to at least include Patronuses in his essay. He didn’t want to disappoint either of his Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.

“Ron,” Hermione said, with a level of exasperation that made both Harry and Neville look up nervously, “what kind of quill are you using?”

Neville relaxed.

“It’s one of Fred and George’s Spell-Check ones,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because ‘augury’ doesn’t begin with an ‘o’, and the essay is on dementors, not ‘Dugbogs’, and I am fairly certain your name is not ‘Roonil Wazlib’.”

Ron buried his face in his hands. “No… Don’t say I’ll have to write the whole thing out again!”

“We can fix it,” Hermione promised, and pulled out her wand.

“I love you, Hermione,” Ron said, and sank back into his chair with relief.

“Don’t let Lavender hear you saying that.”

Neville gave Hermione another nervous glance, but her mouth was quirked into the tiniest of smiles.

“I won’t,” Ron said, “or maybe I will, then she’ll ditch me.”

Harry looked up from his book and stared at Ron with a face that was somehow exhausted and angry. “Why don’t you ditch her if you want to finish it?”

Ron shook his head. “You haven’t ever chucked anyone, have you? You and Cho just…”

“Fell apart, yeah.” Harry shrugged and returned to Advanced Potion-Making. “Still, telling her directly might help.”

Ron didn’t seem to hear Harry’s advice. “Wish that would happen with me and Lavender. But the more I hint I want to finish it, the tighter she holds on. It’s like going out with the giant squid.”

Neville snorted. It was a particularly apt and funny image, imagining Lavender as the giant squid, clinging to Ron.

Ever since his hospital trip, Ron had seemed more congenial, more like his usual self. Neville did not think it had much to do with the hospital trip, but rather the aftermath of the hospital trip; getting regular visits from friends and his Quidditch team had cheered Ron — though Neville had noticed that Ron was never awake when Lavender came to visit. And, of course, Ron’s self-confidence was helped when McLaggen had done so poorly as Keeper. Ron did not have to worry about being replaced, and he did not have to doubt his value.

Neville knew very well what it was like to doubt himself. He could tell that Ron was afraid of being unwanted, unneeded because Neville understood that fear, perhaps better than Harry and Hermione did. Though Neville often chose meekness and solitude as a reaction to his own fear, he had noticed that Ron was more likely to reach for anger. Ron liked to make himself bigger and louder, rather than give in to his fear and accept it. Though Neville and Ron responded to their fears so differently, Neville knew exactly how Ron felt.

While Ron had his brothers’ scholarly achievements and perfect Quidditch records looming over him, Neville had grown up in his parents’ shadows. They were renowned Aurors, survivors of the First War, and Neville was… not that, not even close. And now, though Neville was the only one who really knew it, he felt like he was in Harry’s shadow — the shadow of “the Chosen One.”

Unlike Ron, who had very nearly died and had gained a new understanding of just how much his friends needed him, Neville was not going to be able to outgrow his shadows. He would fight alongside his friends, alongside the Order, but not the way his parents did. He had no plans to become an Auror, and he was never going to be “the Chosen One.”

And that was probably a good thing. It would be a pretty poor end if it was left to him to save the world.

Neville glanced at Harry, who was still engrossed in the notes scribbled into his Potions book. Harry looked like a proper hero in the light of the common room fire: dark hair pushed back, lighting-bolt-shaped scar glistening on his forehead, and eyes deep in concentration… and the same red t-shirt that he’d been wearing, it seemed to Neville, almost every day.

“Harry,” Neville asked, “are the house-elves doing your washing?”

“What? Yeah, as far as I know.” Harry looked down at his clothes. “Is there a stain or —”

“No I just thought… isn’t that the t-shirt you were wearing yesterday?”

“I have more than one red t-shirt.”

“Oh.”

Ron yawned and rolled up his essay. “Well, it’s as good as it will be. Neville, you finished yet?”

“Nearly.” Neville stared at the few inches left, wondering how to conclude without disagreeing with Harry or Snape. “I’ll finish in the morning. We have a free period after breakfast.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “I was hoping you’d come to the Room of Requirement with me tomorrow. Maybe we could figure out what Malfoy’s up to.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione snapped, “I’ve told you, there’s nothing to get out of the Room of Requirement. If Malfoy’s asked it for secrecy —”

“Neville’s the one who found the Room of Requirement last year,” Harry said, “so why can’t he try it with me?”

“You’re supposed to be focusing on Slughorn —”

“And how am I supposed to get a memory from him while he’s teaching first years? It’s my free period, Hermione, not his. I can’t just pop by his office.”

Neville carefully returned his quill and ink to his bag and stifled a yawn. “Sorry, Harry. I can help you this weekend, though, while everyone’s in Hogsmeade for extra Apparition lessons.”

Ron and Hermione were both seventeen already, and would be able to take the Apparition test in just three weeks. Neville and Harry, however, with their late July birthdays, would not be eligible until autumn.

“I haven’t signed up yet,” Ron said. “I don’t even know if I want to take the test this year. I could stay and help, too, instead of going to some extra lessons.”

“You should do them,” Neville encouraged. “They might help you feel more ready.”

Ron did not look convinced, and Neville didn’t really blame him. Neville and Ron had still not managed to Apparate in their lessons with Wilkie Twycross, while Hermione had already done it twice and Harry once. Ron had said he was determined to pass the first time, and was considering postponing his test until next term, so he could take it with Harry and Neville. Neville didn’t see the sense, however, in turning down extra practice.

“I still think,” Hermione said, and slammed her Ancient Runes dictionary shut to get everyone’s attention, “you should focus on Slughorn instead. Cedric was right; whatever Draco’s up to doesn’t matter if you can stop Voldemort.” And with that, she wished them good night, and went upstairs.

Ron frowned. “You’ve been telling Diggory about your lessons with Dumbledore? You and Diggory write to each other? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Er —” Harry struggled for an answer. “I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. It just didn’t come up. Besides, I didn’t tell Hermione about Snape’s notes. Just you.”

Neville thought that Harry looked embarrassed, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“You only keep it from her because you don’t want her to get you in trouble,” said Ron.

“What do you want from me, Ron? I can’t remember everything I tell you and Hermione separately, and if you miss out on a conversation because you’re off snogging Lavender —”

“You sound jealous,” Ron noted, but he didn’t sound upset. He sounded smug.

“Maybe.” Harry grunted, and buried his nose in his Potions book.

Ron yawned and stretched. “Guess I might as well go for those extra lessons. Can’t hurt, can it?” He borrowed Neville’s quill to add his name to the list on the notice board, then said goodnight to Harry and Nevile.

“Suppose we should go up, too,” Neville said. He stifled another yawn. “Why didn’t you tell Ron about your letters to Cedric? You told me.”

Harry shrugged. “It never came up,” but Harry was not a good liar. Neville had always liked that about Harry. But before Neville could press Harry for the truth, Harry asked, “Why don’t you tell Ron and Hermione what you told me about the prophecy?”

“You knew and didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think it would help anything.” Harry closed Advanced Potion-Making. “But now that you know, it’s your secret to tell or not tell.”

“I don’t think they’d understand. But you do. And I think Ginny does.” Neville picked up his things, thinking that was the end of the conversation, but Harry did not get up to follow him to bed.

“Why do you think Ginny understands?”

Neville frowned, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know — I suppose because she knows what it’s like to feel forced to be something you’re not. And she’s the only person, besides you, I think, that really knows how terrifying You-Know-Who is — at least of those of us at Hogwarts.”

“Because of the diary?”

Neville nodded. “She almost died. She would have, if you and Ron and your mum hadn’t gone after her.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Merlin, it’d be nice to have that diary now. Maybe I could figure out where….”

Neville was about to correct Harry, and remind him that the diary had nearly consumed Ginny’s soul, and to use it, even for something as noble as destroying You-Know-Who, would have been very unwise, but Harry’s gaze had slid past Neville, focused on something very far away.

“The diary,” he said, voice vague and distant.

“Yes, the diary that possessed Ginny —”

“It was a Horcrux.”

Neville blinked.

“Dumbledore had it out on the desk in our first lesson — Voldemort must have made it while he was still in school. Maybe he mentioned it to Slughorn or something…. But why would Dumbledore need that memory, then? Unless….”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you think it’s possible that Voldemort has made more than one Horcrux?”

Neville swallowed hard. “Harry — maybe the common room isn’t the place for this conversation.”

Harry looked around, but everyone had gone to bed. There was no one to overhear them, nothing to protect Neville from having a conversation that might give him nightmares in a few minutes.

“I guess it’s not.” Harry rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses. “Do you think Cedric was right? There’s really one in the castle?”

Neville did not like the idea that there was a piece of Voldemort’s soul hidden inside Hogwarts. It made his skin crawl and his insides squirm. “I don’t know. You would think someone would’ve found it by now. Think what the diary did to Ginny… would another —” Neville hesitated, unable to bring himself to say the word “Horcrux” any more than he could bring himself to say Voldemort’s name with the confidence that Harry and Hermione did. “— another one really go so unnoticed?”

“Maybe that’s what Malfoy is doing — maybe Malfoy’s supposed to find it.”

“That doesn’t seem right. You-Know-Who would want it to stay hidden, wouldn’t he? If it got hurt, he could die.”

“And yet he left the diary with Lucius Malfoy. Maybe Draco has to replace the one his dad lost?”

Neville frowned. If Draco Malfoy really had been responsible for what had happened to Katie Bell and Ron, he did not think any of that would help reveal the location of a Horcrux. He was confident that whoever was behind these attacks was trying to hurt or kill someone. He did not think that it was connected to Horcruxes.

“I dunno, Harry. I still think it would be hard to hide a you-know-what in Hogwarts without Dumbledore knowing about it.”

“Maybe Slughorn’s memory will tell us for sure. But I’m afraid I’m running out of ideas for getting Slughorn on his own.”

“Sleep on it?” Neville suggested.

Harry stood, and the two of them went upstairs. Ron was just getting into bed; Dean and Seamus were already out cold.

When Neville did finally lay down, he found he could not sleep. The thought of Voldemort’s soul hidden somewhere in the walls of the castle was too terrifying. He lay awake, staring up at the dark canopy over his bed, wondering what might happen if someone did find it, and wondering how terribly it might go if it were all up to him to stop it.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

On Saturday, Neville and Harry walked with Ron and Hermione to the entrance hall. Though there were not many sixth and seventh years who had signed up for the Apparition lessons, Neville did wish that he was one of them — not that he was keen on taking his Apparition test so soon, but the weather was warm today, and he would have enjoyed the walk down to Hogsmeade.

But, regardless of his late summer birthday, Neville had agreed to help Harry find out what Malfoy was up to in the Room of Requirement.

“You’d do better to go straight to Slughorn’s office,” said Hermione. “You need to try to get that memory from him!”

“I’ve been trying,” Harry protested. “I stay late after Potions, I’ve been to his office twice — he won’t talk to me, Hermione. He knows what I’m after.”

“Then you’ve just got to keep at it, haven’t you?”

Neville did not know what, exactly, Harry needed to do to get the elusive memory from Slughorn, but he did not think that a moment alone with Slughorn would come as easily as Hermione seemed to think. But he wasn’t able to tell her that, as Ron and Hermione had reached Filch and his Secrecy Sensor. So Neville and Harry wished them good luck and headed upstairs to the seventh floor.

Harry pulled Neville along an unfamiliar route, through a handful of hidden passages, and, once they were close to the seventh floor, carefully pulled the Invisibility Cloak over them.

It had mostly covered Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Neville in Diagon Alley that summer, leaving their knees and below exposed. Luckily, Neville had not, like Ron and Harry, hit a growth spurt. So even though it was a tight squeeze for him and Harry, the cloak still brushed the floor and covered the two of them entirely.

“I’ve tried asking it to be what it is for Malfoy,” said Harry, “and to show me what Malfoy’s doing inside, but it won’t work. What was it you thought when you first found it?”

“Er — just that we needed a place to meet for the D.A. — only we didn’t call it the D.A. then, so I suppose I was just thinking we needed a place to practice Defense.”

Harry checked the Marauder’s Map by the light of his wand. Neville peered around Harry’s shoulder, but he was unable to make out the tiny, scrawled names that moved across the map.

“Goyle’s keeping watch,” Harry said. “That means Malfoy’s probably inside.”

“Will that make it easier or harder to get in?” asked Neville.

“Dunno.” Harry cleared the map and returned it to his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Neville clung to the back of Harry’s t-shirt as they left the safety of the hidden passageway and stepped out onto a staircase landing. Harry led them the rest of the way to the seventh floor, and thankfully, on a Saturday afternoon, most people were in their common rooms or enjoying the fresh air, so the corridors of the castle were relatively free of students.

When they reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Neville saw a young girl with pigtails clutching a set of brass scales. He assumed this was Goyle, dutifully standing guard for Malfoy. The wall, however, was solid stone. Neville saw no hint of a door that might let them into where Malfoy was hiding.

Neville held his breath as Harry shuffled close to Goyle, bent down, and whispered, “Hello… you’re very pretty, aren’t you?”

The small girl screamed and threw her scales into the air.

Neville yanked his wand out of his pocket. “Arresto Momentum!” he hissed, and slowed the fall of the scales so that they landed on the floor with a gentle clink instead of a loud clatter.

“Good thinking,” Harry said. “Now, how do you think we get in?”

Neville stared at the blank wall. “What if we ask it to become the D.A. room again?”

“What good will that do?”

“Maybe it’ll change for Malfoy inside, and we can catch him, at least, and see what he’s doing.”

Harry agreed it was worth a try.

Neville and Harry shuffled past the wall three times, concentrating very hard on the room they had spent a large portion of last year in, practicing Jinxes and Counter-Curses, but even after three passes, the solid wall did not change.

“Alright,” Harry said, “so if you’re in it, it doesn’t work for people outside to change it.”

“So we have to ask for what Malfoy asked for,” said Neville, “but how are we supposed to know what Malfoy asked for?”

They brainstormed and made several different attempts. They tried a room that brewed poisons, thinking of Slughorn’s mead. They tried a room of cursed objects, though Neville was doubtful even Hogwarts could yield such a thing. And, desperately, Harry decided to ask it for a room containing a Horcrux. It did not work.

In frustration, Harry kicked at the wall. This served nothing except Harry stubbing his toe very painfully. He yelped, and the cloak fell off his and Neville’s shoulders.

“Harry!” Neville hissed, and scrambled to pick the cloak up off the floor. “Now Malfoy knows we’re out here!”

Harry hardly seemed to hear him. It seemed he had kicked the wall rather hard and was in more pain than either of them had expected.

“Harry? Neville?”

The two turned, appalled to have been caught, but it was only Tonks at the end of the corridor. Harry limped toward her.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to see Dumbledore,” she said, “but you sounded like you’d hurt yourself —”

“Dumbledore’s office is on the other side of the castle,” said Neville.

“Er — yes, I was just there. But he wasn’t. Wasn’t there, I mean. Seems he’s gone away again.”

“You don’t know where he goes, do you?” asked Harry.

Tonks shook her head. “No one does, far as I know.”

“What did you want to see him about?” asked Neville.

“Nothing really,” she said with a shrug. “Just thought he might know what was going on… there were rumours… people getting hurt…”

“It’s no one in the Order, is it?” asked Harry.

Tonks shook her head. “Have you heard from anyone in the Order recently?”

“I write to Cedric,” Harry shrugged, then paused, and gave Tonks a curious look. “I heard from Remus after the last full moon. Why won’t you talk to him?”

Tonks was pulled from wherever her thoughts are, and though it seemed to take her a great deal of effort, she focused on Harry. Neville could not be sure, but he thought there were tears in the corners of her eyes. He’d never seen Tonks cry before, though, so perhaps it was his imagination.

“I think you’ve got it backwards,” she said.

“No,” Harry said, “I don’t think I do. I think Dad told me that you didn’t want to come around to help with the full moon anymore, and I think Remus told me that you didn’t want to see him. I thought you… you know.”

Neville, however, did not know, and he stared at Harry, bewildered by this conversation.

Tonks’ voice became distant and cold, as if all the soft emotion she had just spoken with had suddenly drained out of her. “Remus is uninterested in a friendship with me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Harry. “He ripped Sirius to pieces this summer, but they’re still friends.”

Tonks sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I just came this way because I thought you might be hurt. You’re alright, aren’t you?”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Neville?”

“I’m not the one who kicked the wall and broke my toe,” said Neville.

“Okay,” Tonks sighed, as if she had not heard Neville. “See you around.”

Harry frowned as she walked away. “That was weird.”

“Tonks is weird,” said Neville, but he thought Harry was right. That had been more weird than usual for Tonks. “Is she alright?”

“I dunno. More or less.” Harry cast a bitter look at the solid stone wall. Neville wondered if he might kick it again. “She’s supposed to be guarding the castle, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s she doing all the way up here? And checking in on us? Why not down by the gates, or watching everyone doing their Apparition lessons?”

“She said she wanted to talk to Dumbledore,” but Neville knew what Harry’s argument would be before Harry even said it.

“It’s on the other side of the castle. You don’t think she’s stalking Malfoy, too, do you?”

“I don’t see why. You said that was Snape’s job.”

Harry frowned, and Neville wondered if he was puzzling over Tonks or the Room of Requirement.

“How long do you think Malfoy will stay in there?” Harry asked. “Maybe if we snuck in when he snuck out….”

“He’ll have to get hungry eventually,” Neville said, “but he might wait a long time after all the noise you made kicking the wall.”

Harry grunted something like agreement, and started pacing the corridor. Neville did not join him this time, convinced there was nothing they could do to affect the wall, unless they knew exactly what Draco Malfoy had asked for when he had called on the Room of Requirement. They could not know that unless they could read Malfoy’s mind, and it sounded like Snape had already tried that.

“Harry, can I borrow the map?” Neville asked.

Harry did not look pleased to have his concentration interrupted, but he handed the map to Neville and resumed pacing.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Neville whispered, a bit nervous. He’d never actually used the map himself. He was thoroughly impressed when the old, worn parchment filled with ink, labeling each part of the castle and its occupants. He found the first name he was looking for — Nymphadora Tonks. She was not terribly far from them, just a few corridors away. She was pacing, too, not unlike Harry. Occasionally, her marker on the map drifted closer to them, paused, then drifted away, but never too far. Neville had the feeling that she was keeping an eye on Harry more than on the castle. He decided not to tell Harry. He didn’t think Harry would like it.

The second name he looked for was Draco Malfoy, but the Room of Requirement did not show up on the map, so Malfoy’s name was missing from the map.

The third name he sought out was Regulus Black. This marker was not hard to find. It was in the Slytherin Common Room, perfectly still. He wondered how Regulus Black could be so rude to Snape, who was trying hard to earn Malfoy’s trust, when Regulus Black seemed to be doing little more than napping the day away.

A cluster of names appeared on the edge of the map suddenly, headed towards the castle. Neville was startled, but only until he remembered that those with Apparition lessons would be returning from Hogsmeade for lunch. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

It took a bit of convincing to pull Harry away from the Room of Requirement, but eventually Harry admitted that he was hungry, too, and they should meet Ron and Hermione. Neville cleared the map — it was a very powerful feeling to watch it disappear at his command — and returned it to Harry.

They’d hardly made it into the Great Hall when Ron waved them over to where he was seated with Hermione and Ginny.

“I did it!” he said. “Well — kind of,” he amended as they sat down. “I was supposed to be Apparating to outside Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshaft’s, but at least I moved!”

“Well done, Ron,” said Ginny, though she didn’t sound especially excited.

“Yeah, Ron, that’s excellent,” Harry echoed, and did his best at a subtle glance to the end of the table where Dean sat with Seamus. Neville noticed, but he was not sure if anyone else did.

“How’d you do Hermione?” asked Neville.

“She was perfect, obviously,” said Ron. “Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is — we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should’ve heard Twycross going on about her — I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t pop the question soon.”

“And what about you two?” Hermione asked. “Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?”

“Yep,” said Harry. “No luck though,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Malfoy wouldn’t even be a question if you could get the memory from Slughorn.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I have about as much luck talking to the Room of Requirement as I do Slughorn.”

“That’s it, Harry!” said Ron. “Luck!”

Neville frowned. “What?”

“Of course!” Hermione said. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“What are you two on about?” Harry asked.

“Use your lucky potion,” said Ron.

“Felix?” Harry looked down at his plate. “I dunno… I was sort of saving it.”

“What for?” asked Ron.

“What on earth is more important than this memory?” asked Hermione.

But Neville saw the way that Harry’s eyes would not meet Ginny’s, and knew very well that it was easier to shovel large bites of food into your mouth than answer an unwelcome question.

“I’ll think about it.” Harry said, around a mouthful of squash. “Are you and Dean fighting again?” he asked Ginny, suddenly, in a very unsubtle change of topic.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow and stabbed her own squash moodily. “We’ll probably make up by dinner again. Why?”

Harry shrugged and shoveled another forkful into his mouth. “Just got my Quidditch team back together, mostly. Don’t want it ruined.”

“Is that all?” Ginny asked, with a surprising amount of scorn.

Neville, in an attempt to spare Ron and Hermione the embarrassment of witnessing this conversation, and to spare Harry and Ginny the embarrassment of having it at all, said, as brightly as he could manage, “We ran into Tonks upstairs.”

Hermione seized on this conversation quickly. “What was she doing?”

“She said she was there to see Dumbledore. But the Room of Requirement’s nowhere near his office.”

“Strange,” said Ron. “I thought she was a bit off when she was here with everything that happened with Katie, too. I mean, she looks different, right? Everyone else noticed?”

“She and Remus are fighting,” Harry said. “Have been since last summer.”

Ron frowned and scratched his chin. “I wouldn’t imagine anyone could fight with Lupin. It’s like… I dunno, he’s just so polite. Remember when Snape tried to pick a fight with him? He was so calm about it.”

“Like trying to stick a fork in jelly,” said Neville.

“Well, Remus has been fighting with Tonks and Sirius for a long time.” Harry set aside his empty plate and rested his head in his hand. “I think he and Sirius finally made up at Christmas, but I don’t think Tonks and him have talked.”

“But what on earth are they fighting about?” asked Hermione.

Neville was not entirely sure why, but Harry looked ill and rubbed his forehead.

“A lot, I guess,” he mumbled. “You all know about —” Harry screwed his mouth shut and glanced around the table to be sure they weren’t going to be overheard.

Ron pulled out his wand and said, “Muffliato,” without a word of prompting. Hermione didn’t even bother to look disdainful.

Knowing that no one else could overhear their conversation made Harry a bit more comfortable. He still fidgeted with his fork for a moment before starting his explanation over. “When Dumbledore learned that Voldemort was after my parents because of the prophecy —”

“I thought Voldemort didn’t know the prophecy,” Ginny interrupted, “and that was the whole reason we went down to the Department of Mysteries last summer.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Right. Okay. So Trelawney gave Dumbledore the prophecy. The trouble was, half of it got overheard and made its way back to Voldemort. So Voldemort knew someone was going to get powerful enough to destroy him. He decided it was the baby my parents were having.”

Neville swallowed hard, and was glad Harry did not try to make eye contact.

“What does any of this have to do with Tonks?” Hermione frowned. “She’d have been six or seven when you were born.”

“It doesn’t — it’s about Remus. So, my parents went into hiding from Voldemort. You remember the Fidelius Charm, right?”

“We used it on the Order Headquarters,” Ron said. “Can’t tell anyone the secret unless you’re the Secret Keeper.”

“Right, so Dumbledore suggests to my mum and dad that’s the best way to keep me safe. Dumbledore also suggests Sirius should be Secret Keeper, since he’s my dad’s best friend. Trouble is, everyone knows how close my dad and Sirius are, so Sirius suggests using someone else, someone Voldemort won’t suspect.”

“Someone like Lupin,” Ron offered.

“Right. Except Sirius didn’t trust Remus. Sirius thought Remus was a spy for Voldemort.”

