INTERLUDE

by Silver Phoenix

Chapter 13: A House-Elf's Highest Law

Despite the daily possibility of Death Eater attack, Harry was surprised to find that for the first time he could remember in a long while, he felt relatively content. Things with Ginny were better than he could ever have hoped. She was his most frequent visitor in the long parade of people who kept watch with him at Arbour Glen. Harry found that an unexpected benefit of owning his own home was the privacy it afforded him and Ginny. They were a bit awkward with one another after their first passionate tryst in the garden had been interrupted by Luna; but bit by bit they gained confidence, and when they both finally realized that there was no danger of a sleepy Gryffindor coming down the common room stairs, or a teacher rounding the bend and finding them in their secret place by the lake, the result was many wonderful hours spent together at Arbour Glen.

Meanwhile, Harry had thrown himself into studying with a dedication he had never shown in his six years at Hogwarts. Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick, Sprout, and Brigstocke had agreed to teach him private N.E.W.T. classes once per week after Hogwarts re-opened. In the meantime, Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror Division, had agreed to let Harry begin the first year of Auror training on a provisional basis. If Harry was able to complete the required minimum of five N.E.W.T.'s with nothing below an "Exceeds Expectations" grade by the end of his first year as a trainee, he would be able to continue on with Auror training. If he wasn't successful, he would be kicked out of the program, which Harry had firmly decided was not going to happen.

Harry's first official year of Auror training began in January, but he had already started some of the preliminary testing. Thus far, Harry had been subjected to an interview by a panel of Aurors (including, to Harry's chagrin, The Foot) and had undergone psychological tests for character and aptitude assessment. However, since Harry's life was and had always been more or less an open book, none of the testing had been overly rigorous. At the interview the Foot had sat there, frowning, while other wizards asked Harry questions like, "Give us an example of a time where you had to make a difficult decision during a highly stressful...right, er, scrap that one..." During Harry's psychological assessment, the Auror testing him seemed less interested in Harry's psyche and more interested in a detailed play-by-play of what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry found himself often reviewing his timeline mentally – begin lessons at Hogwarts when it reopened in November. Pass his practical exams for the Auror training program in December. Begin his first year as a trainee in January while still attending lessons at Hogwarts. His N.E.W.T.'s would be in July, and his first year as a trainee would end the following December. This timeline intimidated him enough that when Hermione suggested he start preparing early, for once Harry took her advice to heart and went on a mad spending spree, buying every book he possibly could to help him prepare for his five N.E.W.T. subjects (including a somewhat embarrassing one entitled The Dimwit's Guide to a N.E.W.T. Potions Pass). He had never felt so motivated to succeed in school and exams in his entire life.

He was lucky to have people around him who were supportive and willing to help. Ginny had been his partner in practicing for the Defense practical, although many of their duels seemed to either end with the two of them snogging or with Harry lying on the sofa with some type of injury. Ginny was quite the dueller and quite the competitor. Harry was reluctant to hex his girlfriend, and had gone easy on her until it had become painfully obvious that she did not intend to go easy on him. Herbology had been one of Harry's N.E.W.T. choices mostly because Neville was sort of a genius when it came to the subject and had been happy to help out whenever he was over. Hermione had been trying to give him lessons on Charms and Transfiguration when she wasn't at home or busy at the Ministry - apparently she was volunteering to sort through and organize files in exchange for information on her magical heritage. ("Slave labour!" Ron had shouted. "They're treating her worse than a house-elf, no offense Kreacher. She's not even getting paid! Again, no offense, Kreacher.") It was only Potions that Harry was truly worried about, and it was Potions that he was doggedly studying day in and day out, even going so far as reviewing old notes that he didn't even remember taking in Snape's class.

All of this kept his mind off the reason for having these people at the house in the first place – the Death Eater threat that continued to loom over him. In fact, it was Ginny who finally commented on his apparent lack of concern.

"I've got to say I'm a bit surprised," she confessed on a rainy day in September. The two of them were sitting on Harry's sitting room couch, Ginny with her back against a pillow and her legs across Harry's lap. Harry had propped his Potions preparatory book up on her knees and was absently drawing little circles on Ginny's legs with his finger as he read.

