AN: It's a bit longer than I originally planned, so enjoy. I am going to work the trial in later, though.

Measure for Measure

Chapter XI: This River

"… and that is why, Harry, I do not blame Cornelius for what he has done," the Headmaster finished as we turned onto Grimmauld Place. I glanced at the old man in his bright orange robes; they were not suited for our current surroundings. He didn't seem too bothered, though. After finishing his monologue, the Headmaster began to hum. I turned away. Dumbledore had not looked me in the eye at all, barring the one time from when my trial had begun. He hadn't let me start an actual conversation with him, either. I was a bit annoyed, just a bit. I spit out the hard candy he had given me. It shattered upon hitting the sidewalk. I looked up at him once more.

"Professor, do you think it's smart to simply walk to Headquarters," I asked. The man stopped his humming.

"What headquarters, Mr. Potter? I am simply taking you to stay with a friend," he replied. He had turned his head but his eyes were upon my forehead. I nodded and kicked at a root that had found its way above ground.

"Quite correct, Professor." He returned to his humming. I looked around at the depressing locale and returned my gaze to the less depressing sidewalk, trying to think un-depressing thoughts. I smiled a little. The trial had gone smoothly, for me anyway; Avery had to serve three weeks in Azkaban for assaulting a minor. I didn't pity the man. He had put himself in that position, pickin' on children. Thomas Avery was a bully. After the trial, Dumbledore spoke briefly to Fudge about Voldemort, but came away unsuccessful. The Minister wouldn't change his mindset. To Fudge, the Dark Lord was dead and Britain was safe. Dumbledore figured that Fudge was only doing what he was to protect England. My smile faded. I'm quite sure that Fudge is the most incapable politician I'd ever met. He didn't even know that Malfoy was playing him. The idiot hadn't even taken the time to look at Rita Skeeter's article, assuming that it discredited me. Malfoy left without a word to me or Fudge, simply exiting the moment the trial had concluded. The Minister had looked somewhat upset.

After I had tried to open the door in the Department of Mysteries, which happened to be locked, the Headmaster ushered me up to Mr. Weasley's office. When we had reached the small cluttered Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, Mr. Weasley was nowhere to be found. His colleague told us that he was off on a call, something about regurgitating toilets. Dumbledore had offered to ride the Underground and return me to Number Twelve. So here were we, a disgruntled teenager and a Merlin-esque old man, traipsing through London. To be honest, I think he enjoyed the looks he earned from the muggles.

We reached the house in a few minutes. I opened the gate and stepped through, Dumbledore followed. We crossed the courtyard and I fished out my keys from within my pocket. I climbed the stairs and approached the door. I'd scarcely slid the key into its hole, when Dumbledore bid me farewell. I turned so quickly that my neck cricked. He waved once, and apparated away. How abrupt. I pulled the key out of the lock and flung the entire ring towards where Dumbledore last stood, snarling.

I cursed; I'd been meaning to question him more. There wasn't much I could ask him on the Underground, and there was even less he could reply properly to, when he chose to reply at all. I leant against the door and stared at the twinkling set of keys. I cursed again, louder, that was probably why he insisted on taking the muggle way. Bastard. Growling such profanities, I went to retrieve my keys, returned to the door, viciously shoved the correct key into the lock and pushed the door open. I stepped into the house, returned my keys to my pocket, and closed the door behind me. I dropped my voice to a whisper; I didn't want to wake Mrs. Black. It was her nap time. Now muttering the profanities, I started forward, but paused.

The lamps were off.

Strange, by now everyone would be up and Order members would be coming and going like drunkards to an alehouse. I pulled out my wand, turned the gas on, stood on my tip-toes and lit one of the lamps. Muttering the phrase Sirius had taught me, I shut off the gas. The lamps lining the hall all burst into light, singeing the glass that encased them. I twisted my mouth, too much force.

Making my way down the narrow hall, I heard nothing like the usual bustle of activity that came from the kitchen on normal mornings. I halted inches from the door.