Hermione frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Lupin would never — I don’t see how —”

“I know, I know,” Harry agreed. “I don’t know what it was that made Sirius suspicious, but it happened, and Sirius convinced my parents to use Peter Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper, without even telling Dumbledore what they were planning.”

“But Pettigrew was the spy,” Neville said, as Harry’s story suddenly lined up with variations of the story he had heard growing up. Neville had been told two different versions of events — one from his mother, and one from his grandmother.

Neville’s mother had told him that the Potters had a friend they had trusted to protect them, and even though that friend had given them away to Voldemort, he had protected them in the end, and saved their lives. Neville’s grandmother was more spiteful in her telling. She said that the Potters trusted foolishly, and should not have let even a friend in on the secret. She also blamed Pettigrew for what had happened after the Potters had been attacked. That part of the story his mother did not talk about at all, but Neville’s grandmother had told him how after Voldemort was destroyed at the Potters’ hiding place, the Death Eaters had come for his parents and tortured them. Neville’s grandmother had always praised Frank and Alice’s bravery, but had bitterly decried Petter Pettigrew’s posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class.

“If he’d never betrayed the people who trusted him with the life of their own son, your parents never would have been attacked.”

Neville had been not much older than a year, far too young to remember the attack. But he did have a memory of his parents in a white room in strange robes. He must have been four or five years old, and he had thought that perhaps it was a room at a relative’s house for some sort of party. But after Neville had learned the story of Barty Crouch, Jr. and Regulus Black, he had reevaluated a lot of his early memories.

Neville had spent a lot of time with his grandfather growing up, and he had always looked back on that time with fondness. He remembered playing pranks on his very stern grandmother, and spending hours out in the greenhouse with his granddad. When he smelled earth, he thought of his grandfather.

Neville had a lot of early memories of his grandmother, as well. She had taught him his manners, bought him plenty of birthday presents, and forced him to eat his vegetables. She was stern, but he had always known that she loved him. Even when she got upset at him and his granddad for leaving a rubber spider in the bath, charmed to grow to the size of an Acromantula when wet, Neville still knew she loved him.

Neville did not have any memories like that with his parents. He knew that his mum and dad loved him, but they were heroes to him. He remembered his sixth birthday, and how thrilled he had been for his parents to be there. Neville had often thought his excitement was because they worked too much and too hard, but in the last few years, Neville had started to wonder if his parents had been there at all for those first five years of his life, or if they had spent it far away, recovering from being tortured by Barty Crouch, Jr. and the Lestranges.

“It was lucky that Fabian and Gideon Prewett arrived in time,” his grandmother always said. “Otherwise they might have been lost forever.”

Neville may not have been marked by Voldemort in the same way that Harry had, but his life had been shaped by Voldemort nonetheless.

“When Voldemort attacked,” Harry said, startling Neville not by the use of the name, but because he had forgotten that Harry was telling them about Remus and Tonks, “Remus thought, as everyone was supposed to think, that Sirius was the Secret Keeper, and had betrayed my parents. And because Remus and Sirius are who they are, they never forgave themselves for thinking the other was the spy. They forgave each other just fine, but… well, Dad says they always blamed themselves for Voldemort being there that night.”

Ginny frowned. “Even though it was Pettigrew’s fault from the beginning.”

Harry shrugged. “However you look at it, the end result is that I’m alive, my parents are alive, and Remus and Sirius had this regret between them that grew. From the way I’ve heard it, Tonks threw herself right into the middle of it. She confessed her love for Remus, and Sirius — instead of getting jealous — decided to make sure Remus wasn’t going to run from his feelings, wherever they landed.”

Ron pursed his lips, like part of that puzzle did not click for him. Neville understood it just fine, though.

“Remus and Sirius nearly ripped each other to bits this summer,” Harry said, “but they’re finally talking again, and Remus says things are better between them. I just hope Remus figures out how to make up with Tonks, too, even if it’s just to be friends again. I like having her around.”

Neville liked Tonks, too. She was funny, compassionate, and never talked down to him. She had treated him just like she had treated Harry when she had talked them through what had happened to Katie, almost like she thought he could be an Auror, as easily as Harry and Ron. As if he might actually live up to his parents’ greatness.

“It would be nice for Tonks to be her old self again,” Hermione said. “She always seemed so down when she visited the Burrow this summer.”

“Did she?” Ron frowned. “I didn’t notice then… Seems like a lot of trouble to get into over a bloke. Women are too easily upset.”

Ginny made a noise somewhere between snorting derisively and choking on her lunch. She got up and left the table without a word.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes. “And yet, I doubt you’d find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn’t laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.”

Ron turned red, and Neville, though he tried not to, could not help but laugh.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @ccboomer and @magic713m

Chapter Five An Excess of Ink

Harry pushed open the door to the kitchen and found everyone exactly where he had left them; James, Lily, Sirius, and Neville all greeted Harry and Dumbledore with relieved smiles. Harry checked his wristwatch. It was nearly three in the morning.

“You’re still awake?”

“Of course,” Lily said.

James stood and poured a glass of water. “We got the alert that you’d crossed back onto the property line. Figured we’d make sure you made it safely to the door.”

“Thanks.” Harry took the glass of water his father handed him and drank gratefully. The walk across Styncon Garden, while not strenuous, was lengthy.

“Dumbledore?” James poured another glass of water.

“No, thank you. I mean to return to Hogwarts quickly.” Dumbledore tipped his hat. “But perhaps I could use your fireplace to make the journey.”

“Of course.” Lily stood and pulled a jar of Floo Powder from the mantle. She held the open jar out to Dumbledore. “Was your errand successful?”

“Quite,” Dumbledore said. “Horace Slughorn will be returning to Hogwarts, and I am grateful to have a full staff once more.”

“Slughorn?” Sirius sputtered out. “You’re hiring him again?”

“Yes, Sirius.” Dumbledore took a pinch of powder from the jar. “I daresay he is a fine teacher.”

Lily snorted, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was at Sirius’s comment or Dumbledore’s. “Sirius, did you even like any of your teachers?”

“I liked McGonagall.”

“Sure, about once in a blue moon,” James laughed. “Though I do recall you being rather fond of our vampiric Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“I wouldn’t say fond,” Lily said. “I think Sirius was rather infatuated.”

Harry and Neville shared a laugh as Sirius turned red.

“By the way,” James said, as Dumbledore took a pinch of Floo Powder from Lily, “have you had a report from Remus?”

Dumbledore’s smile was polite, but impassive. “I’ve heard from him, yes. He’s managed to make contact with a fairly tight-knit community of werewolves. It is a good start.”

“Last time,” James tried to keep an even tone it was edged with anger regardless, “Remus always came home for the full moon. He would still spend it with us, even when you had him working up north.”

“I have not given Remus any direction about how to spend the full moon. It’s entirely his decision.”

James remained unconvinced, but Dumbledore did not give him a chance to press for more.

“Thank you, again, for your gracious hospitality,” Dumbledore said, “and for letting me borrow Harry. Do be careful, all of you.” He gave them a slight bow before disappearing into the roaring fireplace.

As the bright green flames returned to glowing orange embers, Lily stifled a yawn. “Well, Harry, what did you think of Professor Slughorn?”

Harry shrugged. “He said he remembered you all. He said you were one of his favorite students, Mum.”

She blushed and James stifled a laugh. Sirius snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“He looks a bit like a walrus,” Harry added.

James did not hide his laugh this time, and even Lily covered a smile with her hand.

“It sounds like he hasn’t changed much,” James said.

“Was he a very strict teacher?” Neville asked.

Sirius’s laugh was so loud and abrupt that Neville jumped in surprise. Sirius tried to apologize, but he seemed to be unable to take a breath deep enough to speak in the middle of his laughing fit.

James laughed, too, though not so dramatically. “I wouldn’t call him strict, no.”

“Oh,” Lily said, “certainly not. It’s a good thing Fred and George won’t be at Hogwarts. They’d have a riot with him.”

“James and I certainly did,” Sirius said, and wiped away tears from laughing so hard. “We nicked all kinds of things from his classroom. I mean, everyone did, really.”

“I didn’t,” said Lily.

James raised his eyebrows. “No? I seem to recall going into the prefect’s bath one evening and finding —”

“No, no, no,” Harry interrupted. “I don’t want to know. I’m just going to go to bed and pretend I never heard any of this.”

Neville, red-faced, nodded and stood. “It’s really late.”

“Are you tired?” Lily asked, a bit of anxiety on her face as she looked at Neville. “I was afraid after that Hartshorn Aroma we used to revive you, you’d be up for hours.”

“Er — I’m a bit tired. I think.”

Sirius yawned and stretched. “I’ll do a walk around the house, reinforce some of the charms. Having Dumbledore here might have drawn some attention.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lily said. “Sleep well Neville, Harry.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Harry’s forehead before following Sirius out the kitchen door.

As the boys headed to bed, Harry reminded Neville to skip the fourth step, since Neville had accidentally set off the house’s faulty alarm system three times this week.

Traditionally, Harry had the upstairs floor to himself, and occasionally Remus or Sirius might use one of the spare bedrooms. This summer, however, Sirius was here more often than not, and another room temporarily belonged to Neville. Harry was not used to having to share the upstairs bathroom so frequently with so many. It reminded him a little of staying at Ron’s — though not nearly as crowded, of course.

Once upstairs, Harry turned to say goodnight to Neville, but stopped before the words had quite reached his tongue. He didn’t often get a moment alone with Neville, and he wondered if this would be his best chance to share the prophecy with trusted friends, as Dumbledore had encouraged Harry to do. Harry certainly valued Neville’s friendship, and he knew Neville would readily join the fight against Voldemort as soon as they were allowed into the Order, but as he searched for the right words to begin, it proved to be more challenging than he’d expected.

Neville was, without a doubt, one of the bravest people Harry knew. Neville attended Potions class far more consistently than Harry did, even though Snape was Neville’s greatest fear. He’d faced Barty Crouch, Jr., even though Barty was one of the Death Eaters responsible for torturing his parents. And Neville had even joined Harry on the journey to the Department of Mysteries to save Snape without a second thought.

But the prophecy, as his mother had given to him, said the person to defeat Voldemort would be someone “born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.” Surely Neville would see the connection Lily had seen all those years ago — that Frank and Alice Longbottom had defied Voldemort on three occasions and their son had been born, as had Harry, in the end of July.

Harry did not know if he could tell Neville that “The Chosen One” had very nearly been someone else. He also did not know how he would tell any of his friends that he, and he alone, was destined to kill Voldemort.

He had a new understanding of why his parents had failed to tell him the prophecy for so long.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Neville asked, and Harry realized he had been staring.

“Oh — yeah, just thinking about something Dumbledore said.” Dumbledore had suggested Harry ask for help being brave, but asking for this sort of help seemed more difficult. It meant Harry would put other people at risk, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. If the prophecy said Harry was the only one who could fight, was it alright to put others in danger?

“It’s nothing, really,” Harry finally said. “‘Night, Neville.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry turned the prophecy and his conversation with Dumbledore over as he got ready for bed. Dumbledore had asked him to find someone to lean on, the way his parents leaned on each other, or leaned on Sirius and Remus.

He thought about tonight, when James had asked after Remus. The anger James had so poorly masked when talking to Dumbledore about Remus had reminded Harry of the anger James had displayed at the Quidditch World Cup. He realized it wasn’t just that Remus and Sirius supported his parents; his parents were just as much of a support for them.

Harry wondered if he was as good a friend to Neville, Ron, and Hermione as they would need to be to him, if he told them this prophecy. He honestly wasn’t sure.

When Harry crawled into bed, he felt properly exhausted, which was an achievement on its own. This summer, his brain felt too full to sleep properly, like a Muggle automobile engine that ran too long and stayed hot even when it was shut off. But tonight, between emotionally taxing conversations and a lengthy walk across the property, he was truly tired. Maybe tonight he’d even be too tired for nightmares of duels against Death Eaters, of his friends being tortured, or of facing Voldemort alone.

——————————✶✶✶——————————

Mellie had been the Potter family’s house-elf for generations. She’d raised four Potter boys, and kept a strict sleeping and eating schedule, not just for herself, but for the household. She insisted on rising with the sun and serving a three-course breakfast, then a late morning tea at ten, a lunch at noon, afternoon tea at three, a light dinner at six, and supper at eight. While the amount of food she served could be overwhelming, Harry had found that having so much time with his family — and Neville — to just talk was surprisingly pleasant. And if Alice, Frank, or Augusta Longbottom or anyone else in the Order came around to visit, Mellie had one meal or another ready to serve.

But since the family had been up so late last night, even Mellie didn’t complain when everyone filtered into the kitchen around noon.

Harry was the last one downstairs, woken by Neville — or possibly Sirius, though it was less likely — stepping on the fourth stair and setting off a loud alarm throughout the house. Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; there was a staircase at school that you could sink into if you weren’t careful, and Neville fell into that one often enough.

“Morning,” Harry said, and took his usual seat at the kitchen table next to Neville.

“Bit later than morning,” James said with a small smile.

“Sleep alright?” Lily asked. Her smile was unusually strained, and she fidgeted with the napkin on her empty plate.

Harry thanked Mellie as she handed him breakfast. “Fine,” he said. His nightmares hadn’t been any more awful than usual. He wondered why his mother looked so anxious. Had something happened to someone in the Order?

Harry searched for a clue on Sirius’s face, but Sirius’s eyes were trained steadily on the door to the garden. He turned to his father, and James, too, looked a bit anxious. He stared at Harry, as if expecting something.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asked. He looked around the table once more. “You all look — I don’t know — worried.”

James slid a thin parchment envelope across the table. “You’ve had a letter.”

Harry picked it up and turned it over, surprised to see the Ministry of Magic seal on the envelope. He wondered if Scrimgeour had grown tired of James and Lily turning down his request that Harry work with the Ministry, so he had written to Harry instead. He looked up and realized James had also handed a similar looking envelope to Neville. Why would the Minister be writing to Neville?

“What is it?”

“I think it must be our O.W.L. results,” Neville said. His voice trembled and the envelope shook in his hands.

Harry felt like all his blood suddenly decided it was better suited elsewhere and dropped from his head to his toes. His mouth went dry.

“Well, go on,” Lily said, her voice almost as nervous as Neville’s.

Carefully, Harry and Neville each broke the seal on the parchment and slid out the single sheet of paper detailing their O.W.L. results. Harry stared at the slip of parchment for a moment, eyes seeing letters but not interpreting them. He considered briefly how absurd it was that five years of intense study could be boiled down to one leaf of parchment, and it took Harry a moment to turn the writing into any real meaning.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results Pass Grades Outstanding (O) Exceeds Expectations (E) Acceptable (A) Fail Grades Poor (P) Dreadful (D) Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .A Care of Magical Creatures . . . . . . .E Charms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E Defense Against the Dark Arts. . . .O Divination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .P Herbology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E History of Magic . . . . . . . . . . . . . .D Potions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E Transfiguration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E

“Well?” James asked.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. They were not disappointing results, really. He’d always expected to fail Divination, and as he’d had a fit in the middle of his History of Magic lesson, he’d never thought he would pass that exam either. Even his Astronomy score was impressive, considering he’d only filled in a third of his star chart, since Umbridge had attacked Hagrid in the middle of their exam. Seven O.W.L.s all together was truly an accomplishment.

But he’d only gotten an “E” in Potions, and if he wanted to pursue a career as an Auror, he needed an “O.”

Harry passed the paper to his dad.

James grinned. “This is great! Seven O.W.L.s! And look at that Outstanding! Nice work. I know Remus’ll be proud of you, too.” He showed Lily the test results.

“Excellent work, Harry.” Lily smiled. “You really should be proud of this.” She handed the paper to Harry, who passed it to Sirius.

Sirius looked over the results with a satisfied nod. “With scores like this, you could be a Healer if you wanted.”

Harry wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. He’d have to discuss with McGonagall what his options were. He wondered if professional Quidditch player was still on the table, or if the Ministry was going to enforce the lifelong ban Umbridge had sentenced him to.

“How’d you do, Neville?” asked James.

Neville looked a little squeamish. “Gran won’t be happy about Transfiguration. But I got ‘E’ in Charms and Defense.”

“That’s brilliant!” Sirius said.

“Yeah — Harry was a good teacher.”

Harry shoveled a large bite of eggs into his face to hide his embarrassment.

Lily glanced at the test results Neville set down on the table. “Neville! You’re being too modest. That’s an ‘Outstanding’ right there, isn’t it?”

“Oh — yeah, but it’s just Herbology.”

“That’s my favorite subject,” James said. “Right next to Transfiguration and Defense. It’s not nothing — that’s a very difficult subject to get an ‘O’ in. Further proof how much help you’ve been in the garden this summer.”

Now it was Neville’s turn to blush from embarrassment.

“Speaking of,” James said, “I was thinking about walking down to the pond this afternoon. Lily, you said you wanted some Maculate Moss?”

“I do. I want to stock up on common antidotes, just to be safe.”

“Harry, Neville,” James said, “how would you feel about an afternoon picnic by the lake? I bet we could find some Gillyweed, have some fun with it. I’ve been meaning to try it ever since the Triwizard Tournament.”

The grin on James’s face was tempting, but Harry wasn’t sure he should.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Neville said, “but I think I’m really tired from yesterday.”

“And I thought I’d do more with the frog and practice Healing,” Harry said. “Or maybe review defensive spells.”

Lily and James exchanged a look that Harry could tell was worried, but as it often was, he didn’t know what they were saying. He did think he could see a bit of an, “I told you so,” in James’s eyes, so maybe he was finally learning how to read his parents.

“Harry,” Lily said, in a soft tone she usually reserved for discussing nightmares, “Why don’t you take a break today?”

“But I have to learn this stuff!”

Lily’s gentleness seemed to burn away like an Incendiary Jinx had gone off on her face and was replaced with anger. “You don’t have to do anything, Harry. I know you want to learn these things — and we want you to be prepared — but there’s a lot more than — than just fighting.”

“Harry,” James’s voice was softer than Lily’s, “what your mother means is that we can practice dueling tomorrow. Frogs aren’t going anywhere either. You’ve been working so hard all week, and we all had a long day yesterday; it’s alright to take a break today.”

Harry didn’t feel like it was alright to take a break. He felt like he had so much to learn and no time to learn it — and wasn’t that partly their fault, for keeping all of this from him for so long?

But Harry had a hard time saying no to his father, especially since the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. All he had to do was look at the eye-patch, remember that his father had nearly died trying to save him, and that part — that was all Harry’s fault.

His shoulders slumped at he pushed the eggs around his plate. “Sure. Fine.”

Neville yawned. “I can get you my book on mosses if you want. I’m not very good at identifying them yet.”

“Thanks, that would help. Though if I remember, Maculate Moss is pretty easy to spot,” James said, and grinned at everyone, like he was waiting for laughter. Harry wasn’t sure what the joke was, but Lily rolled her eyes.

James elbowed Sirius. “Maculate Moss? Easy to spot?”

Sirius blinked, as if he’d just Apparated into the kitchen from miles away. “Oh — yeah, I get it.” He picked a piece of parchment up from the table, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. Harry caught a glimpse of the handwriting, but it wasn’t familiar to him.

“Are you coming with us, Sirius?” Harry asked.

“No, I’d better stay here. Lily and I can watch the house.” He stood and stretched. “How about we try again tomorrow with the frog?” Sirius asked.

“Sure,” Harry said, and swallowed down the bit of his breakfast that tried to crawl its way up his throat.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. “Get used to it. You’re no good to your friends if you pass out because one of ‘em has a cut, like your dad did.”

“Hey,” James said, “that was not a cut — you could see the bone in my leg, and I passed out from pain! Not because I’m squeamish.”

“But you are squeamish,” Lily said with a smile.

“I’ve bandaged up enough of Harry’s scrapes, thankyouverymuch.” James stood abruptly and took his dishes to the kitchen sink. “Though yes, fine, before we had Harry, I did not care much for the sight of blood. Nothing stiffens your resolve like being the only adult home when your son flies his broom right into the kitchen table and cracks his head open.”

Harry didn’t think seeing blood was his problem. There was a difference between slicing open your finger and watching a frog’s still-beating heart inside its body. But he had decided to learn Healing Charms for a reason, and he didn’t have time to wait until he had a son with Quidditch injuries to get over squeamishness.

“I’ll be alright,” Harry said, as confidently as he could, and finished his orange juice. “Should I help Mellie get a picnic basket together?”

The afternoon was warm, but the pond provided a pleasant way to cool off after their short hike. James showed Harry the Maculate Moss growing along the tree roots, easy to identify by the unique spotted coloring that gave it its name. They gathered it into small glass bottles for Lily and tucked them into the picnic basket. Harry, after a bit of convincing, agreed to cool off in the pond with James. They didn’t find Gillyweed — Harry had only used it once, and the sample Dobby had gotten for him had probably come from Snape’s potion stores. What the plant looked like in the wild, Harry had no idea.

Still, they enjoyed a rather lazy afternoon in the water and on the shore. It was exactly the sort of day Harry would have been thrilled about when he was younger. Picnics by the pond, especially in summer, had been common ways to pass the time before Harry went to Hogwarts. He would spend hours chasing tadpoles or catching frogs while his parents waded with him or sat on the shore and watched. But as much fun as Harry had spending this afternoon with his father, he couldn’t ignore a nagging feeling in his stomach that he could be doing more, should be doing more, to fight against Voldemort.

As the afternoon began to cool, Harry sat in the sun to dry off, and James took out the food Harry and Mellie had packed for them. Harry realized just how hungry swimming had made him and ate eagerly.

“It is really nice to have Mellie back,” James said as he chewed on one of the sandwiches. “Her and Picksie have been so helpful.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Mellie cooks better than you and Mum do.”

“To be fair, she’s had a hundred years more practice.”

Harry laughed and watched as James used his wand to pull two glass bottles of lemonade from the picnic basket. As Harry caught the drink, he thought about how odd it was to see his father casually using magic. James often left his wand in strange places — forgot it on the table or in his coat pocket. It was usually up to Harry or Lily to remind him to carry it with him. This last year, however, James hadn’t needed the reminders. Harry supposed the reason James was more conscious of his wand didn’t need to be explained.

Harry laid down in the grass and closed his eyes, letting the summer sun warm him. It couldn’t chase out the ever-present fear that seemed to have lodged itself in the pit of Harry’s stomach, but it did enough.

“Sleep alright last night?” James asked.

“More or less,” Harry said, without opening his eyes.

“Your scar isn’t hurting, is it?”

“No. I promise.”

“Last night, did Dumbledore talk to you about… you know, the prophecy?”

“A bit.” Harry wondered if he should mention he’d be taking private lessons with Dumbledore in the fall. Dumbledore hadn’t said the lessons needed to be secret, but he had advised discretion. Harry looked up at his father. “He just asked how I felt about it, mostly. He didn’t know you and mum had told Remus the prophecy.”

“Oh. I suppose it never came up.” James pulled off his glasses and rubbed his good eye. “You know you can talk to your mum and I, right? This prophecy business is… well, your mother and I have been dealing with it for almost seventeen years now, and we haven’t always handled it well. I can’t imagine what you’re going through —”

“Dad, I’m alright.”

“If you need a Quidditch game to take your mind off things, or if —”

“I mean it, really. I’m fine.”

James didn’t look too sure. Harry was struck, for the very first time, how old his father looked. Maybe it was the eye-patch, or the strangeness of glasses over an eyepatch, but James suddenly looked... old. Harry had spent his entire life being told how much he looked like James, and he’d always imagined as he grew up, he would look more and more like his father, until they were almost impossible to tell apart. But he hadn’t fully considered that the gap in their ages would never truly close. James’s hair was beginning to turn white over his ears, and his laugh lines had set more deeply — or were they worry lines? Worries that Harry had never noticed, because James had worked so hard to hide them.

James laid down in the grass and Harry could no longer see his face. “I am sorry you have to go through this. Seems like something we should’ve taken care of years ago.”

Harry finished his sandwich and folded up the paper wrapping with a bit more care than necessary. His stomach was suddenly uneasy.