"About what?" said Harry.

"Well, let me just get something straight," said Ginny. "You know that this group of Death Eaters is planning to come after you, and that they know where the house is."

"That's right."

"And you're counting on the fact that they don't know that you know," Ginny continued. Harry noticed a little crease appeared in her forehead whenever she was thinking. Or when she was angry. It was dangerous; he couldn't tell which one was coming on. "So you're just waiting here, hoping to surprise them when they do attack."

"That's more or less it, yeah."

"And that's what I'm surprised at," Ginny said. "I would have thought you'd have gone mad by now, sitting around here waiting for them to turn up."

Harry put down his book, took out his own feelings on the subject and inspected them. His anger at the Death Eaters and his resentment at the Ministry seemed to have decreased significantly in the past few weeks. The guilt was still there, always there just below the surface, waiting to rise when he saw his orphaned godson or a listless Mrs Weasley - but other than that he just felt...calm. Ready.

"I guess I just...know I can wait them out," said Harry finally. "I suppose I've always known that this is what would happen after Voldemort was gone. At least we'll be ready when it does."

"But what if you're sitting here waiting for months? A year? How are you going to start Auror training in January if you have to stay here, waiting for an attack that doesn't come?"

"They'll make a move soon," said Harry, and he found himself slipping into the Death Eaters' mindsets with relative ease. "None of them are clever or cautious like Voldemort was. They're angry and they're looking for revenge. They have to come after me soon, while his death is still fresh. If they wait too long that anger won't be there anymore. They'll start thinking of themselves instead of revenge and they'll go into hiding."

Ginny regarded him warily. "You seem so sure."

Harry shrugged. Now that he understood the connection he had shared with Voldemort and knew that it was gone forever, his insights into the minds of Dark wizards no longer frightened him. He had the memories of Voldemort's mind and many years of experience to help him understand and predict the moves of Dark wizards. This talent didn't horrify him anymore; in fact, the wizard who had done Harry's psychological assessment had said it would make him a better Auror.

Harry found that he and Ginny were having many of these types of conversations. One of the things that he liked most about Ginny was that she rarely beat around the bush. She spoke her mind and somehow, this made him speak his. Harry was opening up and sharing things with her that he had never dared to before. In those golden hours spent alone, Harry found himself confessing things he would never have felt comfortable telling anyone else.

Of course, he and Ginny were never truly alone – Kreacher was always at the house, keeping the place immaculate and taking care of Harry with quiet satisfaction. However, the house-elf was particularly good at mysteriously disappearing for hours on end whenever Ginny was around, for which Harry was extremely appreciative. Thankfully, Hermione had lain off him recently when it came to Kreacher, but she must have been successful in implanting at least some of her S.P.E.W.-esque ideas into Harry's head. Harry still got twinges of guilt every now and then when he experienced the full extent of Kreacher's dogged loyalty and servitude. But any vague notions of setting him free were banished by an incident that occurred halfway through September.

It was a quiet evening at Arbour Glen. Ron was scheduled to spend the night at Arbour Glen and had come by around dinnertime after putting in some time at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. After tucking into an immense shepherd's pie courtesy Kreacher, the two of them retired to the sitting room, lying on separate couches with bloated bellies.

"How're things going at the shop?" asked Harry.

"Much better," replied Ron. "We've managed to get almost everything back to normal – George is much cleverer with Charms than I'll ever be, and he's sorted most of it out. But every now and then we still get something trying to chuck itself off a shelf. It's mad. We've tried every spell we know and we can't reverse that one."

Harry tried not to laugh; every time Ron mentioned this particular problem, he couldn't help but picture U-No-Poo's hurling themselves off the shelves and dive-bombing the customers.

"But George has come up with something to catch the idiot who's been messing around with our stuff. It's really good, actually, he invented this charm that'll give them up," Ron said, sitting up on the couch. He dug around in his pockets and emerged with a package of Nosebleed Nougat. He set it on the coffee table, pointed his wand at it and said, "Flagrante delicto." Nothing happened.

