Author's Note: Massive chapter in which I violate HP canon as much as possible, including OWL standards, scores, tertiary characters, and anything else I desire. I hope you enjoy it. If you don't, shove off. Have a pleasant day!

Molly Weasley shuffled restlessly about her kitchen, feeling vaguely guilty for neglecting the dishes soaking in her sink, all of which could stand a good scrubbing that magic was ill-equipped to provide. Her eyes wandered toward the family clock, about to strike midnight, and she felt again the need to verify the safety of her children.

Bill and Charlie's tines indicated they were sleeping, which was good, of course.

Bill had only recently transferred back from Egypt after accepting a promotion at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Molly was inordinately proud of her eldest child, a former Head Boy of Hogwarts, who was now the only wizard to hold a position of any accord at Gringotts; all other posts belonged to goblins.

Bill was also dating Fleur Delacour, a situation which Molly found intolerable, though little recourse had been left to her. She had been telling Bill for years to settle down and marry, and when he had finally begun to pursue a committed relationship, it had been with that...that woman. It wasn't that she was bothered by the fact that Fleur was part Veela, but that the girl was so obnoxious and so French and so much a host of any number of things which Molly found objectionable.

Still, the couple had been together almost a year, a record for Bill, which was an indication of its seriousness, as well as a sign that Molly truly needed to begin letting him go. She sighed wearily and commanded herself not to chastise Bill's hair the next time she saw him.

Charlie was still stationed at the dragon preserve in Romania, an occupation which filled her with alarm whenever she stopped to consider what it must actually entail. Though the family had visited him on occasion, those excursions had done little to quell her thoughts of the impending doom with which her second child contended on a daily basis. She tended to worry about Charlie perhaps more than that which was healthy, but he was so isolated from the rest of the family, she just couldn't help herself. Of course, he had always been a bit of a loner, even as a small child.

He was closest to Bill, but nothing approaching the bond the twins shared, or even like the one between Ron and Ginny; Charlie was like Percy in that regard. Molly fretted that Charlie had become so consumed with his work that he was allowing the rest of his life to pass him by. She suspected that, other than Bill, she was the only who knew Charlie preferred men. The idea that he had held his silence either out of shame or fear from his family's reaction absolutely sickened her. All she had ever wanted for her children was their happiness.

Her eyes slid to Percy's tine, which several of her other children had insisted should be removed, and was unsurprised to discover he was still at work.

She sighed again, this time in resignation.

She had hoped that after Umbridge had been dispelled from the grounds of Hogwarts and Fudge had been relieved of his position, Percy would have come to his senses and tried to reconnect with the family. She had made all the overtures she could and was left with little to do but wait.

She also knew the longer Percy doggedly clung to his sense of entitlement, the more difficult it would be for the family to accept him back. Arthur, Bill, and Charlie continued to hold out hope, but the twins, Ron, and Ginny had written Percy off and were quite content with their decision.

As much as she wanted to, Molly couldn't blame them. She had always been proud of Percy's accomplishments but had disdained his pomposity and arrogance. Honestly, she didn't know how he had come by those traits. She hadn't raised her children to behave in such a manner.

She suspected Percy was more insecure than arrogant, that he felt a duty to live up to the reputations of his older brothers while distancing himself as far as possible from the machinations of the twins.

She also couldn't blame him for craving the spotlight. Bill had shined in academics and Charlie in athletics. Fred and George cringed at Percy's officiousness and rebelled whenever the opportunity arose. Molly was torn. She loved all of her children, but she knew that until Percy had the grace to apologize for his actions against the family, as well as against Harry, half of the Weasleys would never speak to him again.

And the twins!

Molly didn't understand just where she had gone wrong with them. She had been scandalized when she learned they had hopped their brooms and abandoned Hogwarts. And before they could take their N.E.W.T.s! Then they had gone and opened that ridiculous shop. She was still bemoaning whatever they might have done to get the seed money for that venture.

Making money selling novelties? Capitalizing on the misfortune of others? Bullying by proxy? It was all so unseemly, yet apparently they were doing quite well for themselves. And while there were many things for which she could fault them, their enterprising nature was not one of them.

Still, it just wasn't respectable. Merlin only knew what Arthur's colleagues at the Ministry were saying about their family behind her husband's back, not that Arthur would care, of course. Charlie and Bill thought the twins brilliant, which they were, and there was the rub. Fred and George were remarkably talented and could most likely do whatever they wanted. That they were in fact doing what they wanted and were quite successful at it brought Molly little solace, however.

Ron and Ginny had seen and done more in their short lives than all of her other children put together. They had seen the true face of evil up close and still had the wherewithal to rail against it. Percy had blamed Harry for Ron and Ginny's lot, and the latter two had been so furious at their older brother that Molly truly feared what they would do to Percy should they encounter him again.

All of the Weasleys, save Percy, considered Harry Potter to be another brother, but for Ron and Ginny, he was something much more. Molly still wasn't sure just what that was, exactly. She had known that Ginny had fancied Harry for years, and while she seemed to have moved past her schoolgirl crush, there was a fierceness which overtook her whenever Harry was involved. Ginny was fighting for what she believed in, but Harry had spurred that fight.

As for Ron, Molly well knew that while he, Hermione, and Harry might have their squabbles, they were a force unto themselves and woe unto those who tried to separate them.

She still wasn't sure what exactly had happened that night in the Department of Mysteries, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. The longer she and Arthur didn't know the extent of Ron and Ginny's involvement in the fight against Voldemort, the longer they wouldn't need to sleep in shifts.

Ron had been utterly devastated when Hermione had been injured in the attack, and that was when Molly had realized just how deeply her son's feelings ran for the girl, as well as for Harry.

Truthfully, it didn't sit well with her and she didn't often like to consider it.

Ron was still so young, and Ginny even younger. Realistically, she knew there was little she could do to shield them from the coming war. Voldemort had managed to infiltrate Hogwarts successfully for the past five years, despite Dumbledore's assurances that the school was impenetrable. She couldn't expect Ron and Ginny to stay clear of the war when the Dark Lord was recruiting amongst their classmates.

Ron and Ginny had declared their loyalties early and had chosen the right side. She absolutely believed that, believed in Harry, but wished she could find more comfort in it than she did.

She was all too aware it was most likely she would be mourning at least one of her children before Voldemort was finally dispatched by Harry.

Harry.

The moment Molly Weasley had set eyes on that boy, she had loved him as her own. It had been apparent this had both shocked and bewildered him, as if he simply couldn't understand why anyone should love him. When Ron had told her that the jumper she had knitted for Harry back in the kids' first year had been the child's first Christmas gift, she had gone on a tearing rampage throughout the Burrow, demanding answers about what hells that boy had been subjected to and, almost six years later, she still didn't have a good explanation.

She certainly had her suspicions, though, and they began and ended with the Dursleys. Oh, if she could just have five minutes alone with those people, she...well, she'd probably end up in Azkaban.

How Harry could have grown up as she suspected he had and still retained his overwhelming capacity to love and a nobility she considered as much a detriment as a gift was beyond her, but the boy was remarkable.

After the fiasco in the Ministry, Percy had owled and promptly placed the blame for everything squarely on Harry's shoulders. Ron and Ginny had gone spare and, before Molly could stop them, had each replied to their brother with some truly vicious Howlers which had put her past ones to shame. She was almost proud of them.

Bill and Charlie had declared their belief that Dumbledore was ultimately responsible because he had refused to give Harry information the boy desperately needed. Molly knew Arthur agreed with them, though he had never voiced that agreement.

She herself was on the fence. She certainly didn't blame Harry for anything that had occurred. She knew Ron and Ginny all too well and, devotion to Harry aside, if they hadn't believed in what they were doing, they never would have gone.

She was still unsure what to feel about Dumbledore. She knew the man was keeping secrets and engineering plots which put children directly into harm's way, but she didn't think him malicious. Still, he unsettled her. For the moment, she was content to lay all the blame at the feet of Voldemort, which was really quite proper, she thought.

Harry had lost so much: his parents, his godfather, classmates. He had almost lost Hermione.

There was still so much that Molly didn't know about what Harry had been enduring. She wasn't sure she wanted to know because she guessed she might not be able to handle it. It saddened her greatly that a fifteen-year-old child had been saddled with the weight of the world on his thin shoulders.

Yet it hadn't stopped him.

At twelve years old, he had gone into the Chamber of Secrets and faced off with Voldemort to save her daughter from certain death. The entire Weasley clan owed Harry Potter a life debt which could never be repaid. Earlier this past year, he had saved the life of her husband. Percy insisted these events would never had arisen if not for Harry, but Molly well knew that without that boy, Voldemort's reign of terror would have continued unabated and her family most likely would have long been buried with her brothers.

No, she would never turn from Harry. If all of this had taught her anything, it was that, outside of her family, he was the only person she could trust absolutely.

If only there was something more she could do!

Molly was startled when a house elf she vaguely recognized unceremoniously popped into her kitchen and handed her a letter before disappearing without a word.

She frowned and looked down, her eyes widening when she recognized Harry's distinctive script before confusion set in. Ron had been ranting and raving that Harry had not responded to any of his owls, so why was her son's best friend writing to her? Not that she was displeased, of course.

Again abandoning her dishes, she leaned against the sink counter and slit open the envelope, eyes immediately welling when she saw that he had addressed her for the first time as Mum and not Mrs. Weasley.

She sagged the more she read, her deepest fears confirmed with every sentence. Everything she had long suspected of those dreadful people, those Dursleys, Harry was finally admitting, writing that he had wanted to tell her for years but was ashamed and fearful of her reaction.

Still, she got the sense he was holding back many things.

He implored her not to reveal his secrets to anyone, not even her husband, and she silently vowed to comply. She knew what Harry was entrusting to her and what it had cost him to do so. She would not violate his confidence.

And that was when Molly realized that, despite all of her desires and insistence to the contrary, Harry Potter was not a child. He never had been because he was never allowed to be.

She inhaled sharply, knowing that while it would be extremely difficult and that she would most likely falter more than once, she must shift her treatment of Harry in a fundamental way.

For so long, she had hoped and prayed in vain that he would be able to emerge from this conflict with some shred of his childhood innocence intact, but she now understood that was folly. As Voldemort continued to move against wizarding Britain, Harry's role in the war would become compensatory. He wouldn't tolerate her mothering for much longer. Of course, she had always been surprised that he had allowed her to get away with as much as he had.

She gave a gentle sigh and returned to the letter.

Harry detailed for her his suspicions regarding Dumbledore, many of which were little more than echoes of her own thoughts, ones to which she had never given voice, and her ire instantly ignited. The Headmaster insisted on running the war as if it were all some elaborate game, where Harry was the Knight waiting in the wings.

This was no longer acceptable to Molly Weasley. James and Lily Potter had been dear friends. She still thought fondly on the times when Lily would watch Bill and Charlie while she was busy with Percy and the twins.

She would never forget the look on Arthur's face when he stumbled home through the fireplace that Halloween night. She would never forget the scream trapped in her throat when he broke down and told him that Lily and James had been murdered. She would never forget Charlie's sobbing or the nightmares that had plagued Bill for six months.

James and Lily had sacrificed their very lives, believing their child would be kept safe, and instead Dumbledore had commandeered the boy's life and, inadvertently or not, made it heinous.

This she would share with her husband, and together they would observe Dumbledore more carefully during Order meetings.

Unbeknownst to most, though Molly Prewett Weasley was a proud Gryffindor, had married a Gryffindor, and had given birth to seven Gryffindor children, the Sorting Hat had wanted to place her in Ravenclaw.

While she often allowed emotions to rule her, especially where her children were concerned, she was quite capable of thinking logically and analytically, well versed in designing and implementing plans of action. Such things were necessary when raising a brood as large as hers on so little money.

Harry had no way of knowing, of course, but both she and Arthur were skilled in Occlumency; for Arthur, it was a necessary requirement for his job at the Ministry, and the ability simply came quite easily to her, so there was little worry about Dumbledore being able to ferret out her suspicions. If he ever did, he would simply dismiss them the histrionics of a concerned mother.

When Harry arrived next months, she would sit him down and talk about his sessions with Severus. She had her suspicions about what that man had done to her boy, and if she was proven right, the next ingredient in his potion would be his heart.

Harry's letter then expounded at great length about the events at Hogwarts over the past five years - things of which she had never conceived possible - and he made no bones about the fact that, without Ron and Hermione, he would be dead several times over.

As Molly read his words, her heart thudded as she realized just how much Ron had been keeping from her, so devoted to his friend that he would say nothing which might have caused her to separate him from Harry.

The letter then begged her to step back and take an objective look at Hermione. Harry had taken great pains and been brutally honest about Hermione's contributions, which amounted to more than Harry or Ron had ever managed themselves, and stating quite frankly that Ron would have flunked out of school long ago without her help; that she had stood by him always while there had been times when Ron had not; and that whatever their feelings between the three of them, and despite their current lack of contact, he had no doubt that if Molly ever pressed the issue, Ron would choose Hermione over his family, and so would Harry.

She wept at reading those words, but it was the final sentence which was like a knife through her heart.

Hermione is not Percy, Mum.

She swatted tears from her eyes as she folded the letter and stowed it in her apron, focusing again on the task before her, those obnoxious dishes, as she thought of her treatment of the girl over the past years.

She had been kind to Hermione during the Trio's first three years at Hogwarts, but even she had recognized that her behavior had changed drastically after the Triwizard Tournament and those nasty articles. She was suddenly shamed by how easily she had believed a pack of lies over the word of her son and the girl who had done so much for him.

No, Hermione wasn't Percy. While her intellect was just as great, so much so that Molly believed the girl should have been placed in Ravenclaw, Hermione's ambition was pure and not selfish. She broke rules only when she thought it necessary, or when she believed said rules stupid or counterproductive to helping her friends. She put people and what was right before everything else.

Hermione had never treated her with anything less than the utmost respect, even when it was not returned, and was strong enough not to put up with any of Ron's nonsense or petulance. She never sought the glory for which Ron often seemed so desperate, preferring instead to do whatever it took to ensure the survival of Harry Potter. She had never wavered in her loyalty or courage.

And in those moments, Molly Weasley recognized she had more in common with Hermione Granger than she had ever realized, and perhaps that had been the problem all along. The girl wasn't trying to take anything or anyone from her; there was no competition. And if Ron did choose Hermione over his family, Molly knew that she would only have herself to blame.

Well, enough of that.

So tomorrow would be a new day in more ways than one. When the time came, she would welcome Hermione Granger into her home with the respect and courtesy the girl deserved, that she was owed, both for the Trio's sake and her own.

She quickly wrote a reply that she would send first thing tomorrow with a post owl, her handwriting disguised with a charm, and hoped her words would indicate to Harry that she had understood and accepted his message.

A new day was soon to dawn.

Augusta Longbottom was sitting in the parlor of her manor house and ruminating over recent events, deciding she did not particularly care for them at all.

She had been outraged when she had discovered that Neville had left Hogwarts to battle Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic. What on earth had the boy been thinking? Not that she wasn't proud of him, of course. She was so proud she was fit to burst, but that did little to smother her anger and anxiety.

She had already lost her son and his wife, both permanently convalescing in St. Mungo's and staring blankly at nothing. She wasn't going to lose her grandson, as well. He was more than the Heir of Longbottom, he was the last of the line. Should anything happen to him, her family would become extinguished, and she was not about to let that happen.

Neville was under the mistaken impression that she blamed the Potter boy for these events, but that notion was rubbish. How could she blame a fifteen-year-old child for succeeding where wizards thrice his age and older had failed so miserably? That boy had courage in spades and had inspired great and welcome changes in her grandson.

Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort when he was a year old, and again when he was eleven, and when he was twelve, and when he was fourteen, and then this last year. Who else alive could say as much? Not the Aurors, and certainly not the Ministry. Not even Dumbledore could lay claim to such victories. She had been a young girl during the war with Grindelwald, and while that miserable wretch had been finally defeated by Dumbledore, it hadn't been accomplished singlehandedly and Dumbledore had met the man in battle only once.

Augusta Longbottom knew power when she saw it, and Harry Potter practically glowed with the magical strength which coursed through his veins. She understood that had Voldemort not been thwarted by a baby, he would have kept wreaking havoc for the past sixteen years. She was under no illusions that, had that been the case, both she and Neville would long be dead.

Not that she was ready to throw her lot in with Potter. He had proven that he could defeat Voldemort, yes, but the infernal wizard kept coming back like a nasty case of the trots. She wanted Neville away from all that nonsense, though she knew she had little chance of that occurring.

He had always been so timid, so unsure even in his right to exist. Sadly, she had done little help him. Instead, she had goaded and chastised him at every opportunity to be more like the parents he couldn't remember, to live up to a standard he didn't understand and which had been poorly explained.

No, she had handled him all wrong and, until he had gotten to Hogwarts, he had suffered for it. But then he had found friends, good ones, for whom he was willing to die and who were willing to do the same for him. She couldn't just dismiss that, and she didn't want to.

Neville had, with the help of Harry Potter, carved out a niche for himself which otherwise would have been denied him, and she could find no fault with that. His grades were up, as were his confidence and magical strength. He was finally blossoming into the young lad she always known him capable of becoming, and that was due not to her, but Harry Potter.

Harry Potter humbled her.

She had known James and Lily Potter, and while James had been a bit much for her tastes, there was no denying that Lily had been an incredibly gifted witch and an incomparable woman. Both had been extremely close to Frank and Alice, and Augusta had always regretted that she had not done more to help the Potters' only child. She had tried, of course, but Dumbledore had exerted his will and spirited Harry away before anyone had really known what was happening.

She had been waiting for it. She had known that when Harry had defeated Voldemort all those years ago that it wasn't truly over. The entire wizarding world had allowed itself to be deluded by the victory, thinking it was like Grindelwald all over again, but they were fools. Voldemort was more powerful than Grindelwald had ever been, more invested in dark magic, and more efficient in his ruthlessness. He had used fear itself as a weapon and had instilled in his followers a fealty previously unmatched.

She had herself mostly withdrawn from the world, preferring instead to sit back and watch as events unfolded. She had watched as allegedly former Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy rose through the ranks of the Ministry, mortified that those in power had been willing to be manipulated by excuses of the Imperius curse as they lined their pockets with tainted gold.

It was appalling.

She had watched as that utter moron Fudge had been placed in office time and again, failing miserably when anything of any import occurred. When Amelia Bones had finally led the charge to rid the Ministry of Fudge, Augusta had utilized every old contact she had to assist the woman. Now Fudge was gone and a woman of sense was installed in his place, but Voldemort still loomed large.

Her family was a target once again, but she had learned much over these last years and she would be damned if she would allow that creature to take anyone or anything from her again.

She blinked when a house elf popped into her study.

"Message for Lady Longbottom," it squeaked.

"I am Longbottom!" she thundered.

"Letter from Harry Potter, Lady."

Augusta raised a brow and held out a hand, grasping the proffered missive. She then glared at the creature. "Was there something else, elf?"

The elf pulled on its ears. "Dobby is to stay while Lady reads her letter and then destroys it. Cannot be having such information floating around."

Her gaze sharpened. What the hell was the Potter boy playing at? Whatever it was must have been serious, so she would comply.

"Very well."

She turned her gaze toward the letter in her hand and tore open the envelope.

Someone really needed to teach this child proper penmanship.

She read as Potter detailed what had occurred in the Department of Mysteries just months ago and what had been Voldemort's goal. She read as Potter revealed to her the prophecy made more than sixteen years ago by Sybill Trelawney. She read as Potter explained that Dumbledore had told him that both he and Neville had fit its parameters, and it was only by a madman's twist of fate that Voldemort had chosen him and not her grandson.

Her breath caught in her throat as she read his words. "This can't be!"

Augusta swallowed heavily and thought about what had been written. She had no reason to disbelieve him; in fact, she found it desperately easy to accept his words at face value. She also doubted that he had told Neville the prophecy. Indeed, from what she could infer, he had told no one. He was only telling her now so that she would understand that Neville was a target for being more than Harry Potter's friend; that her son and his wife had been tortured not because they had been Aurors, but because they had a child who had fit the prophecy.

Indeed, Potter was more concerned with Neville's life than his own!

She turned back to the elf, who regarded her with solemn eyes. She cleared her throat and continued to read.

Her rage simmered as the boy detailed what his life had been before coming to Hogwarts. Abuse, neglect, ignorance of magic, his parents and their world.

"Unacceptable!" she roared.

She gave pause as she reread that particular passage, at his clinical and detached tone, certain he was keeping things to himself. These relatives of his needed to be dealt with immediately.

She read about the Weasleys and Hermione Granger and Sirius Black.

Then she read that name - Bellatrix LeStrange - and Augusta's furor knew no bounds.

She read with perverse pleasure as Potter explained how he had tried to cast the Cruciatus curse on the bitch but had failed. As far as she was concerned, the point was that the effort had been made. That he had made her to suffer at all, for himself, for Black, for Neville, and for her grandson's parents, touched something deeply within her and she knew a satisfaction she thought would have been forever denied to her.

She shrugged off his guilt, though she hoped he would soon get over it and realize he had had little recourse. In fact, she suspected that he had included this bit of intelligence as a calculated manipulation to help sway her. Well, good for him! She admired cunning when it wasn't being employed for nefarious use, and this letter certainly indicated that Potter had a far more keen mind than that which had been publicized.

She read his doubts about Dumbledore and became further incensed. What if Voldemort had chosen Neville over Potter? What would Dumbledore have done to her grandson?

Oh, he wouldn't have taken Neville away as he had Harry, she never would have allowed it. But once Neville had matriculated at Hogwarts, she had no doubt that he would have been manipulated by that old man far worse than Potter had been. Neville was just too innocent, too guileless to have had the doubts Potter was experiencing, and she doubted Neville would have gone behind Dumbledore's back in the manner Potter now was. Too, she also knew that Neville simply wasn't powerful enough even to survive Voldemort, let alone defeat him.

Potter had somehow determined that she was on the Board of Governors, and was thus indirectly asking if she would keep an eye on Dumbledore. She would, of course, both for the boy and for Neville. In fact, she now realized she had been far too lax on the old man.

Now, she wondered about that.

When she truly thought about the events of the last five years - of students disappearing, students and faculty being murdered, Death Eaters infiltrating the castle disguised as professors, and that horrible Umbridge woman - she knew that she, as well as the other Board members, had been far too complacent and too accepting of Dumbledore's excuses, which were well and truly pathetic.

Could he have been compelling them in some manner? Best to look into it, as well as to decide how to deal with Malfoy's vacancy now that the man was on the run.

Augusta sighed and closed her eyes. She felt compassion for what Harry Potter had been put through, both by Voldemort and Dumbledore, but she also gave thanks that it had been him and not Neville. She felt no guilt for this. However, she also resolved to do whatever she could to help Harry from now on, because this was no longer just his fight. She would help him so that she could help Neville, and perhaps help herself to some long overdue vengeance for her son and his wife.

She turned back to the letter. "What!"

Voldemort was Riddle? That megalomaniacal murdering bastard was Tom Riddle?

And Dumbledore had known.

With shaking hands, she refolded the letter, placed it beside her, withdrew her wand, and cast Incendio. She then banished the ashes and turned back to the elf.

"Master Potter will have my answer by tomorrow," she curtly stated.

The elf bowed and disappeared.

Augusta Longbottom tented her fingers and considered things.

Potter was asking for help. She would give it.

He was asking for information. She would unearth it.

He was asking for an ally.

He had found one.

Albus Dumbledore woke early the morning following his conversation with Narcissa Malfoy and summoned the Heads of House to the Headmaster's office. As he instructed an unusually subdued Dobby to lay out a repast, the old man carefully examined his options, trying to decide as to what to inform his colleagues of these latest developments.

He had to give credit where it was due, and Narcissa Malfoy had proven herself to be incredibly shrewd in planning this venture. However, Albus also knew that he could not reveal to the staff the woman's involvement. Severus had never trusted her because she had never clearly stated her loyalties or opinions. Minerva had never liked Narcissa because of the woman's Houses: Black and Slytherin. Pomona had been hired after Narcissa had graduated and could have cared less.

The only professors who'd ever had anything good to say about the woman were Filius Flitwick and Horace Slughorn. Granted, Narcissa was incredibly intelligent, much more so than Lucius, and many had been surprised when she had agreed to the betrothal contract. Of course, many had also assumed - rightly - that she had been given no choice. Her best subjects had been Charms and Potions.

Albus had always suspected the woman had...ways...of controlling her husband.

He was already pressing his luck with Severus Snape. He had successfully installed the man as a spy in the service of Lord Voldemort, but also knew that Snape had personal ties with the Malfoy family, particularly with Lucius, with whom he had been close in school, and his son, Draco, of whom Snape was godfather.

Dumbledore was actually surprised that Narcissa hadn't first gone to Snape to play on that relationship and extract some vow of protection for Draco. This caused him to question just what else Narcissa might have gleaned of Severus and his activities, for she had never admitted the extent of her knowledge with regard to the man's actions.

Also sure to protest would be Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. Eventually she would capitulate, believing him to know best, but she would question his every move and decision until she had suitable answers. She was incredibly tenacious, a credit to her House, and also extremely devoted to Harry Potter and any danger which might threaten his safety. While she was able to conceal that devotion quite brilliantly under the guise of intractable sternness, the woman had often taken it upon herself to serve as Harry's sentry with the adults of the Order of the Phoenix, and did so much more effectively than Molly Weasley.

Yes, Minerva McGonagall would ferret out any nonsense Albus might throw at her.

In fact, Dumbledore was beginning to wonder just how firm a grasp he had over the woman, finally deciding that perhaps it was not quite the one he had thought. That was a rather frightening realization.

So he decided to inform Snape and McGonagall of almost everything, for he would need their assistance were he to actualize this plan. However, additional measures would also be necessary. As for Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout, the respective Heads of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses, Dumbledore was confident they would be accepting without being demanding.

The movement of the gargoyle outside his office heralded the arrival of the others, so he took his place behind his massive desk and adopted his trademark look of nonchalance. Predictably, Snape led the charge with McGonagall all but nipping at his heels. Flitwick and Sprout followed more sedately, but the looks of curiosity lighting their eyes was unmistakable.

"Dumbledore! What is the meaning of this summons?" Snape immediately complained. "I have much to do before the coming term and do not have to time to suffer one of your impossibly boring and pointless meetings."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "As if you are the only one whose attentions are not needed elsewhere."

Snape paused to sneer at the woman, who volleyed with a steely gaze. The Potions Master soon found something else at which to glare. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with merriment as he observed the interaction. Even a man as prickly as Severus Snape eventually checked his attitude around Minerva McGonagall.

The Headmaster steepled his fingers after indicating that the others should take their seats.

"I am concerned," he began, pouring tea for his faculty, "with the rather poor OWL results of those entering their sixth year."

