The Triumph of These Tired Eyes

by AnarchicMuse

In his several millennia of existence Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Lies, had been many things; he had been a liar, a warrior, and a trickster, just to name a few, but never before had he been a loving father, he'd never been given the chance. However, the moment the tiny creature was in his arms, he knew he would do anything necessary to keep hold of what was his.

14. Chapter Fourteen

Harry had never liked the summer, neither the season nor the break that it entailed brought forth particularly fond memories. The heat, as he had already come to realize, made him irritable, on a good day, and it didn't help that he was stuck in the house with his insufferable relatives and was constantly being guarded (read: stalked) by a group of lackluster vigilantes hired by the Headmaster.

He only had to wait one more week before the blood wards would be set for another year and his relatives would be safe from the likes of Voldemort, although at times he wondered if it was really worth it. No matter how horrible a thought it was, Harry knew that if something were to happen to the Dursleys he wouldn't mourn their deaths, just like he knew they wouldn't mourn his, in fact, he wouldn't put it past Vernon to throw a party in the wake of his death. There would be no love lost, not a single tear would be shed if the Dursley's were to just keel over dead at the dinner table.

That didn't mean Harry was heartless, far from it in fact, he had shed many a tear for his recently deceased godfather, he'd raged and he'd screamed and he'd cried in the privacy of the Room of Requirements that night. But, just as he'd promised, once Harry had spent the last of his energy, Loki had begun to help his son pull himself back together again. It was an ongoing process, Harry had yet to return to his usual chatty self, and it was doubtful that he would. This was the first life taken in the approaching war, but it wouldn't be the last and Harry knew that, many more would die before Voldemort and his sycophants fell.

Harry sighed and shifted uncomfortably on his bed, he had thrown his single window as wide as it would go and had stripped down to his briefs, but it did little to beat back the midsummer heat. The little air that blew into his bedroom was heavy with the perspiration of thousands of poor, overheating souls.

The next sigh was drowned out by the heavy beating of the wings of a nondescript, brown barn owl.

"Hello, there." Harry said, pulling himself into a sitting position, and holding out an arm for the owl to land on. "Who do you belong to?"

The owl hooted softly, and allowed Harry to retrieve the letter attached to his leg. The face of the parchment was marked with his name, written in a familiarly elegant scrawl.

"This is from Draco? Where's Ares?" he murmured in confusion. Not only was this the first letter he'd received from Draco all summer, but it wasn't sent with his usual majestic eagle owl, Ares.

Harry cracked the hastily stamped seal and unfurled the letter, his brow furrowed when he saw the unsteady script covering only a small part of the parchment in a shaky scribble.

Potter,

The Dark Lord has taken up residence in Malfoy Manor. He is displeased with my family for Father's failure this past year and has seen fit to punish us all accordingly.

He wants me to take his mark, I am to receive it this coming Friday, if I refuse it he will kill me.

I plan to leave tonight, if you can lend me aid, please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at midnight.

Room 23.

Draco

Harry cursed and leapt from his bed, a quick glance at the clock told him that it was a half hour to midnight. Hastily, he shoved on a shirt and trousers, then grabbed his wand and threw on a cloak before hurrying down the stairs.

He stopped in the doorway of the living room where all three Dursleys were sitting, watching their nightly program. He cleared his throat softly and, suddenly, all of their attention was focused on him.

"A friend of mine is in trouble," he told them. "I will be bringing him here and, only if I receive your permission of course, he will be remaining here until I leave in a week's time. Will you allow it?"

The Dursley's exchanged horrified glances, there was no way they'd allow another freak in their house, but despite his pleasant tones and polite statement, they all knew that it wasn't a request.

"Of course," Petunia said, glancing quickly at her red faced husband. "Shall I change the sheets in the guest room?"

"There's no need for that, I'm sure he'll feel much more comfortable in my bedroom. If you could have Vernon or Dudley bring the cot down from the attic and perhaps leave out a clean set of sheets, I would be incredibly grateful."

Petunia nodded.

"Thank you. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Harry left his relatives in the living room, and stepped briskly into the muggy night air. The soft snores and faint aroma of alcohol drifting from behind Petunia's rose bushes told him that his guard for the night was out for the count, but he still made sure that Privet Drive was out of sight before summoning the Knight Bus.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this evening. Where would you like to go this evening?"

Harry glanced at his watch, he had a little less then fifteen minutes to get to the Leaky Cauldron. "I'll give you two galleons if you can get me to the Leaky Cauldron in the next ten minutes."

Stan's eyes latched on to the two golden coins Harry held up for him. "I'm sure we can make a few changes to our schedule, sir," he said, bowing Harry onto the bus. "Oi, Ernie!" he called to the elderly wizard manning the wheel. "Next stop, the Leaky Cauldron!"

"Leaky Cauldron, got it."

Harry only just managed to stumbled into a seat before the bus took off at frightening speeds, he winced when the triple-decker only just managed to miss several cars, a few dozen lampposts, and an elderly woman taking quite some time to cross the street. He was grateful for more than one reason when the bus pulled up in front of the Leaky Cauldron not even ten minutes later.

"Thanks," he said, before marching briskly off of the bus and into the little pub.

Despite the late hour, the Leaky Cauldron was packed to the gills with a whole assortment of people, there were witches drinking enormous glasses of what he would have assumed to be Firewhiskey if it weren't for the drinks' bright pink coloring, oddly furry men consuming several pounds of a raw meat, and more than its fair share of hooded characters.

Harry made sure that his hood too was firmly in place before slipping into the pub, he nodded at Tom in greeting, before heading up the stairs to the private rooms. He hurried down the hall and, when he reached room twenty-three, knocked sharply on the wooden door.

He heard light footsteps cross the room, then the soft, frightened voice just on the other side of the door, "Who is it?"

"The Trickster Prince."

There was a beat of silence, then, "What's your most well-kept secret?"

Harry glanced cautiously around the empty hall, then whispered, "Loki."

The door opened just enough for Harry to slip in and come face to face with a pale faced, Draco Malfoy.

"What did you tell me in our second year when I nearly worked myself to death?"

"I told you that you would kill yourself if you continued searching for Slytherin's monster with such ridiculous zeal, then I dragged you to the Great Hall where I force fed you until you threatened to throw up all over my new shoes."

Harry finally relinquished the tight grip he had on his wand and took a moment to observe his friend and he wasn't pleased with what he saw. Draco's usually pale face was now an unhealthy gray, the skin beneath his bloodshot gray eyes was marred with dark semi-circles that spoke of countless sleepless nights, his usual neat blond hair was in complete disarray and looked as if it hadn't been washed in several days, and his entire body shook with what Harry suspected was more than just fear.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco attempted to laugh, but it came off as more of a strangled wheeze. "I know," he said, smoothing his robes with violently trembling hands, "you don't need to tell me how terrible I look."

"It's not exactly what I'm used to," Harry said, allowing his friend's poor attempt at humor for only a second before turning serious. "How bad is it?" he asked. "The nerve damage."

"The longest I was under the Cruciatus for about three minutes, but that was no more than four times a day, so I'm fine."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah, right. If you need potions tell me and I'll get them for you."

"I'm fine," the blond said firmly. "I just need a cup of tea and a proper's night sleep and I'll be golden."

Harry still wasn't convinced, but he let it go for the moment. If Draco was still shaking come morning, he would drop by Diagon Alley to pick up a few nerve healing potions.