"Good one," said Harry.

"Nothing's supposed to happen," scoffed Ron. "Right, so, after I've put that charm on the merchandise, if someone else tries to cast any kind of spell on it...Engorgio."

The Nosebleed Nougat swelled to three times its size. Harry sat up and looked at the Nougat, then looked at Ron. Ron was staring at his palms with a puzzled expression on his face.

"That's weird. My hands are supposed to turn red. 'Caught red-handed', get it? That bit was my idea. So if anyone tries to cast any kind of spell on our merchandise, we'll see their hands turn bright red." Ron looked forlornly down at his hands, which were most certainly not red.

"I think your palms look a bit rosier," Harry said helpfully.

"Oh shut up, it worked this morning. Reducio." The Nougat shrunk back to its original size. "Flagrante delicto. Pluvia." This time the colours on the packaging of the Nougat changed to a wild mix of red, yellow, green, and blue. Ron and Harry both stared at Ron's hands expectantly. They remained pale and freckly.

"I'll get it," Ron muttered. "Finite. Flagrante delicto. Engorgio...hm, nothing. I'm probably not saying it right, I'm rubbish at new spells. Reducio. Flagrante delicto..."

After a few more tries Harry quietly gave up on waiting to see if the spell would work. He got up and left without Ron even noticing and went into the kitchen to look over his copy of How to Transfigure Your N.E.W.T. Grade From A to E! He could still hear Ron determinedly charming the Nosebleed Nougat over and over again in the sitting room. At first Harry tuned it out, but after nearly half an hour, he began to get irritated.

"Flagrante delicto. Tranturella...bollocks. Finite. Flagrante felicto – I mean, damn, delicto - "

Harry realized he was reading the same passage over and over again. Kreacher came into the kitchen and set a plate of biscuits on the table in front of Harry, who absent-mindedly grabbed one and tried to get back to work.

"Flagrante delicto. Malurosos...dammit! Finite. Flagrante delicto..."

After reading the subtitle "Guaranteed Success at Multiple Guess!" five times in a row, Harry gave up and looked up from his book in annoyance.

"Kreacher, get him to stop that, will you?" said Harry irritably while chants of "Flagrante delicto" continued on in the sitting room. Kreacher bowed deeply and hurried into the sitting room. Harry tried to return to his book.

There was suddenly a sound like crashing thunder and a yelp from the other room. Startled, Harry grabbed his wand and leaped out of his chair, running into the sitting room.

Ron was still sitting on the couch, wand in hand, the Nosebleed Nougat sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Nothing looked amiss at first glance, but when he stared closely Harry realized that Ron looked almost as though he had been encased in glass. The air on all four sides of him was shimmering slightly, as if there was an invisible wall there. Ron could move, apparently; he looked stunned for a moment and then waved his wand uselessly at the invisible wall before him. Kreacher was standing beside him, looking unperturbed.

"Harry, what the hell - " Ron choked out.

"Kreacher!" Harry exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"Master Harry asked Kreacher to stop Master Ron from using magic," Kreacher croaked, bowing.

Ron tried to get up from the couch, but he seemed to bump into something invisible. He waved his wand furiously at the unseen wall. "Reducto! Relashio!" Panic rose in Ron's voice. "It's not working. Why isn't it working? What's he done? I feel really weird, Harry!"

"Kreacher stopped Master Ron from using magic," Kreacher repeated, uncertain this time. "Did Kreacher misunderstand...?"

"Yeah, Kreacher, I just wanted you to shut him up, not stop him from using magic permanently!" said Harry. "Reverse it, or – or whatever!"

Kreacher snapped his fingers and the vague shimmer in the air surrounding Ron disappeared. Ron shuddered and stood up, then pointed his wand at Harry's coffee table and said, "Wingardium leviosa." The table began to float in midair, and Ron sighed with relief.