Crack.

I stepped away from the door and the red-headed teen that had appeared in front of me, and in so doing ran into the other twin that had appeared behind me. He steadied himself. I stood straight and looked ahead.

"What ho! There's a civilian, brother," Fred said. I supposed it to be Fred, for he had a large 'F' on his shirt.

"It's Harry!" George exclaimed. I greeted them awkwardly, for one was behind me and the other was in front. George maneuvered his way around me and stood next to his brother. My left eyebrow quirked up, maybe I was wrong about their names. 'Fred's' shirt said 'F,' but 'George's' shirt said 'U.' Looking at the both of them together, I snickered, they read from left to right 'F–U.'

"So, Harry," 'F' said, "How did it go?"

"Well, if it had gone afoul, would I be here, Fred?" I replied. He shook his head, smiling. So it was Fred. He extended his hand to his brother.

"True," he answered. "Well, that's ten sickles for me, George." The other twin grumbled something about holes in his pocket, as he shelled out seven silver coins.

" 's all I've got," he said. I stared at the exchange.

"You placed bets on my trial?" I asked. Fred tucked the silver into his pants.

"Somebody had to."

"Don't worry, mate, no one else did," George said ruefully. "I do expect they know how to conserve their coinage." I stared at the pair for another few seconds before shaking my head. I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Right," I said at last. "It's past lunch and I'm starving." I made for the door.

"Hold your horses, mate" Fred cautioned stepping fully in front of the door, "Dung showed up earlier, said he had to tell Moody something, after which we were removed from the kitchen by Mum. I doubt you're going to get in."

"Meeting?" I asked. Fred's mouth twisted and he said nothing.

"Unofficial, but it's something important, I expect. I doubt we're going to find out what, though" George answered for him.

"What's Dung's job, maybe we can figure out what it likely is," I offered leaning against the wall. News is news, and Order news is usually more informative than the usual rubbish I've been getting. Fred leant against the door and pressed his ear to it.

"Still soundproofed, it's like they don't trust us or something," he said. George shrugged.

"I think after they caught us the first three times, Mum wizened up," he said. Fred nodded in agreement.

"Dung. Job. Then food for Harry," I interjected.

"No need to snap, Harry," George said. Fred moved his ear from the door and put his back against it.

"Well, Dung's a smuggler most days, and he's a guard for something a couple days out of the week, from what we've gathered. Other than that, he's usually just homeless," he said.

"So, what's he been smuggling for the Order?" I asked. The twins giggled, it was quite the sight. Once they'd clamed down Fred answered me.

"He's been doing the smuggling for us more than anything, Harry. Where do you think we get all those ingredients? I doubt Dumbledore would want him to steal anything. He's in the Order to relay what the other smugglers and blackguards of the magical world are up to. We're lucky he's so loyal to Dumbledore, or else this place would have been cleaned out long ago, and not hygienically either." I blinked. We've been working with trafficked goods?

"Well," I replied, "That tells me nothing. What's he been guarding, then?"

"Hey, that was good information! D'you know how long it took us to get that?" They chorused. I shook my head.

"No, not a bit. We're still out here, while they are in there, chatting away on this pretty little war we've got in the works."

"I think he gets cranky when he's hungry, Fred," George muttered. Fred was about to reply, when the kitchen door opened and he fell in. George snickered.

"Oh, hey there Ms. Vance," Fred said from his place on the ground, "Red is a wonderful color on you."

Ms. Vance shrieked at the teen between her legs.

000

Over the next few days I could not help but realize that the new term was fast approaching. Everyone seemed thoroughly enthused for the return to Hogwarts, everyone but my godfather, Sirius Black. Hell, even the family's creepy house elf, Kreacher, was overjoyed. The pitiful creature, pun intended, had begun to sing whenever he saw one of the Weasley's packing up. This afternoon, the day before the end of break, I was calmly sorting through the various pamphlets I'd picked up from Orion, half of which I hadn't read, when Ron hauled himself up to my room. I paused in my sorting and stared at the teen, who was breathing rather hard. He caught his breath and approached me. Dropping himself on my bed he handed me a sandwich and an envelope that was addressed to me.