“I still remember,” James said, “being away at school and worrying I’d get bad news about my parents, because my dad was so outspoken for Muggles. I knew it was only a matter of time before he said the wrong thing to the wrong person or — or the Death Eaters came after them. I’m sure you’re worried, and it won’t be long before you’re back at school….” James sighed. “I’m sorry. This should’ve been over and done with by now.”

Harry sat up and frowned. “Dad — you can’t apologize because Voldemort came back.”

James’s grin was lazy. “Can’t I?” He pushed himself back up into a sitting position and stretched his arms over his head. “There’s a dozen and one things to be worried about, and I feel I ought to apologize for half of them. Maybe Dumbledore can apologize for the other half.”

“Voldemort was always going to come back,” Harry said. “No matter what you or Dumbledore did.” He didn’t say, “because I’m the only one who can face him,” because he didn’t think James would find those words any more comforting. Harry certainly didn’t take comfort in them.

“Doesn’t make me worry less.” James squinted at the setting sun. “Suppose we should get back before your mother and Sirius have to start worrying about us.”

They packed up their picnic and headed back to the house. While they walked, Harry turned his father’s words over. Growing up, Harry had always thought of his mother as the one who worried and his father as the one who didn’t. If this war had shown Harry anything about his parents, it was that his father worried just as much as his mother; James was just better at hiding it.

Harry had known for a long time that his mother and Sirius were a lot alike. They were both prone to violent outbursts if pressed, they liked to maintain control of a situation, and they did not tolerate insults. Both gave variations of terrible advice — Lily gave terrible advice because she sympathized with Harry too little; Sirius gave terrible advice because he sympathized too much — and both Lily and Sirius loved more openly and fiercely than anyone Harry had met.

He’d never quite thought that James and Remus were a lot alike, but he supposed there were similarities there. Remus had always been the calm who navigated the storm that could be Sirius, and James, similarly, had mediated between Lily and Sirius for years. As Harry wondered why he had never noticed how much his father could be like Remus, he realized the striking difference between them: Remus was willing to sit through Sirius and Lily’s rage or temper, wait until they burned out, but it was James who cut off their outbursts before they could happen.

Remus was the one who had talked with Harry about the prophecy. He’d let Harry be angry, let Harry throw blame on his parents, on Sirius, even on Remus. Remus was the one who offered a cleaning salve after a wound had been opened. James, though, offered midnight Quidditch games, encouraged Harry to use the Invisibility Cloak, and took Harry out to the pond for an afternoon swim. James offered things that never meant to hurt, things that were maybe not entirely safe, but were certainly fun. They became, in their own way, a sort of protection or haven, a place Harry could take his mind off of things. Maybe, if Harry had so much trouble putting his mind at ease before bed, Quidditch really was exactly what he needed, and James knew that. Harry resolved to be more attentive to his father’s offers of afternoon picnics or midnight Quidditch scrimmages.

When they arrived back at the house, Lily’s welcome wasn’t especially exuberant, but Harry could see the relief in her eyes.

“You’ve had a couple letters,” she said to Harry, and took the flasks of Maculate Moss from James.

Harry picked up the two parchment rolls from the kitchen table and easily recognized Ron and Hermione’s handwriting on the outside. He supposed they were sharing their O.W.L. results with him. A bit of guilt wormed its way into his stomach. Writing them about his O.W.L.s certainly hadn’t been his first thought.

James took the cauldron out from underneath the counter and Lily began to gather various potions supplies from the cabinets. Harry thought he would do better out of the way, so he headed upstairs. First, though, he cleaned up from his dip in the pond and ran into Neville in the hallway.

“Oh, Harry,” Neville said, “did you see the letters from Ron and Hermione?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“They wrote me, too,” Neville said with a smile. “Nice of them.”

“Oh. Yeah, that was.”

Neville asked Harry how the pond was, and Harry politely told him it was fine. He didn’t mention the conversation he and James had had about the war. His mind was on the letters Ron and Hermione had sent Neville. Harry supposed that, this last year, between the D.A, the Order, and Umbridge, Neville really had become part of Harry’s close circle of friends.

He supposed if he did decide to share the prophecy with his friends, that included Neville, regardless of Neville nearly being The Chosen One. But maybe he’d wait to tell Neville… it’d be easier if he could tell Neville, Ron, and Hermione at the same time, right?

Harry left Neville to the bathroom and sat down at his desk to read Ron and Hermione’s letters. He started with Ron’s.

Harry —

It’s already been a week of summer and so much has happened! Hermione and I got our O.W.L. results today. Guess who definitely won’t be taking Divination or History of Magic next year? Thank Merlin. I somehow managed an Exceeds Expectations in Potions? Good thing we need an Outstanding or Mum would probably make me take it and I’m not interested in another year with Snape.

Hermione, of course, is distraught because she got an “E” in Defense. And I guess she wants to take Potions. Merlin knows why. You’d think with nine Outstandings she could take any other class she wants.

Hope you did alright in everything! It’d be weird to be in a class without you, so we should compare grades and make sure we take the same classes next year.

I wish you were here this summer. It’s been busy. Dad’s got a promotion, for one. He’s got people reporting to him and his new job is about confiscating fake protection devices. People popping up now selling Disguise Necklaces or Vanishing Rings — Dad says it’s all rubbish and the stuff hurts people more than it’ll help. It sounded interesting at first, rounding up conmen, but I guess there’s a lot of paperwork, too, making sure people are properly certified to sell stuff. That part’s way less interesting.

Also, Bill’s engaged. Remember Fleur Delacour? Well, how could you forget her! Anyway, she’s staying here, getting to know Mum and the family and planning the wedding. Mum says they’re rushing into it, and she and Ginny are right fed up with her. Hermione, too, though I don’t know why. I think Mum wants to set Tonks up with Bill instead. She keeps inviting her over. But I think we’re related, distantly, so that might be weird.

Oh, yeah, Hermione’s staying with us this summer. She went home to her parents for a bit, but I think she wanted to stay involved with the Order and everything that’s going on. It’s nice having her around, but it’s weird that you aren’t here. Mum says you’re always welcome, but there’s a lot going on here, and I imagine after our field trip your parents want to keep you pretty close to home? Would they let you do something for your birthday? If you can get away for a bit, you should. I don’t know if Neville would want to, but I guess he could come too. Or we should all just make sure we go to Diagon Alley together to get school supplies and we can see Fred and George’s new shop.

Hope your summer’s going good so far. We’ll see you soon.

— Ron

Harry remembered the year he’d turned thirteen. While Ron’s family had been proud of Ron’s award for special services to the school, Harry’s had been far more furious that he’d sneaked away and nearly been eaten by Acromantula, only to do it again and nearly get eaten by a basilisk. Harry’d been grounded for most of the summer, and he supposed it was reasonable for Ron to suspect Harry was in trouble again for running off to London and nearly getting killed by Voldemort.

It was a bit of a surprise to know Hermione was staying with Ron, and Harry read her letter before replying to Ron’s. It was, unsurprisingly, far wordier than Ron’s. Hermione did like to talk.

Dear Harry,

Our O.W.L. results arrived today, so I expect yours did too. I got an “E” in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which I suppose should be expected, since we had such a horrid teacher last year, but I was really hoping to do your training proud. I’m sure you did at least as well.

I’m shocked I got an Outstanding in Ancient Runes, after my silly translation mistake with ‘ehwaz’ and ‘eihwaz.’ I did well in Potions, too. I hope you did alright, Harry. I know you want to be an Auror, and you’ll need an Outstanding to continue on. Perhaps Professor Snape would make an exception for you? Goodness, that sounds almost funny as I write it out. But maybe Professor McGonagall could make him make an exception for you. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will help you figure it out — not that you couldn’t have gotten an Outstanding. You certainly could have, I just thought, in case you didn’t, you shouldn’t worry too much.

I should tell you that I’ve decided to stay with Ron this summer. I visited my parents for a few days, but with everything that’s happened at the Ministry of Magic and You-Know-Who returning, I wanted to stay closer to the magical world. It’s so hard to be separated from all of it, wondering if everyone is alright and not knowing what’s going on. Mrs. Weasley has been kind enough to let me stay here at the Burrow, even though Fleur Delacour is already staying here, too. She and Bill Weasley got engaged, you see, so Fleur has been staying with the Weasleys. Even though she’s here, it’s certainly quieter with Fred and George moved out. No loud bangs in the middle of the night, though they stop by for meals fairly often. It’s nice to have a bit of laughter at dinner, which can get so somber now. Mrs. Weasley says they have a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley now. It sounds like their business is doing really well. I was really surprised to hear it, but I suppose everyone needs a bit of a laugh these days.

I imagine your parents don’t read The Daily Prophet anymore, after everything they said about you all these last two years, but it seems like every day there’s a new horrible event in the paper. The Dark Mark over someone’s house, or people dragged out of their shops on Diagon Alley. It’s terrifying. They reported just a few days ago that Ollivander’s shop was destroyed and Ollivander was missing. I hope he’s alright, but it’s a shame to think of all the new wizards who won’t be able to get wands from Ollivander’s. And I don’t know how we’ll get our school supplies safely! I’m sure we’ll manage, but it is hard not to worry about it. I do hope if we go to Diagon Alley that we’ll see you there. Or you’ll be able to stop by some time this summer. I’m sure Mrs. Weasley would be happy to have you visit, though I’m not sure you would want to, with Fleur Delacour popping in and out of rooms stunning Ron into a stupor every time. Ginny’s taken to calling her Phlegm, which I suppose isn’t very nice but it is a bit funny.

I hope your summer’s going well and your family is alright. It’ll be nice to go back to school, I think, to do something normal in the midst of everything. And of course it’ll be good to see you again. Mr. Weasley mentioned that the Aurors are keeping such odd hours these days that Neville is staying with you. I hope he did just as well on his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. You really were an excellent teacher, Harry. I expect we’ll have a better teacher this year, and we’ll be terribly busy with N.E.W.T. classes, but otherwise, it really would have been nice to keep the D.A. going. Of course, I’m thrilled Umbridge won’t be returning, but I will miss our meetings.

Hopefully Ron and I can see you in Diagon Alley, or perhaps for your birthday? Do write soon.

Love, Hermione

Harry, like Hermione, would not miss Umbridge. He might miss D.A. meetings, but he wasn’t sure he would have the time with N.E.W.T. classes. Besides, maybe Professor Slughorn wouldn’t turn out to be such a bad Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Harry and his peers could actually learn something. His parents certainly hadn’t seemed too bothered about Slughorn, not the way they had been upset with Dumbledore’s choice of Lockhart or Umbridge.

He did appreciate Hermione’s compliment to his own teaching. It was kind of her to think of him, but he was sure a lot of his friends’ success in the subject had just as much to do with Lily, Remus, and Moody teaching Defense as it did Harry.

Harry rummaged through his trunk for his quill and parchment to write a reply. He appreciated Ron’s offer of a visit, but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to leave his parents for any great length of time, and he didn’t want to impose on Mrs. Weasley if she was already overwhelmed with Fleur visiting them. Harry wouldn’t mind seeing Fleur, though. He hadn’t seen her since the Triwizard Tournament. She may have Veela ancestry that could leave those who talked to her in a daze, but Harry knew her as an excellent competitor in the Triwizard Tournament. She’d held her own against the dragon, probably better than any of them had. She was also fond of Harry for completing the Second Task and saving her little sister when she could not.

Perhaps he’d see Fleur in Diagon Alley when their book lists came, or she’d visit for his birthday. Surely his parents would have people over for his birthday, and the Weasley’s would come. Maybe even others from the Order, like the Diggorys or Tonks or Moody — or Remus. As absent as Remus had been this summer, surely Remus would come home for Harry’s birthday.

Harry found his ink bottle at the bottom of his trunk, dried up and empty. He set the empty bottle down on his desk and headed downstairs to find ink. He supposed while he was downstairs he could ask his parents about visiting Ron, or the possibility of Ron and Hermione visiting them.

Harry searched for ink in the dining room first. He remembered his mother had been writing a letter there last night, and it wasn’t unusual for parchment, quills, and ink to get hastily put away in the drawers of the china cabinet.

Of course, that was before Picksie and Mellie had returned to the house. Instead of the disorganized drawer Harry expected, he found stacks of letters neatly pressed, organized by date. The top layer was a series of letters from Scrimgeour, all of which Harry had read. He saw a few letters from his Aunt Petunia, and some over the years from Dumbledore and other friends in the Order, but found no blank parchment nor quills nor ink. Either Picksie or Mellie had reorganized things. If there was a proper place quills and ink were kept, Harry didn’t know about it.

He closed the drawer and headed into the kitchen. “Mum — Dad —” He stopped when James held up a finger.

Lily was counting her stirs in the cauldron, face deep in concentration. It was the sort of concentration Harry had never really been able to muster in a Potions class. When she was done, she tapped the brim of the cauldron and the potion changed from turquoise to perfectly clear. James pulled an empty jar from the cabinet and held it steady while Lily poured the potion into the jar. It wasn’t until the jar was full and sealed that Lily’s shoulders relaxed and she turned to Harry.

“Sorry, Harry. What did you need?”

James tore a small sheet of parchment and used his wand to stick the scrap onto the jar.

“Ink,” Harry said. “To write Ron and Hermione back.”

James, jar in hand, looked around the kitchen. “We need ink to label these antidotes. Lils, what did you do with it last night?”

Lily frowned. “I don’t think I did anything with it, between Dumbledore arriving and the toadstools — I left it on the dining room table.”

“So where would Picksie and Mellie put it?” Harry asked.

James shrugged and waved his wand. “Accio Ink.”

As if it were the result of the Summoning Charm, the fireplace burned with green flames and someone stepped into the kitchen. Lily whipped her wand at the fireplace as the ink bottle flew into the kitchen and struck James in the chest, dumping ink all over his clothes. Harry fumbled in his pockets for his wand as a second person stepped out of the fireplace.

Before Harry could manage a proper dueling stance, he realized the people walking into their kitchen were not strangers at all.

“Tonks — Cedric — what are you —”

But James stepped in front of Harry, wand leveled at the two newcomers. “Just a moment. We need to be sure they are who they appear to be.”

Tonks rolled her eyes and put her hands up in a show of innocence. “You don’t think two Death Eaters would come waltzing into your house without our wands already drawn?”

James did not look amused. “Tonks, all you have to do is change your hair color and we’ll know it’s you. As for Cedric — what color was the wrapping on your birthday gift last year, from your parents?”

Cedric blinked. “The one Mrs. Potter gave to me? Gold, I think?”

Lily nodded. “Good. And Tonks?”

Harry waited for her brown hair to turn pink or purple, or perhaps she could shift her nose into a more beak-like appearance, but she did not. Today she looked, Harry realized, unusually like Sirius. Her eyes were grey instead of their warm brown, and her face was made of harsher angles, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, rather than the soft, round face, he had come to know her with. She was still definitely Tonks, but today she looked more like a Black.

Tonks mumbled something under her breath. Her cheeks flushed, and Harry didn’t think that was from her Metamorphmagus abilities.

“What was that?” Lily asked.

“I said I can’t.” Tonks bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Sirius told you I was coming, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Lily glanced at James. Both seemed unsure if they should believe this really was Tonks.

“We came from Headquarters,” Cedric said, “if that helps. She couldn’t be in on the secret unless Dumbledore told her.”

“The Fidelius Charm isn’t impervious to traitors,” James said. “What —”

“Oh — there you all are.”

Harry turned and saw Sirius standing in the kitchen doorway. He noticed his parents didn’t take their eyes off of Cedric and Tonks.

“Tonks, you didn’t mention you were bringing Cedric,” Sirius said.

“Better to travel in pairs,” Tonks said. “Tell James and Lily it’s me, would you? What do you call my mum?”

Sirius grinned. “Drommie. What do you call my mum?”

“Bitch.”

As Tonks and Sirius laughed, James frowned. “Hey — those are our predetermined questions. Sirius, you can’t make the same joke with everyone.”

“Sure I can. Punchline makes me laugh every time. Come off it, I’m sure this is really Tonks. Do you think Death Eaters would waltz in here without their wands drawn?”

“Thank you,” Tonks said.

James lowered his wand but Lily wasn’t convinced.

“What did you come here to discuss with Sirius?” Lily asked.

“Nothing,” Tonks said in a way that sounded like it meant everything. It was the same way Sirius had said “Nothing,” when Harry had asked what he and Remus were arguing about.

“This is Tonks alright,” Sirius said, his smile gone. “Mind if we use the parlor?”

Lily still seemed unsure, but she lowered her wand.

“After we clean this up,” James gestured to the cauldron and potions ingredients scattered on the counter, “I’m going to help Picksie and Mellie with supper. Will you two be joining us?”

Cedric looked to Tonks and Tonks looked to him. “Sure,” Cedric said, as Tonks said, “Our parents’ll probably worry —”

“Stay,” James said. “Whatever you and Sirius have to talk about would be best followed by a good meal, I imagine.”

When Tonks didn’t argue, Sirius motioned for her to follow him into the parlor.

“What was that about?” Harry asked, as Lily started putting away potion supplies.

“Which part?” James asked. “Sirius’s joke about his mum, that Tonks can’t use her abilities, or the secret conversation she and Sirius are probably having about Remus?”

Harry hadn’t imagined this had anything to do with Remus, of all things, and the way James said it so matter-of-factly caught Harry off guard. “I meant why you didn’t believe her — you didn’t do any of that with Dumbledore last night. And how do you know they’re talking about Remus? Is it about why Remus didn’t come home last weekend?”

“Dumbledore was here?” asked Cedric.

Lily stacked jars into their potions cabinet. “We didn’t do any of that with Dumbledore last night because we had our hands full of Leaping Toadstools and we were caught a bit off guard.”

“If he’d been there to kill us he’d have done it much quicker.” James pointed his wand at his chest and Vanished the ink stain off of his robes. “Besides, if Death Eaters were impersonating Dumbledore, there’d be bigger problems to worry about. Impersonating a couple Aurors, though? That’s not too hard. No offense, Cedric.”

Cedric shook his head. “None taken. I can see how Tonks not using her abilities would be suspicious.”

“Is she alright?” Lily asked. “I’ve never seen her looking so… well, quiet.”

“Remus is being his usual self, from what I gather,” James said. “I only know what Sirius’s told me. Remus won’t talk to me about it.” He sounded only a little bitter. James knelt down and picked the empty ink bottle up from the kitchen floor. “Sorry, Harry, guess we’ll have to pick up more ink when we go to Diagon Alley. Might be able to pick some berries for ink. Not the best, but it works in a pinch.”

“Why don’t you and Cedric go pick some?” Lily suggested. “James and I will help the elves with supper. I’m sure Neville will want to write home about his O.W.L.s, so we’ll need a bit on hand.”

Harry wasn’t sure if a walk to the mulberry tree was how Cedric wanted to spend his evening, but Cedric was already shrugging off his cloak and rolling up his sleeves.

“I could use a walk in the garden, after all day in London,” he said.

Harry grabbed a pair of pails they used for harvesting and took them to the pump on the side of the house. Rinsing before gathering was an important habit his parents had instilled him with, especially since once a month they harvested wolfsbane, and it could easily contaminate. Cedric followed suit, and used Aguamenti to clean two more pails.

“How is being an Auror?” Harry asked.

Cedric shrugged. “Busy. I’m not technically an Auror yet, you know.”

“Yeah, you said Kingsley’s training you?”

“They reassigned me to Williamson. He’s alright. Knows his stuff. Hard that he’s not in the Order, but I am learning a lot. And working with Tonks and the Longbottoms is good. Nice to know there’s people who have your back.”

Harry led Cedric down a path around the south side of the house and towards a grove of trees. “Do you know what’s going on with Tonks? Is she really alright?”

Cedric shrugged. “Can’t say. She’s definitely been down this summer, but most of us at the office just assume it’s because of the war and the stress of Bellatrix Lestrange getting away. I didn’t even consider it might have anything to do with Lupin until your dad said so.”

Adding Tonks into the fight between Sirius and Remus only made things more complicated to Harry. He had so many questions, but he didn’t think Cedric would have the answers.

“Did you say Dumbledore stopped by last night?” Cedric asked.

“Oh — yeah. It was just an errand for Hogwarts.”

Cedric frowned. “I thought… well, I thought if anyone knew what that prophecy said, it would be Dumbledore. I guess it really is gone forever.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, but he was spared by a strong breeze, filled with the scent of the grove, fruits and blossoms mixed together in the warm July air.

“Is that… oranges?” Cedric asked. “You can grow oranges in this climate?”

Harry shrugged. “We grow a lot of stuff. I don’t know all the charms for them yet, but Dad said it’s kind of like a magical greenhouse without being a real greenhouse.” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air again. “Smells like the coffee and jasmine are flowering, too.”

Cedric shook his head. “What don’t you grow here?”

Harry led Cedric into the small grove of trees and the temperature, instead of cooling in the shade, seemed to grow warmer and stickier, like a greenhouse would, but there were no glass paneled walls enclosing them. They passed orange trees with a bit of fruit still on the branches; most of it had been harvested already. The lemon were similarly picked over, but the limes were blossoming. On the other side of the grove, coffee, jasmine, and elder grew. As they walked, the air grew cooler, more like what they would expect of a shady grove, and the air less humid. At the end of the grove, they reached the mulberry tree.

Harry pulled one of the branches down to chest-level, to make it easier to pick the berries off of it. Mulberries were fairly easy to pick, but they made his hands purple with their juice.

“Scrimgeour asked me to talk to you,” Cedric said suddenly.

“What?” Harry let go of his branch in surprise. It whipped up into the tree and rustled against the other branches.

“Tonks asked for leave tonight, said she was going to talk to Sirius about some tips she’d gotten on Regulus Black — those of us in the Order kind of use him as an excuse when we need to get out of Ministry work, but anyway — Scrimgeour told me to go with her, figured you might be nearby, wanted me to convince you to help out the Ministry.”

“So you think I should?”

Cedric laughed and shook his head. He reached up for a branch and started dropping berries into one of his buckets. “I think Scrimgeour is an excellent Auror and an excellent politician. He knows he has a tough job and he knows that people will like him more if he looks like he’s doing everything he can. He also knows people would like to see your face in the Ministry of Magic, more than they like seeing mine. And I think I only have the job I have because I’m friends with you.”

Harry frowned at the mulberry branch like it was the one who had offended him rather than Scrimgeour. “So Scrimgeour doesn’t want you or me to fight, really?”

“I doubt he would want to put someone who had barely finished their O.W.L.s on the front lines. Even I don’t see a lot of action, unless it’s public.”

The scars on the back of Harry’s hand burned. He knew Cedric had the same scars on the back of his hand, and it only made his anger stronger. “How can you be okay with that? The Ministry is using you like a — I don’t know, like a prop. If I just walked in and said hello once a week that would be a lie. And we both know how the Ministry feels about those who tell lies.”

Cedric smiled, and Harry felt his cheeks flush more.

“I don’t think it’s funny —”

“No, it’s not funny,” but Cedric laughed. “It’s only — well, this is about what I expected you to say. You didn’t like playing nice with Umbridge, and I didn’t think you’d play nice with Scrimgeour. I wasn’t even going to bring any of this up, because I didn’t think your answer would change just because I asked.”

That didn’t make Harry feel better.

“What about you? You’re still playing nice? After everything Umbridge and Fudge did?”

“I became an Auror so I could fight, so I could learn more and be of better use to the Order. Because if I’m going to face Voldemort again, I’m going to be more prepared. For now, the Ministry is the best place to do that.”

Harry’s anger was swallowed by the half-dissected frog that suddenly crawled its way up his throat. The thought of Cedric facing Voldemort, of dying at Voldemort’s hands, was too easily conjured. Cedric shouldn’t face Voldemort again — no one could, except Harry.

After everything Cedric had already faced — nearly dying in the graveyard, being tortured by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, standing up to Umbridge for Harry — he deserved to know what Harry was up against. If there was anyone Harry could tell the prophecy to, perhaps even more than Neville, Ron, and Hermione, it should be Cedric.

