A/N : Thank all of y'all for the story alerts and encouragement ….and thank you especially my one anonymous reviewer! You really made my day and I hope to live up to expectations!

Extra long post today rather than extra short. Enjoy!

The next few days, nothing happened. Harry waited around Grimmaud place, looking at the tapestries, rummaging through Sirius and Regulus' rooms, dusting. Dusting, always dusting. Harry felt that Kreacher must be putting cobwebs back during the night. Kreacher denied it with a little winsome smile that made Harry all the more suspicious.

It wasn't all that much use hanging around Grimmaud place, so harry went over to Diagon Alley to get both some summer style and winter style robes. He assumed that he'd be heading to Beauxbatons first.

He left the house through the floo network and wound up in the midst of a semi0riot. Well it wasn't a riot exactly. It looked like a beginning-of-term shopping frenzy. In fact, maybe it was a riot after all.

Cloaks swirled around him: first years with their eyes wide and faces flushed, third and fourth years linked arm in arm, laughing and giggling, the occasional haughty-looking Slytherin. Harry walked slowly along, drinking it in, particularly the first years. He could see his own first trip to Diagon alley mirrored in the faces of the muggle-borns that were wandering along, most of them accompanied by even more astonished-looking parents. It was such a brilliant sparkling world to be introduced to, with the goblin bank, the pubs, the ice-cream shop, stalls and bakers selling every imaginable pastry. Even Ollivander, bless his frail and ancient heart, was back in business, with the store repaired and looking as moldy and dilapidated as usual. A first year was just exiting the store, a little girl, bright pink with excitement and anticipation. She was carrying her new wand with both hands, gently, gingerly. Her father was with her, and he tipped his hat towards the inside of the store before the two of them set off down the alley. The thrill of magic rippled through Harry, and he was suddenly back with Hagrid, trying out his first wand, and terrified that it had all been a mistake. The shop itself had been destroyed by death eaters, Ollivander had been captured and tortured by Voldemort, but through it all, the magic had remained, and right had won out, and here he was, back again at the doorstep as if nothing had happened.

On this impulse, Harry darted inside to say hello.

And ran into Ginny. He had to fling his arms out and catch her to keep her from being bowled over.

Ollivander looked down from his ladder and re-perched his spectacles on his nose.

"Harry Potter!" both Ginny and Ollivander said at once.

Harry was sure that his face was now as bright red as the first year girl's had been.

"I'm so sorry," he told Ginny," are you all right?"

"Just fine," she said.

"Ollivander," Harry said, "It's so good to see the shop open again. I just wanted to say, well, it's rather awkward but well, I'm glad you're back with us, safe and sound."

Ollivander smiled down at him, "kind words. How's that wand of yours? I heard that it was broken in two, and then that you used another wand to mend it. Powerful magic that, you should take up wandmaking, that is, if you haven't already found another calling."

Harry pulled his wand out of his robes and placed it in Ollivander's outstretched hand.

"Good as new too," Ollivander said, raising an admiring eyebrow in his direction. "However did you manage it?"

Harry wondered if Ollivander had heard about what had happened to the Elder Wand. He weighed the evidence, decided he probably had, and decided that he also didn't really want to go around explaining.

"Oh you know," Harry said, trying to keep his voice offhand, "Hermione Granger is an absolute whiz with looking things up in the Hogwarts Library, the really old stuff. Elder magic and things like that."

"I see," Ollivander said meaningfully. He smiled. "I've just been discussing a very interesting phenomenon with Miss Weasley." He picked up Ginny's wand from the counter and handed it to Harry.

"It's sprouted!" Harry said, astonished.

"Just a little bud," Ginny said, "but I couldn't figure out what to do, clip it off?"

"I've never heard of a wand sprouting," Ollivander said, "does it affect the way that it handles?"

"No," Ginny said, "The balance is still fine."

Ollivander stared at the wand with a pained expression. Like he was trying to figure out how to restrain a wayward child. "Then let us wait for a while. I'll spend some time in research. It might also be fruitful to lay the problem at the feet of the ever-resourceful Miss Granger."