"Alright, come on then," he said, gesturing to the door. "We should probably get back to my place."

"Is it safe?" Draco asked hesitantly. "I don't think anyone will have noticed my absence just yet, but when they do they'll send someone out to find me, I know too much."

"It's one of the safest places you could be outside of Hogwarts," Harry said reassuringly. "It's certainly much safer than here."

"Alright, let's hurry up then," Draco conceded.

The two teens left the tentative safety of the room where they moved quickly and efficiently through the pub. They were able to summon the Knight Bus without a single problem, but Draco didn't relax until they were safe inside of the wards blanketing the Dursleys' home.

The house was silent, the Dursleys had obviously gone to sleep, or at least retreated to their bedrooms, the lack of window rattling snores indicated that at least the Dursley males were still awake.

"Do you want that tea now," Harry asked, "or do you just want to head up to bed?"

"Tea can wait."

Harry nodded and led Draco up the stairs and to his bedroom. "The bathroom is the door directly to the right," he said as Draco examined the sparsely decorated room in interest. "Did you bring anything with you when you left?"

Draco nodded and produced a shrunken down trunk. "I got all that I could without raising suspicion," he enlarged the trunk with a tap of his finger then collected a few things from one of the compartments. "First door on the right?" he asked, and when he received the affirmative, left the room to prepare for bed.

A half an hour later, both teens were settled down in their respective beds, prepared for a long night of sleep. But just before Harry drifted off, a whisper from across the room startled him awake.

"Thank you, Harry."

---

The tension in the kitchen the morning after Draco's arrival hadn't been so thick since that fateful dinner with Vernon's detestable sister, Marge, all of those years ago. Vernon spent most of breakfast hiding behind his newspaper, only surfacing long enough to shove several kippers and a few spoonfuls of egg into his mouth, Dudley and Petunia focused all of their attention on their breakfast, doing everything in their power not to look at the two teenage wizards sitting across from them, one of whom was stoically eating the breakfast he'd been served while the other calmly read a small pile of mail.

"The others have been going spare trying to get in touch with you," Harry said conversationally as he popped the seal off of a letter delivered to him just that morning. "Blaise especially, his last letter said that he would call the Aurors if he didn't hear from you by the end of this week. I'll write him after breakfasts, as well as…ah."

Draco looked up from his plate. "What is it?" he asked worriedly.

"Dumbledore." Harry snorted inelegantly. After his conversation with the headmaster at the end of last year, his hatred for the man had calmed to a slight disdain. "One of the Order members watching the house apparently witnessed our arrival last night and informed him of it. He felt the need to express his disapproval of my 'reckless behavior.'"

"There are Order members watching the house?"

Harry looked up from the letter in surprise. "Yes, didn't I mention that last night?"

"No, Potter," Draco drawled, regaining a smidgen of his usual snark, "you failed to mention that one important detail."

"I did say this was probably one of the safest places outside of Hogwarts with all of the wards Dumbledore put up. And you're not allowed to call me Potter anymore."

"And why ever not?"

"Because you called me Harry last night."

"You clearly caught me in a moment of weakness," Draco sniffed.

Harry laughed at his friend's haughty expression. "If you don't start calling me by my given name I'll tell Pansy Parkinson the reason you ignore her advances is because you're too shy to admit your feelings for her."

The haughty expression fell away and was immediately replaced by one of horrified disgust. "You wouldn't."

"You seem to forget sometimes that I'm just as much a Slytherin as you."

"Fine," Draco huffed, sullenly stabbing at his eggs, "you win, bastard."

---

Dear Harry,

If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you and Mr. Malfoy to the Burrow, where you both have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,

I am yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

---

"What time is it?" Draco whined for what felt like the hundredth time in just the past half hour.

"Exactly the same time it was when you asked me ten seconds ago," Harry said patiently.

"What's taking so long?" Draco moaned. "Why is time moving so slowly?"

"Maybe if you found something to do," Harry said as he wrote out a line for his potion's essay, "you'd find that you'll not only no longer be bored, and time will have passed much faster."

"But there's nothing to do."

"Have you completed your transfiguration essay?"

"No."

"What about the Ancient Runes packet?"

"No."

"Astronomy worksheet?"

"No."

"Have you done any work this summer?"

"No."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Then, I'm sure you'll find that you have more than your fair share of things to do."

"Alright, let me rephrase that, there's nothing interesting to do."

"Really? I'm finding this potion essay to be absolutely thrilling."

"Yes, well you're a nerd, Potter." Draco groaned at the meaningful glare shot his way. "Harry."

Harry smiled in satisfaction as he focused his attention, once again, on his nearly completed essay.

"What time is it?"

Harry was preparing to throw his textbook at Draco's head when the street lamp directly outside of his window went out.

"What was that?" Draco whispered, grabbing at his wand.

"Dumbledore," Harry said, watching as the familiar figure walked up the garden path. "Give me a second to make sure it's really him."

The chiming of the doorbell had him hurrying down the stairs and to the door before his relatives could heave themselves off of the couch. "Headmaster?" he asked, cracking the door open only a fraction of an inch. "Is that you?"

"It is," came the reply.

"Who can live if the other survives?"

There was a sad sigh from the other side of the door, then, "Neither."

Harry swung the door open the rest of the way, and allowed Dumbledore to enter the house. "I apologize, but I had to be sure."

"Don't apologize at all, my boy," Dumbledore said. "It is always best to be cautious, especially during these troubling times."

Harry nodded in agreement, then hastened to retrieve Draco and their respective trunks.

"Is it safe?" the blonde whispered.

"As safe as it can be with Dumbledore around."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore beamed when the two boys, joined him in the hall, trunks and owl cages in tow, "I trust you are doing well."

"As well as can be expected, sir," Draco replied stiffly.

"Good, good, I'm quite glad. If you don't mind, I would like to discuss something of great importance with you when we arrive at the Burrow."

"If you're hoping that I can give you any information on the Dark Lord, sir," Draco said tonelessly, "I'm afraid that I won't be of much help. Malfoy Manor is protected by a several powerful and very dark wards, I would be reduced to a pile of ashes before I could even begin to tell you where the manor is located."

"I understand completely, my boy, I won't risk asking you the whereabouts of your family home, but perhaps you could help shed some light on Voldemort's plans."

Draco snorted softly. "I was not privy to any information as I had not yet been marked, the only time I ever saw him was when he was torturing me for my father's failures."

"Oh dear," Dumbledore winced, "I apologize if I have brought forth any unpleasant memories, it seems that in my zeal to gain the upper hand in this fight with Voldemort, I forgot the crimes that were inflicted upon you."

Draco nodded silently.

"Ah," the awkward moment was relieved by the arrival of the three Dursleys, "Petunia, Vernon, it's been a while, this must be your son Dudley." Draco and Harry exchanged amused glances, Dudley had chosen that moment to peer around the living room door, his large, blond head rising out of the collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. "It's been some time since I've been on Privet Drive, I must say your agapanthus are flourishing."

"Thank you," Petunia said stiffly, "I make sure they are well cared for. So you're here to pick up Harry up?"

"Yes, he and Draco we'll be relocating to the family home of one of their close friends, they will be remaining there until they return to school."

"I see." The Dursley's visible relaxed at the news.

"Would you…like a drink?" It seemed to cause Vernon great physical pain to address Dumbledore, let alone invite him further into his home and allow him to drink from one of his glasses, but Harry was impressed nonetheless.