"Why did you have to stay all the way up here, Harry?" He asked. "I finished my sandwich on the way up alone."

"You know, Ron, that's not saying much," I said handing him a piece of poetry by Quentin Makepeace. "You've got some jam on your cheek, wipe." He grinned.

"Well, I tried to ration it as best I could," he said, wiping his face on his sleeve and looking over the poem.

"What is this?"

"Poetry, it's pretty terrible, isn't it?" I replied looking the envelope and placing my sandwich on my nightstand.

"Yeah—Well, um—yeah it is," he said distractedly as he continued to read it. I repressed a snort. Sure. I opened the envelope. Inside were two pieces of parchment, the first was the usual, telling me when term would start, the second detailed what texts I'd need for the upcoming year. There were three new ones, Practical Charms by Ebenezer Hasek, The Standard book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk and Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard. The sad thing was, I had purchased the first two before my tussle with Avery and left them in Diagon Alley.

"Who do you reckon the Defense professor is going to be, Ron? Maybe someone from the Order of the Phoenix?" Ron didn't answer. I looked at him, my eyes widened in disbelief. Sitting in his palm was a crimson and gold badge. He looked at me, shocked.

"Harry, I'm a pr-prefect," he stuttered.

"No fucking way," I muttered.

"Yeah, look, there's a letter and everything," he said, "Wow." He passed me the letter and badge.

"Sweet Magdalene," I muttered, looking at the letter. "You are."

Crack.

"That is not right," George gasped as he appeared, Fred agreed.

"How—Where—How did you—," Ron attempted to say. They probably heard from through the wall. The twins looked at me.

"How did he beat you out for the position? Dumbledore loves you," Fred said, "You even won the Tournament for Hogwarts!" I shrugged. I was confused. I had forgotten about the whole prefect thing, but if I had remembered… If I had remembered, I would have expected the badge to be mine. I had done so many things to save that damned school, but I wasn't prefect. Sure Ron and Hermione had been with me through most of it, when it came down to it, I had been alone. I had killed Quirrell, slain a Basilisk, driven off a pack of Dementors, and faced Voldemort (even if he hadn't been at full strength). I held up the badge and examined it. A large gold 'P' was superimposed on the scarlet Gryffindor lion. It looked exactly like the one Percy Weasley had been sporting during my First Year.

"I knew it!" A voice shrieked. "Congratulations, Harry!" All of our heads turned to the door. Hermione stepped through, her own prefect badge pinned to her chest. She waved her letter at me. I tossed the badge back to Ron, who caught it against his chest.

"It's not mine, Ron's prefect," I said calmly. Her jaw dropped.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. "What? Are you positive?" Ron stood up.

"Hey, it's addressed to me," He said, brandishing his prefect letter. Her face reddened.

"Well, Ron, er—that's great. Good job!"

"Yeah," Ron said, his face falling, "Unexpected, I know." He sat down and reached for my sandwich. I let him have it. Poor bloke, he wouldn't be in this situation if Dumbledore had given me the prefect-ship. I glanced Hermione, she suddenly seemed terribly out of place. I suppose she had been hoping to resolve our problems with the prefect deal. That's too bad.

"Speaking of unexpected," George began. "How did you know that we were here, Hermione?" She glanced at Ron.

"I, um, followed the trail of crumbs." Ron stopped eating.

"Yes, well I'd better take your letters down to Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said. "She's going to pick us up our books." She accepted Ron's pair of letters, as well as mine and the twins'. Nodding to herself she bustled out of the room. The twins gave Ron one last look before disapparating with a muted crack! Ron fidgeted.