But as he had so many times today, Harry hesitated, the prophecy on the tip of his tongue. Cedric had said he’d stopped by because Scrimgeour had asked. It was possible he would take the prophecy straight back to Ministry, that Cedric would confirm for the Wizarding World what they already suspected: that Harry was indeed The Chosen One.

No, Cedric was in the Order, Harry reminded himself. Cedric was trustworthy. Remus and Sirius had been driven apart during the first war by suspicion, and was Harry really going to let himself lose his friendship with Cedric in that same way?

Dumbledore had asked Harry to lean on others for bravery. Cedric had encouraged Harry over the last year, even when they’d fought, and if anyone could help Harry face this prophecy, it would be Cedric.

“Dumbledore didn’t tell me the prophecy that got destroyed,” Harry said. “My mum did.”

Cedric paused, stunned by this change in topic, then resumed filling his bucket of mulberries without a word, waiting for Harry to say what Harry wanted to say. With a deep breath, Harry kept his eyes on the berries and shared the prophecy with Cedric. He was able to get out the beginning, about a boy born at the end of July to those who had thrice defied the Dark Lord, fairly easily. He told Cedric that it was the prophecy that had driven his parents into hiding, that his scar was part of the mark, and that the final lines — “Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives” — had a fairly clear meaning.

Throughout it all, Cedric was silent. Even when Harry had finished, Cedric said nothing. Harry didn’t know what he expected Cedric to say, but he’d thought Cedric might have some sort of comment. He counted thirteen mulberries before Cedric sat down in the dirt and buried his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Cedric said. He looked up, grey eyes as weary as they had been last summer, when Cedric had stumbled into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, eyes rimmed with dark circles and a face worn with the fear of someone who had faced death and barely survived. Harry felt guilt tighten in his gut, like this exhaustion was somehow his fault.

“What are you sorry for?” Harry asked, and crouched next to Cedric. “I’m the one who —”

“But that’s it, isn’t it? You’re the one. You’re actually The Chosen One. I thought….” Cedric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just — you saved me in the graveyard. You saved me again in the Department of Mysteries, and I guess I’d sort of hoped I could be the one to save you from Voldemort next time. Return the favor for once.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh. “You saved me in the graveyard, remember? Voldemort would have killed me before I had a chance to run if you hadn’t been there. And even in the Department of Mysteries — the Order saved us. I’m the reason we were there in the first place. You even took the fall for our interview with Rita Skeeter and got detention with Umbridge — you’ve done plenty.”

Cedric ran a hand over his face as if he might wipe away his worry. It didn’t seem to work. “Can you promise me one thing?”

Harry thought of the promises he’d made and broken over the years. Promises to stay out of danger, promises not to keep secrets, not to lie.

“Sure,” he said.

“Promise you won’t do it alone. If I can be there, I want to fight.”

“No,” Harry said, before Cedric had even finished talking. “No — if it’s down to me or Voldemort I can’t let anyone else —”

“I’m not asking, Harry. The prophecy only says you have to face Voldemort. It doesn’t say you can’t have help.”

“Prophecy or not, enough people have risked their lives for me —”

“It’s not about you, Harry. Do you think I joined the Ministry for you? I gave up a career in Magical Beasts for you? I joined the Order because of you? This is so much bigger than you, Harry. It’s about everything.” Cedric gestured vaguely at the orchard around them. “Our entire world depends on defeating Voldemort. Maybe it’ll come down to you and him, but you’d be stupid to think that means you should go alone and face him.”

Harry wanted to argue with Cedric. He was so used to arguing with his parents, who focused so much of their effort on protecting him. The way James and Lily talked about the war, it really felt like it did center on Harry, and he supposed, for his parents, maybe it all did. But for someone like Cedric, for people like Neville, Ron, and Hermione, the war meant a lot more.

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’ll — I don’t know — I’ll write you if I feel like I’m about to duel Voldemort and you can join me as soon as you get the owl.”

Cedric laughed. It was a real, genuine laugh, one that seemed to force its way out from his gut. “Just don’t be reckless about it. Like trying to go to the Ministry by yourself.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Harry stood and held a hand out to help Cedric stand. Cedric took it.

They walked back to the house with their mostly full buckets of mulberries. Harry figured it would be enough, at least until they went to Diagon Alley for school supplies. If Scrimgeour was going to keep sending letters asking for Harry’s help, he was going to have to accept the replies in berry ink.

When they got back to the house, they were told to put the buckets aside and set the dining room table. It was almost like being back in Grimmauld Place, helping prepare dinner for the Order. Mellie was as grumpy as Kreacher, though less rude, and James was as quick to delegate tasks as Molly Weasley. Picksie squeaked as Cedric got the china out of the cabinet and used her own wandless magic to carefully place the dishes at each setting. Neville came downstairs to help, and between the seven of them, supper was ready fairly quickly. As James helped Picksie and Mellie put the food out, Harry was given the task of alerting Sirius and Tonks.

Harry approached the parlor door and told himself not to eavesdrop. He shouldn’t be rude; just because he very much wanted to understand what was wrong between Remus and Sirius did not mean he should listen in on what Sirius and Tonks were privately discussing.

“No, it doesn’t,” Tonks said in a raised voice, just as Harry lifted his hand to knock. “It doesn’t make it better knowing I didn’t do anything wrong — it would make it better if I could do something to fix it!”

Harry hesitated. Was it alright to interrupt now? It sounded important.

“You can’t fix him.” Sirius sounded exhausted, the way James sounded each time Lily brought up adding electricity to the house. It was the exhaustion of a fight had time and time again. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get him to see it right — I’ve known him twenty-five years, and the only way he’ll see sense is if he gets there himself.”

Tonks’ mumbled response was lost to Harry, but Sirius said, “Sure, he has every right to say no, for whatever reason he likes, but he’s also being a git. Won’t come home, won’t talk to me — if he doesn’t show for Harry’s birthday, James and I will both chase him down and talk sense into him.”

Harry’s stomach did a somersault. It was obvious they were talking about Remus, but it didn’t give Harry any insight into why Remus was being so distant and stubborn. Sirius and Tonks’s conversation turned quieter, and stayed muffled behind the door. Harry took a deep breath, hoped that meant things had calmed down, and knocked.

“Supper’s about ready,” he said, and waited just long enough to hear Sirius say, “Thanks, we’ll be right there,” before heading back to the dining room, ears still burning and stomach still uneasy.

Whatever Remus was going through, Harry wanted to be supportive. But the idea of Remus being so upset with Sirius that he wouldn’t stop by for Harry’s birthday made Harry sick to his stomach. Remus had always lamented when the full moon forced him to miss Harry’s birthday and to miss Harry’s birthday this year simply because of a fight with Sirius sounded so horribly unlike Remus. Something had to be seriously wrong.

“Alright, Snitch?” James asked as he sat a large tray of baked squash down on the table.

“Yeah, fine.” Harry grabbed a pitcher of water off of the table and started filling water glasses. He wasn’t sure how to explain his worry about Remus, and besides, his father was already worried about Remus. They all were. He did wonder, briefly, if he could ask James or Sirius to explain to him, plainly, what the fight between Remus and Sirius was all about. James had promised no more secrets, but maybe right before dinner with Cedric and Tonks and Neville still here was not the right time to ask.

The meal itself was not especially somber, but it was quieter than most meals with so many people. Part of it was because of the war: so much of the conversation was dominated by work the Aurors were doing or missions the Order was on. Part of it was because Neville asked Tonks if she could do a silly face like she used to at Order dinners and she had to awkwardly tell him she couldn’t. The third part, at least the third part that Harry noticed, was because of Remus’s absence. It was so strange to Harry to have all of his family there and not Remus. It had been small at first, but now, two weeks into the summer and one full moon passed, the gap Remus left had expanded with each meal, like ivy left untended.

Unfortunately, as summer went on, meals did not get better. Though the occasional Order member would drop by, and the Longbottoms came by once or twice a week, everyone seemed to bring bad news. Emmeline Vance, who had been missing for weeks, finally turned up half-out of her mind, and there were new attacks on Muggles, hastily covered up by the Ministry — it seemed to Harry that things were getting worse, not better, and he wondered how much longer the Ministry and the Order could keep fighting Voldemort. And through it all, the Potters received no word from Remus.

Late into the summer, Frank and Alice stopped over for dinner, bearing news that Florean Fortescue, who had run a small ice cream shop in Diagon Alley, had been dragged out of his shop by Death Eaters. It had put a damper on the evening, certainly, and when they mentioned that Remus had just stopped by their home for dinner, Sirius lost his temper.

He threw down his fork. It clattered against the china so loudly that both Neville and James jumped. As Sirius stood he said, “That’s it. The full moon’s tomorrow, and Harry’s birthday right after, and I’m dragging him back here for all of it. He doesn’t have to talk to me, but I’m not letting him worry us like this.”

James set his fork down much more gently. “Maybe he needs to spend the full moon with his new friends. We can go get him the day after.”

Frank Longbottom cleared his throat. “Actually — we know for certain that Lupin plans to be alone tomorrow.”

“It’s part of why we made sure to see you tonight,” Alice added. “Neville wrote us and said you were all worried about Remus, so when he was visiting us we pressed him a bit. Maybe we lied a little and said Dumbledore asked us to get a few details out of him —” She turned red and took a sip of her wine. “— but he told us the werewolves he’s met don’t trust him just yet. He isn’t able to spend the full moon with them. He’d said he was considering the Shrieking Shack for tomorrow night —”

Sirius left, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

Alice flinched, but continued talking. “— and he asked us if we’d take word to Dumbledore about it. We figured we’d better come to you. You know him best, afterall, and it seemed like — well, it seems like you were right to be worried about him, though I don’t know what’s wrong, exactly.”

James stood with a swear. “We’ll find him. Lily, could you make sure everything’s ready?”

Lily seemed to pale, but she nodded, and James ran after Sirius.

“Do you know what’s got into him?” Alice asked. “Why he won’t come back, or ask anyone else in the Order for help?”

Lily downed her wine glass. “I know he and Sirius fought. I know Remus must realize he’s the one in the wrong, or he wouldn’t be avoiding James and I as well.”

Frank hummed thoughtfully as he reached for a second helping of potatoes. “Just because he knows you and James will take Sirius’s side in whatever their fight was doesn’t mean he’s in the wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that I have mediated many fights between my wife and my mother to know the behavior of someone feels unsupported, regardless of who is right or wrong.”

Alice stuck her tongue out at Frank. “One time! One time I threatened to pack up and leave. I didn’t even mean it.”

“I know,” said Frank, “but I also know that Lupin and Sirius are far more dramatic than you and my mother. And that says quite a lot.”

Harry and Neville laughed, but Lily and Alice didn’t. Lily was distracted, eyes on her empty wine glass.

“Could I ask you a favor?” Her voice was distant, like it was coming from whatever other world she was staring into.

“Whatever you need, love,” said Alice.

“I know you’re both busy but could I ask you to take Harry back to your house? Just for the next two or three nights?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “I’m not going anywhere, not if Remus is coming here.”

Lily’s temper flashed in her green eyes. “Remus will be distraught — He’ll be angry at Sirius, at your father, probably at me, too, and all of that is going to carry over into the full moon. I won’t have you in this house for that.”

“I was here after the Quidditch World Cup,” Harry shot back. “I was helpful after the Cup. And I know way more about potions and healing magic now than I did then. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before Lily could continue the argument, Neville said, “I want to be helpful, too.”

“Neville,” Alice said in a soft voice, “That’s very admirable of you, but we were planning to take you home tonight anyway.”

“What? Why?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. Your gran’s quite insistent you come home. The whole family’s expecting you.”

“Even Uncle Algie?”

“Arrived this morning. Aunt Nellie’ll be there tonight, and there’s about four more aunts and uncles arriving first thing tomorrow. You know how important your birthday is to the family.”

“But after my birthday, I can come back?” Neville asked.

Alice and Frank looked Lily.

“Of course,” Lily said, “just give Remus a few days to recover, and you and Harry can come back and —”

“I’m not leaving,” Harry interrupted. He folded his arms over his chest and sank into his seat, as if he could plant himself in the house. “You always do this — something bad happens, so you send me off to Sirius’s, or make me stay with Ron, or leave me here with Picksie and Mellie while you and dad are actually out there fighting — I’m not leaving just because it’s going to be a hard full moon for Uncle Remus. Not when I can help.”

Harry felt a little glad that James had gone with Sirius. If his father had been the one to ask Harry to stay with the Longbottoms, Harry might have done it. Even though Harry had no interest in going to Neville’s and meeting all of Neville’s strange, extended family, Harry would have taken one look at James’s eyepatch and glumly agreed to anything James asked. But Harry was far too familiar with Lily’s temper to back down. Their anger was too well-matched these days. Lily had always said she wanted Harry to be the best of her and James, so of course this was how it had happened. Harry had inherited her fury, just as much as he’d inherited her courage and kindness.

Lily’s nails clicked against the table as she searched for an argument that would send Harry off with the Longbottoms. Finally, she admitted defeat. “I guess with James gone, I’ll need help preparing potions.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “And I’ll have a lot to do on the house.”

As soon as dinner was finished, they set to work. A morose Neville packed up his trunk and went home with his parents, and Harry picked a dozen magical herbs with Picksie while Lily went from room to room, casting Strengthening Spells on the windows and doors. It felt a little like she was preparing the house for an assault, which Harry supposed was not entirely inaccurate. He’d read enough about werewolves to know they were drawn to the scent of humans. If Remus was going to spend the full moon out on their property, the wolf might try to get into the house.

When Harry and Picksie had picked all the herbs Lily requested, Harry went to help Mellie. Bedding was stripped from every room and thoroughly washed. The mattresses were dragged outside and washed as well, which Harry thought odd until the breeze blew all the floral smells of the garden through the yard and Harry understood — they were removing as much human scent from the home as they could.

He glanced up at the moon overhead. It looked full already, but Harry knew the day before and after the true full moon looked similar. The moon was also especially large, and Harry wondered if it was closer to the earth for this cycle. Remus’s aches were probably pretty bad tonight, and if Remus was already upset because of his fight with Sirius, it would be a terrible full moon indeed.

Harry finished hanging the linens with Mellie and got sent inside to see what he could help Lily with. She had just finished putting the last of the herbs into jars and labeling them. She looked at Harry with a tired smile. “Well, we should get some sleep. We can take care of the potions in the morning, and tomorrow night will be quite long.”

Harry thought he might be too worried to sleep, but he knew Lily was right. “Where will we be tomorrow?”

“I haven’t decided.” Lily gnawed on her lip as she started stacking jars into their cabinet of potions ingredients. “It feels a bit short notice to ask Molly to put us up, and I don’t want to make a fuss at Headquarters. I thought about the cottage in Hogsmeade, but it’s not nearly so well protected as our home. I thought about the Leaky Cauldron, but that seems unsafe, especially after what Frank told us about Florean Fortescue —”

“But wouldn’t the Burrow or Headquarters be safest? I’m sure Mrs. Weasley would understand. Regulus Black would understand, too. Actually, anyone at Headquarters would understand. They all care about Remus and want him to be safe tomorrow. That’s why Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom took all the trouble they did. It’s alright to ask other people for help, even if it’s for Remus. Everyone in the Order understands.”

Lily laughed softly, but when she turned, her smile was strangely sad. “When did you turn into your father?”

Harry’s ears grew warm. “I dunno — Dumbledore’s the one who told it to me, not Dad.”

“James was the one who told me, on the last day of our fifth year, that I didn’t have to struggle alone, just because I thought no one would understand what I was going through as a Muggle-born.” She laughed. “Actually, him encouraging me to reach out to others for help is what sent me on a date with Benjy Fenwick. I don’t think he was too happy about it….” Lily’s green eyes glistened like she was on the edge of tears. But as soon as Harry noticed them, she’d wiped them away.

“Bed, really. We should try and rest.”

As Harry had imagined, it wasn’t easy. He kept his bedroom window open for Hedwig to use to hunt, but now Harry was using it, listening for any sound of James and Sirius returning with Remus. It was possible they would Floo back, but as they’d Apparated away, he assumed they’d Apparate back.

Harry knew he had to have fallen asleep, because sunrise came way too soon, but Harry also did not feel rested. Still, he thought lying in his bed a useless way to continue the morning, so he trooped downstairs for breakfast and found Lily already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Mellie was putting the finishing touches on her usual large breakfast.

Apart from the cup of coffee, Harry could see in her eyes that Lily had hardly slept. They’d both passed the night awake, worried.

“Harry,” Lily said as he sat down, “if you ever become a werewolf or a vampire or a hag, promise me you won’t worry your father and I like this.”

“Sure, Mum.” Harry thanked Picksie for the breakfast as she set the plates in front of them.

Mellie set two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the table and said, “And what is we house-elves to do while there’s a werewolf running up and down the garden, tearing up the ivy and vegetables?”

Lily looked down at Mellie. “Didn’t James used to do this with Remus long before we were married? Before Harry and I came along?”

“They is only using the house once or twice, when Mister and Mistress Potter is out. Picksie and Mellie is with Mister and Mistress Potter and is only cleaning up the boys’ mess when the Potters is coming home.”

“Then I suppose you can stay with Harry and I at Headquarters. Maybe you’ll be a good influence on Kreacher.”

“Hmph. Mellie knows Kreacher and Kreacher’s lying, filthy masters. Yes, Mellie will be an excellent influence on Kreacher.”

Harry and Lily exchanged a worried glance, but short of asking James or Sirius for help, there was little they could do about Mellie.

Lily finished her breakfast and reluctantly took the Floo Network to Grimmauld Place to talk to Regulus. She worried about leaving Harry alone at the house, but Harry promised her he would be alright and besides, she wouldn’t be gone long. While she was gone, Harry started brewing some of the Potions they would need, in case the night didn’t go as well as they all hoped.

He got out his mother’s recipe book — Picksie had to help him by Levitating it down from the top of the cupboard — and flipped through it until he found “The Essence of Dittany.” It wasn��t an especially complex potion, as there were few ingredients, but it required careful preparation, and adding silver changed the recipe slightly. He found his mother’s notes in the margins of the book. Sometimes she disagreed with the instructions. In particular, the author of the book insisted Dittany be whole when added to the cauldron, since it was meant to close wounds it should not be cut itself. Lily had crossed it out, added some colorful language about what she thought of the author’s intelligence, and wrote, “chopped.” At the end of the recipe were the instructions for adding silver. Harry followed them with incredible care.

It wasn’t nearly as stressful as he was used to Potions being. His mother’s notes helped, certainly, and brewing in the warmth of his own kitchen without Snape’s glare or the stress of an examination looming over him helped. The stress of knowing that if he got it wrong someone could get hurt and die was a very different sort of stress, and actually helped Harry to focus.

Lily came back through the fireplace as Harry was getting out a funnel so he could pour the few ounces of liquid left in cauldron into a tiny vial.

“Oh, good,” Harry said. “I was hoping you’d be able to help me pour steady. The cauldron is kind of heavy, and I’m worried I’ll tip over the vial.”

Lily frowned. “Harry, at least pretend to be suspicious — I could be anyone.”

Harry, who was halfway into a cupboard beneath the sink, searching for an appropriately sized funnel, thought he would probably not have been able to get to his wand if Voldemort himself had strolled into the house.

“Sure, Mum — er, when’s my birthday?”

“Anyone could know that.”

Harry pulled out the right funnel and pulled himself out of the cupboard. “Alright, then, the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, right? If you weren’t in the Order, I couldn’t say that. I’m not a Secret Keeper.”

“I could be a traitor in the Order, pretending to be your mum!”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “How long are you going to make me interrogate you? Or can we finish this dittany?”

“You’re worse than your father,” she grumbled, but set about helping Harry finish the potion.

She questioned him about the recipe and its instructions, and praised him for doing so well and being so careful. It made Harry wish Lily would be his Potions teacher. She’d do so much better than Snape. But he also knew that she had tried teaching once, and it had been hard for her and his father to be apart for so long. He couldn’t imagine them having to be apart in the middle of the war. Maybe Lily should teach Potions and James could teach Defense, and everyone would be happy.

Harry had just put the stopper on the essence of dittany when a gentle chime flitted through the house, moving from room to room as if it were carried by an invisible spectre. Lily and Harry each felt the tension leave their shoulders. Their relief, however, was short-lived.

A silver Irish Wolfhound whipped across the yard and through the kitchen window. “James’s splinched,” Sirius’s voice said. “We’re in the rose garden.”

“Picksie —” Lily said, but the petite house-elf had already vanished with a crack.

Harry yanked the cork stopper out just as Picksie reappeared with James, Sirius, and Remus. The first thing Harry saw was red as blood spilled out of James’s leg. His stomach turned, but he was able to ignore his uneasiness. He knelt by his father and steadily dripped the dittany over the open wound, just as he had for Sirius two years ago, after Sirius had spent the full moon locked in the attic with Remus.

As the wound steamed and closed, Lily helped James into a chair. James grunted his gratitude, and Lily looked up at Sirius and Remus for answers.

Sirius was disheveled, certainly, with a fresh red and purple bruise spread across his cheek, but otherwise he appeared fine. It was Remus who looked far worse than Harry had ever seen him.

His clothes were worn, seams beginning to tear. He looked thin, unusually gaunt in the face, even with the full moon less than a day away. Harry wondered if Remus was eating well, or if his occasional meals with other members of the Order were all he was getting. His hair seemed paler somehow, like it hadn’t decided if it was graying or not. All of him, really, seemed washed out. Harry had seen Remus looking sickly before a full-moon before, but this was different. He looked more like when he had spent a week in Azkaban. Harry couldn’t imagine anything worse than dementors, but something must have happened to Remus. This wasn’t just because of the full moon.

“Sorry.” James’s weak voice cut through the stunned silence. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have Apparated without warning.”

Lily’s green eyes went wide. “You just Apparated back without telling Remus what you were doing?”

“He wasn’t going to come anyway,” Sirius snapped. “If we hadn’t Apparated here and dragged him into the property line, he’d be halfway to the Alps by now.”

“I wasn’t going to the Alps,” Remus grumbled and leaned against the wall. He offered no more excuses, though, only stared out the kitchen window.

Lily and Harry waited for more explanation from James or Sirius, but no one was forthcoming.

“Well,” Lily finally said, “We’ve cleaned the house to get rid of as much smell as possible, and I’ve already spoken to Regulus; Harry, the elves, and I will stay at Headquarters. I’ve put Strengthening Charms on the windows, and Harry just brewed up this dittany. I’m about to set to work on Blood-Replenishing Potions and —”

“I’m not staying,” Remus grunted. He had enough sense to look embarrassed, and added, “Thank you, Lily, but I’d rather be alone tonight.”

“Why?” asked Sirius. “Do you want to run into a stray hiker or campsite if you disappear into the woods? Or were you really going to lock yourself in the Shrieking Shack? And who was going to help you if you hurt yourself? And then what were we going to do when you didn’t turn up for Harry’s birthday because you’re bleeding out on the floor of some dirty old —”

“Sirius, stop, please,” James said. He rubbed his good eye. The exhaustion of the previous evening was as obvious on him as it had been on Lily. “Look — Remus, you’re already here. You know this property — and so does the wolf. We also know for certain that there won’t be any humans nearby. You’re being stubborn about this for no reason, other than you’re upset with Sirius.”

“I’m not upset with Sirius —”

“You punched me in the face!”

Remus did not look ashamed at this. Harry thought he looked rather smug.

“Just stay, please,” James said.

Remus didn’t answer.

Harry was well-acquainted with how stubborn Remus could be. There were not many things Remus was stubborn about, but finding those things was like running head-first into a thirty-foot marble wall. Harry didn’t know what this stubbornness was, but he knew that Sirius’s direct approach wasn’t going to fix anything.

Before James could press Remus further, there was a loud crack and Mellie appeared, a tray in her hands. “Morning tea,” she said simply, and marched into the dining room.