"I'm afraid I am unable to, we have much to do tonight and very little time to do it in, but I appreciate the offer."

Vernon nodded.

"Well, I suppose we'll see you next summer, Harry," Petunia said uncomfortably. "And it was a pleasure to have you in our home, Mr. Malfoy, we are glad we could lend some assistance in your time of need."

Harry almost believed the sincerity behind her words, Dumbledore certainly did.

"Well, I daresay this visit has been a pleasure," he said genially, "but I'm afraid we must be off."

With one last nod to his relatives, the odd group of three trouped out of the house and down the walk, they continued at a leisurely pace down the street until they reached the very end of Privet Drive.

"This will do," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Before we set off to the Burrow and the wonderful meal I'm sure Molly has prepared for us, would it be too much trouble if we were to make a quick stop?"

"To where, Headmaster?" Draco asked.

"To the charming village of Budleigh Babberton. I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. I would like to see if I can persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"I suppose that would be alright," Harry said, glancing questioningly at Draco who nodded hesitantly.

"Excellent, well, you both will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment." Harry glanced curiously at his right arm, and caught sight of a curse blackened hand before it was covered by Dumbledore's sleeve.

Harry and Draco carefully grasped Dumbledore's left arm.

"Very good," the man said. "Now, let us be off."

Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away and readjusted his grip, the world around him was plunged into inky darkness, and he gasped for air as he was stretched and compressed all at once.

After several long seconds, Harry's feet hit solid ground and he was able to take in several much needed lungfuls of air.

"Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked the two gasping teens, both of whom nodded reassuringly before straightening to their full heights. "Very good, now this way."

The trio walked in comfortable silence for several long minutes, passing several large houses, all of which looked eerily deserted, walked up a steep hill or two, and turned along multiple twisting streets.

"This is the place," Dumbledore said, jolting Harry from the dazed stupor he'd fallen into somewhere along the fifth street.

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden, but Harry paused when he caught sight of the house, as did Dumbledore and Draco.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured. "Oh dear, dear, dear."

The lawn and the carefully tended path looked perfectly undisturbed, but the door was hanging off of the hinges, as if it had been subjected to a particularly strong blasting curse.

"Wands out and follow me," Dumbledore said as he opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path. He pushed the hanging front door open very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready. They moved carefully along a long, narrow hallway and through a door that led into the sitting room.

"Lumos."

Draco made a small noise of surprise when the soft glow emanating from the tip of Dumbledore's wand illuminated the spacious room, bringing its devastated state into sharp detail. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides, fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something dark red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper.

"Well, this is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Draco repeated shrilly, he was staring at the aging headmaster as if he had suddenly sprouted another three heads. "This man was dragged off by Death Eaters, or maybe even You-Know-Who, and all you can say is that it's unfortunate?"

"Oh, no need to worry, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, still completely unfazed as he peered behind an overstuffed armchair, "I don't think Horace has been dragged off by Voldemort or his followers. In fact, I have reason to believe he's still here."

Oddly enough, Draco didn't seem too comforted by the thought.

"Do you think he's still alive, professor?" Harry asked, surveying the room critically.

"Of that I have no doubt."

Then, with no further warning, Dumbledore swooped forward and stabbed his wand into the unsightly armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

Harry looked on in surprise as the chair seamlessly morphed into an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

"What gave me away?" the man grunted as he staggered to his feet, still robbing his stomach.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something… ah well, wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

"Would you like help cleaning up?"

"Please."

With only a few sweeping waves of their wands, the two wizards easily put the room back in order, repairing the broken objects scattered across the room, vanishing the carpet of dust, and siphoning the thick, red liquid from the wall.

"Now that that is through," Dumbledore said, cheerfully pocketing his wand, "I believe introductions are in order. This is Harry and his close friend, Draco, boys, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn's eyes widened as he took in first Draco, then Harry, then Harry's scar. "So this is how you thought you'd persuade me," he said, turning to glare at Dumbledore. "Well, the answer is no, Albus."

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" Dumbledore asked hopefully. "For old time's sake?"

Slughorn hesitated, but finally conceded, albeit incredibly unenthusiastically.

After being served tea by their disgruntled host, Dumbledore and Slughorn exchanged small talk while Harry and Draco quietly sipped at their drinks. The conversation was fairly boring at first, the two elder wizard compared symptoms of their old age, retirement, and the steps Slughorn had taken to prepare for their arrival. But it slowly evolved until they were discussing why Slughorn had taken such steps to make someone believe he had been killed. Apparently, the Death Eater's were interested in recruiting Slughorn to their side, though Harry was still uncertain of what use the old man would be to the Dark Lord.

"Are you leaving?" Slughorn asked hopefully when Dumbledore abruptly stood from his seat.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom."

"Oh," Slughorn said, clearly disappointed, "second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore left the room and Draco, Harry, and Slughorn were left sitting in a somewhat stilted silence.

"Don't think I don't know why he brought you," Slughorn finally said, standing with a bit of effort and hobbling over to the fire.

Harry laughed softly and took a sip of his tea. "I think we all know why he brought me here. He's not one to do things halfway, the headmaster."

Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar once again, then continued on to study his face with discomfiting intensity. "You're not exactly what I expected," he said.

"What did you expect?" Harry asked, arching his brow questioningly. "A carbon copy of my Gryffindor, and loveably hotheaded father, but with my mother's eyes?"

Slughorn smiled and shrugged sheepishly, indicating that that had been exactly what he'd expected. "I…well, that is to say….But you weren't sorted into Gryffindor?"

Harry and Draco snorted and exchanged amused glances. "Harry has too much brain to be landed with the witless Gryffindor oafs."

"Ravenclaw then?"

Harry and Draco shook their heads.

Slughorn's eyes lit up with hope. "Slytherin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that so?" a small grin spread across Slughorn's face and he began bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Well, I must say this changes things. Were you aware that I was the head of Slytherin house before my retirement?"

"No, sir, I wasn't," Harry said, silently wondering over what had the man looking like a kid in a candy shop.

"I was, and I met many a fine wizard in my time. Why it seems only years ago that I taught Bella Farley, an extraordinarily bright witch who made quite a name for herself in the Misuse of Magical Artifacts Department. And then there's Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies, people are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

"That must be nice," Harry smiled innocently. "I'm sure knowing so many influential people assures that you never experience a dull moment."

The teen watched as Slughorn seemed to deflate upon hearing his words. "Ah, how I wish it were so," he said dejectedly. "But unfortunately I've been out of touch with everybody for little over a year now," Slughorn sighed. "But it's for the best. A prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. It's all very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate."

"Oh, but it's quite the opposite," Harry said, "most of the staff have actually kept well away from any business regarding the Order, but they're safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster, he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," Slughorn admitted. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend… in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus."

"Well there you go then," Harry said cheerfully, although he wasn't quite sure why he was even trying to coerce the man into joining the Hogwarts staff.

Slughorn eyed Harry shrewdly, but a small smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. "It seems the old Sorting Hat was right to put you in Slytherin." he said.

"I have yet to see him make a mistake."

"Thank you for allowing me the use of your facilities, Horace," Dumbledore said, sweeping back into the room. "It was most appreciated."

"Oh, of course. You were in there for a while. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the muggle magazines," the headmaster said, smiling contentedly. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Draco, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough, I think it is time for us to leave."