"Harry—"

"Congratulations, Ron," I said, cutting him off. "I need to finish packing up, you should go tell your Mum the news."

"Alright," he said quietly. "I didn't ask for this, though, Harry. I didn't expect it. We're still friends right?" I looked up at him. I wanted to say no, I felt like I should have, but I didn't. Ron didn't ask to be made prefect. I offered him a small grin.

"For now."

000

I had finished packing by four o'clock. From four to six I laid on my side and watched Feste wrestle with one of my socks. My mind was hardly on refereeing the fight. At seven o'clock, however, my clip-on wooden earring began to vibrate, and soon consistent sounds were being translated. Mrs. Weasley was calling everyone down. I stood and knocked on the left wall of my room. A minute later, the twins popped in and we were off.

Mrs. Weasley had returned from shopping. On the kitchen table were various sets of parcels with our names written on them. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, and I lined up as she began to hand them out. Ron received a long package and let out a feminine yelp. It was apparently a broom.

"Don't unwrap it now," his mother told him. "I've invited people for dinner; I want you all downstairs in a few minutes." He nodded his head absently and stared longingly at the package as if it were a sausage rather than a hunk of wood. Mrs. Weasley went back to handing out parcels, and when she got to me, she handed me a larger pile of books and my money as well. I raised my eyebrow.

"The strangest thing happened, Harry," she said. "The cashier at Flourish and Blots said he had your books, already. I hope you don't mind, but I refilled your potions supplies and bought you a little something extra as well, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," I said, "I appreciate it." She flashed a smile at me before moving off to Ginny. I looked down at the wrapped books. The handwriting on them was not Mrs. Weasley's. She must have asked the cashier to wrap them up for her. There was another wrapped object; I took it to be a potion's kit. Mrs. Weasley finished handing out the supplies a moment later and rushed us all up to get ready for dinner.

"I want all of you downstairs and ready in five minutes!" She yelled. I was wearing a striped t-shirt and jeans, I figured I was fine. I followed Ron up to the floor he was on and ducked into the bathroom to wash my face and hands. Afterward, I peeked into his room and saw him rubbing his hands along his broom.

"So… What model is that?" I asked, entering the room. Ron jumped.

"Oh, er—It's a Cleansweep Eleven," He said showing it to me. "Mum asked me what I wanted for making prefect. I figured since she said she was going to get me a new broom for Christmas this year, I'd ask for a better one." I offered him a muted smile, I was happy that he had received something new, but the prefect thing still bothered me. Ron Weasley, prefect. It sounded weird. He wrapped his broom up and we went down to the kitchen.

Dinner was to be held in the basement it seemed, because when Ron and I reached the kitchen, it was deserted. I crossed to where the basement door stood ajar and descended. Ron followed mutely.

I had to stop myself from sneering when I saw what the Weasley matriarch had hung over the huge dinner table. It was a banner that read, "CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE –NEW GRYFFINDOR PREFECTS." I smiled at her and Ginny as they set drinks out alone the table, and scanned the room. Sirius sat in a corner with a party hat on and a turkey leg in one hand, nibbling at it. I left Ron as he joined Hermione and Ginny and made my way over to my godfather. He looked up at me, a weak smile plastered on his face.

"Hey Harry."

"Hey, Sirius. What's got you down?" I asked. He picked up a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag and took a pull from it.

"Down? I'm fine, my boy. Absolutely splendid," he said leaning back in his chair and looking at me.

"Yeah?" I said disbelievingly. I stared at the bottle.

"I'm fucking wonderful, Harry. Best day of my life, I swear it," he muttered, ripping a piece of flesh from the large drumstick.

"Sarcasm, doesn't suit you," Lupin called as he approached. I turned my head and looked at him.

"Hello Harry," he greeted. "G'Morning Padfoot."

"It's night, you mangy wolf," Sirius grumbled. Lupin smiled and looked at me.

"At least he's not completely drunk." Lupin grabbed the bottle quickly and pulled it out of the paper bag. It was muggle whiskey.