Her command was hard to ignore. Everyone moved to sit down at the dining table, including Remus, though Remus did not reach for any of the tea sandwiches Mellie set out for them. Harry thought Remus looked like he could do with a good meal, and wondered why Remus was resisting. Even the cuts of fish Mellie put down should have been appetizing to a werewolf, but Remus abstained.

The meal passed in an uncomfortable silence. Remus did not take even a sip of the tea Mellie poured for him, not until Mellie came back and scolded him for being rude, and was this how a guest treated their host, and wasn’t her tea and cold meats good enough for him, as she piled his plate with fish. Reluctantly, Remus ate, but continued to stare sullenly at his tea.

Surprisingly, it was James who lost his temper first. “Really, Remus — you’re not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know — you could ask Harry how his O.W.L.s went. You could ask Lily if she’s feeling better since you haven’t seen her since Bellatrix Lestrange cursed her. You could make fun of me for wearing glasses and an eyepatch. We’re not upset with you for what you said to Tonks —”

“I am,” Sirius said.

James ignored him. “— We’re upset because of how you’re behaving. This isn’t like you.”

Remus wiped his face with his napkin. “My mission’s been going fine, too, thank you so much for asking.”

Sirius snorted. “Like you’d tell us if we asked.”

“I’m asking,” Lily said, and glared at Sirius. “I want to know how you’ve been doing. I want to know if you’ve been getting enough to eat, where you’ve been sleeping, and who you’ve met.”

If Lily thought she might dodge some of Remus’s stubborn anger because she wasn’t part of the group who dragged him home, his bitter tone proved her very wrong. “I’ve been eating fairly regularly — at least, I steal what I can with the pack — and if it sounds like their thieving might get someone hurt, I take dinner with someone in the Order. We usually sleep outside, especially close to the full moon when the hunting instinct arises. They’re a lovely pack of friends, really, or they would be if they weren’t so suspicious of me. They’re not especially fond of people who associate with wizards, you see.”

The cold silence that followed was infectious. Even Harry, who didn’t have any real reason to be upset with anyone at this table, felt like he could snap at Remus. He didn’t know why Remus was being so rude. It was as if he wanted Lily to get upset with him.

If that really was Remus’s plan, it worked. Without another word, Lily gathered her dishes and took them into the kitchen. James looked torn between scolding Remus or going after Lily. He settled on the latter and closed the door to the kitchen behind him.

Harry knew that Sirius could sulk in silence for days if need be, so if anyone was going to talk Remus out of his temper, it was up to him. The trouble was, he didn’t know what Remus was upset about.

“I got seven O.W.L.s,” Harry said, deciding it was the safest topic of conversation.

Remus took a moment to rein in his anger. When he said, “Congratulations,” it certainly sounded earnest. At least Harry wasn’t going to be a target of Remus’s temper.

“I got an ‘Outstanding’ in Defense, actually. Professor Tofty asked me if I could produce a Patronus for a bonus point, so I think that’s what really pushed me over the edge. It was the easiest I’ve ever done — all I had to do was look at Umbridge and imagine her getting sacked.”

Remus and Sirius both laughed. It was, Harry thought, a good start.

“So which courses will you continue next year?” Remus asked.

“Defense, definitely. I guess Transfiguration and Herbology. Charms, which just about everyone does, right?”

Remus nodded. “No Potions? I thought you wanted to pursue an Aurorship?”

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Well — yeah, but I had to get an ‘O’ to take the N.E.W.T. class, and I only got an ‘E.’”

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry —”

“S’alright,” Harry said quickly, “McGonagall said I only need five N.E.W.T.s, so maybe I can substitute it with Care of Magical Creatures. I don’t really fancy another year nearly burning my face off raising Blast-Ended Skrewts, or getting scratched up by Bowtruckles but it’d be better than another year of Potions with Snape.”

Sirius frowned. “Snape? I assumed he wasn’t teaching next year.”

“Why wouldn’t Snape teach?”

“I don’t know. I imagined he had some business for the Order, or Voldemort wanted to keep him closer after the Ministry business. Why else would Dumbledore hire —”

The kitchen door flew open and Lily stood in its frame, her face as angry as it had been on Christmas evening when she’d seen the scars on the back of Harry’s hand.

“You said what to Nymphadora?”

Remus was too startled to be angry. “I — I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lily —” James reached for her arm, but she shook him off and stalked over to Remus.

“Is James telling the truth? That a young woman poured her feelings out to you and told her that her feelings were nothing?”

It didn’t take long for Remus to find his anger again. “I didn’t say that, I just told her I didn’t have feelings for her. I didn’t realize that was a crime. I think you’d understand, the number of times you turned James down.”

“I turned James down because he was arrogant and full of himself. Because he was rude, and hexed other students, and thought himself better than everyone else. I never turned him down because I thought being Muggleborn made me somehow less worthy.”

Remus flinched. “That’s different.”

“I don’t think it is. I think I had to sit through a very uncomfortable conversation with my new mother-in-law, warning me that my children might be Squibs because of my blood. I think I had to listen to quite a few comments from other people who thought I didn’t deserve to marry into this family, that I was ruining a bloodline. But I had enough sense to know they were wrong. I had friends who told me they were wrong, and I trusted them. You have every right to turn Nymphadora down, but you don’t get to sit there and feel sorry for yourself about it. You don’t get to hit Sirius because he’s worried about you. You don’t get to push us out of your life like you’re some martyr for Dumbledore. James and Sirius can coddle your feelings all they like, but I’m done. You can either keep listening to what people like the Death Eaters say about you, or you can start listening to your friends, who actually know you, who care about you and want to see you happy.”

Remus dropped his eyes to the plate of half-eaten fish. He didn’t look scolded. His hand tightened around the napkin on the table and his lips pressed together so tightly they went white. But Lily didn’t wait for Remus to argue with her. She turned and walked back into the kitchen, reminding Harry vividly of the girl who had told a much younger James Potter that she was impressed his broom could get off the ground with such a fat head attached to it, then stormed off.

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You know she’s right, Moony. You’re not —”

“She’s not right,” Remus snapped. He struggled to find words for a moment. “I didn’t turn down Dora because I’m a werewolf — at least not entirely.” His brown eyes flicked to Sirius, but returned to his fish so quickly, Harry thought he might have imagined it. “I’ll stay tonight,” he finally conceded, “and I’ll stay for Harry’s birthday, but I’m leaving first thing the next day. I’ll need to get back to the pack.”

Harry helped Mellie clean up the tea. She didn’t seem bothered by the conflict at all. Harry supposed that after a hundred years of Potter family arguments, one more didn’t upset her. It was Picksie who wrung her hands in the floral apron she wore over her teacloth and scurried back and forth throughout the house, asking if she could get anyone anything and trying to ease the tension.

Though the argument had been insightful for Harry — he’d had no idea that Tonks and Remus were romantically interested in each other — it hadn’t improved anyone’s mood. Sirius and Remus were still not speaking to each other, and Lily had said her final word on the matter so she wasn’t interested in further discussion. James spoke to everyone like he was already apologizing for something, and between him and Harry, at least they managed to get Remus to eat a proper meal before moonrise.

When the sky turned a deep shade of orange, James, Sirius, and Remus went outside to find a nice spot in the garden to start their evening. Picksie and Mellie Apparated Lily and Harry to Grimmauld Place, startling Regulus and Kreacher, who were finishing their own supper in the kitchen. Thankfully, Mellie did not attack Kreacher on sight. She did, however, comment that it was so good to see Kreacher, and how was his mad Mistress Walburga? Kreacher did not take the greeting kindly and wailed a comment about filthy blood-traitors. For a moment, Harry thought Kreacher was going to jump on Mellie and attack her, but Regulus hastily ordered Kreacher to go clean two of the spare bedrooms. The elderly house-elf disappeared with a pop.

“Sorry,” Lily said with a smile that held absolutely no apology, “I can’t order Mellie to be polite; she’s not bound to the family anymore.”

“If Mellie wishes,” Mellie said, “Mellie could be finding Kreacher now and telling Kreacher all the secrets Mellie knows about the Black family. Kreacher must be wanting to hear everything Sirius is telling Mellie since he left Grimmauld Place.”

Regulus’s face paled, but his voice was steady. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Instead of heading upstairs to the bedrooms, Harry and Lily stayed in the kitchen, near the fireplace. Regulus sat with them, though there wasn’t much to talk about. Harry didn’t remember falling asleep, and he didn’t remember putting his head down on the table, but when he heard new voices in the kitchen, he sat up suddenly, and found the back of his hand slick with drool. Harry wiped it on his trousers and greeted Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

They’d stopped by to make a report for the Order, but sat down to chat. Fabian teased Lily, asking what she’d done to get kicked out of the house. She ribbed him back for never marrying at all.

Gideon congratulated Harry on his O.W.L.s; he’d visited the Burrow and heard about Ron and Hermione’s exams as well. Over tea set by Picksie — Harry wondered where Mellie had got to, and hoped she wasn’t antagonizing Kreacher — Harry chatted with the Prewetts about Bill and Fleur’s upcoming wedding, news from the Ministry, and progress the Order had made. The wedding aside, it wasn’t an especially cheerful conversation.

When they left, Harry checked the time on his wristwatch. It wasn’t quite four in the morning.

“Hour and a half to go,” Lily said with a sad smile. “Won’t be too long. But happy sixteenth birthday.”

Harry didn’t feel like it was a very happy sixteenth birthday.

“Happy birthday,” Regulus said. “One more year until adulthood, then.”

The way he said it unnerved Harry, because it didn’t sound like an especially cheerful congratulations. But of course, nothing Regulus ever said sounded particularly cheerful.

“You should sleep,” Lily said. “Both of you.”

“Are you going to sleep?” Harry shot back.

“I don’t feel tired at all.”

“Right.” Harry snorted. “You shouted at Remus this morning because you’re not tired at all.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You’re all always so careful around Lupin. It’s hard to imagine you shouting at him.”

Lily’s face turned red. Harry wondered if it was anger or embarrassment. “I shouted at him enough when we were prefects. It wasn’t terribly hard.”

“Why don’t you both sleep,” Regulus suggested. “I don’t do much around here but read, answer the door, and keep the portraits calm, so I think I can keep watch by the fireplace for another couple of hours easily.”

Harry yawned and stretched, but didn’t move to go upstairs. Neither did Lily.

“It’s weird that the house is so empty this summer,” Harry said. “There were so many people here last year.”

“Last year the Order was set on protecting that prophecy.” Lily stared into the embers of the fire as she spoke. “We aren’t so concentrated in London anymore.”

“It’s a shame the prophecy was lost.” Regulus’s eyes were trained on Lily, like he was gauging her reaction.

Lily didn’t even move. “A shame,” she echoed, gaze still steadily trained on the fireplace. “Our real intent was to catch Voldemort, though, or at least prove to the Ministry he was back. At least we did that.”

Regulus waited for Lily to say more, and Harry waited for Regulus to press her more. Neither happened.

Instead, Regulus said, “Well, I certainly don’t mind the quiet. Besides, plenty of the Aurors still come through,” said Regulus. “They’re rather overworked, I think. The parlor hasn’t seen so many naps since my grandfather was still alive and falling asleep into his tea twice a day. So if you don’t want to move all the way to bed, you can at least use the parlor.”

Harry and Lily did not take Regulus up on his offer. The parlor was so far from the fire-place. Even though they knew they wouldn’t hear anything until sunrise, it seemed important to wait, to be ready.

At 5:20, Picksie popped into the kitchen to let Harry and Lily know she’d seen the sun crest the horizon. Lily cautioned them to wait another fifteen minutes — home was west of London; the sun would take some time to get there. Harry paced the kitchen while they waited, reciting every spell he could recall from his lessons with Sirius. He was no Healer, but he felt confident he could fix up cuts and set broken bones.

At 5:35 exactly, Lily decided it was safe to return home. She called for Mellie, who appeared without any scratches or sign she and Kreacher had been fighting. Harry was only mildly disappointed. Picksie and Mellie Apparated Harry and Lily back to Styncon Garden. Fortunately, it did not take them long to find James, Sirius, and Remus, but unfortunately, they were more hurt than Harry had expected.

Harry knew that after the Quidditch World Cup, when Remus had spent the full moon in the attic, there would be injuries, because the wolf did not like enclosed spaces. He’d expected things to be much better if Remus had the freedom to run around the property. He hadn’t quite realized what Lily had meant when she’d said Remus’s anger would carry over into the full moon.

It was clear, on sight, that Remus and Sirius had fought. Both were covered in bites, scratches, and bruises. All the stories Harry had heard from his father about being an Animagus had suggested that they had fun running around with a werewolf. It had sounded more like play. These injuries were not from playing.

Lily took charge of Sirius’s wounds and the few James had, using the dittany mixed with silver to close the worst of the wolf bites. Harry’s heart pounded, knowing she was trusting him with Remus’s wounds. Bites from a dog that weren’t magical in nature should close easily with the simple Healing spells Sirius had taught him.

He traced his wand over the broken skin, reciting the incantation as clearly as he could. He watched the wounds close, the skin knit back together, as neatly as if he’d poured a bottle of dittany over it. Once he’d stopped all the bleeding, he noticed Remus’s knee had been tweaked out of place. He didn’t know how to fix it, but he did at least know how to set it. Even half-conscious, Remus yelped as the joint popped back into place.

Picksie and Mellie turned the rarely used drawing room into a small care unit. It was closer to the kitchen than the bedrooms, and it had a couch. They left Sirius and Remus there to rest. Harry hoped if they woke up at the same time, they wouldn’t start fighting again.

James, whose only truly serious injury had been the leg-splinch that reopened, was fine once Lily cleaned him up and got a Blood-Replenishing Potion into him. None of them were as skilled as Sirius at finding and repairing internal wounds, but between James, Lily, and Harry, they were fairly certain Sirius and Remus were not going to die from their injuries.

“I’ve never spent the whole night trying to keep them from tearing each other apart.” James slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and gratefully drank the tea Mellie put into his hands.

Harry dated the last of the fresh Blood-Replenishing Potions Lily had brewed that morning, just in case. It seemed like in the last two days they’d gone through enough salamander blood to fill the pond.

“They’ll be alright,” Lily said, as she cleaned the cauldron.

“I don’t know that they will.” James took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. “They’ve never fought like this — never, not even….”

“Not even when Sirius told Snape about the Whomping Willow?” asked Harry.

James visibly shuddered, but nodded. “They didn’t speak for a month. Not one word to each other. Personally, I blame it all on Snape, following us around all the time, so determined to prove Remus was a werewolf — he might have deserved it, but Remus certainly didn’t.”

“How’d they make up?”

James looked at Lily. “That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Lily put away the last of the potions supplies and joined James at the table. “Mostly. Remus wasn’t talking to Sirius which honestly made him a much better prefect. But he was lonely. I encouraged him to forgive Sirius. No one’s perfect. I’d honestly been thinking of my friendship with Severus, how we’d stayed close even though we’d gone different ways at school. Of course, it wasn’t long after that I stopped talking to Severus.”

“If they can stay friends after something like that, surely they can figure this out too,” Harry said.

James didn’t look optimistic. “I think this fight was fifteen years coming. I’m worried it might take them fifteen years to talk it out. That’s a lot of full moon scuffles, and I’m getting too old to break them up.”

Fifteen years ago, when Voldemort had come to kill Harry, Remus believed Sirius had been the one to betray them, not Peter Pettigrew. If it had been as simple as Sirius forgiving Remus for doubting him, maybe they’d have moved on. But Sirius had trusted Peter because he thought Remus was the traitor, since Remus was a werewolf.

Harry was fairly certain Remus and Sirius had forgiven each other. That part was easy for them. They were both kind people who wanted the best for their friends. But Harry knew them well enough that he did not think they’d forgiven themselves, not when the cost was that James, Lily, and Harry had all nearly died.

“But what does all that have to do with Tonks?” Harry asked.

James laughed. “Nothing, really. She was just the catalyst. Remus and Sirius were fine as they were, or at least as fine as they could be. Her confessing her feelings forced Remus to make a real decision about not just his feelings for Tonks, but also his feelings for Sirius. I think Remus wants to keep not making a decision, which is why he’s running. Sirius wants Remus to make a decision, one way or another.”

“An immovable object meets an unstoppable force,” Lily murmured.

“What?”

“Muggle saying.”

James yawned and put his glasses back on. “Well, some birthday, huh, Snitch?”

Harry shrugged. “Better than listening to Uncle Vernon’s jokes about Japanese gophers.”

James laughed and Lily tried very hard to frown.

“Your uncle isn’t that bad.”

“No, not at all,” James agreed. “Drills is a truly fascinating industry. Lots of bits to talk about.”

“Oh! So you did learn something!”

“Enough to make a cheap —”

The fireplace came to life with green flames, and Cedric and Tonks stepped through once more. This time, they had their hands up, prepared for the interrogation.

“I know we weren’t expected,” Cedric said, “but we had a minute away from the office. Thought we’d wish Harry a happy birthday.”

James raised an eyebrow. “And did you also know last night was the full moon?”

Cedric looked surprised. Tonks looked guilty.

“Maybe,” she mumbled. “I did bring Harry a gift.”

Once James and Lily were satisfied that Tonks and Cedric were truly who they said they were, they enjoyed a relatively pleasant morning tea. Tonks gave Harry a large box stamped with “WWW” and beneath that, “George’s Compendium Box of Pyrotechtrix.” Inside was a collection of fireworks with various labels, such as the “Whammy Rocket” or “Crystal Incantation.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Did you discuss this with Sirius in advance?”

Tonks grinned. “Sure did.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “Wha’d Sirius get me?”

“You can open your gift from Sirius when he wakes up,” James said.

“You know you are setting all of these off before you go back to school,” Lily said.

Harry had every intention to share these fireworks with Ron, but he knew better than to argue with Lily over it. Instead, he considered how he might arrange his school trunk to smuggle them in.

Cedric’s gift was significantly smaller, but the wrapping was a similar color and pattern. “We actually went to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes together. I pulled some strings as a Triwizard Champion to get a custom order.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “They give Triwizard Champions special treatment?”

“Our money did start their shop,” said Harry, “so yeah, I guess they do.”

“Since when?” asked James. “We could have backed them. I’d have given them a loan easily — We could even give them Marauders merchandising rights. A whole line of products, attached to the Weasley name, two Hogwarts legends under one store!”

“Hey,” Sirius said. “That’s my brand, too.” He limped into the kitchen and reached for one of the scones Picksie had made. His bruises had a yellow and green tint to them, but otherwise he looked alright.

“How do you feel?” Lily asked.

“Like I got smashed by a troll,” Sirius said around the scone. “Why are you doing presents without me? Tonks, we coordinated our gifts specifically for this.”

“I didn’t know how long you’d be asleep,” she said. “Some of us have jobs we have to go to. We can’t all be disinherited layabouts.”

Sirius threw what was left of his scone at her, then winced when his shoulder protested the motion. “Sorry. I didn’t plan on going claw-to-claw with a werewolf last night.”

Lily used her wand to Summon a jar of Burning Bitterroot Balm from the cupboard. “This’ll help with your joint pain. Though maybe don’t apply it at the breakfast table.”

“Sure — but presents first, since Harry’s already opened Tonks’s gift.”

James flicked his wand and Summoned three presents to the kitchen table. “I suppose we could do ours now, too.”

The box from Sirius was similarly sized to the gift from Tonks. When Harry peeled back to label, he found a second box of fireworks, labeled “Fred Weasley’s Basic Blaze Box.”

“Now you’ve got a set,” said Sirius.

“And none of this,” Lily repeated, “is going back to school with you.”

Again, Harry didn’t argue. But he also didn’t agree. He only reached for the gifts from his parents. They were a bit smaller than the boxes of fireworks, but certainly heavier. When he peeled back the wrappings he found two very thick books, not unlike the tomes Hermione might carry around during the school year to read for fun. It was an unusual sort of present; usually his gifts had something to do with Quidditch, but these did not seem to be about Quidditch at all.

The first was titled, Advanced Defensive Theory: A Critical Analysis of the Merrythought Method. Even just a passing glance at the table of contents revealed this book to be more complex than any book Harry had been assigned on defensive spells in school.

“Since you got an ‘O’ on your Defense O.W.L., we thought you might like something like this,” Lily said.

“It’s not as flashy as dueling,” James added, “but you know almost as much as your mum and I do, really, at least about spells. The thing you’re lacking is experience and we can’t really give you that, but we thought we could give you this.”

“We also sort of… disagreed about this gift.” Lily pressed her lips together and tightened her hands around her mug of coffee. “I want to be very clear that this isn’t because of Voldemort, and has nothing to do with the war. Simply… you’re good at this subject, and we know you want to learn more and be an Auror and we thought this would help.”

“Thank you.” Harry didn’t know what else to say. The pages in the book were smooth; it was clearly a newer publication, which was already uncommon among wizards. He didn’t recognize the author — Adrina Duester — but if it was a book his parents approved of, it was probably good.

The second book did not seem to have a title, and when Harry opened it, James leaned forward eagerly.

“Your mum and I put this one together ourselves. Transfigured just about all the ink from those berries you and Cedric picked to make it, too. It’s got your family trees on both sides, here —” He pointed to a divet carved into the edge of the pages, and Harry realized that there were tabs of sorts down the sides of the books, marking each section. The family tree was denoted with a tree, unsurprisingly, and several pages beyond that was a section with a leaf, then one with a cauldron, one with what looked like a star, and one with a Snitch.

“My family tree doesn’t go back very far,” Lily said, “but we had a good bit of fun going around to all the portraits and figuring out who was who, and of course getting stories from Mellie.”

“That section,” James pointed to the leaf, “is all the instructions for the garden — instructions for spells, growing seasons, a list of good almanacs, all sorts of things. The next one is your mum’s potions recipes. She copied them all out for you, with her notes.”

“Even the Wolfsbane,” Lily added. “You’ve been begging to learn that one for years.”

“Then there’s some of my own Defense spells and jinxes — your mum even added a few of her own that have been helpful in a pinch. I picked Sirius’s brain for some, too, and he added a few.”

“The last one is, well, mostly your Quidditch record and some baby pictures. It’s not anything especially exciting,” Lily said, “but we wanted you to have it, in case you ever have a Quidditch player of your own you want to share stories with.”

Now Harry really didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say thank you, but he didn’t have a voice. He was grateful, completely and truly, but he also knew why his parents were giving him this gift now. He knew there was every chance this could be the last summer he had with both his parents. This book was, possibly, their way of making sure he’d still have them with them while he was at school, or if anything happened to them in the war. It was hard not to cry, just looking at his father’s handwriting next to a sketch of a Wiggentree, but Harry didn’t have any interest in crying in front of Tonks and Cedric.

“Thanks,” he managed, and hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful.

Lily, at least, seemed to understand. She stacked the boxes of fireworks on top of each other — carefully — and then made a stack of the books. “Why don’t you take everything upstairs? Get it put away. I’ll go check on Remus and James can help Sirius with the balm. Cedric, Tonks, you’re welcome to stay as late as you wish, but I don’t want to keep you from work.”

Tonks looked up at Lily, her grey eyes so much softer than Harry had ever seen in Sirius or Regulus. “Can I help?”

Lily looked to James and Sirius for an answer. She’d been the one to check on him physically after the full moon, but they were the ones who knew where he was emotionally.

Sirius shrugged, even though the motion was clearly painful. “He hasn’t punched her yet, or tried to tear her neck open, so she’s probably safer in there than me.”

“A boggart would be safer in there than you,” James said.

“Here,” Cedric said, “I’ll carry up these.” He grabbed the boxes of fireworks. “You get the books,” he nodded at Harry. “Tonks, we can leave for the Ministry in a few minutes.”

Though Harry knew taking Cedric upstairs meant he wouldn’t have the moment alone Lily had been offering, he was grateful he didn’t have to carry such precious, flammable books on top of such volatile boxes.

He warned Cedric to skip the fourth stair and, once in his room asked Cedric to set the fireworks on his desk. Harry put the books on his nightstand, on the other side of the room. He put the Defensive Theory book on top so that, at least for the moment, he wouldn’t have to look at the hand-crafted gift from his parents.