The four teachers stared back at him with wide eyes.

"What do you mean?" McGonagall, the first to recover, demanded. "The scores of that class exceed all previous records!"

Albus shook his head. "Not quite. While it is true that we have a number of exceptional students, particularly Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, and Blaise Zabini, many more received substandard scores and I worry that the Board of Governors may take action."

"What kind of action?" barked an uneasy Snape.

He was now fearful of what this might mean for his Potions curriculum, as his tendency of learning through intimidation usually resulted in a rather poor showing on standardized tests. If the Board became involved and called into question his methods, his cover as a spy for Dumbledore might be blown.

His only true protection from Voldemort was that, as a member of the faculty and a Head of House, he was required to live on school grounds, thus the Dark Lord's access to him was somewhat restricted. However, if his damnable students had mucked it all up by actualizing their pathetic potential, his status might be compromised.

Albus looked at him harshly. "Yes, Severus, you have cause for worry, as once again Potions was amongst those subjects to earn the fewest OWLs."

Severus scowled.

"However," the old man qualified, "Mister Potter's surprising score will undoubtedly assist me in arguing with the Board to keep you on."

Snape was surprised. "And what was Potter's score?" he asked snidely, annoyed that he had yet to be informed.

"Exceeds Expectations for Theory and Outstanding for Practical," announced a pompous Minerva. "No thanks, I am sure, to your harassment and abuse. It just goes to show that when Potter isn't being terrorized and his work is being judged by an impartial party, his skill is quite remarkable." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder, Severus, what I might discover should I examine Potter's past graded assignments for your class."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Honestly, woman! The way you kowtow to that boy and his friends is ridiculous and entirely inappropriate!"

McGonagall colored so darkly that a few of those present worried she might be having a heart attack.

"Rubbish!" declared an unusually annoyed Sprout. "Name one student to whom Minerva has ever showed favoritism, Severus. Do not blame her because your atrocious behavior toward Harry Potter hasn't caused him to crumble as you had so desperately hoped."

Snape raised an eyebrow, stunned that the normally placid woman had dared to speak to him in such a manner.

Sprout nodded, her gaze becoming rather vicious.

"We've all been watching you these past five years, Severus, and the only reason we haven't interfered is at Dumbledore's insistence."

She paused and narrowed her eyes. "However, if you continue antagonizing that boy, action will be taken. I have grown extremely tired of your obnoxious arrogance where Potter and his friends, particularly Neville Longbottom, are concerned. Merlin knows how many potential Potions Masters have turned to other fields because of your tactics, not to mention how many talented students also refrain from further studying Herbology due to the close nature of our specialties."

She slammed a closed fist down on her the palm of her free hand. "I refuse to suffer this anymore! You blame a child for the actions of the father he never knew! Grow up, Mister Snape, and either learn to do your job or I will bypass Albus altogether and take my complaints directly to the Board, as I should have done years ago!"

Flitwick, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were all shocked by the outburst, but Sprout simply pursed her lips and indicated the Headmaster should continue.

"Yes," the dumbfounded man softly began, realizing he had made several errors in judgment, "well...yes. Thank you for your assessment, Pomona. Unfortunately, you are correct.

"Severus, I have been quite lenient with regard to your treatment of Harry, but that time is now over. If the Board does become involved and insists on an audit of past and present students, you must realize there is very little I will be able to do. Even my influence has limits.

"Indeed, it will soon again be time for Hogwarts to undergo the credentialing process and an international panel of evaluators will be installed to observe us. Therefore, it is advisable that you begin to treat Harry with the same loathing you have for all your students. Do not show him special treatment by any means, but no more will you actively engage in provoking him. Is that understood?"

The final sentence was posed in a tone so chilling, all those present were taken aback.

Severus said nothing, but his silence indicated compliance. He knew that while Dumbledore ran the school as he saw fit, he did have people to whom he must answer, and there were already a number of complaints on file against himself and the Headmaster. If an audit was ordered and Snape declared inept, Dumbledore might go down with him, and then Voldemort would have free rein over Hogwarts.

"Is that all?" McGonagall asked in her clipped tone.

"No," an annoyed Dumbledore replied. "The scores for Muggle Studies once again declined and the results for Divination, with one exception, were absolutely abysmal."

McGonagall and Snape both snorted. When it came to the subject of Divination and its teacher, Sybill Trelawney, they were in complete agreement.

The Headmaster indicated his wish for patience. "I am well aware of Sybill's reputation, both amongst the students and the faculty. Nevertheless, I have reasons for maintaining her position, which do include some prophecies she has made which have proven valid. However, Pomona's point about Severus' attitude toward his students also applies to Sybill."

McGonagall and Flitwick nodded. Snape was appalled that he could possibly have anything in common with that charlatan.

"We will never know how many potential Seers have rejected their callings because of Sybill's penchant for melodrama," Albus continued. "Hopefully the addition of Firenze will begin to counterbalance that. Similarly, the problem with Muggle Studies needs to be addressed, and rather quickly, as Professor Burbage has been insisting these past some years. As the Pureblood lines continue to thin, more and more of our matriculating students are Muggleborn and it is time we more closely examined their difficulties in adjusting to our world."

Minerva grunted. "This meeting is only a formality. You've already decided upon a course of action, correct?"

His eyes twinkled. The others sighed.

Harry Potter rose with the sun.

Dressing quickly, his eyes roamed over his small room, ensuring that everything of value had been packed the night before and locked away lest those whom others insisted were his family felt particularly nosy this day.

Hedwig was away, hopefully either at Hogwarts or the Burrow; Harry was rather rueful that he had no idea where his owl preferred to spend her time alone. He resolved to make more of an effort to understand his familiar. He owed her at least that much.

He was startled by a sudden insistent pecking at his window. Throwing an annoyed glance over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the blazing orange eyes of a rather official-looking owl glaring back at him. He trotted over and threw open the sash, but the bird did little more than sit on the sill and demand Harry relieve it of the post.

"My OWLs," he whispered.

He quickly detached the letter and offered the owl one of Hedwig's treats, which prompted the bird to look at him with suspicion and then dawning respect. It refused the treat but clucked at Harry with approval before flying away.

"Guess the Ministry doesn't want their owls taking food from other people," Harry mused. "Probably a good thing."

He looked down at the envelope in his hand and was suddenly wary. This would determine his opportunities for the future, providing he actually had a future beyond Hogwarts, or even beyond this coming term. Grimacing, he sighed and decided he could wait until later to learn his fate. Perhaps he would ask Luna to read him his scores. At least then he wouldn't have to suffer in solitude.

Harry quickly made his bed and secured the locks on his trunk. He quietly exited the room and made his way across the hall to the upstairs bathroom. His only opportunity to bathe was while the Dursleys slept. With luck, he could complete his morning ablutions and be out the door before his porcine cousin Dudley was awakened by his breakfast cravings.

Surprised and a little giddy at his success, Harry didn't even bother to leave a note explaining his absence. He knew they wouldn't care; they were barely tolerating him as it was, despite his efforts to avoid them completely. Already they were dreading his return next summer. That dread was a better parting gift than anything else Harry could possibly offer.

Smirking, he exited the house and raced out toward the curb. He held out his wand and, before he could blink, that familiar whoosh of air signaled the arrival of the Knight Bus.

"Why it's 'Arry Potter, it is!" the driver crowed upon seeing the famous scar peeking through the fringe of black mop.

"Hullo," Harry said in a low voice. "I gather Stan is still in Azkaban?"

"Aye," the man grimly answered. "That troll Umbridge had him arrested and Fudge was too far up her wide arse to bother investigating the charges. If he had, he'd have known that Stan is no Death Eater! The man is barely able to put on his shoes!"

Harry sighed inwardly. In the panic surrounding Voldemort's alleged return, the Ministry of Magic was rounding up hapless citizens on the say-so of anonymous tips and the murmurings of those who should be suspect. He hated to think of the hell someone like Stan Shunpike must be unjustly enduring in Azkaban. It only further resolved Harry to end this madness as soon as possible, before the persecutions turned to murders in the ensuing hysteria.

"Where to, Master 'Arry?" the driver queried.

"Diagon Alley."

"Right, then. Off we go!"

Harry chose a seat and threw a glance over his shoulder, nodding to a doddering old woman with violet hair and suspiciously familiar green eyes.

Tonks seemed incredibly put out that he had so easily discerned her ruse and Harry suppressed his smirk.

The bus tore off toward London and Harry briefly wondered if traveling by Knight Bus was any worse than traveling by portkey. Each sensation left him queasy and slightly sick.

As he wasn't meeting Luna until midday, he decided to tour Diagon Alley thoroughly, though he remained conscious of his friendly second shadow. It had been a while since he was allowed to explore unencumbered the wares of the best stores in wizarding Britain.

The Weasleys would be taking him and Hermione to the Alley prior to the start of the term in order to procure that year's supplies, but Harry wanted the opportunity for a little freedom between leaving his literal prison for a figurative one. Besides, perhaps he might stumble across something which would aid him in his newfound decision to get a life.

Harry watched impassively as the Bus tore down Charing Cross Road and came to a screeching halt before the Leaky Cauldron.

"Diagon Alley!" the driver called.

Harry sighed and hauled himself to his feet, making sure to thank the driver before exiting the bus.

He might have to face Voldemort, but he would do it, finally, on his own terms.

Luna Lovegood was happy. Of course, she usually was.

Even on this day, the sixth anniversary of her mother's death, she was happy, because her mother had long ago revealed to her the secret of contentment. Happiness wasn't something which one could demand or expect. It didn't seek you out and it wasn't a reward for good behavior or a job well done.

People were happy because they chose to be. It really was just that simple.

Most people didn't understand that, and Luna felt truly sorry for them. They were so wrapped up in the drudgery of mundane life, too busy existing rather than living, that the subtle mysteries of the world slipped past their notice.

She admired people like Hermione Granger who were so dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, an admirable and worthy goal, but at the same time, Luna mourned for the Gryffindor girl who believed only in what books told her. She knew that Hermione had a well-developed sense of intuition, but it often went ignored in the face of logic and reason. That was such a shame.

Luna had realized a while ago that there were just too many unexplainable phenomena in the world, and wasn't it sad that people were so close-minded that they neglected these things? It must be terribly boring.

Then there were those like Ronald Weasley, genuinely kind and decent people who, for some reason, were simply unwilling to look past their visceral needs and desires. Ronald was a nice boy, but too easily trapped by irrationality and temper. He felt as if the world owed him simply because he demanded it did.

Not that selfishness was a bad thing in and of itself. Everyone was selfish to some degree, and it often inspired greatness, fueling the drive to confront and overcome those who sought to oppress others. People were often more willing to sacrifice and give of themselves when a friend or loved one was in peril, and the same held true for Ronald Weasley.

Still, his problem, as Luna saw it, was not lack of ambition, but one of laziness. He wanted so many things, but was unwilling to work for them. He wanted to be Harry Potter's best friend, but when the tide of public opinion would turn against Harry, so would Ronald. When Harry received something Ron himself wanted, he became sullen and jealous. When he did achieve something of note, he became pompous and arrogant. The Prefect position was a good example.

Luna knew that Ronald had neither the grades nor the leadership skills such a job demanded, and she knew Ronald was aware of this as well. She was also quite sure that the job had originally been intended for Harry, but either he had bypassed it and encouraged the Headmaster to give it instead to Ronald, or Dumbledore hadn't offered it, dismissing it as a distraction.

Ron was perfectly willing to ride the coattails of his friends and older brothers when it suited, but took offense when someone called him on it. Well, that was just ridiculous. He should and would have been expelled from Hogwarts were it not for Harry and Hermione. Not that Ronald was stupid; quite the contrary, actually. He was simply one of those people who required constant attention and goading in order for him to take an interest in even the most important things, but then resented it when he was forced to comply. Silly, really.

Ronald and Hermione were good people, Luna knew, and good friends, but they didn't truly understand what a life like Harry's entailed. They relied too much on the advice and approval of others, when it was inefficient to do so. There were times which called for instinct, for proactive and reactive responses, and Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were either unable or unwilling to think outside the proverbial box.

Harry was, however, and so was Luna. Therefore, she had decided they would make a good team.

Not that she intended to replace either Hermione or Ronald, of course, but merely to compensate for the areas in which they were severely lacking. Each had problems with trust, each indulged in spitefulness and envy, and while Luna had no doubt that each would give their lives for Harry, they rarely stopped to consider how their personalities affected their best friend. Harry needed their support, not their approval; he needed their friendship, not conditional toleration; he needed to believe that he had friends who were willing to listen to him and not beg off when his thoughts became too maudlin or discomforting.

Neither Ronald nor Hermione knew what it was to lose a parent. Luna hoped they never would, though she knew that was unlikely. Circumstances dictated in part one's outlook on life, and Ronald and Hermione simply didn't understand Harry's approach. Neither one had a prophecy hanging over their heads.

Luna paused in her thoughts and made a mental note to discuss with Harry that prophecy. She thought it purposefully vague and severely unhelpful. Of course, that it had been spoken by Trelawney probably had a lot to do with that.

She frowned. Trelawney had her talents, but they were not without flaw, and her Divination course was a lot of malarkey. If the woman truly knew how to read a Tarot deck, Luna would eat her roaring lion hat, though doing so would of course require mustard. Perhaps a spot of fennel, as well.

She sighed. Perhaps she was judging Ronald and Hermione too harshly, or possibly she was allowing their judgments and dismissals of her to color her perceptions. She didn't expect them to be perfect, of course, but she did believe Harry had the right to demand more of them as the friends they claimed to be. He was far too noble for his own good and had been all but abandoned by those who were supposed to protect and assist him.

Like Dumbledore.

Perhaps she had been remiss in confiding her own doubts of the man to Harry, but she truly didn't think so. Instead she believed she had merely voiced Harry's own suspicions and that he was happy to know he wasn't alone in having them.

Truly, why had Death Eaters been allowed access to Hogwarts? The wards should have kept them out. How had an illegal portkey slipped beneath the notice of so many accomplished professors? How was someone thought to be dead able to impersonate a retired Auror for almost an entire year?

There were too many things which didn't make sense and for which no one was providing acceptable answers. Maybe it was time to ask her father to step up the investigative journalism side of The Quibbler and focus the lens firmly on what was not being said.

Luna had enjoyed being part of Harry's illicit defense organization and was cemented in her belief that she had chosen the right side. Said side was not about light or dark, or good versus evil, for such things could not be qualified as easily as people insisted they should be.

She had chosen Harry and had never regretted it. Being back in the Ministry, however, had been painful and had forced her to confront things which she believed to have been dealt with long ago. That had not been the case, however, but she had become too invested in Harry to look back.

So she would help Harry stay alive and to have better relationships with his friends.

She would teach him to choose happiness for himself because he deserved it.

Oh, and she would help Harry defeat Voldemort, of course. The man really was quite a nuisance.

Harry blew through the pub and nodded a hello to Tom before exiting the back and tapping the pattern of bricks which would open the portal into the Alley.

He could sense Tonks behind him and resisted the impulse to turn around and wave at her again. He gathered there were other Aurors already stationed throughout the shopping district and he decided to make a game out of recognizing them and, if possible, making them work hard for their galleons.

He immediately set off for Gringotts Wizarding Bank, which shone like a beacon in the middle of the Alley.

He strode toward it with purpose and hoped his short legs pumped hard enough that Tonks had to struggle to keep up with him. He then felt malicious and guilty for attempting to put the Auror through her paces.

It wasn't as if Tonks had ever done anything to him, but he now found himself questioning how much of her friendly attitude toward him was genuine and how much was orchestrated by Dumbledore to compel him to trust her. Not that he distrusted her, necessarily, but Harry understood that her loyalty to the Headmaster superseded whatever affection she might have felt for him.

He threw open the door to the bank and nervously looked around. This was the first time he had come to Gringotts on his own to withdraw from his vault. He usually had either a faculty member or one of the Weasleys with him, or else Dumbledore had arranged for a transfer. Now, however, Harry was determined to understand his finances and plan accordingly.

"Harry!"

He turned to his left and a huge smile overtook his face as he caught sight of Bill Weasley strolling toward him.

Harry allowed himself to fantasize just for a moment. Bill's gloriously wavy copper hair was tied back into a neat ponytail. The obligatory snake fang earring - which, as far as Harry was concerned, was the epitome of coolness - was on display. The tall, tanned, and lithe body in snug clothes overlaid with an open robe which hinted at well-defined pectoral muscles and...

"Are you okay, Harry?" Bill asked, concern etched on his face. Seeing the flush, he brought a hand to the boy's forehead, wincing when Harry shivered. "Are you well?"

"Oh!" Harry squeaked. "Er, yeah, I'm fine. It's getting warm outside, you know."

Bill nodded but didn't appear quite convinced. "I was surprised to receive your letter last night." He decided to refrain from informing Harry that Dobby had interrupted he and Fleur at a most unwelcome moment. "Have you seen the twins yet?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but I'll probably pop over after I'm done here." He hesitated a moment and then dropped his eyes. "How are Ron and Ginny?"

"Worried," Bill admitted. "Especially Ron." He sighed. "Harry, I know you're not trying to be cruel, but it's been weeks since the end of last term and neither Ron nor Hermione has heard anything from you. They're desperately afraid you're going to do something...unhealthy. Ginny keeps advising them to leave you alone and allow you time, but..."

Harry sighed. "I know. And no, I'm not trying to be cruel." He blinked furiously. "I just...I need time to get my head together, to figure out how I'm going to move forward."

Bill gave him an inscrutable gaze before offering a brief nod. "I think you're coping remarkably well. It's always surprised me how easily others dismiss you despite all you've done. Don't worry, Harry. I won't say anything to anyone."

"Thank you," Harry whispered. He cleared his throat. "And Fleur? How is she?"

It was then Bill's turn to blush and for Harry to smirk. "She's well."

"Your parents? And, er, Charlie?"

Bill kept his face a blank as he finally recognized Harry's blush for what it was.

So, Charlie, was it? Well, he wasn't that surprised. The dragon thing seemed to fascinate everyone. It should certainly prove interesting if anything developed, given their age difference. In fact, Bill could hardly wait for his mother to offer her opinion on the matter, which she would do loudly and frequently. Finally, something which might deflect her attention from he and Fleur.

"All fine. Now, what can we help you with today?"

Harry launched into his list of requests.

Hermione danced around her room, clutching her scores in her hand yet terrified of opening them. What if they were good? What if they were bad? What if they were significantly better than those of Harry and Ron? Would they act differently around her? Despise her? She thought she might prefer that to quiet, seething hostility.

No. Rubbish. She knew both were proud of her grades and would continue to be. She was more nervous that Harry had done better than Ron, for Harry was the one person over whom Ron was continually jealous. For all their sakes, she hoped Ron had done well. Squaring her shoulders and hitching her breath, Hermione tore open the envelope and began to read.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Hermione Jane Granger has received:

Ancient Runes ... (O)
Arithmancy ... (O/O)
Astronomy ... (O/O)
Care of Magical Creatures ... (O/O)
Charms ... (O/O)
Defense Against the Dark Arts ... (O/O)
Herbology ... (O/O)
History of Magic ... (O)
Muggle Studies ... (O)
Potions ... (O/O)
Transfiguration ... (O/O)

Total OWLs Earned: 19

Please note that there are varying determining factors in computing the final scores, not limited to but including raw magical power, strength of performance, length of spellcasting, and others. Those course which have both Theory and Practical portions have been assigned a score for each.

Special Notes:

Congratulations, Hermione Granger! You have received perfect scores and more OWLs than any previous witch or wizard at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, save Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You are hereby awarded the Governors' Award for Academic Excellence for your meritorious achievements! Information regarding the award ceremony will be delivered by owl at a later date.

Class Standings:

1. Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)
2. Padma Patil (Ravenclaw)
3. Harry Potter (Gryffindor)
4. Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin)
5. Lisa Turpin (Ravenclaw)
6. Susan Bones (Hufflepuff)

7. Blaise Zabini (Slytherin)

8. Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff)
9. Seamus Finnigan (Gryffindor)
10. Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor)

Hermione collapsed on the edge of her bed, staring dumbly at the parchment in her hand. Nineteen OWLs. More than anyone in the history of the school save Dumbledore. Governor's Award. First in the class.

She suddenly realized she wasn't breathing and forced her lungs to inhale steadily until her respirations began to even. She then reread the letter.

Merlin! Harry was third in the class! Ron was tenth! This was wonderful! Even Ron could find no fault with these rankings.

Padma was a given. Not for the first time, Hermione wished she could trade in Parvati for her twin.

She really knew nothing about Daphne Greengrass other than that the girl had black hair, the exact shade as that of Harry, and startling aquamarine eyes. Greengrass was often seen in the company of her fellow Slytherins Tracey Davis and Lily Moon. She had never seen Daphne associate with Malfoy and his crowd, but appeared to be at least friendly with Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode. Her best subjects were purported to be History, Astronomy, and Arithmancy.

Hermione knew even less about Lisa Turpin. The girl had straight brown hair with bangs, dark brown eyes, and glasses. She was rarely seen outside of classes and meals in the Great Hall. When she wasn't alone, she kept company with Mandy Brocklehurst, also in Ravenclaw. Hermione had heard Lisa was a prodigy in Care of Magical Creatures and that Terry Boot had been trying to get her to notice him since third year.

She had expected Susan to make the Top Ten. The pride of her Hufflepuff class, Susan was outgoing and buoyant. A strawberry blond with piercing blue eyes, she was a well-rounded student who excelled in every class, but particularly Defense and Transfiguration. Based on that alone, Hermione was very surprised that Susan and Harry weren't better friends, though she had seen them talking on a few occasions. She also knew that Susan was one of the few Hufflepuffs to stand up for Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, even having a row over it with best friend Hannah Abbott.

Blaise was almost as unknown as Daphne Greengrass, though his mother was infamous. A swarthy Italian with light green eyes, he appeared to be the lone wolf of Slytherin House. He kept to himself and was very driven in his studies. When he was seen socializing, it was with Daphne Greengrass or Anthony Goldstein, of Ravenclaw. As she had a few classes with Blaise, Hermione could say without a doubt that he was one of the most natural potion makers she had ever seen.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was a wealthy Muggleborn with navy eyes and curly blond hair which looked spun from gold. He was quite intelligent and did well in all subjects, much like Susan Bones, though he also had a penchant for gossip and was exceedingly naive. He was always the first to believe any rumor as fact, which often led to awkward situations and numerous apologies. Like her, he had been petrified by the basilisk in their second year.

Justin was also openly gay and being chased by Zacharias Smith. Hermione had heard from Ernie MacMillan, a pompous Hufflepuff who believed himself more intelligent than anyone else, that Smith was given his own room in the dorms because he was constantly harassing Justin. She could well believe that of Smith, who was perhaps even more arrogant than Draco Malfoy. Smith claimed to be directly descended from Helga Hufflepuff and thus felt the entire house should follow his whims.

She was absolutely thrilled that Smith had failed to make the Top Ten. She fully expected him to lodge a formal complaint and then gripe to anyone who would listen that he was either incorrectly scored or that the exams were biased towards the stupid. It drove him nuts that she always bested him and she took malicious glee in that fact. His shenanigans at the DA meetings last year had endeared him to no one and she was fairly certain that if Harry continued the club this year, he would ban Smith from participating.

Most of what went on in Hufflepuff stayed within Hufflepuff, but Ernie, who could never keep his mouth shut about anything and seemed to think she was his confidante, had blabbed to her that Smith had been smugly pleased by Cedric Diggory's death and expected to be named the new king of the House. When he had the audacity to announce this in their common room, Susan Bones had beaten him to within an inch of his life. It had taken four seventh year boys to pull her off him and Pomfrey had spent the entire night tending to Smith's injuries. According to Ernie, when Pomfrey was told why Smith was in her care, she became very conservative with her pain-relieving potions.

At least Ernie had enough sense not to repeat that story to Harry, for had Harry learned of what Smith had said, he might have just killed the tosser. She knew that Harry would never get over Cedric's death, and she thought it reprehensible that no one on the faculty had thought to get him counseling. After all, he had witnessed his friend and fellow student murdered right in front of him! She had sent a letter to Dumbledore suggesting that he look into Harry seeing a Mind Healer, but had received no response.

It was Harry and a few Hufflepuffs, led by Susan, who kept Cedric's memory alive at Hogwarts.

She was absolutely stunned by Seamus' standing. She was unable to reconcile the idea that the loud, mouthy, fun-loving boy she knew could have any academic ambition at all. Of course, she never really spoke with Seamus and thus had no idea what scores he earned in their classes. She didn't know his favorite class or professor. What she did know what that his best friend was Dean Thomas, he loved Quidditch, had a penchant for rum, and relentlessly chased Lavender Brown.

Seamus was absolutely adorable and thoroughly charming, though he had been an obnoxious git last year. Harry, however, had discouraged both her and Ron from returning Seamus' cruelty. Harry understood that Seamus, a fellow half-blood, was terrified by Voldemort's return. Seamus' mother was a blood traitor and his father a Muggle. The Finnigan family was likely to be near the top of the list of Death Eater targets, and Harry didn't begrudge Seamus his justifiable fears.

Seamus and Lavender were dear friends who flirted constantly but never took things further than a few kisses. It was common knowledge that Seamus was somewhat of a lothario who had lost his virginity in his third year to a sixth year Hufflepuff. He was also not discriminating in his choice of partners. He had dated Parvati Patil and then Stephen Cornfoot for a time in their fourth year. Last year, Seamus had an affair with Justin Finch-Fletchley and then got together with Morag McDougal. By the end of the year, he had moved on to Roger Davies, who was far more invested in their alleged relationship than Seamus appeared to be.

Seamus was a serial monogamist who was rarely unattached, though his attachments didn't last for any significant length of time. Hermione had even seen him cozying up to the Weasley twins on more than one occasion, and she had never seen them turn Seamus away. She wasn't sure what that meant and was pretty sure she didn't want to know.

She was waiting for the day Seamus made a play for Harry, if only to see how awkward Harry would be.

She was ecstatic that Ron had finished tenth but wasn't quite sure how he had managed it. Certainly Ron was intelligent, but he was also lazy and only studied when absolutely necessary. He was abysmal in Potions and not simply because Snape bullied him; he just had no natural aptitude for the subject. Harry did, but Snape would never condescend to grade him fairly. Ron was decent at Charms, slightly better in Transfiguration, excelled in Care of Magical Creatures, often fell asleep in Astronomy, completely ignored History, and was one of the top Defense students. She knew he made up his answers for Divination homework.

She gave a mild shrug. She could only assume their group revisions had served Ron well.

She then began to panic.

She was already openly shunned by many of her fellow students, albeit not those in Gryffindor House, but most were hostile toward her because of her high grades. She knew that once the number of OWLs she had received, more than any other student in the school's history save one, was made known, the scorn would be even worse.