"I already have," Ginny said, laughing a bit, "she said she was straight off to the library. She's probably there now."

"Very useful girl," Ollivander muttered, "I should hire her as an assistant."

Harry and Ginny left the store together, very naturally. Harry liked to consider that it was merely a coincidence.

"I should do a little research in the library myself," Harry told her," I've got a job from Professor—sorry, Headmaster McGonagall this year."

"Really? What are you doing?"

"Well I don't quite know, actually," Harry said," the specifics, at least. I'm going on a kind of goodwill tour around the wizarding world. I'm not very familiar with the lay of the land outside of Hogwarts. It'll be very interesting, I've always had questions about the magical folk, for instance Hagrid, is a half-giant, but I don't know where giants are from. All I've heard about them is that they're a bit dangerous. What about the Veela and the merfolk, I think there are a lot more magical creatures hanging around in Scandinavia than in England." He paused, mostly because he'd run out of breath, but also because he'd suddenly noticed that Ginny had a distant, glazed look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "Here I am running off about magical creatures. I expect you have enough lecturing in school, you don't need me lecturing you as well."

Ginny smiled at him and laughed," Potter you're such a know it all. You should teach at Hogwarts, you know. In my book, you'll always be our best DADA teacher."

Harry got a funny feeling that shivered up his back. He smiled, and hoped that he wasn't grinning from ear to ear like an idiot, just a respectful, polite yet enthusiastic smile. Then he braced himself and said "thank you. I'll write to you while I'm there," and managed to keep his voice from cracking while he said it too. Five points for Gryffindor.

Ginny laughed at him and trotted off down the street.

Harry decided that this 'skeletal key' thing was too intriguing to pass up, so he went to find Hermione in the library.

Hogwarts library had always been a bit imposing, in Harry's opinion. Hermione practically lived there, of course. She was always checking out books, poring over them, making notes, flipping through he pages and pausing for a moment to scratch something on a piece of parchment that always seemed to be completely drowned in ridiculously small handwriting. Harry, at the current time, couldn't recollect ever exiting the library with a book in hand. He was too scared to ask. It was a great place to start looking for answers to the questions that garnered those pained, funny looks from the teachers. But it was a horrible place to imagine checking anything out. No question.

Harry made a silent wager with himself that whatever the Skeletal Key was, its book was listed in the Restricted Section.

"Hermione Granger here?" he asked the student who was earning extra credit by working at the front desk. Either that or doing detention for Madame Pince, the hook-nosed librarian who Harry always secretly thought was in love with Filch.

The girl, a Hufflepuff said, "Third aisle in, near the back, in the Restricted Section."

"I'm surprised at her," Harry muttered, tsk-ing and shaking his head," the Restricted Section indeed, practically indecent, her going in there."

The Hufflepuff looked confused; Harry marched off in the direction indicated.

Hermione was reading a book entitled Exploring the Hidden Treasures of the Caribbean: or Brainwashing with Alcohol, the Tried and True Secret to Opening the Lips of those Sealed by Davy Jones' Locker.

"Not your usual fare, is it?" Harry commented.

Hermione waved him into a chair without looking up.

"I've come to look up Skeletal Keys," Harry said, "Headmaster McGonagall was going to send me one from Beauxbatons. You don't know anything about it, do you?"

Hermione raised her eyes mildly, "No, never heard of it." Then she returned to her reading.

Curiously enough, Harry didn't buy it. Hermione knew everything. Her answer just made him suspicious.

"Fine," Harry said, "I'll just start with Grafton's Indexe of Magical Artifactes and look it up."

Hermione nodded.

Harry got up to go. Then a thought struck him. He stood over Hermione.

"I'm not going to find it, am I," he said.

Hermione closed her book with an air of extreme patience," you might, you never know."

"I'm not going to find it, because you've already tracked it down and it has to do with Pirates," Harry said.

Hermione started sneaking the copy of her book to the side. Harry made a snatch for it.

"Stop it," she hissed," McGonagall gave me the tip where to look. Harry, you're probably better off not knowing."