Meanwhile, Kreacher had abruptly thrown himself to the ground at Harry's feet and was wailing, "Kreacher is so sorry, Master, Kreacher misunderstood! He will ask for clarification next time! Kreacher is a bad house-elf, a bad servant..."

"No, no, no," Harry said quickly, trying to pull Kreacher to his feet. "Its okay, Kreacher, really." Kreacher wailed louder. "Stop that. Hey...I forbid you from er...grovelling. Or whatever it is you're doing right now. Okay?"

Kreacher snuffled and struggled to his feet, his head bowed. Harry turned to Ron. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking shaken. "That was bizarre. Like before – George's spell just wasn't working. I knew I could do it, I just couldn't get it right. But whatever he did..." Ron trailed off and shuddered. "It was like...it was gone. Like the magic had completely gone out of me."

Harry stared at Kreacher with his bulbous nose, his wrinkled face, and his fluffy tea towel toga. He knew better than anyone that house-elves had powerful magic; Dobby had gotten them out of several binds with his unique brand of magic and Kreacher himself had escaped the very cave that had nearly killed Harry and Dumbledore. Harry had ceased to be surprised at the strong magic that Kreacher occasionally used in his day-to-day duties around the house. But he had never seen anything quite like this. Despite what Hermione thought, Harry respected and appreciated Kreacher. But this was the first time he had seen Kreacher as a being that could be feared.

"Kreacher...where did you learn to do that?"

"It is house-elf magic, Master," Kreacher croaked in his bullfrog voice, head still lowered.

"So you mean every house-elf can do that?"

"The house-elf's highest law is his master's bidding," recited Kreacher.

"Blimey," Ron said softly. "That might have been a sight useful during the battle. Why didn't we think of ordering him to do something like that?"

Harry remembered Kreacher's cries of, "Fight!" as he led the Hogwarts house-elves into battle. He had seen them attacking dangerous Dark wizards with carving knives and cleavers – up until now, Harry had never wondered why they had not used their own brand of magic in the fight. Could it be that they were forbidden to use that sort of magic to defend themselves unless they were ordered to? How much easier things would have been if the house-elves had simply snapped their fingers and sucked the magic right out of their enemies.

Something was niggling at the back of Harry's mind – an idea, starting to take shape – but he never got to fully develop his thoughts because the next moment something very odd happened.

"Harry Potter..."

Ron started. "D'you hear that?"

"Harry Potter..."

It was a feminine voice and it was not coming from any particular place, but rather, everywhere all at once. Harry's wand was out and he instinctively moved as far away from the windows as possible.

"This is Sri. From the Auror division," echoed the voice. "I am approaching the house. Take down your defensive spells. I have a message."

"Who?" said Ron blankly, but Harry was suddenly alert. He moved quickly towards the edge of the window and peered out between the curtains, his back against the wall. A lone figure was approaching the house, but it was too far away to make out who it was.

"Why aren't the Galleons doing anything?" Ron hissed, taking the enchanted coin out of his pocket. "I thought they were supposed to heat up or something when someone got within our security enchantments."

"The Alarm charm doesn't go off if someone who has one of the Galleons themselves gets onto the property. Sri's one of the Aurors, she should have one too."

"Ah, right," said Ron. He watched Harry move to the front door, still staying away from windows. "What're you sneaking around for, then?"

Harry didn't reply. He waved his wand at the front door, which flung open with a bang. Pointing his wand in the direction of the cloaked figure, Harry moved onto the front porch. Ron stepped onto the porch behind him and also pointed his wand at the figure making its way across the lawn, evidently willing to trust Harry's judgement.

"Stop right there," Harry said shortly. The figure stopped and pushed back their hood. Harry saw the dark skin and broad face of the Auror Sri. Very calmly, she held up both her hands. Something fell out of her right hand – a surrendered wand, now lying on the ground by her feet.

"Who was with you the first time you came here?" Harry demanded.

"Williamson and Proudfoot," said Sri. This time the voice was clearer and came from her alone. The shadow of a smile flickered across her face. "Williamson had your autograph framed. It's on his desk."