Of course, that disdain stemmed mostly from Ravenclaws and boys from all houses, all of whom thought they should be at the top of the heap. Still, Hermione had enough sense to know there was no purpose in concealing her abilities. She was proud of them and wasn't about to surrender them simply because they made others spiteful, especially Draco Malfoy.

She was slightly insecure, however, because she knew that her record could easily be beaten this coming year by Luna Lovegood. The only reason Luna hadn't before met or surpassed Hermione as the best student in the school was simply because Luna was uncaring about her academic performance and took less classes than Hermione herself.

While Hermione had to work for her grades, magic, both theory and practical, came quite easily to Luna, and Hermione suspected this was the true cause of most of her resentment toward the younger girl. She knew it was childish and petty but was unable to move beyond it, which left her feeling frustrated and guilty.

Too, Hermione knew that Harry had the ability to move beyond both she and Luna when it came to scores. She was so proud of him for ranking third in the class, but she knew he could do much better. She knew he could have beaten her, and the only reason he hadn't was because he had slacked off in classes for years and his revisions weren't very comprehensive. Not that he didn't have mitigating circumstances for slacking off, of course, but still.

The reason so many people insisted Harry Potter was one of the most powerful wizards in Britain was because it was true. She had seen enough of it that it could not be dismissed as either rumor or propaganda. However, when it came to schoolwork, Harry simply couldn't be bothered to apply himself, only doing the minimum amount of work to scrape by. She constantly harped on him about it and didn't apologize when he accused her of being like Snape, for this was one issue on which Hermione didn't mind being compared with the Potions professor. There truly was no limit to what Harry could accomplish if he put his mind to it.

He would excel brilliantly in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Harry was incredibly logical and, once the rules were explained, could put pieces together faster than anyone, including herself. On the one hand, anyone not living up to their potential annoyed her greatly; but on the other, in a deep part of her subconscious of which she was ashamed, she secretly delighted that she was able to beat Harry at something.

It troubled because it meant she was no better than Ron when it came to competing with Harry, even though Harry remained in the dark about what sometimes motivated Hermione to push herself so hard in her studies.

She often wondered why Harry held back so much. Sometimes she attributed it to his fear of failure or being indirectly responsible for hurting someone for whom he cared. At other times, she believed that he restrained himself so that those around him could find their own personal success.

After the years he spent as the Dursleys' slave gardener, Harry was only slightly less talented in Herbology than Neville Longbottom, and Professor Sprout liked Harry immensely. Still, he shied away and let Neville shine, because Harry understood Neville needed it more than him.

Hermione had been frankly astonished when Ron was made Prefect and later she endlessly wondered if it was because Harry had turned it down. Harry had denied her accusations fervently, but she had sensed he was holding something back. She wouldn't have put it past Dumbledore to give Ron something to call his own at Harry's expense. Every single Gryffindor in her year, as well as several above and below, had come to her last year to ask why Ron was Prefect and not Harry. She couldn't tell them because she didn't know.

And then there was Quidditch last year. Harry had pushed for Ron to be given a spot on the team and Ron had turned out to be a dreadful player until Harry was banned from the sport. Once free from Harry's shadow, Ron crawled out from beneath it and carved a niche for himself. Harry had said nothing, but Hermione had seen his eyes ringed with both pride and sadness. Harry never spoke of Ron's jealousy of him, but she knew it wounded him deeply. Harry had long ago decided that Ron's happiness was more important than his own.

That made Hermione very, very angry.

There were times that Hermione believed Harry was terrified he would succeed and defeat Voldemort. What would become of the Boy Who Lived to Triumph? And how many lives would be lost or irrevocably altered in the process? How much more could Harry be pushed before he finally snapped?

She had to pack. She had to get to Ron so they could start planning on how to deal with their best friend.

Almost three hours later, Harry had left the bank and a shell-shocked and furious Bill Weasley, to try and begin to process what he had learned. He finally decided to wait and unpack it later, as well as plan how much he would reveal and to whom he would entrust this information, even piecemeal. Especially Ron and Hermione.

He wandered about Diagon Alley to clear his head and considered it with newfound eyes. He hadn't explored the majority of the stores; he didn't even know most of their wares. He threw a surreptitious glance toward Knockturn Alley before dismissing it. He couldn't justify his curiosity, and if he ever found reason to venture down it's dark path, he would wait for an escort. Of course, he was sure that had he made for the path, Tonks or another Auror would have stood in his way. He sighed.

He then halted, breathed deeply, and tried to remember his first visit here with Hagrid, when the wizarding world had been just revealed to him, heralding an unimaginable future and the belief that he might soon have a life which ceased to suck. Hagrid had given him Hedwig, his first ever birthday present, and that day Harry had made two new friends. He had also met Draco Malfoy.

Harry began moving again, but his mind was firmly clamped around the vision of an eleven-year-old peroxide blond who now arrested his thoughts.

Sometimes Harry wondered what his life would have become if he had taken Malfoy's hand that day on the Express. Would he have been able to maintain his friendship with Ron while forging something new with Draco?

He supposed the answer was no, for he had come to know both boys too well. Ron would never have stayed at his side had Harry made any attempt to befriend Draco - or any Slytherin, for that matter - for the blond's cutting insults and vicious behavior were more than almost anyone, other than a Slytherin, could bear. As for Draco, Harry knew how his rival reveled in the power of manipulation. He would have subtly but constantly discouraged Harry's friendships with Ron and Hermione, and isolated him to the point where he would have had no one but Draco on whom to rely. He shuddered at the thought.

Still, at other times, Harry honestly felt sorry for Draco. As far as he could discern, the little ferret had been given a raw deal in the parental department. Lucius was nothing but a bastard, and Narcissa, though Harry had only briefly met her once seemed more concerned about appearances than her child. Of course, appearances could often be deceiving.

He wondered which was worse: having no parents or having Draco's parents. He thought about that as he made a circuitous route around Diagon Alley, window shopping all the while.

That notion soon segued into another: was Draco his miserable self because of conditioning or because he was just inherently an insufferable brat? How much of his behavior was his attempt at becoming a carbon copy of Lucius, and how much was Draco simply following instinct? There were times where Harry was positive he saw Draco thinking hard about the consequences of his actions but taking the expected route anyway. Were that true, Draco was weaker than Harry had previously considered.

He had spent a lot of the past six years thinking about Draco Malfoy. Some of his friends considered it an obsession, but his and Draco's adversarial relationship couldn't be so easily qualified. It was difficult not to consider someone who made it their personal mission to destroy you. Every time Harry turned around, Draco was in his face, making snide comments about his appearance, his parents, and his friends, particularly Hermione. Harry understood that part of the vitriol Draco reserved for Hermione was because she bested him in every class, and Draco was nothing if not proud of his alleged intelligence.

Harry snickered. "If only he'd use his powers for Good."

Still, did Draco have any more viable choices in his life than Harry himself had? Draco was raised to be a Death Eater and a proud Slytherin. He was bred to be cunning, cold, and calculating; by all accounts, he had succeeded brilliantly. He believed himself better than everyone because he had been told from birth that it was true, so it was partially understandable that, when confronted with someone like Hermione, who clearly was smarter, Draco would become enraged.

And then there was Draco's relationship with Ron. It would be comical if it wasn't so violent. While Harry didn't have a problem defending himself either verbally or physically, Ron always reduced his every interaction with Draco to fisticuffs. Ron had grown considerably since first year and now towered over both Harry and Draco; years of Quidditch training with his brothers and then making the house team had lent solid muscles to Ron's once lanky frame.

"Don't think about Ron's muscles!" he chastised himself.

Ron had grown into a young man who was very physically intimidating and, while Ron had yet to fully assimilate that fact, he nevertheless resorted to brawling when he or his were threatened. It scared Draco, because the boy knew he would be helpless in a physical fight. Hell, Draco nearly wet his pants and sobbed when Hermione had slugged him, a hit with Harry and Ron had quickly deemed The Punch Felt Round the World.

Hermione and Ron, just by the virtue of being themselves, had deepened the hatred Draco felt for them, which had blossomed simply because of their connection to Harry. It was stupid and selfish and immature, but Draco Malfoy was all those things. Harry questioned what would happen to Draco if and when he was confronted with the decision of being his father's man or his own.

Either way, he had yet another reason to dread the start of the coming term.

Hermione sat alone on her parents' sofa - she no longer felt as if her childhood home was truly hers - waiting for her escort and contemplating things. She was both excited by and tremulous at her impending reunion with Ron, and soon with Harry, and her guts twisted in a knot at being confronted with Molly Weasley's open hostility, which was only marginally better than Ginny's passive-aggressive stance on All Things and People Concerned with Harry Potter.

She sighed.

She had already completed all of her summer homework and there was little to do until the Weasleys took them to Diagon Alley for their supplies. She already had procured, and read through, next year's texts. Therefore, she was looking not so forward to six weeks of uncomfortable chatter mixed with equally uncomfortable silences.

Hermione had determined, however, that once she arrived at the Burrow, she was going to make a beeline toward Ron and settle things once and for all: her feelings for him, his for her, and their feelings for Harry. As the latter wasn't due to arrive for almost a month, Hermione figured she had a solid week to confront and then settle Ron on the important issues, hopefully skirting Molly's iciness, Ginny's stares, and the twins' pranks. Then she would have at least three weeks to break down Ron's defenses.

The real question was how was she to approach Ron so that he didn't immediately blow his top or didn't retreat inside his mind and withdraw? Sometimes Hermione wondered if Ron had learned that little tactic from Harry.

Harry.

She saw his green eyes in her mind's own.

How could anything that startling shade of green exist in nature? Everyone likened them to emeralds, but that wasn't true at all. They were like jewels, but Harry's eyes were the color of Russian diopside - a translucent dark green that was cool and remote. Threads of peridot were visible in the irises if Harry allowed you close enough to see. His eyes took in everything: every person in the room, every step on the staircase, every book on the shelf.

Harry was perhaps the most observant person she had ever known, but he often didn't speak of what it was he saw. She now wondered just what that was.

She felt silly, sitting there daydreaming about Harry's eyes, knowing that everyone fawned over said eyes while Harry himself thought they were nothing special.

His mother's eyes. That's what everyone in the wizarding world had told Harry; he looked exactly like his father, except for his eyes, which were the legacy of his mother, Lily.

Poor Harry. How could he hope to become his own person when his mere presence reminded people of his long-dead parents?

Harry was like a living, breathing echo of two of the wizarding world's most beloved heroes, and all of the adoration and affection and expectation once ascribed to James and Lily Potter had been foisted onto their only child. And Harry was still a child, despite all of his accomplishments and the hormones running amok amongst all of them. He was curious mixture of innocent and ancient, naive about so many things, but also incredibly world weary.

The rest of Harry appeared in her mind. A jaw so strong and defined that she was sure it could shatter buildings; lips thin yet preposterously voluptuous; hair that was so wild, it grew in tufts rather than centimeters.

She had touched that hair a few times, accidentally, and had allowed her fingers to hesitate just a fraction longer than necessary. She was amazed at how soft it was, at its thickness, and all she wanted to do was run her fingers lazily through it until he, she, or both of them purred with contentment.

Harry was still ridiculously thin and, while he had a few growth spurts since she had known him, he was quite short compared to their classmates. Hermione suspected this had more to do with Harry enduring malnutrition at the hands of his vulture relatives than any genetic predisposition. It wasn't enough for them to starve his soul, they also had starved his body. She wondered if he would ever attain the stature he was owed. Five years of Quidditch had transformed Harry's scrawny frame into one which was wiry and roped with lean muscle, but still quite slight.

Hermione barely stopped herself from drooling at the thought of Harry's powerful thighs, about the way they gripped a broom, perhaps indicating how they might grip a woman. She shuddered and exhaled deeply.

Harry exuded more presence than people much taller than he. When he walked into a room, people literally stopped everything, even breathing, to notice. It wasn't just the legend of the Boy Who Lived or that he was the Potter heir. It was something inherent in him, something magnetic which drew people's attention like moths to flame. He was arresting.

Ron was just as potent, but in different ways. He had the height for which Harry longed, sprouting to over six feet last year. He was also thin, but unlike Harry, Ron was slender and not slight. His blue eyes were just as remarkable as Harry's green, especially with that shock of carroty red hair which adorned his head.

While Harry sought to hide himself from his throng of fans, Ron tried desperately to free himself from the reality of his family. He wanted to be Ron, not simply another Weasley. Not that Ron was ashamed of his family, of course, it was just that he wanted to carve out his own identity. Only too late Ron had realized that he had emerged from one shadow only to step into that of one which loomed far greater.

Still, Hermione realized, that was a choice Ron had made, and he must obviously have felt a great deal toward Harry to have stayed at his side these past six years, so she didn't waste time feeling sorry for him.

The only person other than she who seemed to have such effect on Ron and Harry was Draco Malfoy.

Unlike the two former, the latter was all too aware of his beauty. Hermione was not so far gone that she was unable to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Malfoy was better looking than he had a right to be. However, he was not without his flaws. Hermione had offered, and her female friends had agreed, that Malfoy's chin was too pointed and his face too pinched, lending him that skeevy inbred look all too common amongst many Purebloods.

Yet Malfoy's silky platinum hair managed to soften his otherwise sharp features, lending him an almost elfin quality. Hermione posited that this was due to his Veela heritage, however slight. Although, whereas Veela tended to engender sexual desire in all those who cross their paths, Malfoy was instead gifted with a bizarre charisma which made people take notice of him.

At times, Hermione believed that Malfoy and Harry fought each other a little too much. Everyone had their rivalries, but the two boys had an unnatural - and rather unsettling - need to interfere with each other as much as possible. If Malfoy wasn't keeping tabs on Harry through his sycophants, than Harry was - via his Invisibility Cloak - obsessively stalking Malfoy, desperately trying to catch the boy in some convoluted scheme. It was as if they simply couldn't separate themselves. It was all rather unnerving.

It was tiring even to watch them. Hermione could only imagine the energy such a poisonous relationship had on its occupants.

Suddenly, an old Muggle phrase popped into her head: there's a thin line between love and hate.

She managed not to vomit, though it took considerable effort.

"You know," Ginny began, "the more you stare at it, the longer you're going to continue freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out!" Ron squealed, his baritone suddenly a tenor.

"Of course you're not," she murmured, patting his hand.

Molly kept a watchful eye on the two from the kitchen, a small smile on her face. She was just as anxious as Ron, but she would wait until he was ready to read his scores. She knew he was desperately worried that he was going to let down both her and his father, as well as being resigned to his belief that he would never do as well as his brothers. Percy's record spoke for itself, and both Charlie and Bill, who had become Head Boy, had exceeded even their own expectations.

Many people would have been surprised at how well the twins had done, but Molly hadn't been; she knew they were brilliant but merely had a different focus than their siblings. She had no doubt that Ginny would do very well next year; she was already ranked high in her class.

Molly understood that it was hardest for Ron, who had grown up in his brothers' shadows before finally receiving his letter, only to then become eclipsed by Harry. Still, she knew that was a choice Ron had made and, if he regretted it, which she doubted he did, he had only himself to blame. She was quite sure Harry had done well, but knew both them would be outshined by Hermione, which frankly was how it should be; the girl worked hard for her success.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Ginny exclaimed, "if you don't open them, I will!"

Ron sighed and passed her the envelope. She plucked it out of his fingers, gave him a quick look, and then ripped it open. She then proceeded to blank her face and draw out the suspense, making the occasional clucking sounds and raising her brows.

"Well?" he demanded.

She said nothing, wanting to make him suffer. It was her duty as his only sister.

"Ginny!" he roared.

"Hermione is ranked first in your class."

"Well of course she is," Ron said, inclining his head.

"Harry is third."

At this, Ron quirked an eyebrow. "Huh. I have to admit I'm somewhat surprised, but not too much. Harry always manages to pull it out at the last minute."

"Are you okay?" she quietly asked, trying to keep her annoyance in check. If her brother was going to be jealous of Harry, she had no time for it.

He looked at her. "I really am. I'm happy for him. Harry's...suffered. I don't begrudge him good marks, and if he could pull those off after all that's happened to him, he's earned them." He suddenly became overly defensive. "Besides, Harry Potter is not stupid."

Molly beamed with pride.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Well, it seems there's a new record in the Weasley family."

Ron groaned. "For what? Most classes failed? Least OWLs earned?"

"No," she said smugly, "most OWLs earned."

Ron blinked. "What?"

Molly gasped.

"You beat Percy, Ron. You got one more than him! Sixteen OWLs, Ronniekins!" she screeched, standing up and throwing herself into her brothers arms. "Sixteen!"

"You can't be serious!" he sputtered.

"Oh, I'm quite serious," she said nonchalantly, releasing him with little fanfare. "You also got the highest score on the practical for Divination. The highest score ever. In the history of the school. You're getting an award!"

He grabbed the parchment from her hand and began reading.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Ronald Bilius Weasley has received:

Astronomy ... (A/A)
Care of Magical Creatures ... (E/O)
Charms ... (A/E)
Defense Against the Dark Arts ... (O/O)
Divination ... (O/O)
Herbology ... (E/E)
History of Magic ... (P)
Potions ... (A/A)
Transfiguration ... (E/E)

Total OWLs Earned: 16

Please note that there are varying determining factors in computing the final scores, not limited to but including raw magical power, strength of performance, length of spellcasting, and others. Those course which have both Theory and Practical portions have been assigned a score for each.

Special Notes:

Congratulations, Ronald Weasley! Your exceptional score on the Divination practical portion of the OWL exam is the highest in Hogwarts History, and we are pleased to inform you that you have received the Eye of Horus, which has not been awarded for the past two centuries. Information regarding the award ceremony will be delivered by owl at a later date.

Class Standings:

1. Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)
2. Padma Patil (Ravenclaw)
3. Harry Potter (Gryffindor)
4. Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin)
5. Lisa Turpin (Ravenclaw)
6. Susan Bones (Hufflepuff)

7. Blaise Zabini (Slytherin)

8. Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff)
9. Seamus Finnigan (Gryffindor)
10. Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor)

"Not very many Os," Ron said quietly.

"So what!" Ginny exploded. "You got sixteen OWLs! You're getting an award! You're tenth in your class, Ron! Who cares about bloody Os? Stop being ignorant!"

"Well, my Potions score means I won't be able to become an Auror." He struggled with a curious mixture of disappointment and relief.

"And? Tell me, Ron, how much of you wanting to be an Auror is actually about wanting to be one, and how much is about you wanting to be with Harry?"

Ron's blush merely confirmed everything she had suspected, about the Auror thing and so much more. In an instant, she understood what five years of subtle hints had never been able to accomplish: Harry Potter had never been hers. She had thought that giving him his space and dating other boys to make him jealous would make him see that she was the girl for him, but now she knew that had been fantasy.

If he did indeed want a girl, it wasn't her, and if he wanted a Weasley, it was Ron.

She suppressed a sigh. Truthfully, she had always known Harry would end up with either Ron or Hermione; she just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Molly also raised an eyebrow at the nonverbal admission and stifled a sigh, realizing that the Trio was bound by just more than an impossibly strong friendship. Part of her was worried, of course, but it was tempered by an even greater and puzzling sense of peace. She gathered she could toss the preliminary wedding plans she had made for Harry and Ginny.

She then smirked. Or perhaps she could cross out her daughter's name and substitute that of her son. Either way, a Potter-Weasley wedding would be welcome.

"Maybe Harry doesn't even want to be an Auror anymore," Ginny said softly. "That night in the Ministry probably changed a lot of things for him."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

Molly stilled her movements and craned her neck, anxious for whatever insight Ginny was about to afford. If she was going to help Harry, she needed whatever information she could get her hands on, and Ginny had always been observant. Sometimes, too much so.

"Ron, Sirius was an Auror, and a good one. He wasn't even given a trial. None of his colleagues or supervisors insisted that he be given Veritaserum. Where was the loyalty?" she demanded.

"Yes," she continued, "the Aurors catch bad wizards, but they're ultimately under the control of the Minister, despite whatever other allegiances they might have, like Tonks to Dumbledore. We all saw how Fudge manipulated his employees, the press, and the whole wizarding world to suit his whims. Why would Harry want to be a part of that? Because Sirius was an Auror? Because his father was a Hit Wizard?"

She shook her head. "I think Harry wanted to be an Auror because he believed he should be, as if it were expected of him because of who he is. Well, bollocks to that! Harry's mother wasn't one, Hermione won't be one, and you know how much it bothers Harry that the Ministry treats Dad so poorly. I doubt he's going to be rushing to join up any time soon."

He frowned in thought. "You think so?"

"I do, but the bottom line is that you've done incredibly well, Ron. It never mattered what Bill or Charlie or Percy got on their exams. You're not them, and no one wants or expects you to be." She hugged him again. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered fiercely, kissing the top of his head.

Ron felt a lump form in his throat as he awkwardly embraced his sister. "Thanks, Gin," he warbled.

He was unsurprised when he felt another hand on his shoulder, and threw back his head to find his mother smiling down at him.

Harry clutched his newly-filled money pouch in his sweaty hand and hesitantly walked into Madam Malkin's.

He had been surprised and secretly pleased when he had donned a robe last night only to discover that he had grown slightly. Not much, to be sure, but two inches for Harry Potter was almost a foot for anyone else.

He supposed he should resign himself to the fact that he would never be as tall as his friends and, that when he finally reached seventh year, those who didn't know him would assume he was still in his fourth. Still, he figured there were worse things than being small for one's age. He was in general good health, he had good friends, and he was alive.

He flashed again on Sirius and Cedric, but refused to cry. He wanted to move forward, though he knew he could never stop looking back. He guessed he had to settle for moving sideways. Some direction was better than none, and retreat had never been an option.

Right. So he needed new robes. Hopefully, he wouldn't be running into anyone he knew. He carefully opened the door to the shop, wincing at the loud bell which signaled his arrival, but he was relieved when he saw no other customers. A harried woman rushed out from the back of the store, a tape measure hung over her shoulders and pulling pins out of her cuffs.

"Oh, Mister Potter! I haven't see you for quite some time. How have you been?"

"Very well, Madam, thank you, and you?"

Delighted by his manners, she proceeded to prattle on about events and people of which he had no idea, but he nodded in the appropriate places and offered small smiles. Placated, she rushed on and asked what she could help him with today.

"Er, actually," Harry began, "I could use some of everything, but you only sell robes, correct?"

She blinked. "I specialize in robes, but I can easily throw together a new wardrobe should you require one."

"I've grown!" he chirped, before blushing.

She gave him a gentle smile. "I can tell." She chuckled as his flush became deeper. "All right, then, shall we begin? Do you have any preferences for colors?"

"I have no idea," he said ruefully. "Fashion is not exactly my, er, thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "I see. Well, why don't you leave everything to me? After we're done, we can," she paused as she surveyed with disdain the clothes he was wearing, "Incendio your current ensemble."

Harry beamed.

After leaving Madam Malkin's, Harry shuffled further down the sidewalk and entered Flourish and Blott's to peruse their collection.

He had decided that perhaps he should take a lesson from Hermione and start building a personal library. He wasn't particularly averse to reading; indeed, it was an activity in which he had once sought refuge. When he was younger, it had always been safer to have his nose buried in a book rather than paying too much attention to what was going on in the Dursley house.

Of course, the unanticipated offshoot was that his grades had started to climb past Dudley's, which was strictly disallowed. So Harry had abandoned his pastime in favor of disappearing inside his head, a practice in which he still frequently indulged, much to his friends' chagrin. Over time, he had lost interest in learning new things which might inadvertently place him in unwanted competition with cousin. At Hogwarts, reading for pleasure wasn't a luxury often afforded him.

Now, however, he could afford both literally and figuratively to absorb as much information as he could get his hands on. No matter how impressive the library at Hogwarts, he doubted that its walls contained every parchment about magic that had been written. Too often he had found school texts to be overly verbose and daunting. Such tomes excited Hermione, who viewed them as a puzzle to be unlocked, but Harry felt that authors could have imparted their wisdom more effectively with less fanfare and more focus. Granted, he had never truly excelled at theory, but once he truly understood something, he knew it for life and could then replicate and build upon that knowledge.

He slipped inside the bookstore and immediately headed to the Defense section but quite soon found it lacking. Obviously the shop catered to the general populace, while he needed more specialized information. The problem, of course, was that he had no idea where to begin his search. He thought about asking the proprietor to order for him specific materials, but he presumed that would entail inviting questions he didn't wish to answer, as well as alerting both Dumbledore and stray Death Eaters as to what he was trying to accomplish. For all he knew, the Ministry illicitly tracked what people bought; he certainly wouldn't put it past them.

That decided, Harry made up his mind to search out instead books to help him catch up on what he should have been learning these past five years, books which would break down the material so that he might more easily absorb it. He doubted he was the only one who didn't care for theory.

Harry wandered from display to display and made note of several works which caught his eye. He wasn't yet ready to buy anything, and he kept an eye on the clock on the wall so that he wouldn't be late meeting Luna at Fortescue's. He hemmed and hawed for almost an hour, internally debating possible purchases. He was rather surprised at the number of books which detailed magic of which he was unaware.

Well, he supposed that made sense. Hogwarts was a school of wizardry, not an institution which taught the mysteries of all sentient magical creatures. He failed to understand why this was so; after all, magic was magic, wasn't it? Was it really so compressed and compartmentalized that only certain forms worked for certain groups? Were that the case, wouldn't Muggleborns, half-bloods, and purebloods be instructed differently?

No, there had to be baseline principles, regardless of type. Purebloods like Malfoy knew different spells because such things remained in the family and Purebloods were taught from an earlier age.

Well, it was time for him to expand his mind, wasn't it?

He made another circuitous round of the store, tossing books into his basket with aplomb. Centaurs, goblins, merfolk, Veela; as many histories of various species as he could get his hands on, making a mental note to ask Dobby about house elf magic at a later date. He also picked up a few manuals on wizarding law, figuring that if Fudge was going to continue to harass him, he'd do well to know the guidelines within which he could retaliate.

It was unfair of him to use Hermione as a gofer simply because he was put off by doing a bit of research on his own. He absently wondered how much of these topics had been covered in History of Magic before realizing he had no idea. Honestly, what was Dumbledore thinking having Binns as the History professor? Yet another addition to the long list of questions Harry doubted he would ever ask.

Taking his selections to the counter, he offered a customary grimace after the clerk totaled the purchases. Truthfully, he was surprised at how little they cost; he had been expecting much more. Those purchases which Harry thought it best to conceal he asked the clerk to shrink down so that he might place them within his robes. After stowing them with the shrunken sheaves of documents given to him by the goblins, Harry parted with the requisite galleons and took his leave.

As he once again stood before Flourish and Blott's, Harry realized it best to pick out a birthday gift for Hermione. It was true he still had almost two months to consider a final purchase, but he thought he should begin looking. He wanted to give her something different than the usual book or Honeyduke's chocolates. He thought two gifts were in order, one practical and the other whimsical, or as whimsical as one could get with Hermione.