"You're leaving?" Slughorn asked bewilderedly, he had no doubt expected Dumbledore to resume his attempts at persuasion.

"Yes, I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost…?"

"Yes. Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes… well… very gracious… as I say…" Slughorn seemed to be struggling with himself.

"Good-bye, then."

Harry and Draco nodded their farewells, then followed Dumbledore out of the room. They had just reached the front door when a loud shout stopped them in their tracks.

"Wait!" Slughorn came dashing to the doorway of the living room. "I'll do it! Alright? I'll do it!"

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked genially.

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful. Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," Slughorn grunted.

As they set off down the garden path, the elderly man's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore.

The sable haired teen smirked smugly. "Thank you, Headmaster."

---

Unlike the first two times Harry had apparated, he braced himself before allowing Dumbledore to whisk them away, it was still unpleasant, but nowhere near as horrible as it had been the first two times.

Draco, Dumbledore, and Harry marched briskly up the lane leading up to the Burrow, moving as quickly as they could to get out of the unnatural chill. But instead of stopping at the front door when they reached the house, they circled around back and knocked on the back door.

"Who's there?" said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and young Mister Malfoy."

The door opened at once and the trio was hurried into the house by a harried looking Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodness, Albus," she said, shutting the door behind them, "you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky. Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course."

"Well, I'm glad. It's much too late for you three to be wandering about, especially during such troubling times," Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into her customary bone breaking hug, then surprised Draco when she repeated the action on him, no less enthusiastically. "You both look far too thin to be healthy," she scolded steering them to the table. "Sit down and I'll warm up some soup. Will you be staying, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed and looked wistfully to the pot of soup Mrs. Weasley was placing on the stovetop to warm up. "Unfortunately, I cannot. There are urgent matters I must discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Very well, be safe, Albus."

"Always. Take care, Molly. Goodnight boys," Dumbledore bowed himself out of the house, Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Draco watched through the window as he walked briskly across the lawn, then disappeared at the exact same spot he'd appeared only a few minutes previous.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, moving away from the window to serve up bowls of warm onion soup and freshly cut bread, "I've heard you both have had quite the exciting summer so far."

"I wouldn't call it exciting," Harry said as he began systematically devouring his meal. "Eventful might be the better way to describe it."

"Yes, that seems much more appropriate," Mrs. Weasley agreed as she set Draco's bowl before him. "How have you been holding up, dear?" she asked, running a hand through the blonde's hair.

Draco looked startled by the affectionate gesture and the clear concern in Mrs. Weasley's voice, but he made no move to pull away. "As well as to be expected, I suppose," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I worry for my mother's well-being, but I know that as long as my father remains in Azkaban the Dark Lord won't harm her, as she is the last Malfoy he has under his control."

Mrs. Weasley nodded worriedly, then moved on to bustle about the kitchen. "I'll talk to the headmaster tomorrow, see if there's anything we can do for her."

Draco sighed, visibly relieved. "Thank you," he murmured.

Mrs. Weasley paused long enough to give him a gentle pat on the cheek. "Think nothing of it, dear.

The next few minutes were spent discussing Slughorn's return to Hogwarts and quietly celebrating Mr. Weasley's promotion to Head of the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Apparently with the confirmation of Voldemort's return, peddlers all over wizarding England had taken advantage of the frightened witches and wizards to sell them protective potions that were really just gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually made the caster's ears fall off.

After Mr. Weasley's late arrival they spent a few more minutes listening to his tales of backfiring jinxes in Elephant and Castle and faulty Metamorph Medals that were said to allow the wearer to change their appearance at will but really just turned their skin orange and, in a few cases, caused a few unfortunate people to sprout tentacle like warts all over their bodies.

"Bed," Mrs. Weasley said when she noticed Draco's drooping eyes and Harry's poorly concealed yawns. "I've got Fred and George's room all set up for you two."

"Where are they?" Harry asked, tiredly following her up the stairs.

"They're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy."

"They've been doing well then?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business."

"I figured they would."

Mrs. Weasley made a soft sound of agreement before stopping at the first door on the second floor. "Here we are," the bedroom was decently sized, certainly larger than Harry's room at Privet Drive, but it was bare save for two beds, a large wardrobe, a vase of flowers set atop a desk, and a mountain of sealed cardboard boxes stacked along the far wall.

"Try not to disturb anything in those boxes," Mrs. Weasley said. "Merlin only knows what type of pranks and such you might set off."

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said obediently.

Mrs. Weasley smiled and patted his cheek warmly. "Alright then, I'll leave you two to sleep, don't worry about sleeping in tomorrow, you've had a long night."

Harry and Draco made soft noises of agreement then bade Mrs. Weasley goodnight. After her departure, they quickly changed into their night clothes then dove gratefully into their beds, they were both asleep almost immediately.

---

It seemed like Harry had only managed a few seconds of sleep before he was being woken by the bang of the door being thrown open and the rasp of the curtains pulling away from the window.

As he groped for a pillow to throw over his head and block out the sudden light flooding the room, Harry felt his bed give a little jolt as someone leapt onto the mattress and, as a result, on top of him.

"We didn't know you two were here already!" Ron shouted from where his spot on top of Harry's legs.

Harry sighed mournfully and briefly entertained the idea of burrowing under his covers and ignoring Ron's presence, but having known the redhead for going on five years now, he knew that that approach would do no good. So, with a quiet groan and a bit of effort, he pushed Ron off of his legs who collapsed onto the ground with an impressive, thundering crash and a loud yelp.

"What the hell, Weasley," Draco hissed, throwing his pillow at the pouting teen. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"He most likely can, but remember this is Ron we're talking about here, he has all of the consideration of an orangutan, and the intelligence that is perhaps just a bit substandard to one," Hermione said, walking into the room with a smiling Ginny close behind, she smiled brightly at her two friends and swooped down to give them both a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning Draco, Harry."

"Morning, Hermione," Draco muttered as he curled up under the covers in a futile attempt at gaining even an extra second of sleep.

"So you've finally decided to use my given name," Hermione beamed, looking extraordinarily pleased at the turn of events. "Good."

"Yeah, well after I accidently used Harry's proper name he got it into his mind that I should use it and everyone else's all of the time now, he even threatened to tell Parkinson that the reason I spurn her advances is because I'm too shy to admit my feelings for her if I didn't."

"Good job, Harry," Hermione said approvingly. "We should have tried that years ago."

Harry grinned, but took pity on his scowling friend and changed the subject. "I know Mrs. Weasley said we didn't have to worry about sleeping in, but what time is it? Have we missed breakfast?"

"Yeah," a still pouting Ron said, climbing off of the floor to perch on the end of Draco's bed in a much more civil manner, "but don't worry, Mum said she'd bring you guys up a tray."

"I reckon that's just her excuse to get away from her for a bit," Ginny said. "And I don't blame her, she's been intolerable lately."

Draco poked his head out from under his covers and surveyed Ginny interestedly, he'd always been one for a good bit of gossip. "Who's been intolerable?"

There was no need for him to have even asked, because the very moment the question fell from his lips, the door swung open and a tall, willowy beauty swept into the room in a swirl of sweet perfume and silvery blond hair, in her arms, she was carefully balancing two trays laden with all sorts of breakfast foods.

"'Arry!" she cried, setting one of the trays onto his lap before bending down to place a swift kiss on each of his cheeks. "Eet 'as been too long."