"Hermione, make sense, will you?"

"It has different powers based on how much the owner knows," Hermione said, "more power if you don't know much about it. That's about all I should say or it won't work at all for you. McGonagall thought I should be familiar with it a bit before we started using it. It's a tricky object."

"How can I be expected to use a magical object if I don't know what it does?" Harry said.

He must have said it very loudly because the Hufflepuff girl came round the corner and politely asked them to use indoor voices. Harry slumped down in a chair next to Hermione and leaned on the desk.

"That can't be the right title," Harry said.

Hermione held up the book. Now the spine said The Vampire as a Plant: the Art of Defense Against Pumpkin and Other Out-Of-Control Squash.

I think it's ingenious really," Hermione said, "I think I can safely tell you about the book. The text inside changes too. You approach this book with what you want to find out, and while you're reading all this drivel about pirates and booty, suddenly it pops into your head the answer to your question. But Harry, seriously, since I've read this and know about the Skeletal Key, it will never work correctly for me."

"McGonagall cooked this up, didn't she?" Harry grumbled.

"I really shouldn't tell you who is responsible," Hermione said. "I'm not sure how far I can go before I say too much."

"Well that's just brilliant," Harry said.

"McGonagall got it today," Hermione said," she sent me an owl earlier."

"And I suppose that I can't know when the object arrives or where it is either."

"Harry, McGonagall uses these keys, she can't read about it any more than you can or the magic will be broken. She had me come and identify it."

"She doesn't even know what it looks like?" Harry rolled his eyes, "this makes Dumbledore's explanations look precise and detailed. I can't believe this. I suppose we can't know what we're going to do at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang either."

"Oh no," Hermione said, drawing a parchment out of her robes, "Our itinerary at Beauxbatons came today with the Skeletal Key. I've already written my keynote speech. We'll attend several functions and critique some of their best students on their defenses against the Dark Arts. I thought that identifying and breaking an Imperius Curse might be a good place to start—sufficiently difficult and impressive, but not seriously harmful."

Harry was beginning to feel very left out. Hermione gibbered on about demonstrations and ways to grade students based on their thorough knowledge of the subject. Then she started in on suggested study techniques that the students could use to get the most out of their classes. It went on and on.

So the Skeletal Key was a slippery fish. It probably was some combination of an Unplottable Hexed Hypnopneumonical object, but since Harry knowing what it was would cause it not to work, he was going to call it a slippery fish for now. One thing was certain, with Hermione volunteering to write any addresses and speeches that Harry would make during this trip, things would go a lot easier. Anyone could tell that, even without magic.

Harry sat by as Hermione finished her lecture, jotted down a few more notes about the Skeletal Key on that ever-present piece of parchment and stuffed it up her sleeve. Harry would have loved to steal that paper. In fact, if he was a first year, he'd probably have stolen it already. But he wasn't a student anymore.

In fact he was almost too tired of dark objects to care about them anymore. 'Skeletal Key, lead on, follow thou I' was the way he looked at it. They went up to McGonagall's office.

After a few tires, they got the gargoyle to accept 'puking pastilles' as its password (which probably denoted the tenor of the new administration, in Harry's opinion), and wound up the circular stair. The door was open, rocking gently back and forth in the breeze, because the window was open too. McGonagall was nowhere in sight.

Hermione marched in, unperturbed and picked a package gingerly off of McGonagall's desk. Harry eyed her suspiciously.

"Is it going to hurt you?" he asked.

Hermione tossed the package through the air and Harry caught it.

"Probably not," Hermione said, "but better safe than sorry. You open it."

Harry unfolded the scroll. Inside of it was a winged key, bound up tight with twine and struggling to get loose.

"It's the key from the room full of keys. When we went looking for the Philosopher's Stone." He smiled. "I always thought those keys were a bit too easy to get by. It wouldn't work if you knew what it was, right?"

Hermione shrugged. "I really couldn't say."

Harry stuffed the key in his pocket and read the parchment. It was closely written, in neat, loopy characters. Harry wondered if penmanship was a particularly emphasized subject at Beauxbatons.