“You never gave me your gift,” Harry said, as Cedric greeted Hedwig, who was still settling in from her night’s hunt.

Cedric turned with a smile. “I didn’t — it’s probably better this way. I have a feeling Sirius might ask you to abuse it.”

Harry didn’t know what that meant and, heartache overtaken by curiosity, he opened the small package Cedric handed him.

It was a quill and a bottle of ink. Harry didn’t find the gift particularly interesting until Cedric grabbed one of the letters from Harry’s desk and flipped it over.

“Can I write on the back of this?”

“Sure.”

Cedric pulled, from his other pocket, a bottle of ink almost identical to the one Harry held. He dipped in a quill and signed his name on the back of the page. “It’s Disappearing and Reappearing Ink,” he said.

Harry stared at Cedric’s name. It did not fade, not even a little. “When does it Disappear?”

“When I want it to. The thing is, we have to decide on a code word. I asked Fred and George about ways to send encoded messages. I didn’t want something just anyone could read, especially now that I work at the Ministry. I wanted a way we could write letters while you’re at school without worrying about who was reading them. Fred and George said they’d worked with ink that only appeared in response to a specific code before and they could make it for me. I haven’t picked the code yet, because I wanted it to be something we’d both remember.”

Harry was stunned by how much thought Cedric had put into the gift, especially for someone who hadn’t seen the Marauder’s Map. Of course Fred and George were familiar with ink that appeared and vanished on command. Harry had the map they’d given him sitting in his trunk.

He supposed “Mischief Managed” wouldn’t work terribly well for a secret code shared between him and Cedric.

“I dunno,” Harry said. He cast about his room for some sort of inspiration. There wasn’t much he and Cedric had in common, other than nearly dying together. His eyes settled on one of the books on his desk, one his father had given him ages ago, Quidditch Through the Ages. Surely Cedric, having been a Seeker and Captain for Hufflepuff, had read it too.

“Oh, the thrill of the chase as I soar through the air?” Harry suggested.

With a grin, Cedric finished the couplet. “With the Snitch up ahead and the wind in my hair.”

Cedric placed both bottles of ink on the desk and waved his wand over them and his scribbled signature. “Obscure upon these words that follow: Oh, the thrill of the chase as I soar through the air; and reveal when spoken by my fellow: With the Snitch up ahead and the wind in my hair.”

The ink on the parchment and within the bottles vanished. Harry picked up one of the bottles, pointed his wand at it, and said the first half of the couplet. It filled immediately.

“Easy enough,” Harry said. “I see what you mean about Sirius abusing it.”

“I know it isn’t as flashy as fireworks —”

“No, it’s great,” Harry assured him. “It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to about… y’know.”

“I do. And I won’t tell you who to trust but… you’ve got other friends than me. Friends who are a bit closer, who aren’t under Scrimgeour’s constant watch.”

The more Harry thought about it, the more he was certain he’d have to tell Ron, Hermione, and Neville everything. They’d notice him sneaking away for private lessons with Dumbledore, at the very least. Having Cedric remind him actually made it easier. There were others he could go to, and if it did seem like Ron or Hermione or Neville didn’t understand, Cedric would listen.

“Thanks. And… speaking of Scrimgeour, shouldn’t you get to work?”

Cedric checked his pocket watch and winced. “If Tonks and I are much later, they’ll assume the Death Eaters got us. Happy birthday, Harry.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Hermione,

I hope you’re having a good time at the Burrow. It was mostly quiet here, just Neville and I working in the garden or getting summer homework done. Mum and Dad have been teaching me defensive spells, too, and Sirius has been teaching me Healing magic. It’s been really helpful, and I’ve learned a lot. It’d be fun to teach some stuff to the D.A. again, but we’ll have to see how busy we are with N.E.W.T. classes, I guess.

Sorry I couldn’t have you and Ron over for my birthday, but it was the full moon the night before, so we were really busy. I really want to see you in Diagon Alley. Mum and Dad said the Ministry wants to give us extra protection when we go, so we’ll have to sort that out, but hopefully it works out that you and Ron can be there too.

If it doesn’t, I’ll see you on September first!

— Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Ron —

Tonks and Sirius gave me the most amazing birthday present. I can’t wait to show it to you when we get back to school. I’m sorry you couldn’t be here, but it was the full moon and all, so we had to have a quiet day.

Let me know when your mum wants to take you to Diagon Alley. I know it’s hard right now with everything going on, but the Ministry’s offered Mum, Dad, and me extra protection so that might make her feel better about bringing you along. I want to see Fred and George’s shop with you.

I saved the best news for last:

I got Quidditch Captain! I can’t wait to play again. I feel like I’ve hardly been on a broom all summer. It’s going to be awesome to have practice again. I promise not to be like Wood and lose my head about winning games.

See you soon, one way or another.

— Harry

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero​ and @magic713m​

Chapter Four Horace Slughorn

Harry sat in the window seat of the Potters’ small parlor. His leg bounced nervously as he twisted a purple and gold pamphlet in his hand, more out of a need to fidget than any real interest in its contents. His green eyes drifted instead to the garden outside, but it remained unchanged. The sun set slowly, and the hyacinths beneath the window danced lazily in the slight breeze. He could just make out Neville and his father working in the garden on the south side of the house. They’d invited Harry to join them, but Harry had declined, unsure if he’d had the time. He checked his wristwatch for the third time that hour.

It was still not yet seven. He had hours to go, but that did not stop him from being nervous.

The door to the parlor creaked open. Harry turned, startled, and half-expected to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway, but it was only Sirius.

Three nights ago, Dumbledore had written Lily, James, and Harry to ask if he could borrow Harry for an errand. He had been vague about what the errand was, but assured them it had nothing to do with Voldemort and was purely Hogwarts business. Still, Lily and James were hesitant to let Harry go. They trusted Dumbledore in a way they did not trust the Ministry, and Harry’s curiosity was piqued. He wanted to help Dumbledore with whatever the errand was.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Sirius asked.

This was an unusual question for Sirius, who did his best to appear irresponsible. His reckless behavior included letting Harry fly his motorbike and making jokes in the middle of life-threatening situations. Over these last two weeks, however, Sirius had been strangely attentive.

Harry tried to smile. “I think Mellie would skin me alive if I didn’t take second helpings of everything.”

“Maybe we should warn your dad. She might be fattening you up to eat you.”

Harry laughed, but his momentary humor was immediately wiped away by Sirius’s next question.

“Dumbledore won’t be here for a few hours yet. D’you want to do some drills while we wait?”

Harry groaned. He had asked Sirius at the beginning of the summer to teach him healing spells. After the fight in the Department of Mysteries, where Pearl Lais and Ginny Weasley had both broken bones, Harry had thought it would be handy to learn a few simple spells for healing up cuts and breaks. Perhaps he couldn’t practice advanced counter-curses, but he could learn the basics.

So far, Sirius had Harry doing nothing but reciting anatomy textbooks. Sirius insisted that Harry learn the name of every bone and organ, where they were in the body, and how they worked. It was a lot of information, and while Harry worked hard at it, he was tired of repeating the same words over and over.

“Can’t I do some real magic yet?” Harry asked.

“We’re not quite ready for you to stick your wand into any open wounds. The next step is dissecting a live frog.”

Harry concentrated very hard on keeping his face still, afraid to betray disgust at the idea.

Sirius had taught himself healing magic when at fifteen, with nothing for assistance but the Hogwarts library. Harry wanted to show that same determination under Sirius’s tutelage. Still, he couldn’t help but feel queasy to think of how many frogs had suffered in Sirius’s hands as he had tried to learn all he could about healing, just to make things a little easier on Remus’s werewolf transformations.

Sirius may have worked hard to appear careless, but he was not good at it if you knew him for very long.

“I think I can do that.” Even as Harry got to his feet, he felt light-headed.

“You sure? It’s not a pretty part of the job.”

“I want to learn this,” Harry said with more confidence. He followed Sirius from the parlor and into the dining room. “I need to know healing spells.”

Lily, seated at the dining room table, looked up from the letter in front of her. “What are you working on today?”

“Sirius wants me to dissect a frog.”

She set her quill down. “Oh! I do need some frog parts for our potions stock. Mind if I sit in and cut out what I need when you’re done?”

Sirius shrugged. “I figured for our first dissection I’d use a Duplicate, but if you need us to use a real frog….”

“No, never mind. It’s not an urgent need. Besides, I should probably finish this letter.” But Lily stared at the parchment in front of her like it was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Scrimgeour again?” Harry asked.

Lily and James had read him the letters from Fudge, and the subsequent letters from Scrimgeour, all asking for Harry’s help at the Ministry — or at the least, asking for Harry to make a show of helping the Ministry. Lily and James had asked Harry what he wanted before making their decision. Harry did not want to help the Ministry when they had done so little to help him last year, and his parents agreed. He appreciated that his parents were making a conscious effort to be more open with him, especially after they had kept the prophecy from him for so long.

Though Harry had been angry with his parents for keeping such an important secret from him, he could see now why they had done it. Even just the rumor of a prophecy had sent the Wizarding World into a frenzy. The front page of the Daily Prophet wondered if Harry was “The Chosen One” to defeat Voldemort, and both Ministers for Magic incessantly begged Harry to help the Auror Office, to restore confidence in the Ministry, they said.

When Lily had told Harry the prophecy just a couple weeks ago, she’d said that she and James had never wanted Harry to grow up as a weapon. Now that people suspected Harry could be destined to defeat Voldemort, it seemed like that was all people wanted from him. He understood his parents’ desire for secrecy much more clearly.

It was still hard to forgive them.

“That’s our latest letter to Scrimgeour.” Lily gestured to a sheet of parchment at her left. “I’m waiting for James to read and sign it before I send it off.” Paragraphs of black ink ran from the top to bottom of the page, lengthy words and arguments that probably could have been summarized in a simple, “No, thank you, and please stop contacting us about this matter.” She tapped the feathered end of her quill against the incomplete letter in front of her. “This one’s to Remus.”

“Did he write us?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No, I just thought…. Last Monday was the full moon, so I thought I’d let him know we were thinking of him, and maybe send him some chocolate frogs.”

Harry’s heart sank with disappointment. His last conversation with Remus had not been the best terms to say goodbye on. Harry had gotten upset with Remus, just as he had with Sirius and his parents, for keeping the prophecy from him. Remus had taken Harry’s anger and talked him through it, then encouraged Harry to forgive and trust his parents. He had not asked Harry for forgiveness himself, and Harry, though he was still struggling to forgive his parents and Sirius, wished Remus were here this summer, too, so Harry could at least try to repair his relationship with Remus.

“Tell him I miss him, too,” Harry said.

“Of course. Sirius?”

Sirius snorted. “I have nothing to say to him that I haven’t already told him.” He hesitated, then sighed. “If you really want him to come by, let him know I won’t be here, and I’ll clear out for whatever day it is. It’s me he’s avoiding more than anything.”

Lily frowned. “I’m sure that’s not —”

“Come on, Harry, let’s look at some frog innards.”

Sirius disappeared into the kitchen. Lily frowned after him.

“Do you know what he means?” She kept her voice low to keep it from carrying into the kitchen.

“Sort of. Not really.” Harry ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that was so unconsciously like his father. “They fought at St. Mungo’s. Sirius said it was about nothing, but I think he was mad Remus wouldn’t take his wand.”

This did not sound like the right explanation, but Harry, who had mulled over Remus and Sirius’s fight for days now, had not been able to come up with a better answer. He’d been meaning to ask James about it but hadn’t had a chance to. Sirius, clearly, wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Harry,” Sirius called, “are we doing this or what?”

Harry hurried into the kitchen. Picksie had been wiping down the woodstove, but when she learned what they were about to do, she squeaked and disappeared with a pop. Sirius Summoned a frog from the garden, Duplicated it, and returned the original frog to the pond. Harry wasn’t sure using a Duplication was any less disgusting, but on the whole, the experience wasn’t as terrible as Harry had expected. Sirius explained each spell he used as they cut into the frog, and told Harry that next time he would expect Harry to cast the spells. Sirius then pointed out the systems in the frog’s body, showed Harry how they worked, and asked Harry to make the appropriate comparisons to the human anatomy Harry had been learning.

Sirius was in the middle of pointing out the nervous system when everything fell into chaos.

Neville and James returned from their gardening, arms full of Leaping Toadstools. Neville saw the frog on the table with its skin pinned back to reveal the frog’s inner workings, whispered, “Trevor —” and promptly swooned. James lurched forward to catch him before he hit the floor. All their toadstools went leaping about the kitchen.

Harry abandoned his lesson to slam the back door shut. Lily heard James shouting for help and rushed into the kitchen. A pair of toadstools leapt past her before she could close the door to the dining room. Sirius swore as the toadstools jumped around his feet. Picksie appeared suddenly to see what the commotion was and shrieked as toadstools leapt onto her head. Sirius’s half-opened frog took advantage of the distraction to spring back to life. Sirius swore loudly and pointed his wand at the frog before it could leap out the kitchen window. It croaked once, and Sirius Vanished it. Harry hastily tried to scoop up toadstools while Lily dug a cardboard box out from a cupboard. James handed the woozy Neville off to Picksie so he could help collect toadstools. The challenging part was not only grabbing them, but keeping them in the box once they’d been collected. They liked to leap out.

“Don’t Stun them,” Lily snapped at Sirius as a red spark shot from his wand. “They’re no good in potions once they’ve been Stunned!”

“Then Picksie can make us a nice mushroom soup instead,” Sirius snapped back, tossing the Stunned toadstool onto the counter. “Are they really worth this trouble?”

“Usually you take the box with you when you harvest them.” Lily wrangled another mushroom into the box and glared at James.

“It was an impulse decision!” James’s glasses fell off his face as he dove under the kitchen table after one of the toadstools. “Neville said they looked ready to harvest, and I thought he was right.”

“They were ready alright,” Harry grunted. He grabbed one in each hand and shoved them into the box Lily guarded.

The kitchen fireplace suddenly roared to life with green flame.

Harry let a toadstool slip out of his hands as he looked at his watch. “It’s eleven already?”

“Dammit — For Merlin’s sake —” Lily snatched a mushroom mid-leap and shoved it back into the box.

“Picksie, can you — ow!” James hit his head against the table as he tried to crawl out from under it.

Out from the green flames and into the chaos of the kitchen stepped Albus Dumbledore.

If Dumbledore was surprised to see Neville unconscious on the kitchen floor while the Potters, Sirius, and Picksie scrambled around the kitchen catching Leaping Toadstools, he did not show it. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes betrayed only the smallest glimpse of amusement as he said, “It seems I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

Sirius lunged for a Leaping Toadstool that had managed to get on the counter and was making a jump for the open kitchen window. “Could be worse.”

James rubbed at a growing lump on the back of his head. “Can we get you anything to drink?”

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Even in the darkest of times your hospitality shines bright. I shall do my best not to intrude for too long.”

Harry snatched up the last of the toadstools and stuffed it into the box. Hastily, Lily closed the box flaps and used her wand to seal it. It still rattled as the contents bounced against its walls.

“Those will be fun to chop.” Lily took in a few deep breaths and pulled her hair back. “So sorry about the mess. Harry, are you ready to go?”

Harry got to his feet and dusted the knees of his trousers. “I guess?” He looked to Dumbledore. “What will I need? My wand?”

“It would be unwise to travel without one, yes,” Dumbledore said. Picksie handed him a glass of water. “Ah, thank you.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “And, Harry, I would advise you to bring along that wonderful cloak of yours. It might come in handy.”

Lily shot a glare at James. “You mean the cloak he wasn’t supposed to inherit until he turned seventeen?”

James grimaced. “Now is probably not the time.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dumbledore said, “I’d like very much for Harry to keep the cloak with him at school. I think it will come in handy while he is at Hogwarts.”

“It has so far,” Harry said, though it was probably not the smartest thing to say in front of his mother, who knew only a fraction of the trouble Harry had gotten into with the cloak, and that alone was enough to make her wish he’d never had it. “But,” he added quickly, “won’t you guys need it?” he turned to Lily and James. “You’re the ones who will be fighting — I’ll be away at school.”

James shook his head, then winced and pressed his hand to the growing knot beneath his hair. “It’s your cloak Harry. You keep it.”

“Besides,” Lily said, “if Dumbledore says you need it, then he’s probably right.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “I have been known to make mistakes.”

Sirius snorted. “Few and far between.”

“Right,” Harry said. “I’ll just get my cloak then.”

Harry hurried upstairs to his bedroom, careful to avoid setting off the alarm on the fourth step. His trunk was half-unpacked. Clothes had been removed, but textbooks, parchment, and quills still lay in the trunk, a chaos born of a hasty packing at the end of the year. It took him a while to rescue the cloak from beneath his stack of Transfiguration textbooks.

With his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and his cloak in his arms, Harry headed back downstairs. Before he reached the kitchen, he found the two escaped Leaping Toadstools trying their best to hop up the china cabinet in the dining room. Harry snatched them just before they leaped out of his reach.

Neville sat at the kitchen table, looking embarrassed but altogether recovered from his fainting fit. Dumbledore sat beside him and politely thanked Picksie as she handed him a glass of mead. James still held the bottle, and was filling three more glasses. He smiled at Harry.

“One more for you?”

Harry grinned back. “Sure.”

Lily frowned and took one of the glasses from James. “You’re still fifteen. No.”

“Only for two more weeks.”

“Then maybe in a year and two weeks you can have one.”

Sirius reached for one of the glasses. “James and I drank plenty of firewhisky when we were fifteen. We turned out just fine.”

Lily pursed her lips, like she might argue this point, then the humor in her eyes sharpened as she watched Dumbledore drink. “What’s happened to your hand?”

Dumbledore’s smile was unusual sheepish as he lifted his right hand. His robes slipped and revealed black, decaying flesh, clinging to a bony hand. Neville gasped loudly and Harry’s stomach turned, more violently than it had during the frog dissection. It reminded Harry quite vividly of a dementor’s bony, undead hand, and he guessed by Lily’s pale face, she too, recalled a warm summer night she and Harry had been ambushed by dementors.

“This,” Dumbledore said, “is the result of one of my mistakes. It is quite alright now, though. Severus has seen to it.”

“Would you like me to take a look?” Sirius asked, in a tone that conveyed exactly what he thought of Severus Snape.

“Thank you, but there is no need,” Dumbledore said.

“That’s got to be quite the story,” James said. “I’d like to know which Death Eater did it.”

“It’s a thrilling tale, truly.” Dumbledore took a sip of his mead, and set the empty glass on the table. “I would love to do it its proper justice, but I’ve no desire to keep Harry any later than I need to. The sooner we depart, the sooner we may return. And, if I recall, it is a fair walk to the Apparition Point outside your property.”

“We never lifted the protection charms after Regulus Black escaped Azkaban,” James said. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need for an apology. I think it was a prescient decision, considering the times that have followed. Well, Harry, shall we?”

Harry hastily finished his tea, though it was nearly hot enough to burn his tongue. “Yep.”

“Bye, Harry,” said Neville.

“Be careful,” said Lily.

“And safe,” added James.

“You’ll be with Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “That’s the safest place to be, really.”

“Thanks.” Harry let Lily give him a kiss on the cheek, and hugged both Sirius and James goodbye, before leaving through the kitchen door.

The summer night air was warm and humid. Harry enjoyed walking through his family’s property. Most of his childhood had been spent running through the groves, picnicking by the lake, or flying a broom across the garden. He’d been able to spend some time with his father, and Neville, working in the garden this past week. He liked learning about the different plants his family grew, though sometimes it felt like James was only teaching him because this might be his last chance to do so. It was hard not to think that each time he carefully pruned back the Roaring Roses or weeded the ground around Weeping Willow that this summer could be the last summer they were all together. In just two months, Harry would return to school and his parents would return to the front lines of a war.

“Thank you, Harry, for indulging me in this errand.”

“Er — of course, Professor.” Harry tried to banish his fears of the war, at least for the moment. Sirius was right — there was no safer place to be than with Dumbledore. “Though I’m afraid I don’t know what exactly we’re doing.”

“I’ll explain in a moment. Firstly, I’d like to ask about your scar. Your parents have told me in their letters that it hasn’t hurt. Is that true?”

Harry was startled to realize that Dumbledore thought Harry might have lied to James and Lily. He supposed there was some basis for that, but the assumption sort of hurt.

“It really hasn’t,” Harry said. “Actually, I thought it would hurt more, you know, if Voldemort is getting more powerful.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Interesting. I imagined quite the opposite. You see, Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.”

Harry thought of how Voldemort had manipulated that very connection against him last year. It had served Harry and the Order in small ways, and saved Arthur Weasley’s life, but in the end, Voldemort had used it to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries, where several of Harry’s friends and family had nearly died.

“Well, I’m not complaining.” Harry was grateful for the closed connection, and grateful he would no longer feel unusual jolts of pleasure or anger in his History of Magic class that had nothing to do with goblin revolutions.

“No, I can’t imagine you would. I do believe I owe you an apology. I am afraid I asked too much of you when I had Professor Snape teach you Occlumency.”

Harry flushed with embarrassment. His lessons with Snape had culminated with him accidentally letting Voldemort know that Snape loved Lily. It had led to Snape being tortured mercilessly at Voldemort’s hands in an effort to lure Harry to London. “I know I messed up — I put Snape in danger, and I am sorry, really.”

“Professor Snape told me you apologized to him directly. I imagine that was not an easy thing to do.”

“No. I almost didn’t, but it was my fault in the end. It was my fault he was tortured, my fault my parents got hurt, and my friends almost died, and Remus and Sirius are fighting again —” Harry had not meant to spill his problems onto Dumbledore so suddenly, but he had not felt he could share any of this with his parents or Sirius. His guilt was so tangible it hurt to speak aloud, and apologizing did not make it easier, as he had hoped it might.

“Even great men make mistakes.” There was a weight to Dumbledore’s words that stirred something in Harry, like Dumbledore knew the exact guilt Harry felt right now. “Great men make powerful decisions, and they do not always get it right. Asking for forgiveness can be hard, and giving it to ourselves even harder. It is the good, not the great, who can admit their mistakes and seek reparations.”

Harry, eager to turn the conversation away from such emotional currents, searched for a light-hearted joke to diffuse his guilt.

“That sounds like something Uncle Remus would say.”

A faint smile curled in Dumbledore’s beard. “Where do you think Remus learned it from?” But his smile faded away fairly quickly. “I do not mean to reprimand you for what happened between you and Professor Snape. I only meant to apologize for my own failing. I should have taught you Occlumency directly, but I hoped to keep Voldemort from pursuing you by keeping my distance. It was a mistake, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“Yeah — of course. You couldn’t have known I would look in the Pensieve and mess everything up.”

“You are the child of James and Lily. You possess a tremendous curiosity and a sense of justice stronger than most. Do you not recall what happened when I accidentally left you alone with the Pensieve?”

Harry searched for an excuse or counter argument, but he found none. “I — I guess so. I don’t blame you for my terrible Occlumency lessons, Professor. And I know I made a mistake looking in the Pensieve, but — er, I mean, I really shouldn’t have.”

Dumbledore’s smile was knowing. “Information has its uses, no matter how ill obtained. I will not judge you for using what you have learned.”

“I just mean, I don’t know — I’m glad to know Snape loved my mom. It helps me understand why he and my dad don’t get on, and I know he’s the one who told Voldemort the prophecy in the first place, but if him loving her is what made him turn good, then that love is a good thing, right?”

Dumbledore was quiet for a few paces. His eyes were fixed on the horizon in front of them, and Harry noticed he held his wand in his hand, almost as if he were walking into a duel. Finally, he said, “Love may take many forms. It can destroy us or raise us to new heights. What it does, most of all, is change us, and change the world around us. We decide what that change will be. Professor Snape has allowed his love to do as much damage as good. His love for your mother has made him braver than perhaps even he knew he could be. The work he has done for the Order has been incredibly difficult and incredibly valuable. The tasks ahead of him are even harder. But he has let his love for Lily destroy a relationship he could have with James, or with you, or even with your mother. What I mean to say, Harry, is that love alone will not make you good. It will change us, certainly, because love is wild and uncontrollable, but what we do with it will make all the difference.”