"Hello, Fleur," Harry smiled at the young woman, pleasantly surprised to see her. After the Triwizard Tournament, he had made a point to keep in touch with the two other champions as they had formed a tentative friendship over the course of the year, but with his busy year he'd only been able to write to them once or twice a month. The last time he'd heard from Fleur, she been on her way to London to apply for a job at Gringotts, he didn't know if she'd gotten it, but even if she had, that didn't explain her presence at the Burrow.

"And Draco, I have missed you," she placed the second tray in Draco's lap then gave him a kiss on each cheek.

"I've missed you as well," Draco smiled, but his confusion was still evident. "But what are you doing here?"

Fleur turned to look reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who stood in the doorway with a cross expression on her face. "You did not tell them?"

"I didn't get around to informing them, they arrived late last night."

Fleur swung back around to face Harry, whipping her long sheet of silver hair in Mrs. Weasley's face as she did. "No matter, I will tell zem myself. Bill and I are going to be married."

"Really?" Harry said. "Congratulations, Fleur!"

"Yes," Draco said. "Congratulations, you must be thrilled."

"I am," Fleur agreed. "As is Bill."

"Where is he, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming… zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well… enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry, Draco!"

And with that she was gone, leaving a disgruntled Mrs. Weasley, a dazed Ron, and the other two teenage boys trying to process the part-veela's excited chatter.

"Well, that was unexpected," Harry said with a soft snort before digging into his breakfast. The Dursleys had had long ago stopped starving him, but no one cooked like Mrs. Weasley.

The women in question made a soft noise of discontent then turned and stomped from the room, leaving the group to mutter mutinously about Bill's choice in fiancés, or rather leaving Harry and Draco listen to Hermione and Ginny gripe while Ron tried to shake himself from the stupor he'd fallen into upon Fleur's arrival.

Their conversation was interrupted however when, a half an hour or so after her departure, Mrs. Weasley's somewhat hysteric shouts for them sent the four soon to be sixth years hurrying down the stairs, Ginny followed them at a much more leisurely pace.

"What is it, Mum?" Ron asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Mrs. Weasley pointed a lightly shaking finger at four important looking owls perched on the windowsill.

Hermione let out a high pitched, somewhat nervous squeak. "Are those Ministry owls?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Harry approached the birds and collected a letter from each of them. "They have our names on them," he said, handing each of his friends their respective letters. "They must be our results."

Oh no," Hermione cried, pushing her letter away from her. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't do this. What if I've failed? I probably did! Oh, I've certainly failed."

"Shut the hell up, Hermione," Harry said calmly, "and open your letter."

"But, Harry-"

"Come off it, Hermione," Ron snapped impatiently, examining his own letter with no small amount of trepidation. "We all know you got eleven O's so could you please shut up and let the rest of us panic in peace."

"No panicking," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously. "Open them."

"Right," Hermione agreed, "open them."

The four friends exchanged glances then simultaneously opened their Ministry sealed letters.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy: O

Ancient Runes: O

Charms: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Arithmancy: O

Herbology: O

History of Magic: O

Potions: O

Transfiguration: O

Harry let out soft, relieved breath. "Wow," he murmured. Straight O's, his father would certainly be proud.

Harry took a few seconds to allow his racing heart to calm before looking up to observe his friends' reactions. Hermione was frantically scrutinizing her parchment, gripping it so tight Harry was worried it would tear, Draco had allowed a mask of calm indifference to settle across his face, but Harry could see the relief shining in his eyes, Ron had already finished looking over his grades, he looked delighted.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily to Harry. "Here… swap…" Harry obligingly swapped grades with Ron. "Bloody hell, Harry!" he cried, looking over the parchment with wide eyes. "Way to go mate!"

After sharing his results, Draco peered over Ron's shoulders and beamed when he caught sight of Harry's results. "Ravenclaw," he said, throwing a congratulatory arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked tentatively, the brunette had been the only one who hadn't spoken yet. "How did you do?"

"I…not bad," Hermione said in small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep…ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed and gave her a one armed hug. "You did fantastic, love."

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now," Ron said cheerfully. "Mum are there any more sausages?"

---

The next few weeks spent at the Burrow were some of the most enjoyable Harry had ever experienced during the summer time. He spent most of his days with his friends, whether it was swimming in the pond by the Burrow, visiting Luna and her father, who was just as odd as her, in their rook shaped house, or attempting to play a game of Quidditch with Ron, Draco, and Ginny while Hermione refereed, while his nights were spent eating triple helping of everything Mrs. Weasley set in front of him and finishing his summer homework with the others.

The summer was so peaceful Harry would have forgotten that a war was brewing outside of the little haven he'd found in the Burrow if it hadn't been for the Order members occasionally popping in for dinner and bringing news of deaths and disappearances with them. There had been numerous Dementor attacks, the Ministry was struggling to hide them from the muggles, Igor Karkaroff had been found dead in a shack up in the north, the Dark Mark hovering above the scene of the crime, and both Florean Fortescue and Ollivander the wandmaker had disappeared. It looked as if Fortescue had been dragged off, but there was no trace of a struggle in Ollivander's shop, it was as if he'd just up and walked off.

The morning they'd scheduled to visit Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies was an overcast day, Harry had been dismayed to see the Ministry cars waiting for them outside of the Burrow, and even more dismayed when he'd found out that he would have a guard while shopping. The last thing he wanted was a group of uptight Ministry approved Aurors stalking him while he tried to be productive. His fears were assuaged, however, when the group arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and he discovered that his guard would be Hagrid.

"I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much," Mrs. Weasley muttered to herself as they crossed through the depressingly empty Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley.

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," Mr. Weasley protested when she tried to herd the entire group to Madam Malkin's. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school-books?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think…?"

"Don't fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," Hagrid assured her. Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Draco, Hermione, and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin's.

When they reached the shop, Hagrid decided to stand guard outside while the four teenagers ducked into the shop, they got their robes without a problem, then hurried to meet up with the others who were still shopping in Flourish and Blotts.

After exchanging a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Draco and Harry split off from the rest of the group to wander through the aisles, discussing Snape's summer homework while occasionally grabbing a book of interest. They'd just paused at the back of the store to examine a series of books on human transfiguration when a soft voice startled them from their conversation.

"Draco?" the two boys spun on their heels and found themselves facing a pale, slightly unhealthy looking Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mother?"

"Oh, it is you, darling," Narcissa cried reaching forward to enfold her son in a hug that rivaled Molly Weasley's. "Oh, thank Salazar you're alright. I was so worried when you disappeared, I'd thought…" she paused and looked up at Draco with tear filled cornflower blue eyes. "Well, it doesn't matter what I was thinking, you're fine, you're safe. You are safe right?"

"Yes, I'm safe, mother," Draco said. "I'm sorry I left you, but I had to get away, he was going to mark me. But how are you? Did the Dark Lord punish you for my disappearance?"

Narcissa pulled her robes tighter around her thin frame and arranged her face into a carefully haughty expression, but Harry could see the fragility in the way her hands trembled and the dark shadows marring her otherwise flawless skin. "Nothing I can't handle," she said bravely.

"Oh, mother," Draco whispered, sounding as if he were near tears. "This is my fault."

"No," Narcissa said sharply. "We both know that if you had stayed the Dark Lord would have either marked you or killed you. You made the right choice."