Frowning in thought, he turned to his left and found himself in front of the stationery shop. Deciding he could use more ink and quills, he entered and quickly made his selections, but before he could pay, he noticed a display for a new product.

"Excuse me," he politely said to the clerk. "Could you tell me a bit about these, please?"

The young man behind the counter smiled winningly at the cute boy and prepared to launch into his pitch, assured of a sale by the quick blush the customer gave.

"These are called Verus Quills because they become intrinsically linked to their owners. All the owner has to do is cast the accompanying charm and then write out the alphabet with the quill. After that, the quill is programmed with the owner's handwriting and they become automatic, much like a Dictoquill."

Harry frowned. "Are those anything like what Rita Skeeter uses?"

The clerk, whose name tag read Virgil, curled a lip. "That woman...don't get me started. Whenever she comes into the shop, I excuse myself and force someone else to wait on her. Quite a pest she is. But yes, the principle is the same. However, Verus Quills are unique in that they will write only for their owner and are unable to be used by anyone else."

"Wow." He nodded in acknowledgment, thinking of the DA. Such quills would be incredibly useful, even if he couldn't think of all the uses immediately, and even if he wasn't sure he wanted to keep the DA going. Whatever the case, he'd have to look for a better gift for Hermione. "I'll take the lot of them."

Virgil's eyes widened. "All of them?" he squeaked.

Harry nodded more emphatically. "I have lots of friends for whom these will be wonderful. Do you have a form so that I can order more if need be?"

"Of course, sir."

"Sir? I don't look that old, do I?"

Virgil thought the boy was flirting, so he placed his arms on the counter and leaned forward. "Not at all. You look only slightly younger than me. Hogwarts?"

Harry backed up a step, blushed, and nodded again. "I'm going to be a Sixth Year."

"Congratulations." Another charming grin. "So, would one of these be for someone special?"

The boy ducked his head and mumbled unintelligently.

Virgil decided that even if the boy was flirting, he was also incredibly shy and, as he didn't want to risk mucking up the sale, he begged off. "Well, I hope you find these useful. Is there anything else with which I can assist you?"

Harry frowned and considered the question. It would be helpful to have some means of communicating with his friends while at school without anyone else being able to overhear them, or Dumbledore's spies or portraits or whatever eavesdropping.

"Do you have charmed parchment which would allow my friends and I to write notes to each other which no one else could read?"

Virgil's eyes lighted. "Even better! We have journals with wards to which you can key one or several people so that they can be shared."

"But what if I don't want all those people to read the same message?"

"The wards are layered so that you can individualize and prioritize the messages. If you plan on using more than two journals, then your own journal would function like that of a Secret Keeper, if you're familiar with the Fidelius charm."

"All too well," Harry said darkly.

The clerk blinked. "I see. Well, you alone would set the wards and instruct the journal to display the appropriate messages to the person or persons you want."

"But what if they want to communicate with each other without me reading what they write?"

Virgil winced. "Well, that's the one drawback, you see. There's no way around that. Your journal would keep a record of all transmissions, so you would be privy even to, er, confidential communications."

Harry thought about that. He wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, except where Ron, Hermione, and a few others were concerned; he certainly didn't want to violate their privacy. However, if he did decide to use these journals for the DA, it would be useful to discover what the members might be writing to each other about him and his closest friends, as well as determining their true loyalties.

He knew he should feel bad about imposing on their secret thoughts, but he didn't; he couldn't afford to, not with Voldemort nattering about and his Death Eaters being a nuisance. Had he these last year, the debacle with Marietta Edgecombe might never have come about, and he wasn't willing to repeat that mistake. Enchanted parchments just weren't cutting it.

Of course, all of this was predicated on whether he intended to keep up the DA. He was still on the fence about that. Perhaps he should let Ron, Hermione, or both of them take over the reins and he could serve as an occasional advisor. Yes. He liked that idea.

"Are you still with me?"

Harry started and looked up into Virgil's concerned face. "Oh! Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about what you said. Right, then. Okay, I'll take fifty journals, plus my own, and I would also like three additional for my friends, so that they can write to each other without fear of any intrusion on my part."

Virgil's eyes widened. "Er, I'm not sure we have all that in stock."

"Would you check, please? It's fine if you don't. I'll send an order once I return to Hogwarts, but if you have four, I'll take those now, in addition to the quills and these other things." He held up his personal purchases.

"Right away."

Harry waited as the clerk went to the back and was disappointed but unsurprised when Virgil returned with only four journals in hand. He was wary of using such devices as they reminded him uncomfortably of Tom Riddle's diary, but he still thought they were his best option. In fact, perhaps this was better, for he could get Ron and Hermione's opinions on his idea and its feasibility after some experimentation with their personal journals.

"As I thought, we don't have that many journals on hand," said a rueful Virgil, "but I do have the four you requested. Complete instructions are located inside each one. I forgot to mention that they are also wand-specific. The first time someone goes to write something, they must first touch the tip of their wand to the lock, and the lock will then adjust itself to grant them access. After that, only that wand will be able to open the journal."

Harry nodded. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best for which he could hope. At least there were some security measures in place. "Brilliant. How much, then?"

Again, Harry was surprised at how little the lot cost, and he then began to worry that he was taking his money for granted. Surely Ron or Ginny or even Hermione would have balked at how much he had spent in the past few hours. Still, he thought they were good and reasonable purchases, and he could well afford them. Better to be prepared than caught unawares. He doled out the total price and handed the money to Virgil, who took it graciously but seemed to hold his hand longer than necessary.

"Er, thank you," Harry croaked.

"Of course. Would you like me shrink these for you?"

"Please." He averted his eyes. It was ridiculous how easily he was flustered. In fact, it was quite mortifying. Hopefully, Voldemort wasn't skulking about, otherwise he would discern the easiest way to defeat Harry Potter: have a good-looking boy stand before him and hold his hand.

Virgil quickly complied and handed Harry the shrunken items, watching with intent interest as Harry opened his robes and deposited the items inside. He was built quite nicely, if a little more delicately than Virgil preferred. Nice boy, cute and polite, considerate of his friends, and reasonably well-off.

"My lunch hour is coming up. Would you like to get a butterbeer at Fortescue's?"

Harry's mouth fell open and his face felt on fire. "I'm...I mean, uh..."

"That's okay. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

"Oh! Oh, no," Harry said weakly. "It was very nice of you to ask. You're very nice." He blushed more deeply. "It's just that I'm meeting my friend for lunch, and I'm not sure how she would feel if I invited someone along."

"I see. A friend. A she friend." Virgil fought to stave off a blush. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation. How embarrassing! All the good ones.

"Just a friend," Harry mumbled. Oh, Merlin! He was terrible at flirting! No wonder Cho had thought him daft last year. He cleared his throat and offered instead the most charming smile he could muster.

Virgil's mouth parted and his eyes widened as the boy's face was suddenly transformed from one of cuteness into one of beauty. Godric! That smile made all the difference. Wow! The boy should definitely use that weapon more often; he'd send people flailing about to obey his whims.

"Well, you best be off, then. If you need anything else, just drop back in or send an owl and ask for me."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful. And kind." Harry all but ran out of the shop.

Virgil stared at the retreating form and sighed wistfully before smacking his palm against his forehead. "I didn't get his name!"

Harry, cursing himself and his flushing skin, raced across the street and sought refuge in Eyelops Owl Emporium. He knew things were grim when the overwhelming stench of so many owls was comforting rather than off-putting. He stalked the aisles in search of Hedwig's favorite treats as he willed his respiration to calm and his normal pallor to reassert itself.

What was wrong with him? That little exchange with a random store clerk had left him more tongue-tied and nervous than any interaction he had ever experienced with Cho, including that time in Madame Puddifoot's!

He dropped his head forward and rested it against the cool metal of one of the shelves. This was absolutely ridiculous! Thank the gods no one had been there to witness it. He could just imagine Hermione's exasperation or the consternation and then teasing he would have to endure from Ron. And if it had been Ginny, well, she wouldn't have rested until he and the clerk had coupled right in front of her. She probably would have offered direction.

So a cute boy had talked to him. So what? Cute boys talked to him all the time. Of course, those boys weren't flirting with him.

Or had they been?

Harry began combing his thoughts in search of possible flirting attempts he hadn't been sophisticated enough to have recognized before. Not that he was all that sophisticated now. He was a bit of rube, apparently. Hadn't Hermione always suggested as much?

Flirting always made him think of Seamus Finnigan, because Seamus flirted with absolutely everything and everyone; he was a natural tease. Perhaps he could ask Seamus for lessons? Some kind of translator or something?

And Seamus was awfully cute, especially with that sexy Irish accent...

He blinked. Sexy? Seamus was sexy?

Well, yes, he rather was. Of course, he hadn't been quite so sexy last term, what with acting like a twit in the DA and all the rest of it, but Harry was willing to cut him some slack. He couldn't expect all of Gryffindor to rally unquestionably behind him.

Seamus, a half-blood, was probably terrified about what Voldemort or his Death Eaters would do to his family; they were prime representatives of what Voldemort despised. If Harry could understand anything, it was fear. And Seamus had delightfully pouty lips.

Sweet Merlin! What was wrong with him? He was being inane and spending far too much time thinking about boys and about what he'd like to do with them. He was supposedly to save the wizarding world, and here he was instead, a blushing schoolboy who had run away from someone who had tried to hold his hand. He was pathetic!

That didn't stop him from thinking of any number of hot guys he knew. As usual, he began with the Weasley clan and started from the top, with Bill. Perhaps this was because he had seen Bill first thing this morning and had spent a good portion of his time in Gringotts wondering what Bill looked like naked. Pretty amazing, he had decided. And then there was Charlie...

He sighed.

Charlie! Charlie was so...well, delicious, really. He had given Charlie far too many appraising looks during Fourth Year, when Charlie had helped bring the dragons for the first challenge. Merlin, his arms! They just looked so strong, like he could scoop Harry up in them and keep him safe, and pin him down, and...

"Stop it," he whispered harshly to himself. "It's not right to think of your best mate's brothers that way! What would Ron say? What would Mrs. Weasley say!"

Besides, Bill was all but engaged to Fleur, and that was quite telling, wasn't it? One of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen, Veela or not, who could have had any man she wanted, had chosen Bill Weasley. At least Harry couldn't fault his own good taste.

He really should drop a line to Fleur. He had ignored her last two letters despite his promises to write. He knew she was worried and Bill had suggested that morning that she had been pestering him for answers.

Harry smiled and shook his head, still agog at the friendship he had built with Fleur Delacour. She was an incomparable witch who was stunningly beautiful with a ribald sense of humor and the elegance of a ballerina. It made him sad that he had kept their friendship secret, worried by what his other friends might say about it.

Charlie was single, wasn't he? Ron hadn't said anything about Charlie dating anyone.

Oh, he was being ludicrous. Charlie was much too mature for him...wasn't he? What would Charlie want with a skinny runt like him?

Harry skipped right over Percy and thought next of the twins. It was almost sinful how adorable they were and he thought himself a bit touched in the head that when he thought about one, he usually ended thinking of them both, with himself somewhere in between.

That was certainly untoward and entirely inappropriate! Quite possibly perverted!

Oh, hello, Gred and Forge! Would you be willing to engage in a bout of incest to placate my raging libido? Want to play Harry in the Middle?

The scary thing was that he could actually imagine them agreeing, and that sent his mind off to places from which he should best shy away. And truthfully, he preferred George, though he would never be able to qualify just why that was. It wasn't anything against Fred, of course, but when Harry would watch the twins, and hopefully they had never noticed him doing so, he had always thought George was the more quiet one, even a little shy.

Well, as shy as a Weasley twin could be.

Blood was pooling between his legs and Harry Potter was never more grateful in his life for wizarding robes.

Of course, once his mind began racing, he couldn't shut it off, so he moved past the Weasleys and began considering other boys.

Dean Thomas was good looking, but not really his type.

Neville was invariably kind and inordinately brave, but Harry couldn't quite picture himself snogging the boy; still, he was quite glad to count Neville as an incredibly good friend.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was more than a spot of all right. He was actually quite lovely, with all of that curly hair, and he was a bit of a flirt, as well. He was Hufflepuff's answer to Seamus Finnigan.

Terry Boot was okay, though rather bland.

Ernie MacMillan was a prat, but not entirely unfortunate looking.

Zacharias Smith wasn't worthy of consideration.

Michael Corner was quite attractive, but after the way he had treated Ginny, all Harry wanted to do was punch in his face for at least three days.

He knew a lot of girls and a fair number of boys fancied Malfoy, and Harry was willing to concede that Malfoy wasn't completely ugly, but Malfoy did nothing for him, not when he knew how diseased the boy's mind was.

Even if he had been attracted to Malfoy, he would never be able to cast aside the past five years and all of the absolutely vile things that great prat had said and done to Harry himself and his friends.

Before he could stop them, he was assailed with unbidden images of Cedric Diggory.

And, really, that was just too much.

He had to force himself to stop romanticizing their brief encounters. Yes, Cedric had been absolutely beautiful, had all but taken Harry's breath away, but truly no one could be that perfect. Well, he had had lovely eyes. A most fascinating shade of gray, so much unlike Malfoy's, whose eyes always looked stormy. Cedric had had kind eyes, gentle eyes.

Harry sighed again.

And Cedric's thick, wavy chestnut hair. Harry wished he had worked up the courage to touch it, just once. He imagined it had been like silk. He thought about how it would feel between his fingers, like secret kisses, and how Cedric would purr under his touch. And the full, luscious lips which had been crafted for long, slow busses which Harry was quite sure would have made his toes curl.

"You're being obscene," he chastised himself. "Cedric is dead. Leave him be."

But he couldn't, because he had killed him, as much as if he had cast the spell himself.

Stupid sense of fair play. He should have just taken the blasted cup. He should have suspected something was wrong with it. He sometimes thought it would have been better had he just allowed Cedric to take the cup.

No, no.

No, Cedric had been owed someone to witness his murder. He deserved to be remembered as more than Death Eater collateral damage. To the very end, Cedric had been a hero, and not because of his face or his body, but because he had been a decent, kind boy with atypical bravery; because he had treated people with respect and consideration, regardless of what other people said.

"Don't you dare cry," he hissed to himself. "Not here."

A few tears slipped past his command, however, and Harry angrily swatted them away. He should probably check himself into St. Mungo's. It couldn't be healthy to obsess this much over someone who had perished more than a year ago.

How could he be just as if not more upset over Cedric, a boy he had never truly known, as he was about Sirius, his own godfather? Of course, he really hadn't known Sirius, either. Perhaps that was what was so haunting, that he hadn't gotten the chance to know two such incredible men, and now he never would.

Still, what was he going on about? Cedric hadn't felt anything for him other than compassion and perhaps a dose of pity. He had been one of the few who had insisted almost from the beginning that Harry hadn't entered himself in the Goblet.

He wished he had told Cedric how much that had meant to him, how close to his heart he had kept that generosity, when the entire school, including one of his own best friends, had turned their backs on him. Cedric had told his house that he wouldn't tolerate those insipid badges Malfoy had produced, that engaging in such childish behavior was beneath Hufflepuffs.

And yes, they had had a few brief conversations, most of which had involved Harry staring at Cedric's mouth and managing to nod in the right places, hoping Cedric hadn't noticed his fidgeting and praying that his robes covered him adequately in the front.

So what if Cedric had stood closer to him than necessary? It had made sense, after all; the contestants weren't supposed to speak to each other about the tasks, and Cedric had merely been cautious. Right? And if Cedric had looked into his eyes the entire time he spoke, what of it? Eye contact. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do? What confident people did? None of it meant anything.

Yet he couldn't stop himself from wondering what would have happened if he had tried to hold Cedric's hand or had hugged him or had told him how much he had admired him. He doubted Cedric would have cared; he had been with Cho, after all.

Still, perhaps if he had had the guts to say anything that wasn't mundane, maybe he wouldn't be so desolate. He would always be haunted by Cedric's death, but possibly this heartsickness wouldn't be so acute. Even if he had been outright rejected, it would have been better than this constant wondering and the distant hope which still burned somewhere deep within him.

How pitiful was that? Hoping a dead boy might have fancied him? No wonder half the world thought him nutters.

But none of that explained why he had been dreaming of Cedric long before the other boy had been murdered, dreaming of him even before fourth year.

Harry had always known who Cedric Diggory was - who hadn't? - even if their contact was limited to the occasional Quidditch match. He had noticed the way the trousers fit Cedric's body, the way the sun transformed the highlights of his hair into a burnished halo, and the creamy unblemished skin which Harry had been sure was even softer than he had ever imagined. How Cedric's eyes had sparkled even more than Dumbledore's, just because he was so happy all the time.

Was that was this was about? That part of him had been jealous of Cedric for being happy? Had he wanted Cedric because he had wanted to taste that happiness for himself?

No.

He had wanted Cedric because Cedric had been worth wanting. He might not have known Cedric well, but what he did know, he had liked. Had loved.

"I loved him," he whispered, closing his eyes, the admission a knife his gut.

He immediately tried to talk himself out of it, that he couldn't possibly have loved Cedric. He didn't even really know what love was! Certainly he hadn't learned it from the Dursleys, and it was a completely different love than what he shared with Ron and Hermione, and different than what he had with the Weasleys, even those after whom he lusted. How could he have loved Cedric?

He forced himself to pull it together and squash it all down; he would deal with it later. He had to meet Luna soon and he still wanted to see the twins and whatever mischief in which they were currently involved.

Grabbing a can of owl treats, Harry squared his shoulders, breathed deeply, and made his way to the front of the store, thankful it was practically empty and that no one had seen his ridiculous display. Honestly, he had to be more careful. One simply never knew when beetles might be lurking about.

He needed to get himself under control, especially before he returned to school. He could ill afford to have these spells in the company of other people, as they would become nothing more than new fodder for Malfoy and his cronies.

He placed the can of treats on the counter and his eyes restlessly sought the clerk, hoping it wouldn't be another cute guy. Spying a bell hidden by the register, he tapped it with impatience.

"I'll be right there!" a distinctly feminine voice shouted from the back.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes later, a woman bustled forward with a speed which would have pleased Madam Pomfrey and came to stand behind the counter.

"Is that all, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"Oh, not at all! It's just that there's a clutch hatching in the back, and I've been checking on them throughout the morning."

His eyes lighted. "Really?"

"In the market for an owl, are you?" she laughed.

"No!" he shouted, his tone almost scathing. "My owl is perfect. She's almost seven now. My friend Hagrid bought her from here, as a matter of fact. Hedwig was a birthday gift." He smiled. "Best one I ever got, too."

"You're Harry Potter!"

He touched the fringe of his hair to ensure it was still covering his scar and lowered his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'll have you know I don't believe one whit of that nonsense in that rubbish paper. I use it to line the owl cages. It looks much better with droppings dotting it, I've found."

His laugh was explosive and he wheezed his thanks.

"I well remember Hagrid buying that owl," she said fondly. "Told me how important she was to be to a new friend of his. Good taste in owls, that man has. So, named her Hedwig, did you? A great snowy owl?"

Harry beamed. "She's beautiful!" he crowed. "She's one of my best friends."

The woman nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." She stormed toward the door and flipped the lock. Turning back to Harry, she said, "Why don't you come into the hatchery for a few moments. You might get to see one of the owlets being born."

"Wow," he breathed. The woman smiled and strode toward the back of the shop, Harry trailing behind her.

"Here we are!" she announced, stopping before a nest.

Harry peeked from behind her and looked into the bulbous orange eyes of a tawny barn owl. The bird considered him for a moment. Harry bowed his head, which seemed to please her greatly, and she nodded in kind.

"You have respect for owls," the pleased shopkeeper noted. "I'm Calliope Marchbanks, by the way."

He blinked. "It's nice to meet you. Er, pardon my asking, but are you any relation to Griselda Marchbanks?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, I am! She's my elder sister. Might I ask how you know her, Mister Potter?"

He looked around nervously, but decided that, as they were alone, it was doubtful they would be overheard. "I met her briefly when I was tried by the Wizengamot."

She stared. "Excuse me? For what could you have been possibly been tried, and by the full court, no less?"

"Er," he hesitated, blushing, "I chased off a couple of Dementors. Someone had sent them to Surrey after me, and they attacked both my cousin and me. My cousin's a Muggle, you see, and I'm underage, so not only did I illegally perform magic, but I potentially exposed it."

"Outrageous."

Harry hung his head and nodded.

"Oh! Not you, dear!"

He looked up, startled.

"What breed of fool would haul a young man before the Wizengamot for protecting not only himself but a Muggle from Dementors?" she raged. She blinked. "By the way, how did you drive them off?"

"I cast my Patronus?"

The woman's mouth fell open. "You? You cast a Patronus? But you're a boy!"

Harry frowned, but the woman paid no heed.

"You cast a Patronus strong enough to ward off Dementors, saving your life and that of your cousin, and you get punished for it? Were there any witnesses?"

"A Squib who lives nearby," he said.

She held up a hand. "Wait. You defended yourself and your cousin, with whom I presume you live, from soul-sucking creatures who had no business being near any kind of residence, yes?"

He nodded.

"And the only witness was a Squib with whom you are familiar?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then how could you have violated the Statute of Secrecy when the only two people who witnessed the event already knew of the existence of magic?"

He stared at her.

"Who was your solicitor?" she demanded. "I have half a mind to send him or her a Howler!"

"Solicitor?" asked a dazed Harry.

Calliope's face became pinched and she closed her eyes. "Mister Potter - Harry - please tell me you had a solicitor at this farce of a trial?"

"No ma'am," he whispered, averting his eyes and feeling ashamed. Should he have asked for one? Was that was he was supposed to have done? Was that the role Dumbledore had been playing? Of course, Dumbledore hadn't done much...

"What kind of nonsense is going on here!" she roared.

He blinked and stepped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," she said ruefully. "Just gets my goat, it does. I just can't fathom how such a miscarriage of justice occurred! While the rules against underage magic are stringent and explicit, they certainly don't apply to instances of mortal peril! And I'm sure it would have been nothing for the Accidental Magic Squad to pop over and Obliviate any observant Muggles. Honestly, what were they thinking? I have a good mind to send my sister a Howler the likes of which she's never seen!"

"Please don't," Harry begged. "She was very kind, and I gathered she thought the whole thing was just as ridiculous as you do."

Calliope snorted. "Of that, I have no doubt. But who sent the Dementors?" Harry trapped her in an even gaze. She paled, but nodded. "Of course. Sick bastard."

He smothered the hysterical giggle threatening to erupt. "Well, I never quite determined whether or not it was Voldemort." He was shocked and pleased when the woman didn't so much as flinch at the name. "I rather think it was Fudge who sicced them on me, although Umbridge took the credit."

"That imbecile!" she screeched. "How well I can believe that fool would do something so reckless! And I'm sure she was there to lead the charge against you?"

Harry inclined his head.

"The titmouse," she seethed. "Thank Merlin she and Fudge are gone."

"W-What?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't you know? Fudge was ousted from the Ministry, largely because of his attacks against you! They've temporarily installed Amelia Bones in the position."

His breathing became faint as he wondered how the new Minister would react to the note he had had Dobby deliver. He had been under the impression Bones was still the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; never would he have guessed she was the new Minister!

Well, he supposed it served him right for ignoring his post for most of the summer.

Calliope wasn't paying attention to him, however. "About time, too. Fudge was a disaster from day one, always prancing about like a reindeer on Christmas Eve. Stupidest man I've ever known, that's for sure. Nothing but a puppet." She sighed. "Well, hopefully things will improve with a no-nonsense woman like Bones in charge. I hope she chooses to run in the general election. I'd certainly vote for her."

A bewildered Harry nodded.

"Oh! One's hatching!"

He turned his eager face to the cage and stared with wonder as he heard a gentle pecking and watched as the outer shell of an egg begin to crack. In his excitement, he grabbed Calliope's hand and squeezed, an unconscious movement on his part.

She looked askance at him askance. This boy was not mad. If he said Voldemort was back, he was back. He could have said any number of things against Fudge, but hadn't. He could have blamed her sister for his illegal trial, but didn't. Harry Potter was one person where good hype wasn't enough. She squeezed back.

He held his breath as he watched the tiny little head break though the shell and offer a pathetic chirp.

"Oh, it's wonderful," he breathed.

"It is, indeed."

"Miss Marchbanks…"

"Calliope, please."

"Calliope, then." He gave her a self-conscious grin. "How long does it take before an owl is ready to become a post owl?"

The woman turned her eyes up to the ceiling. "Well, there are many variables. It depends on the breed, of course, as well as the individual owl's intelligence and disposition. Typically a few months at minimum."

Harry thought of Pigwidgeon and nodded. "How long do you think for this little, er, guy?"

Calliope peered more closely into the cage, the mother owl now cleaning off her young. "Boy," she promptly decided. "If he's anything like his mother, not long at all. But I thought you weren't looking for a new owl, Harry?"

"Oh, not for me," he rushed to say. "Frankly, I hope Hedwig outlives me, for I just don't think I could bear to lose her. My best friend's birthday is coming up, and I know she would love to have her own owl. I've seen her with Hedwig; she would take great care of this little owl."

"She, is it? Then you're speaking of Hermione Granger?"

Harry promptly released the woman's hand and turned startled eyes upon her.

She chuckled. "Said I don't believe the nonsense The Prophet prints about you, but I do read the articles to keep apprised. It's no secret that Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are your best friends. So, this owl would be for Hermione, then. Is it true what they say of her?"

Harry stiffened. "And what would that be?" he asked coldly.

Calliope was unsurprised and positive the boy was ready to launch into a blistering defense of his friend. "That she's quite brilliant, of course."

He relaxed slightly and curtly nodded once. "Hermione Granger is the brightest witch of her age."

She considered his statement. "Coming from Harry Potter, that endorsement means something to me." She nodded. "All right, then, yes, I think this owlet could be properly trained up in a few months time. When is your friend's birthday?"

"Mid-September," said a hopeful Harry.

"Hm. Well, it will take some effort on my part, but I'm willing to expend it. And as Topaz here seems to approve of you, I doubt she'll resent that her baby will be going to a good home." She paused. "Harry, are you quite sure you can afford this? While this wee one wouldn't be as expensive as Hedwig, personal post owls are not cheap."

"I have the money, and Hermione is worth every galleon and more."

The woman nodded. "Let's leave these two alone, shall we? We'll go up front, I'll get you the paperwork, and ring you up."

Happy to comply, a cheerful Harry followed her back out into the store proper. "I'll need a cage, of course, so that Hermione can take her owl home for the holidays and summers, and whatever treats you think the owl might enjoy. Oh! And if you have any books on owl care or this specific species, I'd like those as well, please. Hermione would go spare if she couldn't learn absolutely everything she could about owls."