Harry, probably better than most wizards, knew how powerful love could be. Love had saved his life more than once. It had shaped his life in incredible ways. From Peter Pettigrew standing between his family and Voldemort, to his parents, rushing to the Department of Mysteries to save him. His entire life was built on love, and that was what gave him power.

Harry decided to make the conscious effort to let his love for his parents drive him to do better and be better, rather than let guilt tear him away from them.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he said.

“I find that true of my words quite often. Ah — we have arrived, it seems.”

They had, indeed, reached the crumbling stone wall that marked the edge of the Potter’s property.

“It was quite the invigorating walk,” Dumbledore said. “And thank you, Harry, for the stimulating conversation. Now it has come time for the short part of our journey. My left side, if you don’t mind.”

Harry took Dumbledore’s left arm and with a pop they Disapparated.

They reappeared in a small town square, not unlike Stinchcombe, which Harry had visited with his family on several occasions. There were some benches and a statue, a memorial of some sort, but Harry did not have much familiarity with Muggle history to know what it was a memorial to. Dumbledore led Harry past a dark inn and a handful of small houses, out of the town center and into a cluster of homes.

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“We have Apparated into the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.”

“What’s here? You said it was for Hogwarts business, right?”

“Yes. You see, as it has so often happened, I seem to find myself one staff member short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.”

“What can I do to help with that?”

“I think all I shall need is for you to be yourself — a shining example of what Hogwarts youths have to offer.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very outstanding student, sir. I’ve had quite a few detentions over the years. You might have wanted to bring Hermione if you wanted a good student.”

Dumbledore searched Harry for a moment, as if checking to see if there was any sincerity in the statement, or if Harry was merely joking. He seemed satisfied with what he saw. “You have your father’s sense of humor, you know. He would have said the same of your mother.”

Harry’s ears burned. “I don’t — I don’t think of Hermione the way my parents —”

This time, Dumbledore actually laughed. “I did not mean to suggest so. I apologize for your discomfort. If I —”

As they rounded a corner, Dumbledore stopped suddenly. Harry nearly stumbled into him, but fell into the gate around the nearest house instead.

“Er — Professor —”

“Wands out, Harry. Follow closely, please.”

Harry looked up and saw what had Dumbledore so spooked. The house they had stopped in front of had clearly been broken into. The door hung off its hinges, and broken glass littered the garden beneath the windows, glittering off the light of the waning moon.

Harry stayed on Dumbledore’s heels as Dumbledore led him up the footpath and into the front door. The house was dark, until Dumbledore lit his wand, casting a pale light around them. The destruction evident outside was just as clear inside.

The grandfather clock in the hallway had fallen over and shattered. Harry stepped over the cracked clock face and followed Dumbledore into the sitting room. A piano had been scattered across the floor; its ivory pieces littered the torn carpet like scraps of parchment. Glass shards glinted in Dumbledore’s wand light. Some of the pieces must have belonged to dishware, but a lot of it seemed to have come from the chandelier that had fallen from the ceiling. Harry looked up to the golden chain still dangling above them and caught sight of thick, dark liquid splashed high on the walls.

Harry gulped.

“Not pretty, is it?” Dumbledore stepped around the chandelier and examined a couch that had been split in two. “Yes, it certainly looks as if something horrible has happened here.”

“Maybe there was a fight?” Harry suggested. “And they dragged him off?” He tried not to think that Dumbledore’s friend might be dead. There was no body, so surely he was alive somewhere.

“I don’t think so.” Dumbledore had moved on from the couch and was now looking at an overturned armchair.

“You mean he’s —?”

“Still here somewhere? Yes.” Dumbledore plunged his wand into the seat of the well-stuffed chair.

“Ouch!” said the chair.

“Good evening, Horace.” Dumbledore stepped back as the chair vanished. It was replaced by a large, bald old man with a thick mustache that reminded Harry of a walrus. He was as stuffed, if not perhaps more stuffed, than the armchair. He rubbed his round stomach and cast an irritated glance at Dumbledore.

“There was no need to stick the wand in that hard,” he grunted. “It hurt.” He adjusted the tie of his thick velvet robe. “What gave me away?” He looked more irritated than embarrassed to have been caught.

“My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house.”

The wizard grunted again. “Knew there was something… ah well. Wouldn’t have had time anyway. I’d only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room.”

“Would you like my assistance cleaning up?”

“Please.” As he let out a heavy sigh, his large mustache flopped around his face, reminding Harry of a horse or even Hagrid’s very large dog, Fang.

Together, Dumbledore and the man waved their wands. The piano put itself back together, the chandelier returned to the ceiling, and the furniture snapped back to its rightful place. Harry turned and watched the grandfather clock pick itself back up. Rips in curtains, tears in carpet, and cracks in wood stitched themselves back together. The blood on the wall vanished.

“What kind of blood was that, incidentally?” Dumbledore asked.

“On the walls? Dragon. My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable.” He waved his wand one more time and summoned a tiny bottle. The crystal stopper refracted Dumbledore’s wandlight into tiny rainbows across the ceiling and walls where the blood and just been. The dragonblood moved slowly as he stirred it. “Hm. Bit dusty.” As he set the bottle down, he realized that Dumbledore was not alone. His irritation cleared into wonder, and then sheer excitement as his eyes landed on Harry’s forehead.

Harry was familiar with people staring at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Their reactions ranged, but wonder and excitement were common. It always made Harry uncomfortable, because he’d never felt like he’d done anything impressive. He’d been an infant when Voldemort gave him that scar. It was his parents and Peter Pettigrew who had done the impressive part.

But Harry had never seen anyone react to his scar with the excitement that this man had. This man was thrilled the way Harry had been thrilled to see a Firebolt in a shop window. This man coveted Harry’s scar. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another, wishing he could walk away.

Dumbledore, as if he sensed Harry’s discomfort, placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it gently, not unlike Lily or James would do when introducing Harry to someone who was more entranced by the scar than the young man it was attached to.

“This,” Dumbledore said, “is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn’s excitement returned to the sulky petulance Harry had seen on him since they’d began this conversation and he glared at Dumbledore. “So that’s how you thought you’d persuade me, is it? Well, the answer’s no, Albus.”

Now, as he took the crystal bottle of dragon’s blood and returned it to a large trunk, he looked like he was trying very hard to restrain himself. Harry remembered that feeling, knowing he shouldn’t ask for a Firebolt but wanting it anyway. He didn’t understand what it was Horace Slughorn wanted, though.

“I suppose we can have a drink, at least?” Dumbledore asked. “For old time’s sake?”

Slughorn grumbled and closed the trunk. “Alright, one drink.”

Slughorn turned on a tableside oil lamp and Dumbledore lit a fire in the fireplace. He motioned for Harry to take a seat by the fire, and Harry could not help but feel that he was on display. He was the Firebolt in this scenario. Harry now understood why Dumbledore had brought him over Hermione. Hermione was a good student, but Harry was legendary. He didn’t know why that appealed to Slughorn, but it clearly did.

Slughorn poured a honey-colored liquor from a decanter into three crystal glasses. He handed Harry his quickly, like he was afraid to get too close, and once he had given Dumbledore a glass, he sank into the very plush sofa. He took up quite a bit of it, and his short legs did not even reach the floor.

Harry looked at the glass, remembering how only hours earlier his mother had refused to let him drink mead. A combination of a rebellious spirit and simple curiosity encouraged Harry to take a sip. He tried very hard to keep his face still as it burned, and he wondered if this was a glass of Firewhisky or if all alcohol burned this way. He’d tried his mother’s wine once, and he hadn’t cared for that, either. Once the burning cleared, though, he was left with a sweet aftertaste. Wine certainly hadn’t done that. Harry took another sip.

“How have you been keeping, Horace?” asked Dumbledore.

Slughorn grunted. “Not so well. Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism, too. Can’t move like I used to. Well, that’s to be expected. Old age. Fatigue.”

Harry got the sense that Slughorn liked to complain.

“And yet,” Dumbledore said, “you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice. You can’t have had more than three minutes’ warning?”

He continued his complaint, but he looked impressed with himself at Dumbledore’s praise. “Two. Didn’t hear my Intruder Charm go off. I was taking a bath. Still — the fact remains I’m an old man, Albus. A tired old man who’s earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts.”

Comfort, indeed, this house had. Plush chairs, a wide variety of liquor in crystal decanters, books stacked on tables, plush pillows, his velvet bathrobe and the silk pajamas peeking out from beneath it — Slughorn indulged himself without hesitation.

“You’re not yet as old as I am, Horace.”

“Maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself.” Slughorn took another sip of his glass and his eyes fell on Dumbledore’s blackened hand. “Reactions not what they were, I see.”

“You’re quite right.” Dumbledore shook back his sleeve and revealed the damage quite plainly. “I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But, on the other hand….” Dumbledore spread his hands, as if to say that the benefits of his age spoke for themselves. As he swept his uninjured hand towards the fire, Harry noticed Dumbledore wore an unusual ring. The gold band appeared unrefined, as if it had been made by an amateur, and the large black stone set in the band was cracked down the middle. Scratches had been etched in the stone, as if perhaps it had taken several attempts to break through it.

Harry was not the only one who lingered on this ring. He saw that Slughorn was staring very intensely at it, too. Harry got the impression that Slughorn, though a seemingly fussy old man who liked to indulge himself, was incredibly shrewd and observant.

“All these precautions against intruders, Horace,” Dumbledore said, settling his hands on the armrests of his chair once more, “are they for the Death Eaters’ benefit or mine?”

Slughorn tore his eyes away from the ring. “What would the Death Eaters want with a poor, broken-down old buffer like me?”

“I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder. Are you really telling me that they haven’t come recruiting yet?”

“Haven’t given them the chance,” Slughorn grumbled. “I’ve been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it’s been very pleasant. I’ll be sorry to leave. It’s quite easy once you know how. One simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscope and make sure the neighbors don’t spot you bringing in the piano.”

“Ingenious, but it sounds rather tiring for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. But if you were to return to Hogwarts —”

“If you’re going to tell me my life would have been more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that’s how you treat teachers these days —”

“Professor Umbridge ran afoul of the centaur herd. I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a crowd of angry centaurs, ‘filthy half-breeds.’”

“That’s what she did, did she? Idiotic woman. Never liked her.”

Harry could not help but laugh. When Dumbledore and Slughorn looked at him, Harry buried his face in his glass. “Sorry —” he coughed when the drink burned “— but I never liked her either.”

Dumbledore stood. “Horace, might I use your bathroom?”

Slughorn looked disappointed Dumbledore had not stood up to leave. “Second on the left, down the hall.”

As Dumbledore left, Slughorn’s gaze fell on Harry. He seemed to take him in for the first time, not simply the scar and his name, and all that came with it, but to truly look at Harry.

“Don’t think I don’t know why he’s brought you.”

Harry, who could not deny Dumbledore’s intentions, was unsure what to say.

“You look very like your father.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah — I’ve heard that.”

“Except for your eyes. You’ve got your mother’s eyes.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“How are James and Lily these days?”

“They’re good.” Harry wasn’t sure if he should mention his father had lost an eye and his mother still limited her diet to the most bland of foods.

Slughorn stood and approached the fire, warming first his hands, then turned to warm his behind. “You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine — Lily, I mean. She was Lily Evans then. One of the brightest I’ve ever taught. Vivacious, charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back, too.”

Harry, whose mother had spent his last five years of school admonishing him to treat his teachers more respectfully, was surprised to learn this. He felt he didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway. “Which was your House?”

“I was Head of Slythern. Oh, now, don’t you go holding that against me. You’ll be like her, I suppose? Gryffindor? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always. Sirius Black, you’ll know, your father’s good friend. His whole family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother Regulus, when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.”

Harry knew Sirius and Regulus had gone to opposing houses, but it felt strange to hear a teacher speak so highly of Sirius. Most criticized Sirius’s trouble-making when they talked about Sirius as a student. Slughorn seemed more interested in Sirius’s family and talents than his qualities as a student.

“Your mother, though, excellent witch. Absolutely brilliant. Couldn’t believe she was Muggle-born. I’d thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so talented.”

“One of my best friends is Muggle-born. She’s the best in our year.”

“Funny how that happens sometimes, isn’t it?”

Harry was beginning to like Slughorn less and less and learning he preferred Blacks to Muggle-borns was the last straw. “Not really.”

“Oh —” Slughorn looked surprised by Harry’s tone. “You mustn’t think I’m prejudiced! No, no, no! Haven’t I just said Lily was one of my all time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her, too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!” Slughorn gestured to the piano. Now that it was repaired, it was covered in photographs of people smiling and waving. Slughorn walked over and Harry, unsure what else to do, got up and followed.

“All ex-students, all signed. You’ll notice Baranbas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he’s always interested to hear my take on the day’s news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you’ll see her if you just crane your neck — that’s Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies…. People are always astonished to hear I’m on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!”

Harry listened politely. He did find each of these people impressive in their own way, but it was strange to hear the thrill in Slughorn’s voice as he talked about each of them. He seemed proud of their accomplishments, but he seemed more proud of his connections to accomplished people than having much interest in the people themselves.

“And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?” Harry asked. If the Death Eaters had not been able to track Slughorn down, Harry wondered that Gwenog Jones knew where to send tickets.

Slughorn’s excitement faded. “Of course not. I’ve been out of touch with everybody for a year.” He stroked his thick mustache, considering his own words. After a moment, he shrugged. “The prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I’m sure they’re very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don’t personally fancy the mortality rate —”

Harry could not keep his irritation out of his voice. “You don’t have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts.” His parents and their friends had put themselves at risk not just once, but twice to fight against Voldemort and keep Harry safe. Harry was counting down the days until he could join himself. He had no patience for this man who hid in comfort. “Most of the teacher’s aren’t even in it, and no teacher’s ever been killed — except Quirrell, but he had Voldemort’s soul attached to him.”

Slughorn went very pale and grunted in protest at Harry’s use of the Voldemort’s name. Harry did not care.

“I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore’s headmaster; he’s supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn’t he?”

Slughorn’s hand trembled as he stroked his mustache. He still seemed very shaken by Harry’s blunt use of Voldemort’s name, but he did ponder Harry’s words. “It is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore. I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me as a friend… in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend that the attack on Amelia Bones did not shake me. If even she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection….”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Amelia Bones was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There really could not have been a better duelist. Her attack had nothing to do with Ministry connections and everything to do with Voldemort’s cruelty. But before he could open his mouth and criticize Slughorn further, Dumbledore returned.

“Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace’s hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave.”

Harry eagerly started for the door.

Slughorn, strangely, looked disappointed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“Lost…?”

Dumbledore retrieved his traveling coat from the chair he had been sitting in and fastened it over his shoulders. “I am sorry you don’t want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to.”

“Yes, well — very gracious… as I say….”

“Good-bye then.”

Harry followed Dumbledore to the door, but as Dumbledore’s hand closed around the handle, Slughorn shouted after them.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it!”

Dumbledore turned, eyebrows raised. “You will come out of retirement?”

“Yes, yes. I must be mad, but yes.”

“Wonderful! Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September.”

“Yes, I daresay you will.”

Harry could not decide if he was particularly happy Dumbledore’s errand had succeeded. Though Harry had had a variety of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, he could not picture Slughorn among them. If anything, he was a bit like Gilderoy Lockhart, who was little more than a fraud, so Lily had replaced him. Harry wondered if he could convince his dad or Sirius to take over for Slughorn.

Just as Harry and Dumbledore reached the garden gate, Slughorn shouted again, “I’ll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore laughed and led Harry back through the quaint village of Budleigh Babberton. Once they had Apparated back to the edge of Styncon Garden, Dumbledore said, “Well done, Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?”

“Er.” Harry was afraid to criticize Dumbledore’s friend. Luckily, Dumbledore did not press him.

“Horace likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office. I tell you all this not to turn you against Horace — or as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; ‘the Boy Who Lived’ or, as they are calling you these days, ‘the Chosen One.’”

Harry frowned. “Mum and Dad hate that title.”

“You can see why I was hesitant to share with them the details of the errand. Your parents have worked very hard to protect you from people like Slughorn. People who would use you, seek to influence you, simply for their own gain.”

“Not that it matters much now.” Harry kicked at a rock in the dirt path as they walked back to the house. “Every wizard knows what I am —”

“No, Harry. Firstly, your mother would be rightly cross with me if I did not remind you that what you are is very different from who you are, and one of those things matters far more than the other. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, but knowing something was true and feeling it was true were very different things.

“Secondly, the full contents of the prophecy are known only to those whom I have told and you have told.”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“And wisely so, I should think. What I mean to say, I told your parents and your godfather of the prophecy and they have told you. That is the full extent of how far the prophecy has traveled. What the rest of the world may speculate is only that — speculation.”

“My parents told Uncle Remus.”

Dumbledore did not look surprised to learn this, but he did look thoughtful. “Your parents are brave and exceptionally strong. They have borne this burden for quite some time. It is not an easy thing to be told your unborn child must kill or be killed.”

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat.

“But your parents have not carried these burdens alone. They have trusted their friends. They have shared their fears during these past years not only with myself, but with Lupin and Sirius as well. I have just said it was wise of you to keep the prophecy and its contents to yourself. It would be remiss to share it haphazardly, and increase the likelihood that the full contents reach the ears of Voldemort. However, like your parents, I recommend you find people you can trust. You cannot bear this burden alone, no matter how brave or strong you are.”

“You mean I should tell Ron, Hermione, and Neville?”

“I simply mean you should rely on friends of your own. As your parents have relied on Lupin and Sirius, you should choose your own support. Only you can decide who that will be. It could even be your parents, and you share the prophecy with no one else. Though, am I right to suspect you have not confided your own concerns about it in them?”

“I — I’m not concerned about the prophecy….”

“Harry, much like your father, you are a supremely terrible liar.”

“I just mean — I talked with Firenze about prophecies last year, before I even knew what the prophecy really was. And what he said made sense — they’re kind of inevitable not just because they were said, but because they just are. I know I’d fight against Voldemort whether it had been prophesied or not. He’s evil, and he hurts people, and I know I wouldn’t do nothing, even if there wasn’t a prophecy. I want to fight, not just because of what he’s done to my family but because he keeps hurting people. Chosen One or not, I want to fight.”

Dumbledore allowed Harry a moment of silence as they walked before prompting, “But?”

“I — I don’t know. It’s like you said, kill or be killed — that’s hard. I don’t want to kill someone, even if it is Voldemort. But I don’t want him to kill me. And I don’t want him to kill people I care about as he tries to kill me. You said I need to rely on people, but maybe it’d be better if I didn’t. Maybe if I just went after Voldemort alone…. Mum and Dad would probably kill me first if I tried that.” Harry laughed, If he had learned anything from his parents, it was that humor could diffuse just about any tension.

Dumbledore’s face, however, remained solemn. “There is no shame in admitting to being frightened. We are brave where we need to be, and it is alright to be afraid when we cannot be brave. It is alright to ask someone to lend us bravery. Your parents love each other dearly, of course, but I believe one of their greatest strengths is the way they lend bravery to each other. You, Harry, need someone you can ask for bravery.”

Harry remembered the few times he had seen his parents’ bravery fail them. Lily, when she had desperately tried to protect Harry from Tom Riddle’s diary, and collapsed against James when it was all over. Or when she had faced a dementor alone for the first time, weighed down with all the fears of Voldemort’s return. James, too, had broken more than once. His brief time in Azkaban, being brave for Remus, had left him shattered. Then, learning that Voldemort had taken and tortured Harry in a graveyard, and having to sit with Harry, alone, while Harry recounted the horrors he and Cedric had faced — James had comforted Harry, but Harry had seen the fear in James’s face, the panic that had not faded until Lily joined him again.

Harry did not have anyone in his life that he trusted the way his parents trusted each other. He had not really considered this a problem. But he remembered how quick Hermione, Ron, and Neville had been to join him in his quest to the Ministry. Ginny, Luna, Cedric, Amber, and Pearl, too, had refused to let him fight alone. Having them with him had made Harry feel brave.

“On a different subject,” Dumbledore said, after a lengthy silence, “it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this coming year.”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore in surprise. “Private — like Occlumency?”

“We will not be doing much Occlumency, as I’m sure you will not be terribly upset by.”

“No, not really. What will we be doing?”

“A little of this, a little of that. I should ask two things of you, though, before we part.”

The house had just come into view, with the kitchen light still on. Harry wondered who was sitting awake at the table, waiting for his safe return. It could have been anyone in his family. He hoped it wasn’t everyone.

Dumbledore slowed his pace and Harry struggled to fall back into step alongside him.

“Firstly, Harry, I do not wish to ask you to keep secrets from your parents. I know the trust you have with them has been hard-earned. I would not ask you to break it. I should warn you, however, they may not be over-pleased by these lessons. You have already mentioned your parents’ distaste at the idea of you as ‘The Chosen One.’ They may not take kindly to the idea that I am providing you with a unique education.”

“Do you mean you’re going to teach me to fight Voldemort?”

“I only mean to ask that you use your best discretion when you speak to your parents about our lessons. I should not like to receive any Howlers from your mother this year.”

“Have you received Howlers from her before?”

“Twice. And secondly, I wish for you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore resumed the brisk pace they had begun their journey with and walked Harry to the door of his home.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Everyone Lives

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Sixteen The Chamber of Secrets

Breakfast the next morning was a bit glum for Harry and Ron. Rumor of their escapade in the Forbidden Forest had spread quickly, thanks to Dean, Seamus, and Neville. At some point it got around that Harry and Ron had actually fought the monster in the Chamber of Secrets and won, which was unfortunately not true.

Harry picked at his eggs. He wasn’t upset about being caught, really. He’d already sort of expected he wasn’t going to get a Nimbus 2001 this year. It hadn’t been the best year as far as staying out of trouble went. And, anyway, Which Broomstick? had announced a new model coming out this summer. Reviews from early tests were already raving about it, and Harry was hoping he could convince Sirius to by him one. It wouldn’t be going against his parents — they’d only banned the Nimbus 2001. Sirius would totally buy him the new one. Sirius would understand about this whole mess.

Because Sirius understood it wasn’t about the trouble or the adventure. It was about not knowing. It was about being lied to and treated like a child. Maybe he was still a child, but he had also done a lot of things most children didn’t do. He’d snuck past a Cerberus. He’d survived a deadly chess match. He’d faced Voldemort and won. Twice. He was so wrapped up in this Chamber of Secrets mess that it was impossible for him to ignore it.

He only wished his and Ron’s trip into the Forbidden Forest had yielded more clues. It seemed like a near death experience with Aragog’s family was worth more than a few scraps of information about the Chamber.

“At least we confirmed that Hagrid wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin,” Harry said, trying to think of anything encouraging from their escapade.

“Which means we still have no clue who is. If it isn’t Malfoy or Hagrid, who is it?” Ron gingerly nibbled on his toast?

“Moaning Myrtle might know. We’ve just got to find a way to ask her. But with the teachers escorting us to all our classes….”

Hedwig didn’t let him finish. She swooped down in front of him, dropping three letters. Harry already knew the contents of each one.

The first one was the thickest, with his name written in his Dad’s hand: sharp lines, with a slight lean to them. He set it aside. The second was addressed in Remus’s perfectly neat letters, so clean they could’ve been written on a Muggle typewriter. Harry debated on opening this one, or the one with Sirius’s loopy handwriting on it.

Harry decided to save Sirius’s for last and opened Remus’s.

Dear Harry,

I’m sure you’ve heard enough from your mother and father, so I won’t waste a lot of time on it, but it needs to be said: You should not be running off into danger especially at a time like this.

I’m very glad you’re safe, and your father is too, even if he doesn’t say it. But you need to be careful. There are so many people in this world who care about you and want to look after you. There is nothing wrong with letting them.