Harry lowered his wand and Ron did the same. Sri stooped to pick up her own wand and made her way up to the front porch while Harry disarmed a few nasty spells he and Hermione had prepared in the immediate vicinity of the house. Tendrils of ivy, which had been itching to shoot forward and throttle Sri, timidly retreated and wrapped themselves around the porch banisters.

"Someone want to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?" Ron asked once they had gone back inside and were standing uneasily in the sitting room.

"Ron, this is – uh – sorry, I don't actually know if Sri is your first name or surname," said Harry awkwardly.

"Surname," said Sri, but she offered no other information. "You handled that well, Potter. I could have been an imposter. Very prudent."

"What was that spell you used to make your voice come in here?" asked Harry curiously.

"Libera sonorous," said Sri. "It projects your voice to another location. I've found it quite useful."

Harry filed the spell away for later. "So you said you have a message...?"

Sri looked grim. "There has been another escape from Azkaban."

Harry went rigid. He was surprised to find that he was not panicked or upset, though. Just alert. Every muscle in his body felt taut and primed for action.

"How many?" said Harry.

"Two known Death Eaters, and one suspected supporter of Voldemort. Mulciber, Selwynn, and Deponte."

Ron swore. "Isn't this the third bloody time Mulciber has broken out of Azkaban?"

"Azkaban prison is only a building," said Sri matter-of-factly. "It was the prison that the Dementors created in their ward's minds that kept them there. The prisoners always had the means to escape, just no ambition to do so. Without the Dementors, a building alone cannot keep a magical being in."

Harry glanced over at Kreacher, who had been quietly dusting the coffee table throughout the conversation.

"There is more," said Sri. "The escape has prompted the Ministry to reach a decision in the trial of Antonin Dolohov. They are going to release him in exchange for information about the escaped Death Eaters' whereabouts."

"WHAT?" Harry shouted. The calm he had felt before dissipated. "That's mad! What if the information he gives them is wrong, or - how could they possibly trust - ?" All he could think was, He killed Remus, he killed Remus...

Sri ignored him. "Everything that I have told you will be kept from the public as long as possible, but there are those of us who thought you should know."

"Well that's brilliant," Harry burst out. "Keep information from the public, fat lot of good that's done in the past."

"The Ministry's decisions are not always wise, but in this case this one is," said Sri sharply. "You cannot be narrow-minded. Think – the wizarding world has just overcome a great shock. People are trying to put their lives back together. Do you think it would be prudent to shatter that peace and cause chaos when it appears their sole object is you, not the wizarding world at large? Do you not think that panic is what Voldemort would have wanted?"

Harry deflated. He digested the logic of her argument as he stared at the ground silently. He had to concede that Sri had a point, although he felt a bit like he had just been given a particularly good telling-off by a teacher.

"We do not know if Dolohov's information will turn out to be correct. Many of us think, like you, that he is likely lying." Sri's voice was calm and soft again. "But if there is a chance we could end this now, it has to be taken. The Aurors will be following up on Dolohov's leads tonight. We wanted to warn you – whichever way this turns out, you need to be prepared."

While she spoke, Sri had been watching Kreacher with her dark eyes. She abruptly looked away and said, "I must go. Keep your friends close tonight." She moved back into the front hall.

"Hang on!" Harry called after her. Sri stopped and waited patiently with her hand on the front doorknob. "You said there were those of you who thought I should know all this. Who exactly was it that didn't want me to know?"

Sri didn't reply, so Harry said furiously, "It was Proudfoot, wasn't it? What does he have against me? Why doesn't he trust me?"

Sri turned around. Her dark eyes met and pierced Harry's.

"It was he who sent me," she said simply. Then she opened the door and disappeared into the darkening evening.

Author's Notes: Again, thanks for all the reviews and the feedback! We're coming up close to the end here, so chapters might get a bit shorter. Also, I've been following the format of shifting POV from Harry's to Ron's to Hermione's, but it might get a bit jumbled up as the action builds up.

I'm heading off to Italy on holiday for a few weeks, but I've got the next few chapters written so I'll polish them and post them when I get back!