Calliope smiled. "Have you any thoughts on a name?"

He debated only briefly. "Sophus."

Her smile became more broad. "Masculine nominative for wise. Excellent choice, Harry." She made some notes on the paper before her. "All right, then, we're all set." She named the total and watched with careful eyes as the boy before her didn't even blink, merely dipping into his purse and conscientiously counting out the galleons. She palmed the money and deposited it, and then they chatted about when Sophus would be delivered to Hermione.

"Calliope, perhaps you could answer a question for me?"

"I'll certainly do my best," she promptly replied.

"A friend of mine who recently met Hedwig told me that I had an extremely powerful familiar. What does that mean?"

Her eyes widened. "Harry, this is...most unexpected. Familiars are incredibly rare, and they are almost never owls."

He frowned. "But what is a familiar?"

"A familiar is an animal who willingly bonds with their owner."

"I don't own Hedwig," Harry vigorously protested. "She's my friend!" Hadn't he said this already?

That pleased Calliope to no end. "And that is why she has chosen to bond with you, because you treat her not as a servant, but as an equal. All animals, and especially owls, are enormously prideful, as they have every right to be. They were here before us, you know, and will be here long after we all kill ourselves. That Hedwig so obviously respects you says much to your character. That she has become your familiar means she will never leave you, Harry. She will be by your side until she is no more, and she will remain unfailingly loyal and protect you from harm."

"I know Hedwig loves me," he said softly. Hers was the only love he had never doubted.

"Indeed. There is much we do not know about the magic of familiars, for we are, unfortunately, unable to converse with animals. Even the most powerful Animagi are often at a loss when their animal forms encounter another of their kind. True familiars are few and far between. That level of trust between animal and human is not often to be found."

"Fawkes."

She nodded. "Yes. Dumbledore's phoenix is a good example. Familiars typically have a heightened awareness of their human counterparts, an intelligence which goes beyond normal capabilities. Never doubt that when you speak to Hedwig, she understands your every word."

"I wish I could understand her," he said wistfully.

"I rather imagine you can. Typically, humans who have familiars show a remarkable degree of empathy. While you might not understand exactly Hedwig's clucks and chirps, you usually can discern her moods, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"While most people who have animals also share a link, a bond with a familiar goes much deeper. You don't need words, Harry. You communicate with Hedwig just fine. If she has become your familiar, it is because she loves you greatly and considers you her own. You're right in that you don't own her; she owns you."

He grinned so hard he thought his face might crack.

"Now," Calliope added, "I have some books here on what we do know of familiars and their magic, if you would like them."

He nodded and reached for his purse.

She held up a hand. "None of that!" she said sharply. "You have given me extreme pleasure in coming here this morning and chatting with me. It's nice to have an intelligent conversation with a thoughtful young man, instead of receiving looks and being whispered about as the doddering old Bird Lady."

He looked affronted on her behalf and her heart warmed. "You well understand public opinion, Harry. You should know that no one beneath you can offend you, and no one your equal would."

He frowned. "I've heard that before."

"Eleanor Roosevelt. A remarkable lady, Muggle or no. Quite wise."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"All right, then," she said briskly, "I'm sure you have places to be, but the next time you're in Diagon Alley, do drop in, won't you?"

"Of course! And I'll send you a note to tell you how much Hermione loves Sophus. I'm sure Hedwig would like to see you again."

"That would be lovely," she smiled. "Off you go!"

"Thank you, Calliope," he said gravely, taking the books on familiars in hand. "For everything."

She nodded brusquely. "I'll have the cage and the books for Miss Granger shrunk and delivered to you by post before her birthday."

He smiled again and took his leave.

Calliope watched from behind the counter as he turned left, presumably toward Fortescue's, and sighed. "Delightful boy."

She frowned. "I think I best contact Griselda. That Wizengamot business doesn't sit well with me at all. Honestly, what were they thinking!"

She reached into the nearest drawer and pulled out a sheet of red parchment the entire wizarding world despised.

Draco Malfoy had snuck away from the Zabini villa on the pretext of returning home early, but instead had every intention of segueing into Knockturn Alley to find some useful little whatsit that would aid him in further enraging Harry Potter once the term started. Better yet, something to humiliate either the Mudblood or the Weasel, for nothing pissed off Potter more than when his friends were attacked.

In truth, he was glad to be well away from Assumpta Zabini and her overripe sexuality. The woman was constantly in heat and Draco suspected she had a thirst for her own son. Were it true, it was no surprise Blaise kept to himself.

He had only agreed to Assumpta's invitation because he knew his attendance would drive Blaise absolutely spare. Blaise hated him with a passion but, like any true Slytherin, made alliances despite personal feelings. Not that he and Blaise had reached an alliance, nor was one likely on the horizon.

Further, he suspected Assumpta had seen through Lucius' ploys to abandon her neutrality and throw in her lot with the Dark Lord. Assumpta was manipulating Lucius by humoring him, which was startling to Draco. At first he thought the woman after his father, but Assumpta had stated quite clearly she had far too much respect for Narcissa to play such games. He had rightly interpreted that as the woman being afraid of his mother.

Oh, well. The entire fiasco was most likely a loss, but at least he could say he ruined Blaise Zabini's summer holiday.

All but skipping down the avenue, Draco smirked with barely suppressed laughter. People were used to Draco Malfoy smirking at everyone and everything, so sure of his intellectual and pedigreed superiority, that no one really took notice.

The blond boy suddenly halted in his tracks as he spotted Harry Potter across the thoroughfare. The Boy Who Wouldn't Die was walking along, completely unaware of the people stopping their commute simply to gawk at him. Draco could truly not believe that Harry was as ignorant as he claimed as to his affect on other people. Surely no one was that stupid.

Draco scanned the immediate area and was unsurprised to see young girls clutching their hearts as an unwitting Harry passed. Some of the boys clutched other parts of their bodies. Adults stared and began whispering to each other, some being forced to restrain their friends and spouses from reaching out to touch the bespectacled youth, as though Harry Potter was messianic.

He wrinkled his nose. He, of course, felt nothing but contempt for Harry Potter and everything and everyone associated with him, and was himself used to attracting a great deal of attention. But watching Potter now, Draco got the distinct impression that Potter wasn't unaware of his admirers so much as he was truly uncaring. He saw them as a burden, a hindrance to the life of normalcy he was so desperate to claim for himself.

Draco snorted. Who wanted to be normal when they could special? It didn't make sense.

It wasn't so much that he objected to Potter in theory. He did admire power, after all. But the reality of Potter was rather unpalatable. Potter was boringly moralistic and his dedication to underdogs pathetic. His temper frequently got the best of him, and Draco was sure that, more than anything else, was what would trigger Potter's defeat. Not to mention Potter's appalling taste in friends. The Weasel was a sycophantic idiot who rode Potter's coattails like a puppy nipping at his master's heel.

As much as he didn't care to admit it, Granger was worthy of more consideration; though a Mudblood, the girl was anything but stupid, if OWL results could be believed.

Draco scowled. It didn't so much rankle him that he had been outperformed by Potter, although it was surprising, but that their entire year had been bested by Granger was noxious. It was also somewhat galling that she ignored whatever insults were thrown her way, but let one of her friends be attacked and Granger became a force unto herself. His cheek still hurt from when she had struck him. He had played it off at the time as if he had been surprised more than anything, but her bloody punch had actually hurt, and that had been humiliating.

Draco turned these thoughts over and decided to review them later. Perhaps Granger would be an excellent way to get to Potter.

Potter was now moving with what Draco could only call purpose. As usual, the boy was mumbling to himself and his eyes were glazed with that look Potter sported when deep in thought.

He wanted to chuckle. Poor, simple Harry had absolutely no ability to mask his emotions. He wore everything on his sleeve and was thus impossibly easy to manipulate. He would have thought that, by now, either the Mudblood or McGonagall would have better instructed him in deportment.

Malfoy peered more closely and realized he might possibly have erred. Potter wasn't uncaring of his fame; he was terrified by it. As soon as the Slytherin recognized this, he startled as a surge of people converged on the boy, demanding he attend to them, trying to touch him and ripping his shirt in the process.

He watched as Potter immediately cowered, looking as though he was trying to will himself to merge with the sidewalk as the mob's worship quickly turned into indignation and then anger at his continued silence and perceived indifference.

He watched this impassively, stomping down a weak inner voice which insisted he should help Potter, who now appeared to be nothing more than two large, green, and horrified eyes.

Ridiculous. Potter was a half-blood, a blood-traitor, a Mudblood-lover, and a host of other things which Draco found equally offensive. As powerful as Potter might be, and he was quite sure the idiot was more powerful than anyone realized, Draco had little doubt that Lord Voldemort would emerge triumphant when all was said and done, regardless of Potter, Dumbledore, or anyone else.

Suddenly, three Aurors Apparated between Potter and his maniacal fans, their wands drawn and donning expressions so fierce, Draco's bladder wanted to relieve itself. He stood there, jaws agape, as the Aurors backed the crowd off, all the while the people jeered that the Boy Who Lived owed them his time, attention, and protection. Even Draco thought that ridiculous. Potter didn't owe anyone simply because he was alive.

Draco surmised it was his half-blood cousin with the ridiculous name who was screeching at the collective.

"Harry owes you nothing, you ungrateful lot, and nothing warrants this unprovoked attack! Get back to your homes, all of you, before I lock you all up in Azkaban for your appalling stupidity!"

Her hair rapidly changed colors and her eyes seemed to breathe fire as she delivered her tirade.

Potter meanwhile had pressed himself tightly behind Kingsley Shacklebolt, who looked absolutely murderous. Draco frowned and attempted to process what he was witnessing. So Potter was scared; he supposed it made sense, but it was startling because he had never seen the other boy truly afraid.

Another part of him wondered why Potter had reacted the why he had, almost submissively, and had done nothing to prevent the attack or fight against those who had assaulted him, as if the thought to defend himself had never made itself known.

This was the person who routinely defeated the Dark Lord like other people changed their shorts? That was...disconcerting.

Draco swallowed heavily. Perhaps it wasn't quite as glorious to be Harry Potter as previously thought.

"Talk to me!" Ginny Weasley shrieked at her elder brother.

"About what?" demanded an exasperated Ron.

"About whatever it is that's troubling you! Obviously something is wrong," she said in a more sedate tone. "Is it Hermione? Harry? Don't you want them to come and stay here with us?"

"Of course I do! They're my best mates!"

"Well, you better snap out of this funk before Hermione gets here," she warned. "Otherwise she'll pester you endlessly until you've told her everything, right down to the color of your shorts."

He blushed.

"Ah," Ginny said, smiling knowingly. At last, she was getting somewhere. "Finally decided to get off your lazy bum and declare your intentions to the scarlet woman, have you? Well, it's about bloody time! You're lucky she's put up with you for as long as she has, especially after your nonsense about Krum. I don't know what the big deal is. Everyone knows how you feel about her."

"What are you babbling about?" he crossly barked.

"You're in love with Hermione, of course!"

Ron shrugged. He didn't believe there was any point in denying it. "Okay."

Ginny's gaze narrowed. "She's quite pretty when she isn't being so...bookish."

"Hermione is very beautiful," he quietly said.

She nodded and then hesitated only briefly. "So is Harry."

"Yes," Ron agreed, before thinking. He startled, trained pained eyes on his sister, and fled his own bedroom.

"What a prude," she pouted, rolling her eyes. "Well, it's obvious what I have to do. I need to push them together somehow. Oh! What if they all three fancy each other! How scandalous!"

Ginny clapped her hands in delight. "How wonderful that Ron and Harry will be sharing a room. I'll just have to hide all their clothes!"

She was sure the twins had a Wheeze which could aid in that endeavor, and if she just happened to spy a naked Harry, so much the better.

Before meeting Luna, Harry decided to pop in at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop established and managed by the twins and which had been financed largely by Harry himself, though that tidbit was unknown to everyone but the three of them.

Figuring it would be easier to slip back into life at the Burrow if he slowly renewed contact with a few Weasleys at a time rather than being overwhelmed by the entire family at once, he also felt more at ease around the twins than the other siblings. Fred and George were never much serious about anything, and a nice dose of levity would be quite welcome.

And he wanted to ogle them.

He wasn't ashamed to admit it, even if only to himself, and being with them would help to ease his distress at what had just occurred. Luckily, Tonks had mended his shirt and there were no other outward signs of the...altercation, which thankfully seemed to have been confined to the area around the bookstore located at the opposite end of Diagon Alley. Hopefully, the twins hadn't heard the commotion.

Hearing the bell announce a potential new customer, Fred and George simultaneously looked up from the counter, eyes lighting with joy at Harry's arrival.

"Welcome, Harrykins!" Fred bellowed.

"Good to see you, mate!" George offered, nose crinkling with pleasure.

"Hello," said a cheerful Harry. "How goes?"

"Very well, thanks to you," Fred replied.

Harry soured. He didn't like being reminded that he had provided the seed money for the shop. It was, after all, a sound investment. The entire student body of Hogwarts had for years been paying the twins for their comic inventions. Harry had once seen movie while on break at the Dursleys. Of course, he had to spy from the top of the stairs so that his aunt and uncle would not see him, and he heard the dialogue more than actually watched the movie.

It was called Field of Dreams and Harry remembered the line, 'if you build it, they will come'. He thought that more than apropos for the twins' idea of a joke shop.

Besides, the Galleons from the Tournament were little more than bloody money and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"Now, now," George tutted, "none of that. You might not believe your contribution to be anything special, Harry, but we disagree. So please humor us if we say thank you every now and again."

He nodded with weary resignation and began to peruse the shelves.

"What are you doing in Diagon Alley, Harry?" Fred shouted from the back room.

"Just needed to pick up a few odds and ends," the boy responded. "I'm meeting Luna soon and then we're going to see Dumbledore at Hogwarts."

"Lovegood?" George asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Ron said she was barmy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron's not the best judge of character. I should know; he chose me for his best friend."

"Sod off," Fred grinned, as he made his way back to the counter. "Best thing he did, that was. Hasn't made a good choice since. Here, mate, got some post for you." He held out a batch of letters.

George snickered and nodded in agreement at his twin's assessment of their brother. "So what are you seeing Dumbledore about?"

Harry shrugged. "Class selection, mostly," he said evasively, palming the letters.

"Mostly," Fred and George repeated, their eyes twinkling.

"It's bloody frightening that your eyes twinkle just as much as Dumbledore's," Harry shivered. "I think the lot of you are nutters."

"Thank you!" the twins said, beaming.

"And the letters, Harry?" George asked, curiosity piqued.

He gave them a hard look. "I trust you with my life, both of you."

The twins straightened and gave him measured looks. Harry had just gifted them with no small admission. They nodded.

"There are things going on," the boy continued, "things I don't yet understand, but which I need to figure out. As soon as I do, I'm going to need you. Badly."

Each twin cocked their head and considered the statement, discerning it had something to do with Dumbledore, about whom they had their own reservations, particularly after Umbridge's reign of terror. They nodded carefully.

The corners of Harry's mouth quirked up, but he wouldn't say anything more.

The twins, who could actually be quite sensitive, dropped the subject.

"Well, good!" George expounded. "Perhaps a visit in a few weeks from his best mate will snap ickle Ronniekins out of his latest snit."

Harry sighed. "What's his problem now?"

The twins snickered. "Well, our dear little sister has been riding Ronald to declare his intentions to the fair Hermione," Fred confided in an exaggerated whisper.

"Well it's about bloody time!" Harry exclaimed. "I swear to Merlin that if I have to watch those two dance around each other for another year, I'm either going to kill them or myself, just so I don't have to watch! I'd rather ask Voldemort to tea!"

"Ronnie is a bit infuriating, eh, mate?" Fred laughed.

"It's not just Ron!" Harry challenged. "Hermione is just as bad. In fact, sometimes she's worse! At least he tries to keep his feelings to himself. Hermione just barges around the tower and talks my ear off. 'What did Ron mean when he said this? What did you think of his tone? Are you two up to something behind my back?' Honestly!"

Fred laughed at him and Harry flushed as he realized how much like an exasperated Hermione he had just sounded.

George sobered. "Are you and Ron up to something behind Hermione's back, Harry?" he asked in a peculiar voice.

Harry blinked. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Fred interjected. "So, Harry, do tell us. Any new romantic prospects looming on the horizon for the Boy Who Lived?"

Said Boy again rolled his eyes. "Hardly. After that mess with Cho, the last thing I want to do is get involved with some girl who's going to cry when I try to kiss her."

"She cried?" George guffawed.

Harry flushed bright red. "Yeah, well, she was thinking of Cedric," he whispered, dropping his eyes to the floor.

George's own eyes narrowed fractionally as he contemplated how immediately despondent his friend had become at the mention of Diggory.

"She's daft," Fred said. "It's sad about Cedric and it always will be, but, well, life goes on, doesn't it? The bird had the most sought after boyfriend in the whole sodding wizarding world and she blew it by sniveling like a miserable wretch. Good riddance, I say."

"Most sought after boyfriend?" Harry repeated, sniggering. "I highly doubt that!"

"You shouldn't," George said seriously. "You'd be a wonderful catch for anyone, Harry Potter. Chang is a stupid bint for blowing the chance."

"Well, it wasn't quite like that," Harry countered, not really wishing to engage in yet another denigration of Cho Chang. He'd been through that more than once with Ron and Hermione.

"Oh?" asked an intense George, leaning forward on the counter with his elbows. "Tell us, mate, how was it, then?"

Harry blushed again and shrugged. "How's it going with Angelina, Fred?"

"Angie's a nice girl. She's fine," he replied, not really answering the question.

"And Alicia?" Harry politely inquired of George.

The redhead shrugged. "We're not together anymore."

"Oh, er, sorry," Harry said quickly, ducking his head, trying to smother that warm little tingle which resulted when he realized George was single, chastising himself and his selfishness.

"No apologies necessary, Harry. She wanted things to get much more serious, and, well, I'm not quite sure she's the one, you know?" George said slyly.

Harry nodded but seemed distracted. "Well," he declared, "I suppose I should be off to get everything done before Dumbledore sends a posse of Aurors to fetch me. It's bad enough I've got Tonks and Kingsley, and Merlin knows who else, peeking out at me from behind every corner. When Tonks isn't tripping over a rubbish bin, that is."

The twins laughed appreciatively. "See you soon, Harrykins!"

"I have a favor," Harry quietly stated.

The twins looked at each other and then back at Harry, nodding.

"Don't tell Ron, Hermione, or anyone else that I was here today, or that I am meeting Luna."

"What's going on, Harry?" Fred demanded, though his tone was light. And what did Lovegood have to do with all of this?

"Enough, Fred," George scolded. "Secrets, Harry? You know we'll always keep yours."

His brother's face cleared and Fred nodded.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully. "I'll see you at the Burrow in a few weeks."

The twins nodded again. "Mum's already planning the feast," Fred snickered. "Inviting the whole family to celebrate her adopted son's Sweet Sixteen."

"Will, er," Harry stammered, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably, "will, uh, will, um, will Charlie be there?" cursing himself for choking on the name.

The twins eyed each other carefully and, as one, turned back to Harry, who patently ignored the look. He sighed inwardly, determining they had already figured out way too much. Still, he did trust them to keep his secrets. After all, he had kept many of theirs, and they were nothing if not loyal. That, and desperate to violate norms and rules at every given opportunity.

"He said he would be," George began.

"And Bill is coming, too," Fred finished. "With Fleur."

All three groaned, although the twins noticed that, while sympathetic, Harry's whine contained no real venom. At last, Harry took his leave after asking the twins to relate his best to Lee Jordan, waving as he passed out the door and along the front window.

"Well," George softly said, "I think we have it." He set his jaw and shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Forge," Fred obligatorily whispered.

He himself, however, was less sure than his twin. He had noticed that Harry had been looking much more closely at George than at him. Perhaps there was more than one Weasley brother upon whom Harry Potter was crushing? He turned his back and smirked, wondering how dear Ronniekins might react to that little tidbit.

George said nothing and immediately set about tallying the morning's receipts.

"You cannot be serious!" Snape thundered, rising to his feet.

"I assure you I am quite serious, Severus," Dumbledore snapped, his eyes twinkling now with impatient menace.

"Perhaps," McGonagall smoothly began, hoping to quell a potential maelstrom, "if you explained yourself for once, Albus, we could avoid any unpleasantness." Her brow quirked. "Or at least lessen the fallout."

Flitwick frowned. "Albus, are you quite sure this decision is sound? Appointing a Muggle to the Hogwarts faculty?"

Sprout's eyes were narrowed as she sat back and watched the other three. She would wait until everything was said before offering an opinion.

"The reasons are very simple," Dumbledore offered, "as well as practical. I will not have Harry Potter's experience here repeated."

"What do you mean?" McGonagall demanded.

"Minerva, there are many things you do not know with regard to Harry," Albus quietly stated.

"And whose fault is that!" the woman bellowed in reply.

Snape was so taken aback, he immediately sat down in his chair. Flitwick and Sprout, their eyes the size of saucers, trained startled gazes on the witch.

"I understand your anger, Minerva, and you are entitled," Albus continued. "There is something of which you are all unaware regarding how Harry came to Hogwarts. Several things, actually, and I have been remiss not to inform you of them before this time."

He cleared his throat, knowing in advance his next words were going to cause an uproar.

"Harry Potter was raised not knowing that he was a wizard. He knew nothing of his parents, save their names, and had been told they were killed in an automobile accident. Until I sent Hagrid to fetch him, Harry did not know that magic was real. He knew nothing of Hogwarts, of Sirius Black, or of Voldemort. Nothing."

Minerva McGonagall turned an unhealthy shade of crimson while Snape paled even more than usual.

"Outrageous," Sprout commented, sitting on her hands to dispel the urge to strangle something, thinking it would be quite lovely to send anonymously some Devil's Snare to Albus Dumbledore. "There is simply no excuse for this."

"No there is not," Flitwick angrily agreed. "I well understand the need for secrecy regarding our world, but for someone as important as young Mister Potter...Albus, you have badly miscalculated."

"Did you ever once check on that boy, Dumbledore?" Minerva hissed. "We've all seen it. How Potter recuses himself from touch; how he comes back each year impossibly thin; how he trembles when any adult other than Severus scolds him. What the hell happened to him in that Muggle house?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore whispered. "He will not speak of it with me, and probably for good reason. I am sure he holds me accountable."

"As well he should!" she roared. "I told you! I told you before Hagrid ever brought Harry to that house. I warned you about those people!"

"They are his kin, Minerva. The blood wards were the only real protection afforded to Harry."

"Nonsense," Sprout insisted. "I have never bought into that excuse. There were any number of families willing to take him in who were more than capable of protecting him. He could have been raised here, with us, under the defenses of the castle. There have been exceptions in the past for orphans, and they certainly would have applied to the only child of James Potter and Lily Evans."

She paused, shaking her head as she thought of how to phrase her next words, before finally deciding she didn't, at the moment, care for tact.

"I could forgive a lapse of judgment Dumbledore, but that you knowingly send him back to that...domicile...year after year? No, that I cannot forgive." She stood. "I am finished. There is nothing more you could say that I wish to hear. My House is noted for its loyalty, but be warned that my loyalty to you has almost run its course. If you wish to appoint a new faculty member, that is within your discretion, but know this: I will be keeping a careful watch on that boy this year..."

"As will I," Flitwick interjected.

She turned to her colleague and nodded. "And if we see anything untoward, if we see that boy being manipulated or abused in any fashion by anyone, we will take action, and if that results in the loss of a Headmaster, so be it. I refuse to be a pawn anymore, nor will I allow you to play recklessly with the lives of children. You may have leverage with Severus, but you have no power over me. You will not be able to bend me to your will so easily, Albus. Never again."

She took her leave.

Flitwick then stood. "Pomona speaks for me, as well. Remember, Albus, I was here before you. Whether or not you remain here after all of this depends on how you handle this situation. I hope you make the right decision."

Nodding to McGonagall and Snape, both of whom stared after him, he left.

"Dumbledore," Snape sighed, running a hand over his face, "you have fucked up."

"Indeed," Minerva agreed, her lips pursed.

"I made the best decisions I could at the time."

"No," Snape countered. "You made the decisions you did based on some grand master plan which you have convinced yourself is the only viable alternative and which you refuse to share with anyone else."

Minerva nodded, albeit grudgingly.

"If Potter truly is our only salvation against the Dark Lord," Snape continued, "you have wasted eleven years of his life. He should have been trained much sooner. As it is, he is far behind where someone of his potential should be, even in Defense. While he excels rather remarkably in the more difficult areas of that field, he is severely lacking in essentials. You allowed me to believe that he understood his role in all of this. Instead, you threw him to the wolves and allowed a child to sink or swim. It's amazing the boy is still alive."

"Why, Severus," Dumbledore twinkled, "one would think you cared."

"I don't. I care about the Dark Lord's defeat, and Potter is the only one who has managed to accomplish this, not just once, but several times. You never have. You not only perpetuated but encouraged my delusion that he was an attention-seeking brat who was in this for glory. I summarily dismissed his fear as good acting, his accomplishments as dumb luck. Had I truly understood what the brat has endured, I would have used different methods in teaching him."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why did you do this, Albus? If you had explained things, so much might have been prevented: Quirrell, the death of the Diggory boy, the Dark Lord's resurrection. Regardless of my personal feelings, Potter deserved better. You owed him, Albus, and you owed his parents. You owed all of us. No matter what Potter believes, I will always regret submitting to the Dark Lord. Once I thought turning to you would be my salvation, but now I am forced to consider that you are simply the lesser of two evils."

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"This was all orchestrated, wasn't it?" McGonagall growled. "From the very beginning. You kept him separated from his magic, from our world, and to what end? To make him strong? To make him self-reliant? To build his determination? Rubbish!

"And what was the cost? What did the boy have to endure in order for you to make your plan a reality? We shall probably never know. I doubt even Weasley or Granger are aware of the damage you have inflicted upon that child for, if they were, Weasley would be in my office pleading to allow Potter to return with him to the Burrow and Granger would turn away from you so sharply that the snap might break all our necks. It would be unwise to anger that girl."

She pointed a finger at him. "Mark my words, Albus: with her goes both boys, and perhaps a good portion of your allies."

"Potter is not your weapon, Dumbledore," Snape spat. "He is a child, and he is far more powerful and vulnerable than I think even you are aware; he is perhaps even unstable. What will happen when he realizes your schemes? What will happen when he turns on you? Because make no mistake, Albus, he will. Eventually, he will determine your machinations and he will vilify you, and where does that leave the rest of us? Dead like Black? Exiled with Lupin? Slaves to the Dark Lord? How many more have to die?"