Dear Mr. Potter and Miss Granger,

We are so delighted to hear that you will be joining us for the Summer Incantation of Health. It is, as you know, on of the highlights of our magical year. We do so wish to get the grapes ripening well. The Californian Imposters have been very active in ensuring that their wine harvest has more depth of taste then ours. I believe that with such accomplished and discerning tastes as yourselves doubtless possess, we may finally be able to land Bordeaux back in the good graces of the Wine Spectator. Suggested topics for presentation to our students: terroir, the counter-cultivation of nematodes, defense against the black art of phylloxera and other American-Cajun Voodoo, oak casks and the allowable enchantments, and canopy management to minimize powdery mildew of course, we're having a very damp year. Fortunately, your visit will also coincide with our annual banquet and wine preview of the Grand Vin of all the best Châteaux.

Au Revoir,

Madame Maxime

Harry turned the letter this way and that.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"I can't read it," Harry said, "the writing is awful."

"Here, let me see it," Hermione scanned the letter carefully. She pulled out her wand and said "Magnificato." The little letters jumped up from the parchment and enlarged as she moved her wand across them. Her lips moved slightly as she read the entire document.

"What's it say?" Harry asked.

"I don't understand this at all," Hermione said, "I've never even heard of nematodes!"

"What are nematodes?"

Hermione gave him a patronizing look. "I said I didn't know."

"Sorry," Harry said.

"It says that we're to take part in their Summer Incantation of Health, and that there's a dinner," Hermione looked up, "Harry do you know anything about wine?"

"No."

There was a muffled hoot from one of the portraits on the wall, a distinctly stifled snigger. Harry looked at the pictures but couldn't see which one was the culprit. Everybody seemed to be blissfully napping, except for Snape, of course, who was doing his best to imitate a non-magical portrait of Lord Nelson or someone similar.

"However," Harry said, "I'm sure it's not all that difficult. We can read up before we go."

"Butterbeer and firewhisky? That's it? Hermione asked.

"Well the Dursley's had wine occasionally," Harry said, "Of course I wasn't allowed to have any."

Hermione groaned. "My parents were dentists. They went on and on about how it could stain your teeth."

"Hermione, about your parents…" Harry began. He stopped when he saw the stricken expression on Hermione's face.

They stared at each other for a few very long moments.

"Don't suppose there will be much about wine in the Hogwarts library," Harry said, "you could order some books from Amazon."

"We don't have time," Hermione said, "McGonagall said that we were scheduled to leave tomorrow." Her eyes flickered towards the Skeletal Key," but I can't tell you why."

There was another loud, semi stifled snort from one of the paintings. Harry was beginning to have his suspicions as to the perpetrator. He had noticed that Snape's face was twitching into a somewhat fierce expression that could only be described as joyful. Harry ignored the blighter. It did occur to him that he might do better to brush up on his potions in the few remaining hours before they set off. If only he'd had his old potions textbook...

Harry shot a glare at the portrait on the wall.

"Well, we'll just be polite, inquisitive," Hermione said, "ask intelligent questions, and be as thorough and clever as we can. We're supposed to be upping Hogwart's enrollment. We must be charming."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, "where's McGonagall? I thought she'd have more instructions for us."

They sat down in two of the green leather armchairs and waited. Hermione took the parchment and was deciphering it, carefully copying it onto another sheet in her own neat characters. Harry couldn't help staring at Snape's picture. It half surprised him that Snape had merited a painting on the wall at all. But headmaster is as headmaster does. Phineas Nigellius Black was up there.

Harry still couldn't bring himself to like the man. In fact, what with the greasy hair and the thin lips that always looked sneering, awful hooked beak and piggy eyes, he thought he had a sneaking suspicion as to why his mother had, ahem, found his father more attractive actually. It was an odd thought, Severus Snape in love with Lily Evans. Snape, who was so clumsy and stupid that he destroyed the very thing he wanted most in the world. It was pathetic, but even so, Harry couldn't bring himself to like the man.