Love, Uncle Remus

Harry had heard enough arguments between his parents, Sirius, and Remus to know that Remus’s advice was a lot like the cauldron calling the Bludger black. Or maybe just a hard-learned lesson. Either way, it made the rest of the letter harder to swallow.

He still didn’t feel ready to read his father’s, so instead he opened Sirius’s.

Dear Harry,

Sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest? Giant spiders? I’m surprised Ron made it out without getting a heart attack. And your mum flying a Nimbus 2001! Hah!

But seriously, you ought to be careful. There’s something dangerous in Hogwarts and you could get hurt. I know grown-ups are annoying — I fought with a fair few myself when I was your age — but we do mean well. It’s not that we don’t think you’re capable, but we don’t want to see you hurt. You do your job and be a kid and play Quidditch and throw hexes at bullies and sneak around secret passages, but please stay safe.

Love, Sirius

Harry was a little irritated that Sirius had the nerve to scold him, even if it was only a little. He still wasn’t sure he was ready for his father’s letter. It must’ve been bad if Sirius and Remus both had to admonish him to be careful.

But before he could open his father’s letter, an old gray owl crashed into the table and a red envelope tumbled onto Ron’s plate.

Ron picked the letter up then dropped it like it was made of hot sealing wax.

“What is it?” Dean asked, leaning over.

Neville choked on his potatoes. “That’s a Howler! You’d better open it. My mum ignored one from Gran once. The kitchen floor is still black from it.”

The letter was starting to smoke and Neville urged him to hurry. With shaky hands Ron pulled back the wax.

Neville, Ron, Harry, and Seamus all stuffed their fingers in their ears. Dean was a second too late.

The roar that filled the hall was deafening. Dust crumbled from the sky above them and into their eggs. Stuffing their ears did nothing to keep Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice from drilling into their skulls.

“— RUNNING OFF INTO THE FOREST AT A TIME LIKE THIS! YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT! I’M SURPRISED YOU WEREN’T EXPELLED FOR A STUNT LIKE THAT! YOUR FATHER AND I NEARLY HAD A HEART ATTACK WHEN WE GOT THE LETTER FROM MCGONAGALL LAST NIGHT. WE DID NOT BRING YOU UP TO BE THIS RECKLESS. YOU AND HARRY COULD HAVE DIED —”

Students from all tables were now looking over to see which of them had received the howler. Ron was so low in his seat that his head was barely visible above the table. Harry felt a little embarrassed his name was in it, but at least the Howler wasn’t for him.

“— I’VE HALF A MIND TO BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME! YOU’RE LUCKY YOU’VE ONLY GOT FINALS LEFT YOUNG MAN, AND IF YOU GET SO MUCH AS AN ‘ACCEPTABLE’ ON ANY EXAMS YOU’LL BE GROUNDED FOR THE ENTIRE SUMMER.”

With that, the letter burst into flames and the ashes settled on Ron’s breakfast. For a half of a minute, Harry wondered if it was going to put itself back together and start over, like Fawkes, but it remained silent in the hall. Until Fred and George started an applause that rumbled through the entire Great Hall.

This made Harry feel even worse, because even though the students were cheering, he could feel Professor McGonagall and his mother’s eyes on him, clearly unhappy their peers were praising their misadventure.

Still, Harry thought that after enduring that letter, he could endure anything his father had to say.

He pulled open the parchment flap and began to read the first of three pages.

Dear Harry,

I received letters from both your mother and Professor McGonagall last night. I’m terribly disappointed you thought to run off like that, and I was terrified for your safety. I really wish your mother would start her letters with, “Harry’s fine, but…” instead of just launching into the horrific parts and telling me you’re alright at the end.

I know you’re upset we’re not telling you everything. I know it isn’t easy when adults keep things from you. You’re twelve, and incredibly talented for your age. You’ve done so many amazing things and proven yourself to be a clever, talented, and brave wizard. Truthfully, your mother and I are just very afraid to let you go.

We love you so much, Harry, and we want you to be safe and grow up and have a wonderful future with friends and family. I know you feel like nothing can hurt you — the downside of being ‘The Boy Who Lived’ I suppose — but you’re only human. Acromantula can kill you. So can a lot of other things in the Forbidden Forest. It isn’t smart and it isn’t safe to wander around in there, especially when there’s a monster going around petrifying students.

And I know it’s especially hard to do nothing when your friends are hurt. That might be one of the hardest things in the world.

I remember when your mother and I went into hiding. It was shortly after she got pregnant with you, actually, and it was the hardest time in my life. I had to sit back and do nothing while Sirius, Remus, Peter, Marlene and all my friends got to go off and fight Voldemort. But your mother and I could do nothing. We had to “stay safe.”

And it got harder when people started getting hurt. We don’t like to talk about how awful the war really was, not because we don’t think you can handle it, but because it isn’t easy for us. I still remember when Peter brought us the news that Marlene and her family had died. Or when Emmeline wrote to me that the Bones family had been killed. Or when we heard about Benjy Fenwick. I remember being so hurt and so angry I wanted to do something. But your mother and I couldn’t, because we had to keep you safe. We had to stay in hiding. Eventually we went so deep into hiding we couldn’t even see Remus. It was only Peter, Sirius, and Dumbledore who knew where we were. There was nothing I could do to help my friends and that was the hardest part.

Sometimes the sacrifices we have to make seem like the wrong ones. I know you want to help Hermione, but please trust us to help Hermione. Keeping yourself safe is the best thing you and Ron can do for her.

Love, Dad

Harry was speechless. He had expected a scolding like the one Mrs. Weasley had given Ron, but it hadn’t been a scolding at all. His father had been more understanding than Sirius. More than even Remus, really. Maybe Sirius and Remus couldn’t relate to his inability to help Hermione the way his dad could.

Ron nudged his shoulder. “Harry, we’re going to be late for Transfiguration.”

Harry adjusted his glasses. “Oh, I’m coming.” He glanced up at the teacher’s table and saw his mother making her way to the door. “Just a sec.”

He ran around the Gryffindor table and caught her just as she reached the exit. He didn’t say anything at first. He only threw his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder. He didn’t care if anyone was looking. He didn’t care if Malfoy saw. He did try not to cry, but he couldn’t help himself. He hiccoughed just once.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he said.

She hugged him back as tightly as he hugged her. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I take it this wasn’t Mrs. Weasley’s scolding that made you apologize?”

“No — Dad. He told me about — about being in hiding and —” He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that made him care so much all of a sudden. He didn’t know how to put it into words.

His mother stared at him, and he wasn’t sure if he was reading her expression right. She looked like she was going to cry too.

But she didn’t. She leaned down just a bit to kiss his forehead. “Your father and I love you, very much. Now you’re going to make me late for class and Percy’ll have to find me and give me a detention. Go on, don’t be late.”

Harry laughed and let her go. He wiped his eyes dry and nodded. “Okay. I — Mum, I love you too.”

She smiled, and then she went upstairs to her classroom. Harry hurried off to Transfiguration. He slid into his seat just as Professor McGonagall began to remind them that final exams were coming in just two weeks.

“Exams?” howled Seamus Finnigan. “We’re still getting exams?”

Neville Longbottom accidentally vanished the table leg of his desk in a panic.

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education.” She repaired Neville’s desk. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you all are studying hard.”

Harry had no idea how they were going to study without Hermione.

Ron leaned over and whispered to Harry, “Can you imagine me taking exams with this?” Ron gestured to his wand, which was whistling like a kettle on the stove.

He and Ron did their best to study. It was very odd without Hermione, and all the Gryffindors in their year noticed the difference. Dean was asking Neville to go over the difference between Fluxweed and flaxseed, which wasn’t helpful because Neville didn’t know what flaxseed was. Seamus was begging Parvati to share Padma’s Potions notes, and Harry and Ron were trying desperately to piece together the last eight months of History of Magic.

On Friday at breakfast, Professor McGonagall announced to the school that she had important news for everyone.

“Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with us catching our culprit.”

The entire room erupted into applause and cheering, except for, Harry noticed, Draco Malfoy.

Ron nudged his shoulder. “It won’t matter that we didn’t get a chance to talk to Moaning Myrtle! When Hermione wakes up, she’ll have all the answers! Mind you, she’ll go crazy when she finds out we have exams in a week and she hasn’t studied at all. Might be kinder to leave her alone until they’re all over.”

Harry was going to agree, and point out how displeased Draco looked, when Ginny suddenly sat between them. She did not make eye contact with either of them; instead, she was focused on her hands in her lap.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

Ginny didn’t say anything. She looked odd, rocking back and forth and chewing her lip. She reminded Harry a little of Dobby, when Dobby was about to say something he shouldn’t.

“Come on, spit it out,” Ron said.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” she finally said, without looking up at either of them.

“What?” asked Ron.

Ginny couldn’t seem to find the words.

Harry leaned close and whispered, so no one else could hear him, “Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something?”

Ginny drew in a deep breath and Harry was so sure she was going to say something important when Percy Weasley suddenly appeared.

“All finished eating, Ginny? I’ll take that seat if you don’t mind.”

Ginny disappeared faster than Scabbers before a Transfiguration exam.

“Percy!” Ron said. “She was about to tell us something important!”

Percy suddenly looked very uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than Harry had ever seen him in his life.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” he said, and quickly took a sip of his tea.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry, though he’d been put off from investigating the Chamber both by studying and trying to make up for his venture into the Forest to his parents, felt reinvigorated to search after Ginny’s near-confession.

He took advantage of his mother’s distraction as Gilderoy Lockhart paraded his way into their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. “Let’s try to talk to Moaning Myrtle,” he whispered to Ron.

“But Hermione will be awake tonight,” Ron whispered back.

“It can’t hurt,” Harry said.

Ron frowned, then shrugged his shoulders.

The rest of the class was mostly Lily and Lockhart arguing over whether or not centaurs and unicorns could be fought with the same spells. Lily insisted it was irrelevant because one should never need to fight either, but if it was relevant, the spells had to be different. Lockhart insisted you should fight both and with the same spells. About five minutes before the end of class, Lavender Brown raised her hand and said, “Which one will be on the exam?”

In a huff, Lily dismissed them five minutes early and told Lockhart to escort them to History of Magic.

“Why should I —”

“Because I have a class to prepare for!” she shouted at him. “Get out, please.”

Lockhart sniffed and held the door open for the students.

About halfway down the hall, Harry said, “You know, you really don’t need to escort us.”

Ron jumped in. “Yeah, you know Hagrid’s gone, so there isn’t even really a monster to protect us against, right?”

“My thoughts exactly, boys, but Professor Potter is quite insistent.”

“She’s alright,” Harry said. “My dad handles her pretty easily. She just needs a firm talking to sometimes. You can’t back down with her is all. Don’t waste your time walking us to class. Go tell her exactly what you think of her.”

Lockhart considered this. “Alright, I think I will.”

As soon as Lockhart was out of earshot, Ron doubled over in laughter. “Your mum’s going to kill him.”

Harry nodded. “And we won’t miss him at all. Come on.” He and Ron slipped down a side passage and headed for Myrtle’s bathroom. They didn’t make it very far before they were caught by Professor McGonagall.

“Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?”

Harry knew if they said they were investigating the Chamber, they’d likely be expelled on the spot. He’d never fly a broom again.

“We — We were — we are —” Ron stammered.

“Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “We’re going to see Hermione. We hadn’t seen her in a while, and we just thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready, and, um, not to worry.”

Professor McGonagall’s entire posture changed. Her voice became soft and Harry thought her eyes were glistening with tears. “Of course. Of course, I’m so sorry, I should have realized this has been hardest on friends. Go along, and tell Madam Pomfrey you have my permission.”

They quickly headed towards the infirmary and Ron whispered, “Blimey. That was the best story you’ve ever come up with.”

It was clever, but now they had no choice but to go to the infirmary to visit Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey was not very happy to see them, even when they told her Professor McGonagall had given them permission.

“There’s just no point in talking to a Petrified person,” she said, but let them in anyway.

There really didn’t seem to be any point to being there. Hermione was completely still. They would’ve had a better time talking to one of the castle’s suits of armor.

Ron looked down at her sadly. “Do you really think she saw who attacked them? What if they just snuck up on her?”

Harry wasn’t really listening. He noticed a piece of paper clenched in Hermione’s hand and pointed it out to Ron.

“Can you get it out?” Ron asked. Ron looked around for Madam Pomfrey and carefully shielded Harry from her view while Harry tried to pull the piece of paper out.

It was tightly wedged in Hermione’s fist and Harry had to be careful not to tear it. Eventually, he managed to get the paper out. It looked like an old sheet from a book. Harry was a bit shocked Hermione would tear a page out of a library book. It must’ve been important.

“What’s it say?” Ron asked.

Harry read it quickly.

“A basilisk,” he whispered. “That’s what the monster is. That’s why I’m the only one who can hear it. It’s a snake.”

“A basilisk?” Ron gulped. “Those things are huge, aren’t they? I thought they weren’t real.”

“They kill just with a stare,” Harry breathed. “That’s why Hermione and Penelope had the mirror. So they could look around corners. Justin saw it through Nearly Headless Nick. And Colin looked through his camera. And Mrs. Norris…. the floor! The floor was flooded from Moaning Myrtle. She must’ve only seen the basilisk’s reflection.”

Ron took the paper from Harry. “Even spiders are terrified of it. That’s why they’re all leaving the castle.”

“And a rooster’s crow is fatal to it. Hagrid mentioned something was killing the roosters.” Harry was immediately wondering where they could get their hands on a rooster to make it crow. He didn’t know how else you fought a basilisk.

“But how’s no one seen it? A giant basilisk roaming the school? You’d think someone would’ve spotted its tail.”

Harry pointed to Hermione’s handwriting in the margins of the paper. “The pipes. Remember Aragog told us Moaning Myrtle died in a bathroom? I’ll bet you anything that’s where the Chamber of Secrets is.”

“We need to tell Professor McGonagall,” Ron said.

Harry nodded, and they headed towards the staffroom. They weren’t sure if she would be in there yet, but she had to show up there by lunch time.

It was empty when they arrived, but they went in anyway, thinking it would be better to be caught in the staffroom than waiting in the hallway outside of it.

But instead of a teacher arriving, Professor McGonagall’s voice carried through the castle.

“All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“Another attack?” Harry asked.

“What’ll we do? Should we go back to the dormitory?”

Harry looked around the staffroom. “Quick, let’s hide in this wardrobe. Let’s hear what happened, then tell them what we know.”

Harry and Ron quickly climbed into the closet and listened as the halls filled with students and teachers filtered into the staffroom. Harry pulled back a velvet robe that smelled like Doxy so he could see out. Some professors looked confused. Some looked scared. None seemed to know what had happened.

Finally, Professor McGonagall arrived.

“It has happened,” she told the professors. “A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

Snape’s voice was cold and thin. “How can you be sure?”

“The Heir of Slytherin left another message. Right underneath the first one. ‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’”

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

“Which student?” Lily asked. Her voice sounded dry, like the time Harry had come home from the zoo with Sirius and she’d heard about him being a Parseltongue.

“Ginny Weasley.”

Ron sank down to the floor of the wardrobe. Harry reached into his pocket and gripped his wand.

He felt angry and hurt. If his mother had just told him the monster was a basilisk, they wouldn’t have wasted time. He could’ve told her what he knew about Moaning Myrtle. Maybe they would have found the Chamber faster. Maybe they could’ve saved Ginny. But his mother hadn’t told him, and now Ginny was gone.

“We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is the end of Hogwarts.”

The staffroom door banged open again. Harry, for a brief moment, thought it was Dumbledore, returned to save the day.

But it was only Lockhart, holding a cloth against his nose. “So sorry. Had a bit of an accident with a pixie. What have I missed?” he asked.

Lily looked like she was going to reach out and strangle him. Her face was nearly as red as her hair.

But Snape stepped forward first. “Just the man,” he said. “The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

Lockhart’s face went white and he lowered his handkerchief enough to reveal something black oozing from the bridge of his nose.

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” Professor Sprout said sweetly. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

“Yes,” Professor Flitwick said quickly, “didn’t you tell me you were already planning the title of your next book? Banishing a Basilisk, I believe it was.”

“I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn’t had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested,” said Snape. “Didn’t you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should’ve been given a free rein from the first?”

Lockhart stared at each of the Professors — except for Lily, who he very carefully avoided.

“I — I really never — you may have misunderstood —”

“We’ll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy,” said Professor McGonagall. “Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone is out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last.”

Lockhart looked among the teachers one more time for support, but found none. “V-very well. I — I truly, truly wish I could help, but you see, with my nose in this shape —”

“Madam Pomfrey will be more than happy to fix it, I’m sure,” Professor McGonagall said. “Or we have two teachers skilled in the Dark Arts who’d be more than happy to help if you find yourself not up to task.”

Lockhart seemed to shrink at the thought of letting Lily near his nose. “I’ll just — get ready in my office, then.”

And he left.

McGonagall took a deep breath and turned to face the teachers. “Right, that’s got him from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. The rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories. Lily, will you speak to Gryffindor House for me? I will need to make arrangements with the Hogsmeade train station and write to Molly and Arthur Weasley.”

As soon as the teachers were gone, Harry and Ron stepped out of the closet.

“We should hurry back before my mum catches us,” Harry said.

“I think we should go see Lockhart,” Ron said.

“What? Why? He can’t actually do anything.”

“He’s going to the Chamber, isn’t he? He knows where it is, but we can tell him about Moaning Myrtle. Maybe she knows something that can help.”

Harry weighed getting caught by his mother against helping Ginny. He remembered what his dad had said, about how sometimes the best thing was to do nothing. But Harry was angry, because he thought this could have been prevented if he had only been told about the basilisk sooner. So he nodded.

“Let’s go help Lockhart. He’s going to need all the help he can get, anyway.”

Harry and Ron ran to Gilderoy Lockhart’s office, down the hall from his mother’s. At least he didn’t have to be worried she was in there.

They knocked on Gilderoy Lockhart’s door.

He opened it the tiniest crack. “Oh, Mr. Potter — Mr. Weasley —” He pulled the door back a bit. “I’m rather busy at the moment, if you would be quick —”

“We’ve got information,” Harry said. “We think it will help you.”

“Er — well, it’s not terribly —” Lockhart hesitated, then opened the door. “I mean, well, alright.”

He let them into his office.

It was completely torn apart. His trunks lay open on the floor, colorful robes hastily stuffed into them. Books were tossed haphazardly into their own trunk. The portraits of Lockhart were stuffed into a box.

“You’re… leaving?” Harry said.

“Er, well, yes. Urgent call. Unavoidable. Got to go.”

“But — my sister!” Ron said.

“Well, as to that — most unfortunate. No one regrets more than I —”

Harry tightened his hands into fists. He’d been willing to accept that Lockhart was not as good a wizard as his mum, but to accept that Lockhart was a complete coward was not an option. “You can’t go now! You spend all year bragging over my mum’s classes about the great things you did in your books —”

“Books can be misleading.”

“You wrote them!”

Lockhart sighed. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on —”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” Harry was shocked, but also, that explained a lot of Lockhart’s absolute incompetence in the classroom.

“It’s not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down, hear their stories, ask them all the gritty details. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms. No, it’s been a lot of work, Harry. If you want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.”

He closed his trunks and took out his wand. “Now, the only thing left is to put a Memory Charm on you boys. Can’t have you blabbing my secret everywhere. I’d never sell —”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry said quickly.

Lockhart fell backwards and his wand went flying. Ron jumped and caught it, then threw it out the open window. The same way the pixies had with his.

Harry kept his wand pointed at Lockhart. “Too bad Snape and my Mum actually know a thing or two about Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“What d’you want me to do?” said Lockhart weakly. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re in luck,” Harry said, and pulled Lockhart to his feet. “We think we know where it is. Let’s go.”

Harry and Ron led Lockhart out of his office and down to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry wondered if his mother noticed he was not in the Common Room yet. He could go get her now, but he was afraid to waste any time. They needed to get to Ginny first. And even if Lockhart was a coward, he was technically an adult.

When they arrived at Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, she was perched on the tank of her usual toilet.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want? Come to throw another book at me?”

“Actually,” Harry said, “we were wondering how you died.”

Moaning Myrtle looked as if someone had just given her a box of Chocolate Frogs for Christmas. “Ooh, it was dreadful.” She floated off the toilet and swooped over towards them. “It was right in this very stall. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny, in a different language. But it was a boy’s voice, so I unlocked the door to tell him to go away and then — That’s when I died.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“No idea. I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. And then everything sort of stopped. But I was determined to stay and haunt Olive Hornby. Oh, was she sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“Where did you see the eyes?”

“Over there,” she pointed towards the sink just behind Harry.

Harry and Ron quickly began to examine it, though Lockhart lingered behind. Finally, Harry found a small snake etched on one of the copper taps. He turned the knob and nothing happened.

“Try Parseltongue,” Ron suggested.

Harry had to concentrate very hard. It was easy to speak Parseltongue to a snake, a living snake. But he wasn’t actually positive how to translate the words he wanted to say. They just sort of did it themselves. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and told the sink to open up.

The sink sank down into the floor, revealing a huge pipe that slid down into inky blackness.

“I’m going down there,” Harry said, far more confident than he felt. He had to save Ginny.

“I’m going too,” Ron said. He tightened his grip on his wand, though Harry wasn’t sure it would do him much good.

“Well, you hardly seem to need me,” Lockhart said.

Harry leveled his wand at him. “You’re going in first.”

“Now, boys, what good will it do?”

But Harry jabbed him forward and Ron pushed him into the Chamber.

Harry went down next. The pipe was slimy and seemed to go on forever. He heard Ron yelling behind him. Eventually, the pipe leveled out, and he landed on a damp, dark, stone floor. It was cold, wherever they were. Ron came out right after him.

“I bet it’s under the lake,” Ron said, and squinted at the shiny black walls.

“Lumos,” Harry said, and they started down the tunnel because it seemed there was no way to go back.

“Remember,” Harry said, “if you see something move, close your eyes.”

But they saw nothing. The tunnel was dead quiet. The only sound was the crunch of a single rat skull under Ron’s boot.

Ron grabbed Harry’s shoulder suddenly. “Up there,” he whispered, “can you see it?”

It looked like the huge curved body of the snake, but it wasn’t moving. Harry stepped closer and realized the snake had shed its skin here. The snake itself had to be enormous to leave behind something this big.

Lockhart collapsed behind them.

“Oh, get up,” Ron said.

Lockhart did, then dived at Ron, wresting his wand from him.

“The adventure ends here, boys!” he said. “I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. Say goodbye to your memories.”

He raised Ron’s wand, and before Harry could shout a counter spell, Lockhart said, “Obliviate!”

There was an explosion that forced Lockhart backwards. The Chamber rumbled. Harry dived out of the way of falling bits of ceiling. When the dust settled and his lungs cleared, he found he was alone.

“Ron! Ron are you alright!”

“I’m here,” Ron shouted back. It came from the other side of a wall of rubble. “Lockhart got blasted by my wand, though…. What now? We can’t get through.”

“Wait here,” Harry called back. He looked at the rubble and the ceiling. There didn’t seem to be any easy way to get through safely. At least none that he knew of. “If… If I’m not back in an hour….”

Ron didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he said, “I’ll try to make a pathway, so you and Ginny can get back…. And Harry —”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Harry said, and plunged ahead.

The tunnel went on for a lot longer. Harry thought about his father’s letter, and Remus’s letter, and Sirius’s letter. He thought about the hug he’d given his mother just a few days ago, and how he’d apologized. He wanted to be angry, to think that if only she had apologized back, maybe Ginny wouldn’t have been taken and maybe he wouldn’t be stuck down here. But mostly he just felt sad, and a little scared, and he thought maybe he would’ve liked to have his mother come down here with him instead of Gilderoy Lockhart.

But he was alone as he approached a door engraved with emerald snakes. This was it. “Open,” he whispered in a faint low hiss, and the door to the Chamber of Secrets swung open.