Minerva nodded. "You stood back, refusing to interfere when the press maligned that boy, when they blamed him for poor Diggory's death, when they accused him of being mad about Voldemort's return. Do you know he still has nightmares almost every night about Diggory? Do you know how often he has awakened his dorm mates by screaming for the boy?

"You forced a child to participate in the Triwizard Tournament! I should have known then, but no, I allowed emotion and blind trust to overrule reason. Rules, indeed! All you had to do was declare a draw and have the contestants resubmit their names. Upholding some ridiculous ordinance when the fundamental entry laws were perverted? Nonsense! A minor cannot be compelled to honor a magical contract!"

"By the gods," a horrified Snape whispered. "It was you, wasn't it? You meant for him to compete all along! We all thought it was Crouch, but it was you." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Oh, you might not have slipped the brat's name into the Goblet, but neither were you surprised when the cup regurgitated it. You knew it was going to happen, and if Crouch hadn't taken the initiative, you would have."

McGonagall gasped. "Of course! It could have been no one else. What were you thinking?" she screeched. "A fourteen year old boy pitted against dragons? Maybe you are just as senile as many have long proclaimed!"

"I had my reasons," Dumbledore calmly contended.

"And they were the wrong ones!" Snape roared, bringing his fist down on the Headmaster's desk.

"And as of now, they are finished," Minerva declared. "I will not allow you to interfere any more in this boy's life. The entire wizarding world has placed their burdens on the thin, trembling shoulders of a child; a child who, for all accounts, has been systematically beaten down into submission. It is pathetic. You are pathetic, Albus. The fact that he continues to rally says more about the boy's character than any of your so-called reasons. What happens when he decides to give up? How far away do you think he is from deeming it all worthless and either disappearing or simply taking himself out of the equation?"

"Minerva!" Dumbledore scolded.

"Don't you dare," she snarled. "For all we know, he may have already tried. You have allowed yourself to disregard the very real fact that, whatever else he is, Harry is a human being. There is more to his life than Voldemort!" She curled a lip. "Heed my warning, Albus, for I won't give you another: stay away from him. If Severus and I have put all of this together in only a few minutes, Merlin only knows what's been percolating in Potter's head these past years and with whom he might have shared those thoughts."

The Headmaster stared and McGonagall glared right back. Snape smirked at both of them.

After several moments, Dumbledore again cleared his throat. "Harry is coming to the castle today to discuss his class selection for the upcoming term. Luna Lovegood will be accompanying him."

"Tremendous," Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He has added yet another to his collection of strays."

"Miss Lovegood will surprise everyone, I think."

"Another scheme? Another intuit?" McGonagall sneered. "So be it. If Potter has become her friend, perhaps there is something more to the girl than her dazed approach to life suggests; she is a Ravenclaw, after all." She nodded once. "Very well. I will take this meeting. As his Head of House, that is my right. If he wishes to speak with you, I will return him to your office."

"Very well."

She snorted. "I'm sure your spies or your spells or whatever it is you have in this castle that informs you of every whispered conversation will no doubt report back to you the particulars, so do not think me so daft as to believe you are capitulating out of guilt or magnanimousness."

The Headmaster glared, but the witch remained unmoved.

"Now," she continued, "about this Muggle teacher. I want the truth and I want it immediately."

Albus sighed. "As I stated before, every class has more and more Muggleborns. We are doing them a disservice by not better addressing their transition into our world. A large portion of the Muggleborns of each graduating class often choose to attend Muggle university, and they are ill-prepared for the curriculum. Having a Muggle on staff will afford these children someone to speak with, a counselor if you will."

"And how does that translate to a faculty position?" Snape demanded.

"There is more you don't know."

McGonagall and Snape turned to each other, sighed, and rolled their eyes.

"Well of course there is," they groaned.

Harry was slurping down his sundae with relish, delighting at the explosion of flavors across his palate, and was startled out of his reverie as a shadow fell across the table.

"Hello, Harry," said a dreamy voice.

"Luna!" He immediately stood and gave the slight girl an enormous hug, and she kissed him gently on the cheek.

"How are you?" she asked. "Really?"

"Today's a good day," he smiled. "Much better now that you're here."

"I'm glad," she replied, smiling and nodding in gratitude as he pulled out her chair. "The Heliopaths freed from Fudge's tyranny suggested as much," she confided, "but I thought it best to ask you directly. You can't really trust them, you know."

They sat and looked at each other.

"Sirius?" she prompted.

"It's becoming…manageable," Harry whispered, his eyes still trapped in her even gaze.

"You're fine, but not okay?"

"That's it exactly," he said, a small smile on his face.

She nodded once. "So, tell me about these plans of yours." She finally noticed all of the packages surrounding him, shrunken and otherwise. "And about these, as well. Your last letter left quite a lot to be desired, I'll have you know." She peered at him more closely. "Seen the twins, have you?"

"You're firing on all cylinders today, aren't you, Luna?" he smirked, eyes sparkling.

"Muggle phrase," she noted. "Apparently I am. It must be the company."

His face lighted and he leaned forward, whispering his ideas and pressing a sheaf of papers into her hand.

Luna sat and absorbed the information, finding it quite fascinating, and then read the letters, which were even more intriguing. She was so very glad that she and Harry were closer friends now. He was so interesting!

Still, she worried about the leprechaun who was lurking behind him, dancing a jig.

After all, leprechauns were notorious perverts.

Dumbledore delighted in the looks on the faces of McGonagall and Snape, picturing that this must have been how he had looked after Narcissa had dumped this information in his lap.

"Muggle witches and wizards?" McGonagall repeated. "With no ties to our world? No wizarding heritage? Entirely wandless magic?"

"Mouth of Hell?" Snape croaked.

The Headmaster nodded.

"And what of this person? This new teacher?" Minerva barked, recovering her glower.

"I honestly have no idea. Plans were made via an envoy. All I do know is that this person, whomever they may be, is in need of asylum. They are a True Seer."

"Sweet Merlin," McGonagall breathed.

"You are speaking of a conduit," Snape sharply said. "A direct link between the Powers That Be and one of these so-called Champions."

Again, Dumbledore nodded. "This person is apparently a Champion in their own right."

"How is all of this possible?" McGonagall questioned.

"I rather believe that question has been asked by any number of our Muggleborn students the moment they receive their Hogwarts letter," Dumbledore smoothly replied.

"What is this person to teach?" Snape asked. "Divination? Are you finally replacing that twit?"

"No," Albus replied. "It goes no further than the three of us, and Poppy, the nature of this person's gift. Can you imagine what would happen were Voldemort to learn of their existence?"

"Fuck," McGonagall softly swore.

"Minerva!" Snape snickered. "Whatever would your Gryffindors say?"

"I imagine they'd say exactly the same thing," she primly answered.

"Indeed."

"All right, then, Albus," McGonagall snarled, "out with it. What is it you intend to do with this person? The only open position is Defense, and even I doubt you're that daft."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you for your confidence, Minerva."

"You're lucky I have any at all left," she said, tone cold and filled with reproach.

He sighed. "Yes, I am aware. Right, then. Sybill will remain as Professor of Divination for the time being, along with Firenze. Severus, you will be taking over Defense, with the caveat that you will continue to produce the Wolfsbane potion for Remus Lupin."

"You're not serious!" both McGonagall and Snape sputtered.

"Indeed I am."

"You cannot mean to have me instruct Potter in Defense!" Snape bellowed. "Not only would he never agree, you would be giving the Dark Lord even more access to the boy's mind!"

"Which is why you will also be continuing his instruction in Occlumency."

"Absolutely not."

"You will, Severus. That you both deplore the sessions is of no consequence to me. Harry must learn the art, and that is final. It is the only chance he has to keep Voldemort from manipulating his thoughts and actions. Like it or not, you are the only one qualified to instruct him. I cannot do it, as I suspect that your earlier statement is, in fact, true. Harry no longer trusts me as he once did, and that would interfere with his progress.

"The fact that he does not trust you at all is actually a gift, for he will strive all the more to keep you out of those memories he does not wish you to see, and that should help accelerate the construction of his shields. However, certain conditions will apply, for both of you. We will speak more of this at a later time."

Snape set his jaw but held his tongue. Yes, conditions indeed.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "as to the position. I have decided to make Muggle Studies mandatory for all first through fourth year students. They will be required to endeavor in the course until they qualify for their OWL. I cannot impose this restriction upon the Seventh Years, however, so they will be exempt. I ask that both of you begin meeting with Professor Babbling to coordinate those aspects of wizarding society which you believe should be included in the class."

Snape was secretly pleased. For once, one of the old fool's ideas had merit. "Potions," he promptly said. "Had I been informed that Potter had been brought up as a Muggle, I would have realized that his complete incompetence in the course had nothing to do with a lack of intelligence on his part – perhaps – but simply a matter of gross ignorance, which is easily remedied. Ignorance is curable; stupidity is eternal."

He glared at Dumbledore and left no doubt as to which he believed the Headmaster, but Albus replied with a benign smile.

McGonagall swallowed her snicker at their antics. "Severus has raised a good point. Finally. I think it has been taken for granted that Muggleborns would simply adapt once they found themselves within the walls of the school. We have to remember that their previous educations consisted of methods with which we are largely unfamiliar and subjects which are not taught here. It is a bit unreasonable to assume an easy transition from arithmetic to Arithmancy.

"Most Muggle children are not instructed in a second language until secondary school, so Ancient Runes, which is so far removed from a modern language as to be ridiculous, must come as quite a shock. Potions is a difficult and exacting field, and we have poorly served our Muggleborn students by not adequately preparing them before they enter Hogwarts. Currently, we hold no classes related to Wizarding Law or Wizarding Customs, so it should not come as a surprise that more than half of those Muggleborns who graduate then turn their backs on our world. It has never been properly explained to them."

Dumbledore sighed. "As you have been saying for years, Minerva. Yes, I should have listened to you and students have suffered for my hubris, but this is not the time to discuss these things."

Snape and McGonagall snorted. Loudly.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "The Fifth and Sixth Years will be required to take a new class: Muggle Literature and Dramatics. That is the position this new person will fill."

Snape sneered. "Literature? Are you completely spare?"

"Actually," a thoughtful Minerva interjected, "it's a rather good idea. There is some wonderful Muggle literature in existence, and the students do need to be instructed in how to write a thoughtful and intelligent essay. Too many of them rely on merely transcribing facts from books without bothering to learn the theory behind them. Instruction in literature will encourage critical thinking and analytical skills in a majority of the students who are sorely lacking. Further, it will force them to think like Muggles, to learn how Muggles experience life and resolve their struggles."

Dumbledore smiled, but Snape remained unconvinced. "And how is it you propose to implement this plan? I can guarantee that many of the students will rebel, particularly those of Slytherin House."

"They can complain all they wish," the Headmaster replied. "Neither they nor their parents have any control over the academic curriculum. If they do not like it, they can look into attending another institution, but I think we all know that will most likely never happen. Those who sympathize with Voldemort will wish to keep their children here as spies, and those who do not know there is no safer place for their children to reside than Hogwarts."

"I highly doubt it will be that simple," Severus contended.

"Perhaps not," Albus demurred, "but either way, it is out of their hands. Muggle Studies is an established and perfectly acceptable course. I also believe that a simple challenge to those who would prefer not to take the class will compel them to do just that: if they are made to believe that it is doubted they could achieve an OWL in the subject, or if they believe others might think them inferior to the Muggleborns who excel in the discipline, they will rush to prove otherwise."

Snape grunted. "That is an...intriguing idea."

Dumbledore beamed. "Now, there are several things which must be undertaken. First, appropriate quarters must be appointed. I need to apprise Poppy of this situation. Severus, there are several potions I will need you to brew in preparation for this person's arrival."

"Such as?" Snape drawled.

"Determinative elixirs. This person may have innate magical ability of which they are unaware. We need to ascertain that ability, for instruction must be given. We need to know their strengths and weaknesses, possible Animagus traits, and the like. I honestly have no idea if the Americas have in place a system such as ours to identify Muggleborns."

Severus nodded and began mentally preparing lists of spells and ingredients.

"American?" Minerva repeated. "This person is an American?"

Snape curled a lip.

Dumbledore glared at both of them. "I will not tolerate such foolishness from either one of you. It is certainly no secret that the majority of wizarding Europe views the United Kingdom as inferior, so you would be ill-advised to perpetuate that same prejudice with regard to Americans. Let us not forget they have never produced a single Dark Lord, while we have produced many. Instead there are several Light Lords and Ladies to which they may lay claim."

"And who is to take over Potions for Severus?" asked an embarrassed McGonagall.

At this, Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I will," Dumbledore said. "I myself am a Potions Master, and there are very few qualified instructors on record in Britain. If I can successfully procure an acceptable candidate within the month, than I shall be happy to relinquish my current plan of action. Minerva, I will need to you amend all outgoing letters, both to new and returning students, to make them aware of this new course. Materials will be provided by the school so that there are no additional financial penalties for families to consider."

"As you wish," she tartly replied.

Suddenly, the fireplace began glowing.

"Ah," Dumbledore noted. "That will be our young Mister Potter. If you two would please excuse me. Minerva, I shall send Harry to you shortly."

She nodded and left the room. Snape followed, his robes angrily billowing out behind him.

Amelia Bones, the interim Minister of Magic, ignored the piles of work on her desk which demanded her immediate attention, preferring instead to reread for the umpteenth time the letter delivered to her home last night by house elf, startling both her and her niece, Susan. While she had encountered numerous surprises since Cornelius Fudge had been ousted by a vote of no-confidence from the Wizengamot and she had been installed temporarily in his place, nothing had taken her more aback than a communiqué from Harry Potter.

After she had read the contents and pondered them for a while, she had approached her niece and subtly interrogated the girl about what she knew of her classmate. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Susan had known little other than that which most of Britain's wizarding population was already aware: how Harry lived with Muggles during the summer; his close relationship with Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, and indeed the entire Weasley family with the exception of Percy; how the students frequently turned against him when something dodgy occurred, whether or not such an event had anything to do with the boy.

Susan also had explained how Cedric Diggory had stood up to his own House for Harry during the tournament, insisting the boy had not put his name into the Goblet. The girl had proceeded to relate a few more stories, but the overall impression Amelia received from her niece was that Susan was quite impressed with Harry Potter, though in a quiet and considerate manner. This only reaffirmed Amelia's own perceptions of the boy.

The more Susan talked, the more Amelia had realized that she herself knew little of what actually occurred at the school, and she chastised her myopia. These past years had been so consuming as she silently fought behind the scenes in the Ministry to roust Fudge while performing her duties as a member of the Wizengamot, that she had been complacent in her duties as Susan's aunt.

While she had a place on the Board of Governors of the school, she had allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of security by Dumbledore, despite the odd occurrences which took place with regularity at Hogwarts. She cursed herself for allowing his damnable twinkle to override her caution. She had never fully trusted Dumbledore and had flatly refused more than once his invitation to join his ridiculous and illicit Order.

The Potter boy's letter certainly reinforced her opinion of the Headmaster. Amelia had read the epistle several times with disbelieving eyes until cold fury asserted itself and settled her loyalty firmly in Potter's camp. How could the boy not know such things? What had Dumbledore been telling him? More importantly, what had the old man left out? Quite a lot, apparently. It was disgraceful. The entire wizarding world was dependent on a child to save it, while its de facto leader was content to let that child languish in ignorance. She should have looked into this before, back when Susan was in her first year, probably even before that, but no, she had wanted to believe Dumbledore's half-truths and machinations because it was easier and she had thought other things more important. Merlin, James and Lily would have been ashamed of her.

Amelia Bones snapped out of her fog and gently laid Harry's letter aside. Bureaucracy could wait; this could not. She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, wondering who else in the Ministry she could truly trust. She was sure that already factions were forming against her, despite the temporary appointment, and she had yet to decide if she would run during the next general election. She didn't have Fudge's patience for politics and she was no bootlicker; thus, she would need an operative whom not only she could trust, but one who would trust Potter and vice versa.

She looked outside her door where young Percy Weasley was waiting for an audience. She had a good mind to sack him immediately for his ridiculous support and defense of Fudge and Umbridge. His love of power guaranteed that, despite his learnedness, he was an idiot. It was true that he appeared contrite - for the moment - but how could any man, a Gryffindor no less, disown himself from his family for the sake of a entry-level job? It was pathetic!

Still, he might have other uses.

Amelia then considered Nymphadora Tonks. She knew the young woman was an excellent Auror but was also a member of that damnable Order, so her loyalties were in question. Amelia got the sense that Tonks liked Potter a great deal, but was convinced that the woman answered ultimately not to Harry or the Ministry, but to Dumbledore. Amelia wasn't willing to risk Albus catching on to any of her plans. Not until she wanted him to, at any rate.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when Tonks herself burst through the door, panting heavily, her eyes wild.

"Minister! Harry was attacked in Diagon Alley!"

Amelia stood and took note of Percy's horrified gasp. "Death Eaters?"

Tonks shook her head, somewhat sadly, Amelia noted.

"They were just ordinary people," the Auror whispered, her disbelief plain. "At first, they wanted autographs and conversation, but then they converged and began molesting him. They nearly ripped the clothes right off his body! When he tried to get away, it got ugly. They screamed and ranted that Harry owed them, that he should die for them. Several even offered to help him with that, convinced it would placate You-Know-Who to leave all of us alone."

Bones's expression became murderous. The very idea that grown adults would accost a child in a public place in broad daylight because they were scared was outrageous. If they had listened over a year ago when Potter had warned everyone, this panic could have been avoided.

Blasted Fudge! He had managed to malign Potter so badly in the press that most people were convinced the boy was either insane or on the verge of becoming the next Voldemort, yet they still believed him their only hope. Pitiful.

And where the hell had Dumbledore been in the middle of that fiasco? Sitting in his office and playing with his toys and sucking on his infernal lemon drops, no doubt. Well, this wasn't Fudge's ministry anymore, and wizarding Britain was in for a rude awakening.

"First things first. Is Potter well?" she demanded.

Tonks nodded. "A couple of healing and mending spells, and he went on his way to see the Weasley twins."

Bones looked past Tonks to Percy, whose head raised sharply at the mention of his brothers. The Minister could see the young man's eyes were pained; still, she was wary of his sincerity. Perhaps a small test was in order.

"It's only a matter of time before The Prophet gets a hold of this and goes after Harry again," Tonks fretted.

"We'll just see about that," Amelia snorted, nibbling on a delightful little morsel Potter's letter had revealed about a certain reporter. "Tonks, bring in young Mister Weasley and have a seat. There is much to discuss."

"Headmaster," Harry nodded.

Luna said nothing.

"Hello Harry, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore greeted them. "How are you both?"

"Fine, sir, thank you," the boy politely replied.

Luna remained silent, staring, and unnerving Dumbledore all the more for doing so. It was rare someone had the tenacity to engage in eye contact with him for any length of time. Perhaps he too had underestimated the girl, and now he wondered how much that mistake would cost him.

As if reading his thoughts, Luna raised an eyebrow to let him know that she knew exactly what he was thinking and that, yes, he had a right to be worried. Instantly, her face smoothed as she once again donned her trademark vagueness.

Dumbledore blinked. The girl's mask was quite disarming, and even now he wondered how much of it was an act or whether her moments of lucidity were simply fleeting.

"Excellent, excellent. Now, Harry, it is my understanding you wish to discuss your courses for the upcoming term?"

"Correct, sir."

"Very well. You shall do so with Professor McGonagall in her office. As your Head of House, curriculum guidance is her responsibility, one in which she takes exceptional pride in delivering. Miss Lovegood, of course, is welcome to accompany you."

"Thank you sir," Harry responded. "However, I should like to speak with Madam Pomfrey first, if possible."

Dumbledore became concerned. "Are you not well, dear boy?"

"I just have some questions."

The Headmaster frowned. "Very well. You will find her in the Infirmary."

Harry nodded. "Thank you for your help, Professor. We shall see you again shortly."

Dumbledore nodded and Harry left, Luna floating after him and not giving so much as a passing glance back at the Headmaster.

"What are you up to, child?" the old man muttered, wondering to which he was referring.

"Poppy! Is it all clear?"

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk, her face a stormy mask of annoyance at the whispered intrusion until she discovered the speaker. At once her features relaxed into one of rare and undisguised pleasure as she saw the head of Harry Potter peeking in at her from behind a swinging door. After his first year, he had spent so much time in her domain, she had insisted that he address her by her given name when they were in private. Though it had taken him another two years to accomplish such a foreboding task, they had come to enjoy an extremely warm and congenial relationship.

"Harry!" she beamed. "What are you doing here? No one told me you were coming." She cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't it a little early in the year for you to be in the Infirmary, young man?"

He snickered and entered the room as she waved him in. He had left Luna in the hall, searching for pixies whom, as she had explained, flitted about the hospital wing in relentless pursuit of wizarding hair with which to build their nests.

Poppy narrowed her eyes. "I'm detecting traces of healing spells. What happened." She watched him gulp and presumed that whatever had occurred would displease her.

"I was mobbed in Diagon Alley," he confessed.

Her mouth settled into a thin, grim line. She noted from his choice of verb that what most likely had transpired was that some of Harry's more aggressive fans had gotten out of control, for had he been attacked by Death Eaters, he would have said as much. She did not appreciate that the boy gave blanket dispensation to those rabid individuals who believed they were entitled to a piece of him, as though he were cake. She stood and, from a distance, ran some quick diagnostic spells to determine if further care was needed.

"Adequate," she grudgingly admitted. "Who was the caster?"

"Tonks."

She grunted. Not the best, but certainly not inept, which was in and of itself surprising. She walked around and stood before her desk in more appropriate greeting, careful to ensure she was in his line of sight at all times. Sometimes he permitted her to hug him, but she well knew that he much preferred being the one to instigate an embrace. When he rushed into her arms, she concluded it was indeed a good day, despite the earlier scene, though she frowned at how prominent his vertebrae were. Nutrient potions would be necessary.

"Now," she briskly said after he broke the gesture, "what can I do for you?"

He blushed and ducked his head. "Well, I have a favor to ask."

She nodded. "Which would explain the hug," she said, though she tempered the sharp remark with a smile. "Very well. What is it?"

He raised hopeful eyes. "I thought perhaps you might allow me to intern with you this year?"

Her eyes widened. "Here? In the Infirmary? But you hate it here!"

"I hate being a patient," he qualified, grinning, "but I'm rather fond of the company."

"Cheeky! You are entirely too charming for your own good," she scowled. "Your father would be inordinately proud of this moment."

His nose scrunched as he upped the cuteness factor.

She sighed in resignation, having not yet developed a defense for that particular maneuver. "Before I consider this, I wish you to explain your reasons for asking."

His eyes became grave. "Because I know what's expected of me once I leave Hogwarts, Poppy, if he doesn't come for me sooner. I don't want to be an Auror anymore. I don't want to dedicate my life to taking the lives of others."

She snapped her mouth closed and set her jaw, determined not to cry at the frank and rather depressing admission. She swallowed heavily.

"An admirable conclusion and a good reason to study mediwizardry," she declared. "You have my permission. As soon as you know your schedule, send me an owl and we'll determine your hours."

"Really?"

Poppy smoothed his hair and disregarded his rather befuddled expression. "You're a very bright boy, Harry, and an exceptionally powerful wizard. I have no doubt you will succeed. However, I demand that you study hard and pay attention. We will be dealing at times with serious injuries, and I will tolerate neither foolishness nor laziness. While you will by no means have your own patients, I will come to depend on your assistance. You will be here at the appointed times; you will not skip out or skive off; you will complete all of your assignments on time and without the assistance of Miss Granger. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent. Now," she began, as she made her way back over to her desk, "I am going to give you a list of preliminary reading materials. I want you obtain these as soon as possible. If you have any difficulty in doing this, you are to notify me at once. In order for this practicum to be effective, you will have to maintain the grades in your other classes. Have you learned your OWL scores yet?"

He nodded and dug the sheet out of his pocket, handing it over into the woman's already-outstretched hand, as he took in his other the list she already held. He would send a school owl to Flourish and Blotts before leaving Hogwarts.

"You haven't opened them," she noted.

He looked down at his shuffling feet. "I'm not sure I want to."

She rolled her eyes. "May I?" At his nod, she ripped open the envelope and silently read the document. "This is...rather remarkable," she allowed.

Harry frowned. "How so?"

She gave a haughty sniff. "Well, Mister Potter, you certainly have no further excuse to claim ever again ignorance or lack of cleverness. In fact, should you ever do so in my presence, I will personally box your ears."

His eyes widened.

"You honestly have no idea?" she asked, her brows drawn.

He shrugged. "Well, I think I did well on Defense, and probably Charms, but I know I flunked Divination and most likely History of Magic."

"Well, you're mostly right," she snorted, and held out the record, which he warily accepted.

He sighed, braced himself, and began reading.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Harry James Potter has received:

Astronomy ... (O/E)
Care of Magical Creatures ... (O/O)
Charms ... (O/O)*
Defense Against the Dark Arts ... (O/O)*
Divination ... (A/P)
Herbology ... (O/O)
History of Magic ... (A)
Potions ... (E/O)
Transfiguration ... (O/O)

Total O.W.L.s Earned: 18

Please note that there are varying determining factors in computing the final scores, not limited to but including raw magical power, strength of performance, length of spellcasting, and others. Those courses which have both Theory and Practical portions have been assigned a score for each.

Special Notes:

Congratulations, Harry Potter! Your exceptional scores and the breadth of knowledge and power you displayed on your Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts exams have qualified you for NEWT level credit in those disciplines. As such, the Founders' Award for Magical Excellence has been conferred upon you. Information regarding the award ceremony will be delivered by owl at a later date. Incidentally, it might please you know that this award was last presented to your mother, Lily Evans.

Class Standings:

1. Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)
2. Padma Patil (Ravenclaw)
3. Harry Potter (Gryffindor)
4. Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin)
5. Lisa Turpin (Ravenclaw)
6. Susan Bones (Hufflepuff)

7. Blaise Zabini (Slytherin)

8. Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff)
9. Seamus Finnigan (Gryffindor)
10. Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor)

Poppy watched with amusement as Harry's face shifted from fear to disbelief to shock and, finally, to sadness. She gathered he must have read the portion referring to his mother.

"You're quite a bit like her, you know," she quietly said.

Harry looked up at her and blinked furiously. "Like my mum? But everyone else says I'm like my dad."

"You look like your father, yes, except for the eyes, of course, and I'm sure you've grown quite annoyed at both descriptions. And yes, you often display several of your father's characteristics, but those who knew your mother well see much of her within you. Lily was an extremely gifted witch, much along the lines of Miss Granger. While I know that many thought it strange that you and Hermione became so close so quickly, those of us who knew your mother were unsurprised."

"Poppy! Hermione and I aren't dating!" he scolded.