Neither could Phineas Nigellius Black. He was creeping through the edge of Snape's picture with a large white rabbit clutched carefully in one hand. Silently, furtively, he deposited the obese little rabbit in Snape's chair. It sat there chewing its cud pleasantly, making a rather comical background for Admiral Snape. Phineas Nigellius snuck back out of the painting.

Poor Snape, he was so eminently teasable.

There was a flurry of green flame from the fireplace, and a brief struggle with several pairs of broomsticks. McGonagall had finally made her entrance.

"Good day to you," she said, as if she wasn't covered in soot, her cloak wasn't torn in several places and the brooms she was gripping fiercely in one hand weren't trying to get away. "I see you've received the letter from Beauxbatons. And the key? Were you careful to follow my instructions," she looked pointedly over at Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione said, "I read all about it in the library. Harry knows nothing."

"Well, do not experiment with the key on your own, Miss Granger. It has powers that most people have only guessed at and I would distinctly wish for you to make the journey in one piece."

"How did Professor Quirrel get past these keys before?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself. "He must have known what they were. He'd gotten through them before me and had bent the wing of the right one."

McGonagall and Hermione traded looks.

"I think you understand that it's best you don't know." McGonagall said. "When you've finished using the key, feel free to study it all you like. For now thought, you must simply trust."

"It's not even that interesting," Hermione said.

Harry felt like gnashing his teeth.

"Are you ready to set off tomorrow?" McGonagall asked.

Tomorrow was a lot sooner than Harry had imagined. But it seemed all right to him. Kreacher could handle everything back at Grimmaud place. It just felt rather sudden, and he really didn't know what he'd be doing on this trip at all. It was one thing to talk about giving lectures and attending banquets, it was another thing to be faced with the necessity of preparing your speech and worrying which fork was for the salad.

"You will have a guide for the first portion of your journey, because as you know Beauxbatons is unplottable." McGonagall said. "And a guard."

"Why do we need a guard?" Harry asked, bristling. The war was over, and Harry wanted to feel like it would stay that way.

"Because Potter," McGonagall said, drawing herself to her full height, "you did not do what I told you and you spoke to the muggle Prime Minster about that court case of theirs. You're under subpoena. He may not like it if you leave the country."

"I can always come back," Harry argued, "Right?"

"This is a very serious matter," McGonagall said, "You could be imprisoned, and the magical communities in France and England haven't exactly rescinded their non-extradition policy that was set in place during the Hundred Years War. The French may want to try you separately."

A cold chill began creeping up Harry's spine. He shouldn't have to explain that night in the cafe. He had witnesses, Ron and Hermione. They could prove that they'd left before anything bad had happened. This whole trial smacked of something more sinister, like officially ending the war by blaming the war criminals.

"I have persuaded," McGonagall said, "someone to look after you while you're gone, and be sure that you come back when it's over. Not to worry, you'll only be aware of your guides to each of the schools in question."

McGonagall lost control of one of the struggling brooms, made a quick dive for it, carried the whole lot over to an armchair and sat on them.

"What are those for?" Hermione asked.

"Well when you travel to an unplottable place," McGonagall said simply, "you need an uncontrollable broom."

The brooms made another go at freedom. McGonagall squashed them down again. It didn't look pleasant.

"You should take it easy," Harry said, "You look awfully worn down."

"I was hexed by a Dishevelment Charm last week," McGonagall said ruefully, "I still haven't found out the cure. My best suspicion is that it came in a box of toffee that I assumed at the time to come from Professor Sprout. Some Weasley concoction, no doubt. That lot will come to no good," she continued, looking straight at Hermione, "I'd watch my step around them. Flighty. Un-serious."

Hermione said nothing.

After a little more chit chat on the last sets of OWLs (dreadful), the prospects of the economy (also dreadful) and the terrible state of the world when innocent birthday gifts are Weasley products in disguise (Harry wished her a happy birthday), McGonagall finally sent them off and told them to meet up at the Leaky Cauldron at ten sharp the next morning.

"And be prepared," McGonagall said, "I think you'll have a bit of persuading to do."