"Isn't there anything we can do for you though? You're in danger. Why don't you leave?"

"And go where? The Dark Lord knows every property owned by the Malfoys, from the villa in Italy to the chalet in France."

"There must be somewhere."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance," Harry offered quietly.

Immediately, the attention of both Malfoys were focused intently on him. "You can?" Draco asked, desperately latching onto his friends arm. "Harry, what can you do?"

"I could possibly grant you asylum, Mrs. Malfoy, but it would require no small sacrifice on your part."

"Name it," Narcissa said without a moment's hesitation.

Harry wandlessly erected several privacy wards. "I'm sure that you are aware that this past June my godfather, Sirius Black, was killed in the Department of Mysteries, by your own sister as a matter of fact."

"Yes," Narcissa said eyeing Harry shrewdly, "I also saw the damage you inflicted upon her for that act."

Harry smiled coldly. "If Voldemort hadn't shown up it would have been a lot worse. But that's not what I wanted to discuss. My godfather's will was read not too long, and, to make a long story short, he named me his heir. Which means-"

"-that you are now the head of the Black family," Narcissa gasped.

"Exactly."

"What does that mean for us?" Draco asked.

"It means that, as the head of the Black family, it is my duty to do whatever I can to protect my family, but that obligation extends only to those who bear the Black name."

"Oh."

"I still don't understand," Draco said in frustration.

"The only way Mr. Potter can grant me asylum is if I bear the Black name," Narcissa said. "And the only way that is possible is if I divorce your father."

"Oh."

Would it be correct to assume, Lady Malfoy, that your husband has no intentions of changing sides?" Harry asked.

Narcissa nodded.

"Then would it not be in you and your son's best interests to get away from him while you still can?"

"It would," she agreed. "But what you're asking…if I divorce Lucius I might as well publically proclaim that I have joined the light side, for that is how the Dark Lord will see it. Betraying him would not be beneficial toward my continued health."

"Nor would allying yourself with the losing side."

"The losing side?" Narcissa repeated.

"Yes," Harry drew himself up to his full height, which was overall quite impressive, and smiled a small, but confident smile down at her. At that moment he looked uncannily like his godly father. "Mark my words, Lady Malfoy. Voldemort will be defeated, and I will be the one to do it."

Narcissa looked at the barely sixteen year old boy, the child no older than her own son, in something bordering on awe. This was what Lucius had hoped for when he had pledged himself to the Dark Lord's cause; a strong, confident, but above all else powerful leader. Unfortunately, while the Dark Lord was certainly strong, powerful, and maybe a bit too confident, he was also utterly insane, and not the good type either. But Harry Potter, he was everything she'd hoped for and more.

When Narcissa Malfoy spoke, her voice had lost that hint of fragility and now held the understated strength that had made her the formidable Lady Malfoy she'd once been.

"You are young, Mr. Potter," she said softly, "but you have a power about you that will make you a very formidable opponent in the coming war. If I agree to your terms, can you swear to protect me to the very best of your ability?"

"I can."

"Then I accept your offer, Mr. Potter."

---

Unfortunately, the process of granting Narcissa Malfoy asylum from the Dark Lord was a bit more difficult than making an offer and receiving an acceptance. For some reason, the elder Weasley's were less than pleased with the deal struck up in the back of Flourish Blotts; Harry spent several long minutes trying to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley why the choice he'd made had been the right one, even if he hadn't sought their counsel before making it. But when that proved fruitless, Harry ended the conversation by stating quite plainly that he'd made his decision and he was sticking to it. Not only would it be dishonorable if he rescinded his offer after already coming to an agreement, no matter how tentative, but Draco was his best friend and he would never forgive himself if he allowed his friend's mother to return to a place where she could be killed just for blinking wrong.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn't been pleased, but they conceded defeat, they knew they were fighting a losing battle. With that minor setback out of the way, Harry and Draco escorted a hooded Narcissa to Gringotts where they would enlist the goblins' help to draw up a foolproof contract, while the rest of the group went to the twins' new shop, where they would be waiting until they'd finished conducting business.

When they entered Gringotts, it was to find it packed with sweaty, shouting customers, but all it took was a sizeable amount of galleons to the right goblin and they were being led down a much less crowded hall to the office of Gornuk, the Black family account manager. The next portion of the proceedings went incredibly smoothly.

The easiest way to rid herself of the Malfoy name was, not to file for divorce, but to simply break the contract drawn up upon the union of Narcissa and Lucius. Luckily, Lucius' imprisonment broke the contract and Narcissa was able to purge herself of her married name with very little hassle.

When she was once again a Black, Narcissa and Harry were able to draw up a contract that left all parties, if not happy, then highly satisfied. Narcissa swore to follow a set of rules established by Harry with a bit of help from Gornuk, none of the rules were too imposing, and all of them were put in place for her, Draco, and Harry's safety. By agreeing to the guidelines Narcissa became a ward of the Black family, which meant that she would be protected by the head of the family, which in this case was Harry, and placed in one of the family's heavily warded safe houses; the location of which was only known by her, Draco, and Harry. After a few minutes of nitpicking over the final details of the contract, the agreement was sealed with the Unbreakable Vow with Draco as their Bonder and Gornuk as their witness.

The moment the vow was made a great weight seemed to be lifted from Narcissa's shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered, throwing herself from her chair to kneel before Harry and grip his larger hands in her considerably smaller ones. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me."

"We are indebted to you, Harry," Draco said, looking far better than he had all summer.

"Oh, stop," Harry smiled, pulling Narcissa to her feet. "You're as good as my brother, Draco, neither of you owe me anything."

"Regardless, you have my loyalty," Narcissa said. "If you ever need my assistance in anything, all you need to do is ask."

"All I want in return is for you to remain safe during these dangerous times. I want Draco to still have his mother when this is all over."

The blond woman pulled him into a quick, but no less heartfelt, embrace. "Then it is done."

---

The aftermath of Narcissa's defection to the light side was far less dramatic than Harry had anticipated; the Weasley parents' exasperation towards his hastily made decision disappeared the moment they saw the uplifting effect it had had on Draco's previously glum mood and when they realized that Narcissa truly was genuine in her intent to walk away from Voldemort and all that he stood for.

Dumbledore was a different matter altogether.

The elderly man had paid Harry a visit the moment he'd heard what had occurred during their trip to Diagon Alley, Harry figured that he had come with the intent of maybe scolding him for his actions, but it turned out to be much worse. Dumbledore had obviously taken the cordiality between the two of them since their conversation at the end of his fifth year as a sign that all of their past misunderstandings had been forgotten. They hadn't. In fact they were made worse when Dumbledore visited the Burrow and tried to order Harry to go back on his word to Narcissa and leave her to the mercy of the Dark Lord.

Needless to say, that hadn't gone over too well with Harry. The conversation had ended almost as soon as it had begun with several brutal, but completely true statements on the headmasters morals, or rather lack thereof, and a reminder that he was his headmaster and nothing more and that he had no right to demand anything from him.

The headmaster had left the Burrow thoroughly chastised and with his tail tucked between his legs.

---

Their departure on the morning of September the first was smoother than usual. Everyone had made sure to pack all of their belongings the night before, so when the cars the Ministry had provided to transport them to Kings Cross glided up to the front of the Burrow they were waiting, trunks packed and animals safely enclosed in cages and traveling baskets. They easily stored their things into the expanded trunk and traveled to the station where a group of Aurors were waiting to escort them to the train.