"Where'd you get this?" Lupin asked, sniffing the alcohol.

"Dung," Sirius replied, reaching for the bottle. "Give it back."

"Why?"

"So I can enjoy this party, you idiot!"

Just then, Mrs. Weasley approached us, carrying three bottles of what looked to be butterbeer. She was followed by Tonks, whose hair was a 'normal' shade of brown today. Tonks was being followed by Ginny, whose hair was, as expected, ginger. I accepted a bottle and took the top off on the corner of Sirius' chair. Mrs. Weasley looked at Remus, who was still holding the whiskey, and didn't give him a butterbeer. She didn't know what the bottle held, in all likeliness. Sirius reluctantly took one butterbeer, but didn't open it. She handed Ginny, who had come to stand near me, the last bottle. Ginny then handed it to me. I put it in my pocket.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley began, "get ready, I think Arthur's about to propose a toast!" True to her word Mr. Weasley had gotten over the joy of another son becoming prefect and offered a toast to Hermione and Ron, the new Gryffindor prefects. Mrs. Weasley hurried over and enveloped her son in another hug. She was happier than I'd seen the entire summer. I looked away.

Someone laid their hand on my shoulder. I glanced up, it was Tonks.

"I wasn't prefect either, Harry," she said. "Snape said I was a disgrace to the House, being as noisy and clumsy as I am." I brushed her hand off of me.

"I suppose I have caused a lot of trouble," I told her. "I don't know, I feel strange, like I should have been picked." Remus walked stood on my other side and offered me a small smile.

"You know, Harry, I get that feeling a lot." I grinned. Ain't, no way to feel better about your own problems like laughing at another's. Remus could find less job offers than he could hold the actual job. Sirius giggled from behind us.

"Did you actually think, you being who you are, that you'd be prefect?" The three of us spun and looked at him. He set his bottle on the ground at looked at me.

"Come now, Harry, your Dad wasn't prefect," he said. He leaned back. "Actually, we ran detention better than those pricks." I didn't feel much better.

"What about my Mum?" I asked. Sirius rubbed his chin.

"I didn't pay much mind to Lily until James was dating her," he said. "I was much too busy trying to find someone else for him." Lupin laughed a genuine laugh. The first I'd heard from him since Third Year.

"It's too bad that you'd dated almost every one of them, beforehand though," he said. "No, Harry, your mother was a prefect. James would go out of his way to anger her enough to put him in detention." I smiled longingly, I missed them. I didn't know what exactly I missed, but I missed it all the same.

"Oh, cheer up, Harry," Tonks said wrapping her arm around me. "The whole prefect thing is a bit of a turnoff to the gels, they're too uptight. Shoot for Quidditch Captain or Head Boy. That's where the respect is." Sirius frowned.

"Hey, why'd the music stop?"

Lupin looked at my godfather, puzzled. Sighing, he picked up the whiskey bottle and pulled it out of the bag. It was empty.

"You are something else, Sirius," the werewolf muttered. "Tonks go get a bucket. He's about to throw up." Tonks released me and hurried off. I stepped away from Sirius.

"How d'you know he's about to vomit?" Lupin grinned.

"I've known the man long enough to know his drinking habits." No sooner than Tonks returned did Sirius double over and expel the contents of his stomach into the bucket.

"That's gross," she said. Sirius shrugged and nudged the bucket away, reaching for Tonks' butterbeer.

"Thanks a bunch, Nymphadora," he slurred and downed her drink. "Strange, I taste the butter, but not the beer, why is that?"

"There's no alcohol," I said. He stared at the bottle in wonder.

"Then why's it called beer?" I shrugged.

"To fool us into thinking there is alcohol in it."

"Ah," he said. "Sure fooled me." I chuckled.

"What's going on over here—oh, what's that smell!" The voice of a certain bossy, bushy-haired prefect called, as she and Ginny approached. I do admit, we did look suspicious standing here, backs facing the rest of the party. Sirius peeked out.