She smirked. "Yes, well, your mother and father, before anything else, were best friends. But I digress. Lily was exceptional in practically everything, and her sheer determination ensured that she would excel in that to which she set her mind. You have her tenacity, Harry, and you have her intelligence." She frowned and looked at him more closely. "I gather most people who knew your parents remark only on the physical resemblances, or that James played Quidditch, yes?"

Harry nodded. "So many people expect me to be like my dad. Sirius, Remus, even Snape. I guess I've just become used to it, though I'm not really sure how much like him I am truly am. It's not like I have anything to go by, do I?" He sighed and lowered his voice. "I've never...I try not to think about her, you know? About what she did, what she sacrificed. It...it hurts, Poppy. And part of me hates her for it, hates her for saving me and leaving me alone, and that makes me feel guilty and ungrateful."

This time, she didn't hesitate in engulfing him in an embrace. "The instinct to protect our young is far older than magic or even humanity, Harry," she whispered. "It's visceral, it's primal. Would you ever do less for your own child? Would you do less for Ron or Hermione? What about what you did for young Miss Weasley?"

"I never thought of it that way."

"Because in such instances, there is no time for thought. You do what needs to be done. It was more important to Lily that you survive." She paused. "Harry, you need to understand something. Whether or not you had been born, your parents were targets for Voldemort before they even married. That he came to Godric's Hollow that night had little to do with you. Oh, in the abstract, you were a large part of it, of course, but, and I'm sorry to be blunt, he had been trying to kill them for years. The bottom line is that their deaths are certainly not your fault."

He clung to her and wept like she doubted he ever had before. Indeed, despite his lengthy list of injuries and ailments, she had almost never seen him cry. That more than anything made her own eyes well. Poppy was startled when the doors to the Infirmary were suddenly thrown open and Luna charged into the room, wand drawn, and looking quite feral.

"Miss Lovegood!"

Luna ignored her. "Harry, are you all right?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. Just got a bit soppy over my OWL results."

The girl stalked over and thrust out her hand, and he gave her the parchment. She glanced at it restlessly and when she looked back up at him, she raised an eyebrow.

"Only an E in the Astronomy practical, Harry? Is it so difficult for you to look at stars? Perhaps you need new glasses. Madam Pomfrey, would you please check his prescription?"

Poppy gasped but Harry began snickering and loosened his grasp on her.

"Only you, Luna," he wheezed.

"Ronald will be pleased by his standing."

"I hope so."

Luna sighed in exasperation. "Harry, are you honestly going to apologize for being more gifted than Ronald? I know you're his friend and your modesty is admirable, but it's really past time you accepted that you're a powerful wizard. Your continued persistence that you are not is frankly boring, and the Heliopaths quite agree."

He giggled despite his best efforts.

"Miss Lovegood," Poppy said warily, "are you quite well?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey, thank you, but did you know you have a pixie infestation in the capital above the third window in the hall? You really should dispel them or they'll be attacking students for their hair. They quite prefer redheads, you know, so perhaps you should warn the Weasleys and Professor McGonagall."

Poppy gave the girl a ruthless appraisal. Luna Lovegood was as much her mother's child as Harry was his. It was tragic such two exceptional children had been forced to grow up without their mothers' love, though at least Luna had experienced it for a time. She was rather surprised not by Luna's storming into the room, not by her easy friendship with Harry Potter, and neither by the girl's subtle sense of humor nor obvious wisdom, but that Luna Lovegood had seen fit to appear sober in her presence. How interesting.

"Well, Mister Potter, shall we continue our discussion? Miss Lovegood, you are free to stay, but you will remain quiet."

Luna shrugged and plopped down on a bed, sticking her wand behind her ear and staring off.

"As I was saying, Harry, your scores are quite remarkable. I confess I never would have believed you would do so well in Potions," Poppy frankly stated.

"Me either!" he blurted.

She twitched her lips. "An O in Transfiguration; I'm quite sure Minerva was ecstatic. Os in Herbology and Charms, as well as your Potions score, will help you greatly with your internship, as will your O in Care of Magical Creatures. The fact the you earned NEWT level credit for both Charms and Defense speaks of your ability and tells me I can expect a lot from you.

"And make no mistake, Mister Potter," she added, waving a finger for emphasis, "I will have very high expectations. You've managed to earn an OWL in every course. Well," she snorted, "those which matter."

Harry snickered and though Poppy wished to join him, she refrained. "Now, do you know what classes you plan to take this year?"

He went through his list.

She frowned. "Harry, you do understand that if you are to consider mediwizardry as a career, you must continue with Potions?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I think we both know that I will most likely not even be alive to have a career."

Luna clucked her tongue but said nothing.

"Do not dare speak such utter rubbish in my presence!" Poppy roared. "That kind of defeatist attitude will kill you much sooner than any Death Eater!" She lowered her voice. "Harry, I understand your desire to abandon Potions, but this score tells me you're far more talented than you believe, despite of the treatment you received from your...instructor."

She hemmed and hawed for minute. "Very well. I will tutor you privately in the potions you will need to learn for your internship, as well as any other you wish to learn to brew. Many healing potions are analogues for the more useless concoctions you would learn in class, but you should nevertheless learn them."

"I can't ask you to do that!" Harry protested.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't ask, then, isn't it?" she briskly replied. "Now, then, you will learn whatever potions I decide you need to master, and you will brew them only in my presence until I am assured of your competency. In fact, I believe I will make that one of your primary duties, and then perhaps I shall not be forced to rely so much on Professor Snape for his," she sneered, "generosity."

"I simply do not have the time to brew potions on my own. You should learn more than enough to sit for your Potions NEWT." She nodded. "Now, I gather you also have an appointment with Minerva, and you would be wise not to keep her waiting. Inform her that you have my consent to intern here in the Infirmary and if she has any questions or concerns, she can broach them with me herself."

Harry blushed. "Thank you, Poppy."

She nodded gruffly. "Now get out, both of you!"

She watched in satisfaction as they made a hasty retreat and wondered why, according to her diagnostic spells, Harry was slightly more than one year older than he was supposed to be.

She doubted it meant anything good, but she'd keep it to herself. For now.

Viktor Krum frowned as he again read Harry's letter before laying it down next to him and rubbing his eyes with his hands.

When it had been delivered last night by a rather exhausted house elf, Viktor had been surprised and not a little scared, dreading that he was about to be informed of Hermione's death. After word had leaked out of Harry's escapade in the Ministry, Viktor had been horrified to learn that Hermione had been attacked by that cretin Dolohov. It had taken all of his self-control not to give chase to that murderer and exact vengeance. It disgusted him that he was distantly related to such a loathsome man.

A cooler head had prevailed, however, and he had refrained, knowing that such action might do more harm than good. He didn't want to bring unnecessary attention to Hermione and further compromise her safety. Of course, he realized, she also would have likely hexed him into oblivion.

He gave a small smile. She was an uncommonly clever witch and had known what she was doing when she had aligned herself with Harry. The last thing she'd want was him swooping in and trying to rescue her. She didn't need a hero; she already was one.

Viktor sighed. He wished he had been more faithful in his correspondence with Hermione, but his training and touring schedules left little time for friends, though he still did consider her a close friend and hoped she thought the same. She had been the only one during the Tournament to be unimpressed by him, which had made him all the more impressed with her. His fellow Durmstrang students had indicated that this was so because Hermione was a lowly Muggleborn and thus was ignorant of his importance.

He snorted at the reminiscence. Hermione was about as ignorant as Athena and almost as powerful.

No, she had treated him as if he were any other boy, and it had been a long time since he had felt that kind of freedom. She liked him because of who he was; because he was Viktor. Sometimes he forgot that people might want to be his friend not just because he caught a Snitch.

Of course, Harry had been equally kind to him, not even asking for so much as an autograph, which left little hope that Viktor could ask for an autograph of his own. When he had returned to Bulgaria after his time at Hogwarts, all his friends and family wanted to know about was Harry Potter.

Not the Tournament, not Voldemort, but Harry.

The more Viktor had thought about Harry, the more curious he had become. His interactions with the younger boy had been brief and superficial, as most contact between contestants was barred lest it seem they were colluding together in the Tournament.

On first glance - actually, on the first several glances - Harry Potter hadn't seemed particularly remarkable, but the First Task had been an eye-opening experience for Viktor. As he had watched Harry outrace a dragon - and how embarrassed he had been for never thinking to summon his own broom! - the boy's Seeker reflexes absolutely amazing for his age, and Viktor had understood finally why Harry Potter had been named a Champion.

Not that he had believed the boy had placed his name in the Goblet in the first place. There was no way he had believed Harry would have subjected himself to that. When he had later overheard Diggory telling Harry that he believed him when Harry said he hadn't entered, Viktor had most of his questions answered. Then, at the hope and happiness which had sparkled in Harry's eyes at Cedric's affirmation, he had all of his questions answered.

Harry liked boys.

Harry had liked Cedric.

It made Viktor very sad that Harry had never told Cedric, for he was fairly certain Cedric had liked Harry as well.

The news was not about Hermione, however; she was apparently safe, thank the gods. Instead, he had found out more about Harry Potter and his friends than he ever wished to know, which meant he had some tough decisions to make.

His initial reading of the missive had left him stunned. He had then read it several more times in an effort to comprehend exactly what Harry was telling him. Viktor had experienced myriad emotions in those minutes before sending his owl to inform his manager that he was taking an immediate leave of absence of unspecified duration. He wanted to be ready to depart at a moment's notice when Harry sent for him.

He would help his Hermione. He would help his Harry.

Viktor retrieved from his bedside table a letter he should have delivered more than a year ago after it had been entrusted to him, but had never been able to bring himself to do so. Perhaps now was the time.

Harry knocked hesitantly on McGonagall's heavy oak door, somewhat hoping he had been quiet enough so that she hadn't heard him and he could go away, return to the Dursleys, try to ignore what he learned in Gringotts, and not worry about Hogwarts until September.

He so didn't want to do this. Certainly not now, and quite possibly never. Poppy was one animal, but McGonagall was in a whole other league, one in which he was sure he wouldn't have made the cut even as the water boy. Luna squeezed his hand in support.

"Come in, Mister Potter!" called McGonagall's clipped voice.

"Just remember what I told you," Luna whispered, "and stay true to what you want to do. No one can force you to do otherwise; not even Dumbledore. Even he has his limits, Harry."

Harry doubted that, but gave a hesitant nod and opened the door. Luna discreetly followed him.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter, Miss Lovegood," McGonagall nodded. "Your presence is not required, young lady."

"I'd like Luna to stay, please, ma'am," Harry said.

She stared at him for a moment before her gaze slid over to the girl, who was staring at empty space. Sighing and not seeing the harm, she nodded and waved a hand to indicate they should take the seats before her desk.

"Very well. Let's discuss, then." She waited until they had sat down and folded her hands before her. "I'm afraid I do not understand the purpose of this meeting, Mister Potter. You have already selected your courses for the coming term."

"And I'd like to change them, please."

"Explain."

He faltered and looked at his hands, blushing.

"Mister Potter…Harry," Minerva said more sedately, "what is it you wish to do?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers, ignoring how his mouth went dry. "I want to drop everything but Transfiguration."

She blinked and tried to process the request, but she was too stunned. "You what!"

He flinched and looked to Luna, who shook her head.

"No, Harry. This was your idea, and you must speak for yourself. You know what you want to do, so now tell the Professor. You can't expect people to read your mind and there will not always be someone there to make you feel better." She gave a small smile. "This is your life, Harry. Make it into something you want."

"Well said, Miss Lovegood," said a startled McGonagall. Perhaps Albus wasn't wrong about the girl. Then again, she figured the Headmaster was due for an astute prediction. "Mister Potter, I can't help you if you don't tell me how. Now, why do you wish to drop your other courses?"

"May I speak freely, ma'am?"

She blinked again, this time with relief. While she appreciated that she kept her students on their toes, the downside was that they were often on their guard around her, which was both good and bad – those students with whom she didn't want to be close avoided her, but those in whom she took a healthy interest were too often intimidated – not to mention Albus had kept Potter well isolated from almost the entire faculty, though she was aware that in addition to herself, Poppy and Flitwick had much affection for the boy.

She nodded. "I wish you would."

He absently scratched his head. "History of Magic is a useless course," he blurted, appearing surprised by his own bluntness. "I honestly cannot fathom what the Headmaster is thinking by allowing a ghost to teach that class," he added, now picking at his scar. "Everyone falls asleep and Hermione is the only one I've ever seen in the past five years who actually bothers to take notes. Most people skip the lectures and read the assigned books, which are equally boring and unhelpful. Binns can't be bothered to take attendance, probably because he doesn't know our names, so the grade really isn't affected."

"Sad, but accurate," Minerva acknowledged. "Continue."

"I've earned OWLs in every course I've undertaken. I'm not technically required to continue studying anything."

McGonagall's eyes once again turned toward Luna, whose face was blank, wondering how Harry had discovered this, for there was no way Albus would have ever imparted that bit of wisdom. She was sure it came from either the Lovegood girl or those infernal Weasley twins. Whatever the case, it didn't alter the fact that the boy was correct.

Well, wouldn't this put a bee in Dumbledore's ridiculous hat?

"You've done your homework, Mister Potter – for once – but I'm afraid that I require further explanation."

Harry exhaled. "Professor McGonagall, I absolutely refuse to endure Snape any longer. I don't know how I managed to score an O in Potions, but I did well enough that I no longer have to suffer that course or his irrational abuse."

Minerva stifled her own sigh, instinctively wanting to chastise him for his phrasing but knowing that doing so would be tantamount to abetting Severus' behavior – which was indeed abusive and had gone too long unchecked by Dumbledore – and she would not have Harry think her to be as lax as the Headmaster.

"Mister Potter," she said slowly, debating whether she should endeavor to persuade him to continue with the course while abandoning its professor, "you should know that Professor Snape will no longer be teaching Potions."

"Oh? Then who will?"

"The Headmaster."

"I stand by my decision."

She raised a brow. How interesting. Severus might treat Harry poorly, but he seemed to know the young man well enough to predict that he would eventually, if not turn against Albus, come to resent him.

"Very well, but surely you wish to continue with Defense? It is your best subject. And thanks to you, your year has earned more OWLs in that class than any year previous."

His cheeks pinked, but McGonagall sensed it was not from embarrassment, but from his immediate dismissal of the credit, which was certainly quite annoying; she was not one to lavish praise, and to have it snubbed was grating.

"I have already earned my NEWT," he countered.

"Which is not to say you've learned everything you need to know," she sharply replied.

"Professor Snape will be the new Defense professor, won't he?" Luna asked.

Stunned, McGonagall merely nodded.

Harry chuckled darkly. "Well, at least one of us gets what he wants." He shook his head. "Knowing that, there is no way I would ever agree to set foot in his classroom. Why would I give him free license to curse me to his heart's content?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Mister Potter, Professor Snape would never attack a student, no matter his personal feelings."

Harry scoffed. "Really? How much do you know about my Occlumency lessons last year, Professor McGonagall?"

"Not much," she admitted, "only that the Headmaster wanted you to learn the art."

He nodded. "Yes, well, since that time I've learned a bit more about the process itself and discovered that teacher and student must have some level of trust and respect between them in order for it to work." He raised a brow. "The obvious correlation is that I have never liked nor respected Snape, and never will. I'm sure the feeling is entirely mutual and I could really care less."

She opened her mouth to argue, but was summarily cut off.

"Spare us both, Professor," Harry said in a curt voice. "I've done some checking. I could have him prosecuted for what he did to me last year, and I haven't yet decided not to do just that."

McGonagall released a slow breath. Oh, she wanted to push him for answers but knew this was not the time. She would learn, however, what that man had done to her little lion. If it was has she suspected, Dumbledore would be the only thing capable of stopping her from extracting a pound of flesh.

He sighed. "Professor, were I not required by law to attend school until I reach majority, I would not be returning to Hogwarts at all."

"Harry!"

The boy's face became mottled. "Professor McGonagall, I love this school. I love my friends, and...and...I..." He looked helplessly at her, his eyes bright.

"Understood," she quietly said, heart in her throat.

If he made her cry, she would beat him with a broom.

He clamped his mouth shut and nodded. "You know how dangerous it is to have me here," he finally said, holding up a hand to silence her protest, surprised when she inclined her head in acknowledgment, "but even more than that, I have come to the conclusion that for too long I have allowed other people to dictate my life."

He squared his shoulders. "It's time I took control. I may have been prophesied to battle Voldemort, but that doesn't mean I have to cede my entire life to that fight." His gaze narrowed. "Nor do I have to allow others to do it for me."

She blinked. "Prophecy?"

His jaw set.

"All of this is about some ludicrous prophecy?" she thundered. She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head, eyes trained to the ceiling. "Well."

"You didn't know?"

She snorted. "You are not the only one our illustrious Headmaster keeps in the dark with regularity, Mister Potter."

She exhaled through her nose. Prophecy. It explained so much; in particular, Trelawney's appointment, which had never made sense, despite Dumbledore's frequent assertions that the woman was not without talent. Dumbledore had arranged this boy's entire life around a prediction proffered by a woman who was barking mad.

She swallowed heavily, her thoughts racing, all but tasting Harry's rancor on her tongue. She knew him well enough that despite his level timbre, his dark tone suggested he was furious, and she was sure the target of his wrath was Dumbledore. She could appreciate this, as she too was undergoing a similar crisis of faith. None of this information, however, changed the fact that Hogwarts was the safest place for him. His only other option was to return to those horrible relatives of his, and she was not about to let that happen.

She also wondered how he had learned of the particulars of the prophecy, which she now realized must have been Voldemort's target that night in the Department of Mysteries. She was sure it had since been destroyed, but found it hard to believe that Dumbledore would reveal its contents to its subject. It was fairly well known that Harry Potter believed in Divination about as much as the man in the moon, but if Dumbledore had thrown all of his authority behind the words and pontificated as if from on high, playing on Harry's guilt in the process, it was no surprise that the boy had caved.

Bile splashed the back of her throat. Dumbledore could be dealt with at a later time. Right now, her priority was ensuring that Harry remained at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future, preferably from this moment forward. But how to accomplish it?

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, her own eyes becoming impossibly bright as she watched him force back angry, bitter tears. "You are not the only one who has waited too long to make difficult choices. I understand your anger and your resentment, and you are entitled, but child, you are simply too intelligent to waste your education. As you said, you are compelled by law to attend this institution and you are correct that your OWLs excuse you from continuing with classes you no longer wish to study, but I sincerely hope you do not throw away these final two years out of petty spitefulness."

"I don't intend to," he said. "Madam Pomfrey has agreed to allow me to intern with her for the year in the Infirmary." He gave a sardonic smile. "She also insisted that I learn whatever potions she decrees I must so that I can sit my Potions NEWT."

She raised a brow. "Then I do believe congratulations are in order, Mister Potter. It's not just any student whom Madam Pomfrey allows into her domain."

He grinned. "I know."

She smiled as well, pleased that he was able to take some pride in his accomplishments rather than simply viewing them as a means to an end. "So you wish to continue with Transfiguration as well as interning in the Infirmary. Is there anything else?"

He bit his lip. "Well, Luna has suggested that in order to do well in my internship, I should continue with Herbology. And I really like Professor Sprout."

"Good advice," McGonagall declared, thinking that she should later speak to Pomona about this meeting and ask her to keep an eye on Harry in her class; not that she would need to ask, of course. Pomona's outburst this morning in the Headmaster's office had been both surprising and illuminating. "That's three."

He nodded. "I would also like to begin Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

This time, she raised both eyebrows. "But Mister Potter, you have no experience in those courses. Do you understand that you would be in class with Third Years?"

"I do, and I don't care. It's time I took advantage of every resource this school has to offer. If that means I have to learn along with a pack of thirteen-year-olds, so be it."

She considered him for a moment. "You consistently surprise me, Mister Potter," she finally said, "and it's extremely rare for me to be surprised. However, where you are concerned, I find I'm rather fond of the experience; when we're not in mortal danger, of course." She nodded. "Very well. If you wish, I will speak to the professors about instructing you privately."

He shook his head. "Thank you, but no. There's a line between taking advantage and being demanding, and I don't wish to cross it. Luna has offered to tutor me when I need it. She's the top student in her year."

"She is?" McGonagall turned to the girl. "You are?"

Luna dropped her mask, her eyes focused and her mouth grim. "I am a Ravenclaw, Professor."

McGonagall blinked owlishly. "So you are. It would appear Mister Potter has rather surprising friends, as well."

Luna turned to her friend. "Harry, why don't you consider taking Runes and Arithmancy as independent studies? That way, you could determine your own pace and schedule in conjunction with Professors Babbling and Vector, and you wouldn't be forced to sit alongside thirteen-year-olds who would probably take much more time assimilating the information than you."

She then returned to considering oxygen molecules and what they were whispering to her about the evils of nitrogen.

Mean nitrogen.

Harry smirked at McGonagall's befuddled stare. He had a feeling the professor wouldn't again underestimate Luna Lovegood.

McGonagall looked again to Harry. "I don't foresee Miss Lovegood's suggestion being a problem. Mister Potter, there is also a new required course being instituted this year: Muggle Literature and Dramatics. All Fifth and Sixth years must take the class."

He narrowed his eyes. "What is this really about?"

"You will find out soon enough, I expect," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, good grief," he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Quite. Nevertheless, it has already been written into the curriculum as required, and thus you have no choice but to take it. It is not demanded of Seventh Years, however, so you must only endure for these next two terms. It will not be terribly inconvenient, I believe. Mostly reading and a few essays. All of the materials will be provided by the school."

"Who is teaching this course?" Luna interjected.

"Frankly, I do not know. The Headmaster is making the arrangements." She looked to Harry. "He will most likely be speaking about them with you."

"Fun."

"Indeed. Now, that is six courses. I shall register you immediately and generate a booklist."

"Excuse me, Professor," he interrupted, "but there's one more I'd like to request."

"Mister Potter, seven courses is really exceeding the recommended guidelines, and you well know the trouble Miss Granger experienced when she pushed herself too far."

"It's not technically a course," he said. "I'd like to have a dedicated period of library time, preferably when it is rather unoccupied and in which Madam Pince is informed not to disturb me, as well as a year's pass to the Restricted Section."

McGonagall slowly removed her glasses and looked down her nose at him. "Excuse me?"

"Professor," he said, knowing he would have to sell this quickly and was not beneath self-deprecation and arousing pity, "I have to learn things in my own time and in my own way. I did well on my OWLs, yes," he flashed a quick grin at McGonagall's snort, "but it took me five years to be able to order in my mind what I had learned. I'm not like Hermione or Zabini. It takes me quite a long time for me to build onto my knowledge."

She frowned. "How so?"

He fidgeted. "Well, take Hermione, for example; or Blaise, for that matter. They only need to read or be taught something once to understand it. Hermione can recall information whenever she needs and she's then able to integrate that knowledge with everything that preceded it. Ron, on the other hand, does best only in certain subjects, but those in which he does do well, it's like he has an instinctive grasp of the whole and immediately fills any gaps with new information."

She gave a curt nod. It was easy to see why his Defense students had succeeded. He was an excellent teacher who understood his students. "Your observations are correct."

"I'm not like that," he continued, shrugging. "I don't really know how I learn. Harder spells come easy to me, yeah, but other things which almost everyone knows fall out of my mind as if my brain is leaking. I just can't keep them inside, and I can't seem to correlate them with each other. I'm constantly having to relearn things which I already learned but have forgotten. I can conjure a Patronus, but still can't do a decent Scourgify."

She frowned again, more deeply, and considered his explanation which was lacking in several respects and rather poorly phrased, though she nevertheless got the gist.

"I understand what you are saying, Mister Potter. Perhaps what you don't know is that the level of power of a witch or wizard duly influences how they absorb information. You are highly powerful, so it is unsurprising that harder material is easier for you to grasp. Your magic responds to more difficult challenges."

She then decided to probe more deeply into his background at least as far as magic was concerned, because she was sure that despite Albus's silence on the matter, the boy had displayed excellence from the beginning.

"Tell me, Harry, did you ever perform any magic before you came to Hogwarts?" His guilty flush spoke for itself. "Ah, I thought as much. Please tell me about these incidents."

"There are too many. I don't remember them all," he admitted, eyes down, "just being punished for them."

He flushed more deeply at his unintended admission, although after his letters and his conversations with Luna, he was finding it easier to qualify the Dursleys' treatment of him. Still, it was embarrassing.

McGonagall's face became stone and she nodded for him to continue. As he couldn't see the gesture, Luna, who had noticed it, gently stroked his arm.

"I Apparated once," he recalled, his face screwed up in thought, deciding that was as good a place to begin as any.

"Excuse me?" Minerva turned to Luna and was even more disconcerted to see she too was startled. "You Apparated? Without training? When?"

"I think I was eight. You see, I was..."

She tuned out his explanation, however, preferring her stupor as her mind desperately processed his words.

The boy had Apparated at eight years old.

There were several things about this which shocked her, the primary one being there had been no report from the department which regulated underage magic; at least none with which she was familiar. Such a feat would not have been able to be contained, even by Dumbledore. So why hadn't the Ministry been alerted to an eight-year-old Apparating about England?

Dear Merlin, she thought, his power must be astonishing. But then why were his scores only mediocre to middling in the previous five years?

She determined that there was more going on there than just how Harry perceived his ability to learn. She resolved to look into it later and would not be informing Albus that she intended to do so, or of her findings. Hopefully she had temporarily disabled the charms he had placed about her office. She was still outraged that he had been so presumptuous, but that was a conversation for a later time, one she would make sure Dumbledore would not likely soon forget.

She struggled to tune back into the conversation.

"And really, Professor, I'm speaking only of learning theory, not practical. I won't be casting any spells, I promise. I just...I just have to do something. I can't stand being reactionary to things anymore. I can't settle for being told only what people think I need to know!"

He paused, trying to get his temper under control as he thought of Dumbledore and the man's irritating prevarications.

"The bottom line is this: when it is time for me to face Voldemort, I will be standing alone. I need to be ready."

She eyed him briefly before looking away. If he thought he would be standing alone, he was very much mistaken. The death of innocence had never been so poignant and her anger at Dumbledore had segued from fiery outrage to frigid wrath, which helped to order her thoughts.

"I understand. All right, Mister Potter, I will write you the pass, but with the following conditions."

She ignored his mixture of relief and annoyance.

"First, I will create it so that I am aware of every book you pull from a shelf and every spell you read. Second, at the end of each week, you will write me a summary of what you have learned, as well as theoretical scenarios in which such spells could be employed; thus you will earn credit for independent study for all the work you will be doing. Third, the pass will be charmed so that you cannot reveal to anyone that which you have learned without my express permission, and don't think it will be easily obtained."

Her mind roared with glee. Even Dumbledore would not be able to violate the charm she would place on that pass.

Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slowly nodded. Nothing for which McGonagall was asking was unreasonable and it was nothing he wasn't prepared to relinquish; he had anticipated far greater difficulty.