"We are having a party all on our own, with music, girls, well a girl, a frowny clown, wolves and butter, sans the beer." Hermione's eyes widened.

"He's drunk!"

"Quite," Sirius confirmed. Hermione rushed off, leaving Ginny with us.

"Now we've got two girls," I told Sirius. He squinted at Ginny.

"One and a half." Tonks giggled. Ginny's cheeks flushed. A moment later, Hermione returned along with Mrs. Weasley. She took one whiff of the air around us and pointed at Sirius.

"Upstairs, shower and bed, now," she barked at him. Her good mood only slightly dampened. Sirius pouted.

"No."

"Alright then," she said, and left. Hermione stood, shocked.

"How could she just…"

"Oh take it easy, bossy boots," Tonks said. "This is the most fun we've all had in ages." Hermione looked at the drunken Sirius one more time.

"Oh, very well." Lupin moved over and allowed Hermione to crowd around Sirius as well.

"This is very odd, you know," The new prefect told him. Remus shrugged. Suddenly, Sirius sniffed the air and stood up.

"Dung!" he yelled waving his arms. A tallish man at the other end of the room looked over at us. Seeing Sirius wave, he approached.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "He smells even worse than Sirius."

"Shut it," I growled at her. "Keep it up and I'll make him hug you." Hermione huffed at my tone. Mundungus Fletcher soon reached us. Sirius pushed through us and walked with the man to an empty corner of the room. We watched the exchange quietly. After a few moments of Sirius talking to him, Dung reached into his bulging trench coat. Tonks leaned against me.

"A sickle say's he's buying more whiskey," she whispered into my ear. I nodded absently, and choked when I saw Sirius return with a bottle in either hand.

"Look mates," he grinned as he took his seat, "I got more!" Dung wandered off and began talking to the twins. I took a bottle from Sirius.

"Does that man have an entire warehouse in that coat?" I asked. Remus shrugged.

"Hey, give me that," Tonks said. "You're not of age."

"And you are?" I asked. Sirius giggled.

"Yes, I am," Tonks huffed, opening the bottle. She took a sip and gave me the bottle.

"That's enough for me," she said. I blinked.

"That's it?" I questioned. She blushed. I sniffed at the open bottle. It smelled fine. Lupin stretched his hand out and took the bottle away.

"Idiots," said. "Leave the idiocy to the king." He handed the bottle back to Sirius. Tonks was about to protest, but her watch buzzed. She looked down at her timepiece and blushed.

"I've got to get going," she announced. I cocked an eyebrow.

"Why, you live upstairs." I said. She made a sound. Ginny looked at her as well.

"Oh, fine," Tonks said, "I've got to get to bed. I have to go to work tomorrow."

"It's," I began, lifting her arm, "eight-forty-five. When do you have to be there?" She blushed harder.

"Nine, but I need to make sure I'm on time and prepared!"

"For what, are you going to war?"

"You're a dick, you know."

"Why thank you," I grinned. She folded her arms across her chest. I did the same.

"I'll wake you up, Tonks," Ginny offered from beside me. "You can stay longer."

"Thanks, Ginny, but I've got it all planned out," Tonks said. "Scrimgeour won't get me this time."

"Do what you like," I said. "And here was I thinking about what a stick in the mud Hermione was." Tonks stuck her tongue out at me.

"You miss me already," she said. I snorted, but followed her as she made her way to across the room. I stopped at the table and grabbed another butterbeer. Looking around, I noticed that Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Ron had gotten his broom sometime before and was showing it off to Order members and his brothers. Mr. Weasley was chatting with Kingsley. A few people were sitting and eating here and there, including the one chap that had patched up Snape, and a man I thought to be Sturgis Podmore or something like that. I took a pull from my drink and walked towards the stairs. A gnarled hand shot out and grabbed my arm before I could start up them. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting with his back to the wall, and with his cloak still on, he was pretty much camouflaged.

"C'mere Potter, I've got something you might fancy a look at," he said. In his other hand he held a photograph that looked to be very old. He held it out to me.

"I found this 'un last night when I was looking for my combat boots," he continued. "This is the original Order of the Phoenix." I looked at the man. He wasn't nearly as gruff with me as he had been before. I took the picture. Staring back up at me was a group of people dressed for various walks of life. Some were dressed finely, others in tattered robes and stoles.

"There I am, if you couldn't tell," Moody said. "My nose was still on straight." I looked at the younger Moody, his hair was grey, but not nearly as unkempt as it was now. His face seemed content, if not happy, and his nose was indeed intact. I made and agreeing sound.

"That's Albus and his brother Aberforth next to him," Moody continued. I looked at Aberforth. He looked a lot like the Headmaster, but younger in the face. They both seemed to share the love for unusual clothing, for the Professor was wearing a red striped sweater on top of his robes and Aberforth had socks on his hands. I couldn't hold back a chuckle. Moody stopped his explanation.

"Yeah, they're a funny lot," he said, "but brilliant, the both of them." From there Mad-Eye showed me the rest of the Order, most of who were dead. My stomach clenched, when he showed me Neville Longbottom's parents. So, the bottom of my stomach dropped out when Moody pointed out my parents and Sirius sitting with Wormtail. My fists clenched. The little rat was smiling and waving along with the people he had betrayed. Moody smiled at me.

"There, I knew you'd like to see your parents." He thought he'd made me happy. I forced a smile onto my face and excused myself, saying that I needed to use the restroom. I made my way upstairs and through the kitchen dropping my half-empty bottle into the sink. It broke.

I continued walking. I climbed the stairs intending to make the entire journey up to my room. Half-way up to the first landing, I began to hear noises. Sobbing, someone was sobbing. Drawing my wand, I hurried up the stairs to see what the matter was. I stumbled onto the first landing, and then opened the door to the drawing room, wand raised.

Against the wall Mrs. Weasley was cowering, her entire form wracked by sobs. On the floor in front of me lay Ron, skin pale, clearly dead. My heart skipped a beat. Ron was downstairs… Mrs. Weasley extended her arm and incanted shakily, "R-ri-riddikulus!" The body vanished and was replaced by Bill Weasley, his hair loose, dead the same as Ron. It was a boggart. She sobbed the spell at it again. Bill was replaced by Percy, who was replaced by me, who in turn was replaced by Mr. Weasley. I stepped in front of and raised my wand. Looking at Mr. Weasley, dead, I said the spell firmly.

"Riddikulus."

Mr. Weasley's body disappeared. Instead, standing in front of me was a man, tall, slightly skinny. His skin was tanned and scarred. His hair was dark and hung to his shoulders, scruffy hair grew on his face. His eyes, his eyes were bloodshot, his irises dark green. And on his forehead was a jagged lightning bolt scar. The man's mouth was pressed into a frown. It was me. I stood agape and the sad figure before me. The older Harry Potter looked at me. Our eyes met, and a sense of despair set over me. I couldn't move. The eyes of the man before me were empty. There was no life behind them. He raised his arm; his fist was bloody and tightly closed. I tried to raise my wand, but my body did not respond. I dimly heard someone call my name as the older me opened his outstretched hand and three badges dropped to the ground, two gold and red, one blue.

"HARRY," a voice screamed. I turned, as Remus pushed me from in front of the boggart and dispelled it with a flick of his own wand. It turned into the full moon after which, Remus flicked his wand again and the boggart disappeared with in a puff of smoke.

I scrambled up and hurried out of the room, but Mad-Eye was standing there, his magical eye spinning. I pushed past him and continued up the stairs as my scar seared with pain.

AN: Next Chapter: The Long Haul.

I've had 4k of it done for about two month's, some of you might know that already. I have to edit it a bit and add the ending, expect an update by the end of this week.