Minerva had expected his surrender, so she went in for the kill. "Finally, you will agree to private lessons with me in the Room of Requirement - yes, I know all about that room - where you can practice what you have learned without fear of reprisal or of harming anyone. Further, should I deem it necessary, I will invite at my discretion any faculty member or other witch or wizard whom I believe could assist in your development, even if such people are those with whom you would prefer not to interact."

He glared at her and then turned to Luna, who nodded. "Don't say no out of fear of Snape or anyone else. The Professor is not going to tolerate nonsense from anyone. You have to trust somebody, Harry, and I think it should be her."

"I advise you to listen to Miss Lovegood," McGonagall added, stunned by her own words, "and I promise that I will not take advantage of that trust."

"You never would," Harry whispered, his tone unintentionally scathing. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Will there be anything else?"

"Yes. I'm resigning from the Quidditch team."

Her eyes became the size of saucers. "Oh, Harry! Please don't do this! Aside from the rather perverse pleasure I get out of snatching the cup out from under Slytherin every year, your resignation would be catastrophic for the team morale."

"Then they're not a very good team if they place all of their hopes on a single player," Luna demurred.

Both Harry and McGonagall blinked and turned to stare at Luna, who appeared rather bored. Silence reigned for several moments.

"Yes," the Professor finally sighed. "Well...yes. An excellent, though rather tragic, point, Miss Lovegood."

"I just don't have the time, Professor," Harry continued. "I have other priorities now. You of all people know how much Quidditch means to me. These past years, it's often been my only solace. But if I'm going to demand to be treated as an adult, then I have to start acting like one, which means that I must sometimes make choices which don't necessarily benefit me."

She sighed again. "I wish I could change your mind, but I understand. However, I insist upon informing the team myself and I shall take responsibility for your absence."

"You can't do that!"

"I can and I will," she said sternly. "This is nonnegotiable, Mister Potter. You know how seriously Quidditch is taken at this school. Do you have any idea what would happen were it to get out that you voluntarily quit? You remember what it was like for you during fourth year; your own House, with the exception of Miss Granger, all but abandoned you!"

She shook her head. "Never have I been so ashamed and disheartened as I was by that behavior. I simply refuse to allow it to happen once more. As you said, you have enough to consider without your own House turning on you yet again."

"But what will you tell them?"

McGonagall waved her hand. "I will make up some excuse as to why you are no longer on the team, and I dare one person of any House to aim one untoward remark my way." She pursed her lips and became thoughtful. "It's perhaps easiest to claim that Umbridge's ban still holds and that you are simply no longer allowed to play. For all I know, it might even be true."

"Ginny," he blurted. "She has the potential be an excellent Seeker and she already has some experience under her belt, thanks to Umbridge. If you speak with her soon, I can begin to train her next month for tryouts while I'm at the Burrow."

McGonagall wondered why the boy simply couldn't contact the Weasley girl himself, but refrained from asking. That Harry was willing to forfeit some of his summer holidays to train a possible replacement was gratifying, so she had no qualms about acceding to his request.

Harry frowned. "Although Colin Creevey has the build and would probably do well, too. I'm just not sure he could handle the pressure." He gnawed on his lip. "Who will be the team captain?"

"Miss Bell," she answered, rather relieved when he appeared pleased at the news.

Dear Merlin! Was she really so dependent on the boy's approval?

Well, when it came to Quidditch, perhaps she was.

"Katie's an excellent choice, and while Angelina was competent, I imagine Katie will be more like Oliver and keep the team in a firm grasp."

McGonagall's shock was obvious.

Harry's answering smile was rather cheeky. "I gather you thought I would advocate for Ron. He's a brilliant tactician and he knows a lot about Quidditch, of course, but he has a tendency to become obsessive and he would most likely alienate the entire team before the first game."

He shrugged. "He also hasn't been on the team long enough to justify the appointment. The others would rebel, and with good reason. And, frankly, even though Ron is my best mate, I don't think he could balance the captainship in addition to his Prefect duties."

McGonagall openly studied him. "You've been rather underestimated, haven't you, Mister Potter? By all of us."

Luna nodded. "Yes. He has."

Harry, however, was lost in a Quidditch haze. "Ginny, I think. For Seeker. Colin would cave were he pitted against Malfoy or Cho. Ginny wouldn't care. She has the concentration and is used to Malfoy's insults."

"Agreed," Minerva said.

She would owl Miss Weasley later in the day. She suppressed her sigh as her rage for Dolores Umbridge once again sparked. Stupid cow.

"I am very pleased that even though you are relinquishing something in which you find pleasure, you are still able to see the big picture and plan accordingly for others. Let me handle this, Mister Potter. It's one thing to be an adult; it's quite another to be a martyr. I think you've sacrificed enough, don't you?"

"It's okay if you want to cry," Luna told him, patting his cheek.

He laughed instead, understanding that was her sole intention. He reached up and grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers, at which McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Harry caught the look and blushed before he began fidgeting.

"Er, Professor. Luna and I aren't together, if that's what you're thinking."

"Harry..." Luna warned.

"You said I have to trust someone."

"There is a limit."

"What is going on here?" McGonagall demanded.

Harry sighed. "I sometimes like boys."

She pressed a hand to her chest. "Is that all? Oh, thank Merlin!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were going to tell me you had gotten some witch up the duff!"

She shook her head to dispel her queasiness before noting with amusement the Lovegood girl's smirk and the boy's baffled expression.

"Potter, honestly, do you think you're the first? Please. You're not the first in your House, in your year, nor the first in your House in your year!"

She suppressed a grin as she watched him try to process who the other or others might be. She supposed she shouldn't have been so forthcoming, but truly, Mister Finnegan was more than a bit obvious about his tastes; if it had a pulse, he was interested. She wasn't even sure that a pulse was requisite.

She cleared her throat. "I admit I'm somewhat taken aback, simply because I witnessed your fondness for that Chang girl, but it's certainly not earth-shattering."

McGonagall thought about her words and, once they registered, she struggled to keep her face stoic. It had never been about Chang, she realized, but Diggory.

Oh, Harry.

She decided to press her luck and fish for information, narrowing her eyes. "However, if I find out that you and Mister Weasley are using your dorm room to..."

"I don't like Ron!" Harry spluttered. "Not like that, I mean," he choked, his face scarlet.

She studied him for a moment, feeling vaguely guilty at her delight in making him squirm. "Very well. As long as you observe the rules for any dating couple while at this institution, there should be no problem. Why were you so concerned with telling me?"

"It's a problem for Muggles," Luna explained. "There are laws and such throughout the world. Beatings, blatant discrimination and the like are commonplace. While recognized as equals in England, homosexuals are usually not permitted to marry nor raise children in most other countries. They can even be jailed or executed for having relations."

McGonagall looked incredulous and colored slightly at the word relations. "How utterly barbaric!"

She turned to Harry. "Potter! Some advice: who you love is simply who you love, and that's the end of it. Now, if this is something you wish you to keep to yourself, then I will hold your confidence. Who you wish to tell is certainly your own business."

She glared at him. "However, if someone learns of this and attempts any sort of extortion, you will inform me immediately. If you choose to announce it to the world at large and you suffer any harassment for it from those in this school, you will inform me of that immediately. I will not tolerate foolishness. Not yours and not that of anyone. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am!" He had paled considerably.

She nodded. "Good."

"Harry does still like girls, you know," Luna confided. "It's nice that he's not exclusionary."

"Well, congratulations on your versatility, Mister Potter," Minerva drawled, pleased when she saw him flush once again. This was far too easy and rather enjoyable. She quickly filled out a registration form and spelled the ink dry to seal the charm.

"Now, I will keep a copy of this for my own records and one will be sent to you via owl along with your new schedule. You are to give this copy to the Headmaster before you and Miss Lovegood leave the school. If he has any questions, you tell him he is to come to me to discuss them. If that is all, I wish you good day."

Hopefully, Dumbledore would distract Harry long enough for her to conspire with Poppy to keep the boy on the grounds for the remainder of the summer.

"There's one more thing, Professor."

"Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

Luna turned to Harry. "Show her."

He blinked as he puzzled over what she meant. When he realized, he shivered and blanched. "No!"

"Show her!"

"Luna, I said no!"

The girl rolled her eyes and waved her wand. Immediately, Harry was thrown to his feet and began marching toward McGonagall.

"Miss Lovegood!"

With another wave of her wand, Luna canceled the concealing glamour on Harry's wrist. Another wave and his arm was held out in front of McGonagall's face. Both the McGonagall and Harry were so startled, neither stopped to notice that Luna had cast her spells silently.

"What do you see?" Luna demanded.

Minerva, taken aback by her tone, peered closely. "I must not tell lies."

The girl nodded. "Umbridge. Detention. Blood Quill."

At once McGonagall stood, her scowl furious and eyes enraged. She crossed to her fireplace and threw a handful of dust into its mouth.

"Severus!"

Momentarily, Snape's head appeared in the grate. "Minerva," he greeted. Then he spied Harry and Luna and sneered. "Everyone."

Harry rolled his eyes while Luna stared.

"Severus! Gather Pomona, Filius, and Poppy and meet me in Dumbledore's office at once!"

"Professor..." Harry said weakly.

"Shut it, Potter!" she barked. "How you could not have come to me with this immediately does your supposed intelligence a great disservice!"

Severus cocked a brow as he watched Potter's face fall; to be chastised by a professor whom the boy obviously respected appeared to be a harsh blow for him. Interesting.

"I'll see you there shortly," he addressed McGonagall, before disappearing from the flames.

Minerva turned to the students. "Both of you! Come with me!"

Alastor Moody rambled about his small home, still cursing the fact that some random house elf had managed to breach his wards last night to deliver a letter. While Potter's epistle was disquieting, he was more upset about that blasted elf. He should have taken into account the fact that most wizarding wards provided no defense against other magical creatures. What was to halt an elf owned by some accursed Death Eater from penetrating his defenses for nefarious purposes?

"Constant vigilance!"

Right. Well then, perhaps the elf's appearance should be viewed in a more favorable light. He must look into ways of denying anyone, human or not, entrance to his sanctuary. Pleased, he turned his attention to other matters.

Potter's letter was surprising and disturbing. He was frankly astonished that the boy had contacted him in secret and was rather pleased that he had not done so by using his very recognizable owl. That he had instead employed a free house elf to deliver his missive was inspired and implied to Moody that the boy was not incapable of rational thought. It was the contents of the letter which were so injurious.

Dumbledore.

Potter had laid out his suspicions and asked pertinent questions to which Moody believed the boy already should have had answers. What the hell was Dumbledore playing at, keeping the boy so misinformed? To what possible end could the old wizard have believed such action to be wise?

At first, Moody had almost dismissed the boy's concerns out of hand as if they were nothing more than a teenager's petulance, but the fact that Potter had sought him out when they had almost no relationship - and especially after the farce with Crouch - suggested the boy had reason to be wary.

Moody had laughed out loud when Potter had asked if he was simply being paranoid. Paranoia was a wonderful gift! Especially for a boy under such scrutiny.

Also impressive was that Potter had bypassed those Moody was sure Dumbledore would have expected the boy to approach. Molly Weasley was a smart choice, and he was sure Potter was capitalizing on her affection for him. Excellent strategy. The woman was formidable and not even Albus Dumbledore intimidated her when a child was at risk.

Amelia Bones was also a clever idea, though it was obvious from the letter Potter had no idea she was the new Minister, still believing her to be the head of the DMLE. That should prove entertaining, though it rather stuck in Moody's craw. What was Dumbledore doing, keeping the boy so isolated from the wizarding world? It made absolutely no sense.

Oh, he was sure it made sense to Dumbledore, but that meant little to Moody, who often thought Dumbledore believed all of this to be some exquisite game, a tidy little whatsit of Good versus Evil.

Well, that was quite charming in theory, but impractical. Moody was sure that Albus sat in his office on his throne with his pet Death Eater at his side and silently laughed as he yanked on people's strings. Not that he believed the old buzzard was malicious per se, just idiotically myopic.

Dumbledore had maneuvered all of this so that Potter would be forced to confront Voldemort.

Why? Because some prophecy suggested it must be so?

Moody snorted. Prophecy, indeed. He couldn't believe someone as allegedly intelligent as Dumbledore put so much stock in Divination. It was asinine. If Dumbledore was so intent on using Potter as weapon, why hadn't he had the boy trained? It was obvious to anyone with any whit of sense who spent even five minutes in the company of Harry Potter that the boy had enough power to topple the wizarding world if he so wanted.

And that's when Moody understood. He smirked.

Dumbledore feared Potter.

Dumbledore feared what the boy would do were he not kept in check, and that was wise. For the past two decades, he had heard that Aurors were now trained to overcome their fears, but that was fallacy. Fear was necessary; if employed correctly, it forced one to rely on logic in making split-second decisions rather than emotion. One should struggle to recognize fear for what it was, a warning, and not to discount it.

Still, Dumbledore was being ludicrous. If Potter was truly interested in becoming the next Dark Lord, he would have taken steps already. He would have declared his allegiance to Voldemort and thrown in his lot. Moody was quite sure Voldemort had already extended the offer and wondered what enticements had been held up as carrots.

Were Potter to align himself, there was no limit to what Voldemort would be willing to concede, even his own followers. If Potter was evil, he would have taken the Dark Mark and called for the executions of Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, quite possibly Snape, and a host of others. In fact, he was betting Voldemort would make another offer quite soon, especially after that debacle in the Ministry. The death of Sirius Black had all but shattered Potter, and he would rightfully want vengeance against Lestrange, as well as against Dolohov for attacking Granger.

Well, so be it. Moody believed that if Potter had turned down Voldemort once before, he would again. Dumbledore's mistake was consistently underestimating who Potter was as a person, too focused on Potter the wizard. The boy had already gone to great lengths to demonstrate that even if he cared little for himself, he would fight and die for his friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger in particular. Moody assumed that protection had now been extended to Ginevra Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood.

Ah, there was a proper witch.

Moody remembered too well the girl's mother and Luna was an excellent blending of her parents. She had her father's paranoia and belief in all things possible, and her mother's intelligence and ferocity. That she had so firmly declared herself in Potter's camp was both interesting and enlightening, and he was quite sure Dumbledore hadn't seen it coming, though he was most likely preparing for a way to press this new advantage.

However, Moody didn't believe the Lovegood girl was under any illusions as to the character of her Headmaster. She had purposefully cultivated a reputation as a misfit so that she might better keep a watchful eye on her surroundings and the people who moved within them, all the while subtly encouraging them to discount her with their every glance.

Clever, clever girl.

And when Harry had listed in his letter the others to whom he planned to reach out, Moody was sold. He couldn't wait to see what the boy would do next, and what Albus would do when he realized a mere child had placed him firmly in check.

Alastor Moody cackled.

Things just became interesting.

Neville Longbottom had abandoned his manor house proper and sought refuge in the conservatory, trying to discern what had laid behind his grandmother's tenacious interrogation an hour previous.

She had first demanded to be told everything he knew about Harry Potter and he had started to become annoyed, fearing that she would try to separate him from Harry and, by association, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny. That would never happen, of course, his grandmother's approval notwithstanding. After everything that had happened the year previous, which had culminated in their mission at the Department of Mysteries, Neville was not about to let anyone nor anything interfere in his relationships with his friends.

She had surprised him, however, by quickly segueing from Harry to Dumbledore. He had no idea what she was on about; the most he was able to determine was that she had problems with the man. She had all but commanded him to avoid the Headmaster unless absolutely necessary and told him he was never to speak with Dumbledore alone. If the man ever demanded such an audience, Neville was to notify her at once. That was odd.

But not really.

Neville had to admit that he had felt rather abandoned when Dumbledore had all but disappeared from Hogwarts last term, taking off for parts unknown to do Merlin knew what, and relinquishing control to Umbridge. True that he had not much choice, but surely he could have stuck around and fought the Ministry. Had the students' parents ever learned of what that woman had been doing, they would have rallied behind Dumbledore to have Umbridge tossed into Azkaban.

He snorted. "Good place for her, the stupid cow."

He looked around guiltily, fretting he might have been overheard.

He picked up the nearest trowel and began repotting some mandrake saplings. After the events in second year, he had determined it would be good to have some on hand. After all, who knew if Voldemort had more basilisks waiting in the wings? He knew it wasn't much, but beyond his Herbology talent, he didn't have much to offer other than as a foot soldier. He wasn't the most skilled in combat or the most talented at spellcasting, but he was loyal, a trait which he knew Harry valued above all others.

He had to admit that it was rather nice being friends with Harry. When he had first met the boy, he had been both thrilled and terrified, but the more he had gotten to know him, the more Neville had realized that Harry was nice. He wasn't conceited or arrogant as others had often accused him of being, and he was a good friend. Neville trusted Harry with his life, which was no small feat.

It had taken a lot for him to stand up to the Golden Trio in first year, when they had stormed off after the Stone, but they had appreciated the fact that he had been worried about their safety. They, Harry in particular, always stood up for him, whether it be against Malfoy or Snape, or even against other members of their own House. Harry had told him that the Hat had put him in Gryffindor for a reason and that Neville belonged there just as much as anyone else.

Neville still wasn't sure about that. He often thought the Hat had made a colossal blunder in its Sorting, but there was little he could do about it now. He had always believed he would be Sorted into Hufflepuff and that had been fine with him; there were certainly worse things than being regarded as loyal and industrious. His grandmother had been pleased he had put into Gryffindor, of course, as if it was some sort of validation; both of his parents, after all, had been Gryffindors.

He sighed. He supposed he should make arrangements to visit them before he was due to go back to Hogwarts. He used to think it would get easier over time, but it had only gotten worse. He guessed that a child never outgrew their need for their parents.

Andromeda Tonks was bustling around her kitchen, preparing to begin supper.

While she didn't miss most things about the wizarding world, she often longed for a house elf. Not that she really needed one, of course, with just she and her husband rambling about their townhouse. It was still hard to believe that Nymphadora had moved out almost five years ago. The house just seemed so empty without her and the constant - and loud - accidents.

She gave a small smile and sent up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening to keep an eye on her daughter. Though she knew Nymphadora was a brilliant Auror, Andromeda still followed the progress of the wizarding world, and Voldemort had been too quiet for too long.

She was startled from her thoughts by a quick and insistent rapping on her front door. Wiping her hands on her apron and blowing a lock of hair from her face, she rambled toward the sound of the intrusion and threw back the door.

"Do you open your door to just anyone?"

"Apparently," Andromeda snapped. "What in Tartarus do you want, Narcissa?"

Bill Weasley stormed into his apartment in Diagon Alley and slammed the door behind him. The goblins had insisted that he take the rest of the day off; in his present state, he was of no use to them or anyone else. He had been faintly surprised that they were as outraged as he, but perhaps it was to be expected under the circumstances.

"That...that bastard!" he snarled.

"William!" Fleur scolded, bustling out of the kitchen. "About whom are you speaking? And why are you home at this hour?" she demanded. Her eyes widened and her frown died as her lips parted in concern. "I have never seen you this upset," she fretted, turning back into the kitchen and fetching him a glass of water.

He followed, sat down at their small café table, and put his head in his hands.

"I'm not supposed to say anything," he ground out. "Gringotts laws of confidentiality and all that, but more importantly, I can't break Harry's trust."

"Harry?" she repeated. "This is about Harry? Has something happened to him?" she trilled.

Bill raised his head and stared at her, blinking. "Are you all right, love? I knew you liked Harry, but I didn't know you were quite so fond of him."

"He saved my sister's life!" she exclaimed, with a tone which indicated she thought him stupid for not remembering as much. "I thought for sure Gabrielle would perish in that lake, but out of nowhere, Harry broke the surface of the water with both she and your brother! My entire family, as well as yours, owes him a life debt!"

He was confused. "But it was all part of the Tournament, wasn't it? Nothing truly bad would have happened to Gabrielle if Harry hadn't pulled her out of the water."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Well, we certainly didn't know that, did we?" she testily retorted. "And neither did anyone else. My parents weren't even asked about Gabrielle's participation! She was all but kidnapped from the Beauxbatons carriage. None of the hostages were even consulted, only becoming aware of events once they broke the surface of the lake.

His eyes widened and she nodded.

"In those moments, they believed their lives had been saved by the contestants. Life debts were formed. I do believe Hermione had figured out she would be taken, so it's possible she owes no debt to Viktor. I know nothing about that Chang girl, but it hardly matters now, does it?" she asked, eyes wetting at the thought of Cedric.

"But Gabrielle and Ronald both owe life debts to Harry, and I owe him one I can never repay. You have no idea what is was like for me, being underwater, utterly and completely terrified that my incompetence would kill my sister; of the shame and guilt I felt leaving her behind so that I wouldn't drown myself; waiting on the dock, shivering almost to the point of convulsions, wondering how I would tell my parents that their youngest child was dead."

She paused and gave a dreamy sigh. "And then he emerged, with Gabrielle in his arms."

Bill managed not to roll his eyes and said nothing as he quietly watched her blink back tears. He had never truly realized just how horrible that accursed Tournament had been for all of the Champions, and now he sat and pondered her words.

No, he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her. Charlie, not knowing the rules of the Tournament, had been furious once he realized it was Ron whom Harry was to rescue as almost everyone was convinced it was Hermione, who had also been missing; in fact, Charlie had found the whole Task utterly perverse.

Bill frowned as he began remembering that Charlie had been just as concerned for Harry as he was for Ron and Hermione; more so in fact. Interesting. Especially since Charlie really didn't know Harry; he still didn't. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. Harry simply inspired devotion just by being himself. That he thought himself rather unremarkable was simply more reason to care for him.

He forced himself to focus. Harry had not only rescued Ron, but Gabrielle as well, completely disregarding his own life; all he had known was to save as many people as he could. Bill had no doubt that had Krum not successfully freed Hermione, Harry would have found a way to rescue her, as well, or die trying.

He then thought about Ginny and how Harry had saved her from the Chamber in her first year, not even really knowing her, but desperate to save the sister of his best mate. Fleur was right. The Weasley clan owed Harry Potter a life debt, and possibly more than one.

There was still a lot Bill didn't know about the Chamber escapade. Ginny had been unconscious for most of it and couldn't recall anything, and Harry had been frustratingly tight-lipped. He was doubtful that even Ron and Hermione had all of the details. All of these things served merely to reinforce his anger at what had been done to Harry Potter, and if his fiancée was of the same mind, then Harry had a new ally, and a powerful one at that.

"Dumbledore," he seethed.

Fleur's eyes widened in partial understanding. "Foolish old man! Making Harry compete in the Tournament! Fourteen years old! Kidnapping children!" she raged. "Cedric!" She at once became wistful and gave a gentle sigh. "Cedric liked Harry, you know."

"Almost everyone likes Harry," replied a distracted Bill. He then thought of Snape and Fudge. "Well, save for the wretchedly cruel and stunningly stupid."

She gave him a withering glare. "No, William. Cedric liked Harry."

His eyes became the size of saucers. "Oh," he whispered. "Did...did Harry like Cedric as well?"

Poor Harry's life seemed destined to become a Greek tragedy of epic proportions.

"I do not know," Fleur admitted. "Harry is one of the few people I cannot read. He has no reaction to my Veela magic."

"None at all?" he sputtered. "I thought he was just being polite out of respect for us."

"Well, Harry is very respectful, of course," she conceded. "He never treated me as anything more than another Champion. He was cordial, always, though I regret to say I was not," she confessed, her cheeks slightly pinking. "I think he was rather embarrassed by Ronald's reaction to me." She paused and cocked a brow. "In fact, I'm not sure for which of us he was more embarrassed," she mused, a slight smile on her face.

"Perhaps Harry prefers boys," Bill shrugged. Given the day's more shocking revelations, he was surprised to recall so strongly Harry's apparent crush on Charlie, but it came readily enough.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Harry likes a bit of both, I think, but that is of no consequence; beauty is beauty. Most people do not understand the way of the Veela. We don't compel people to become nymphomaniacs or anything so ridiculous. We simply exude an aura of comeliness to which people respond. Unfortunately, sometimes that reaction is more visceral than we would like. Even among those who prefer people of the same gender, a reaction is almost guaranteed. Not from Harry, though."

"He does seem very...controlled."

"Abnormally so, I think."

"How do you mean?" he asked, understanding exactly what she meant, but wanting her to explain her reasoning. Fleur was disarmingly insightful; he wished his family would give her a chance.

"Well, don't you think that anyone who had been through half of what Harry has endured would have been rendered a lunatic? And I think more has happened to him than anyone even knows."

Bill snorted. "More than you can imagine."

Her eyes narrowed and he realized that she was abandoning pretense and taking a page straight from the book of her future mother-in-law.

"What are you talking about? What do you know? Has it something to do with why you're home so early?"

"Harry came to see me today."

"They let him out of his prison?" she asked snidely.

He sneered in concert. "Too right. I think Harry's finally learned that if he stops begging for the simple things and instead demands them, he'll find little to no opposition. He wanted to meet that Lovegood girl and he needed to go to Gringotts."

Fleur's brow furrowed. "Luna? I did not realize they were so close."

"You know Luna?" he asked, confused.

"Well of course I do!" she laughed. "She's my cousin, after all!"

"She is?"

"Have you even looked over the guest list?" she demanded, mock annoyance clouding her face. "Yes, she's my cousin. Several times removed, but she is family through her mother's side. That's why I always sat at the Ravenclaw table while at Hogwarts."

Bill was flabbergasted. "I can't believe I never realized. My family has known the Lovegoods forever. They live right down the meadow, you know."

She grinned. "Yes, I do."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He then frowned. "Is Luna part Veela? Perhaps that explains Harry's interest in her."

Enraged, Fleur rose to her feet. "Oh, so he couldn't like her just for her, is that it?"

Bill's eyes widened; too often he forgot about the Veela temper. "That's not what I meant at all!" he sputtered, though it was.

"Yes, it was!" she challenged. She huffed and sat back down. "She probably has some Veela blood in her, but only a trace amount, and if Harry has no reaction to me, he certainly would have none to her, at least in that way." She shrugged. "Luna has other gifts."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"So what did Harry need at Gringotts?"

He averted his eyes, knowing better than to press her on something she wished left alone. "Well," he began slowly, "he initially came in to make a small withdrawal from his vault, but once he arrived..."

He then launched into that morning's misadventures, watching as her expression flitted from surprise to horror to outrage and, finally, to righteous indignation.

"That's illegal!" she screamed, once he was finished. "And immoral! And...and..." she panted, trying to catch her breath and rid herself of the bile building up inside her throat.

He nodded, the gesture one of both sadness and anger.

"What is Harry going to do now?" she hissed.

He smirked. "He has a plan, you see..."

She gave a feral grin and eagerly leaned forward.

Bill Weasley was once again reminded why he was the luckiest man in the world.