"Now I want you all to have a good term," Mrs. Weasley said, absentmindedly adjusting the collar of Ron's shirt. "Be good and please try to stay out of trouble."

"You say that as if we willingly go looking for trouble, Mrs. Weasley," Harry teased.

"Yes, well with all the mischief you lot get yourselves into, I sometimes can't help but wonder if that's the case." She gave each of the waiting teens a hug and a kick kiss to the cheek, then herded them onto the train just as it whistled its final warning.

"Make sure you look after yourselves!" she called as the train began to move. "Stay safe!"

Harry waved a final farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys before turning to his friends expectantly. "You lot heading to the prefect's carriage?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "We'll see you in an hour or so."

"Alright, have fun…or I don't know are the meetings fun? And watch out for Parkinson, Draco," Harry laughed and ducked away from the stinging hex shot his way. "I'll go find the others. Will you be joining me, Ginny?" he asked the younger girl who was lingering a few feet away.

"No, I told Dean I'd meet up with him."

She gave him a searching look, but Harry shrugged and began heading down the hall. "All right, see you later."

"Yeah, see you."

Harry left her loitering in the narrow hall, focusing his attention on finding Blaise, Neville, and Luna. His search, however, was hindered by the arrival of a fairly pretty, curly haired fifth year girl, he recognized from the T.A.

"Hello, Harry," she smiled up at him, batting her long lashes.

"Hello, Romilda," he said, absently peering through the windows of the compartments around them, hoping to spot his friends.

"How was your summer?" the Gryffindor asked.

"It was fine. Yours?"

"It was fantastic, although I could have done with a bit less homework."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, running a hand through his hair, he gave up trying to find his friends and tried to devote at least part of his attention to the conversation he was carrying with the younger girl. "McGonagall was brutal with her workload, and it'll only get worse for you now that you're starting fifth year."

"Well, maybe you could tutor me sometime," Romilda said sweetly, curling a lock of hair around her finger. "I could really use the-oh!" she jolted forward as a group of girls hurried down the hall, there weren't that many in the group, but somehow Romilda stumbled forward and fell against Harry, one hand against his chest and another rested on her waistline.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," she apologized, but made no move to remove her hands from his person, on the contrary, her hand slowly began sliding lower.

"Um, yeah…I…uh…"

"Harry!"

The dark haired teen could have kissed Blaise for his timely arrival.

"Sorry, Romilda," he said, smiling apologetically, "got to run. It was nice talking to you though."

"Yeah, you too," the disappointed girl said.

Harry carefully backed away from her groping hands, then hurried down the hall to greet his grinning friend. "I could kiss you right now," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" Blaise asked as he led him to a compartment a few doors down. "It looked like Romilda Vane had that area covered," the dark skinned teen looked his friend up and down. "And perhaps a bit more covered as well."

"Shut up," Harry hissed, turning bright red.

"Blaise what have you done to Harry?" Neville asked, eyeing the flushed teen in amusement. "He's redder than Ron's hair."

"I didn't do anything," Blaise said, a shark like grin spreading across his face. "Romilda Vane on the other hand did quite a number on our Harry, when I showed up he was a stuttering mess."

"I was not! I was just trying to find a polite way to tell her to remove her hands from my person."

"Oh, this sounds interesting," Neville grinned. "Tell me more."

"There's nothing to tell," Harry said crossly.

"Nothing to tell?" Blaise laughed. "I'm afraid I have to disagree, there's quite a bit to tell."

"If you value your life, Zabini, you won't say another word."

Obviously he didn't value his life as the part Italian Slytherin continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "I was walking down the halls, looking for you all, when I find our poor, sweet Harry backed against the wall with Romilda Vane's hand practically shoved down his pants."

Neville collapsed in his seat, howling in laughter, while Luna watched the scene with serene amusement.

"You were molested by Romilda Vane in the middle of the train?" Neville asked in between great gasps of laughter.

"Where are my real friends?" Harry lamented dramatically. "I can't stand a moment longer in the presence of such traitors."

"I'm sure Romilda would love to keep you company," Blaise smirked.

"I hate you."

---

As it had been all summer, the weather outside of the safe confines of the train was patchy; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight, then back into the gloomy mist once again. It was during one of the clear spells that Draco, Ron, and Hermione entered the compartment.

"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm starving," Ron sighed, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach.

"You're always hungry," Hermione snorted.

"Yeah, well I'm a growing boy."

"Excuse me," the room fell silent as everyone turned to observe the breathless third year girl who had stepped into the compartment. "I'm supposed to deliver these to Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Blaise Zabini," she held out three scrolls tied with violet ribbons. Perplexed, the three sixth years took the scrolls addressed to them.

"Thank you," Harry told the girl.

She nodded and hurried out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Ron asked, as Harry unrolled his.

"An invitation from Slughorn."

Harry,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely,

Professor H. E. F. Slughorn

"What do you think he wants?" Neville asked, examining his invitation in confusion. "And why did he only invite the three of us?"

"Slughorn likes to collect people he thinks will make it far in life," Harry said, carelessly tossing aside his invitation. "He obviously took a look at our parents, or, in my case, our fancy titles, and decided that we would make excellent additions to his little club," Harry sighed sufferingly and climbed to his feet. "We might as well go and get this over with."

"Wait, you're actually going to go?" Ron asked incredulously.

"He knows a lot of important people," Harry shrugged. "He might be able to get introduce us to a few of them."

"Ugh, Slytherin politics," the redheaded grunted. "Go on then, mate, have fun."

"It most certainly won't be fun," Blaise snorted. "But hopefully Harry's right and the connections we'll make will make it worth our while."

The journey to compartment C was quite the struggle as Harry, Blaise, and Neville were forced to maneuver through flocks of gaping teens, dodging groping hands, and occasionally leaping out of the way of students who literally hurled themselves out of their compartments to get a glimpse at Harry.

"Merlin," Blaise gasped, when the three exhausted teens finally reached compartment C. "I'm sorry Harry, but if this is what happens whenever I accompany you to public places, we're going to have to end our friendship."

Harry huffed a tired laugh, but didn't deign to respond as at that moment, they slipped into Slughorn's compartment.

"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn said jovially, jumping up upon his entrance. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Zabini! I was not aware that you knew each other."

"Yes, sir," Harry forced an almost believable smile. "We're quite close."

"Excellent," Slughorn gestured to the three seats closest to the door. "Please, sit. Now, do you know everyone?" When it was confirmed that they were not familiar with each other, Slughorn spent the next few minutes introducing everyone. The two others that had been invited were seventh years, one was a large, fit Gryffindor named Cormac McLaggen, and the other was Marcus Belby, a thin, nervous looking Ravenclaw.

"Now that that's done with, let's have lunch. I've packed my own as I'm afraid most of the wares sold on the usual trolley wouldn't be good for this old man's digestive system."

Over his light meal of cold pheasant and sliced cheese, Harry watched as Slughorn, one by one, engaged each of the compartments occupants in conversation, revealing the reason behind their presence as he did. Marcus had been invited because his uncle, Damocles Belby, was a renowned Potion's Master who had apparently created the Wolfsbane Potion, but when it was discovered that Belby wasn't all that close with his uncle due to strife between him and Marcus' father, Slughorn seemed to lose all interest in him. After Belby was Cormac, who Slughorn had much more luck on, the older teen was the nephew of an influential Ministry employee who was good friends with the newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. Next to be questioned was Blaise, who was forced to spend several long minutes discussing his relationship with his mother, the infamous Black Widow, then went Neville, who was incredibly uncomfortable talking about his parents, who had been confined to St. Mungo's after being tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband. Harry heard him breathe a soft sigh of relief when Slughorn turned his attention off of Neville and onto him.

"Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!" He contemplated Harry for a moment as though he was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then said, "'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!"

Harry wisely didn't comment on his newest title, choosing to simply smile neutrally at Slughorn and take another bite of his pheasant.

"Of course, there have been rumors for years," Slughorn continued. "I remember when… well after that terrible night with and Lily and James…and you survived! And the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary."

Blaise gave a tiny little cough of amusement, Harry gave him a swift kick under the table and shot him a glare that was ruined by the small smile he was struggling to hide.

"Such rumors this summers," Slughorn obviously hadn't noticed the small exchange between the two Slytherins. "Of course, one doesn't know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes, but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!"

"Yes, well not exactly by choice," Harry shrugged.

Slughorn nodded solemnly. "Yes, I heard of that, you were dragged there against your will by the Auror Gibbon. Bad business that was. But why did he take you to the Ministry of all places? What was his purpose?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir. He trapped me in the Department of Mysteries, but I was rescued before he could carry out whatever he had planned."

"Do you think it perhaps has something to do with this fabled prophecy?" Slughorn leaned forward as far as he could with his large belly. "It's well known that the Hall of Prophecies is located somewhere in the Department of Mysteries."

"That could be the reason, but I never heard anything about a prophecy, so I'm afraid that it's all speculation."

"Yes… well… it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course…" Slughorn said, sounding a little disappointed. "I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies)…"

Slughorn launched into a long winded tale that started off about Gwenog Jones but slowly evolved into recollection of every successful person he'd ever taught. It was only when the train hit one of the rare patches of sunlight that Slughorn noticed the late hour and sent them back to their compartments.

They only had just enough time to change into their robes before the train pulled up to the Hogsmeade station and they had to disembark.

"So did you make any 'important connections?'" Ron asked once they'd settled down in one of the thestral drawn carriages.

"Not yet," Neville laughed. "We mostly spent the lunch being regaled with tales of Slughorn's famous former students."

"The pheasant was good though."

"I'll bet," Ron sighed wistfully. "Merlin, I'm starving."

"You just ate three packs of Cauldron Cakes, half of a box of Bertie Botts, and at least a dozen Chocolate Frogs!" Hermione exclaimed. "How in the world are you still hungry?"

"That wasn't real food," Ron moaned. "I need something hearty, some of Mum's turkey sandwiches sound fantastic right about now."

Draco, who a few years previous would have sneered at the mention of such a commoner's meal, nodded in agreement, his face took on a wistful expression. "No one makes turkey sandwiches quite like your mother, Ron."

"Calm down, boys," Harry laughed. "Look we're here, it won't be long until dinner, maybe they'll have turkey sandwiches."

"But not Mum's turkey sandwiches."

"The house elves make them almost as good."

"Almost as good isn't enough."

"All right, I give up," Harry said as he hopped out of the carriage. "It's obvious I'm getting nowhere with you."

Still grumbling quietly to himself, Ron followed Harry and the others to the Great Hall, where they settled down at the Ravenclaw table to watch as McGonagall led the customary group of nervous first years into the hall, they were swiftly sorted into their appropriate houses and the feast was allowed to begin.

"Finally!" Ron crowed, grabbing for the closest dish.

The group of sixth years and one fifth spent most of the feast in comfortable quiet, focusing most of their attention on gorging on the hearty foods spread before them, though they were frequently interrupted by students of all houses approaching to ask if they would be continuing the T.A. that year. Harry assured them that he would see if he could get permission to continue the club from the headmaster and that he would let them know the moment he did.

After dinner was finished and the last of the dessert was consumed, Dumbledore got to his feet at and beamed down at the chattering students. "The very best of evenings to you!" he said cheerfully, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room. The motion, however, accidentally flashed the hall a glimpse of his blacked, dead looking hand.

"What happened to his hand?" Hermione gasped.

And she was not the only one who had noticed. Whispers swept across the room and people craned to get a better look. Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple and gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said calmly. "Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you, as usual I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits to all students. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has also asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought from the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he took a moment to allow the rush of laughter to pass, then continued on as if there had been no interruption. "Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn," Slughorn stood from his seat and waved genially at the watching students, "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of potions master."

Harry's brow raised in surprise at the announcement, and near everyone else was just as surprised as him.

The confused query "Potions?" echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore said, ignoring the confused murmurs, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"You two said Slughorn would be teaching Defense," Hermione said over the Slytherins' applause.

"We thought he was," Draco shrugged, clapping along with his housemates.

Seemingly oblivious to the controversial news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength. I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them, in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

"Yeah, because we'll really be sleeping soundly after that announcement," Neville scoffed.

"I'm sure the news that security has been upped is supposed to be reassuring." Hermione said.

"It wasn't."

"Potter!" a sharp voice barked as Harry and his friends made to leave the Ravenclaw table and head to their separate dorms.

"Hello, Professor Snape," he said, smiling up at the surly man. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected now that you and your imbecilic classmates have decided to burden me once again with your presence."

Harry laughed softly. "I expected nothing less. But I believe congratulations are in order, I have no doubt you'll be one of the best Defense professors Hogwarts has seen in a long while."

Snape arched a brow. "One of the best?"

"Professor Lupin was a fantastic teacher."

"Yes, well I can assure you that I am better."

"Be careful, Professor, your Gryffindor spirit is showing."

"As if. Now the headmaster seems to be suffering under the delusion that I am his messenger boy," Snape's sneer showed exactly what he thought of this notion. "He wishes me to inform you that he would like to speak with you in his office immediately. The password is Milky Way,"

"Alright, thank you, Professor."

"It was my pleasure. Good night, Potter," he turned, and with an impressive billowing of his robes, left.

"Well, I guess I'll be going to see the headmaster," Harry sighed, thinking longingly of his sinfully soft four poster bed and how he would much rather be curling up under his warm covers than seeing his less than favorite headmaster.

"Go on then," Draco said, "we'll wait up for you."

Harry nodded, then, after bidding Luna, Hermione, Ron, and Neville goodnight, reluctantly headed in the direction of the headmaster's office.

"Milky Way," he told the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. It bowed and leapt aside, the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed.

Harry rode the revolving staircase to the top, then reached out and knocked sharply on the door.

"Come in."

"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry said in a carefully neutral voice.

"Good evening, Harry. Sit down," Dumbledore smiled at the teen from his usual spot behind his desk. "I hope you enjoyed the feast."

"I did, thank you. What is it you need?"

"I'd like to begin by apologizing, it was not my place to demand what I did, you were completely correct in everything you told me."

"It seems like you've been apologizing to me quite a bit lately, Headmaster."

"I have," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "I have realized that in my endeavor to do what was right for the wizarding world, I abandoned my endeavor to do what was right for you, and for that, I must say once again, that I am truly sorry."

Harry inclined his head in understanding, but not forgiveness. "Was that all you wanted of me, Headmaster?"

"There is one more thing. It is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private lessons?" Harry repeated. "What will you be teaching me?"

"I have come across some information that could be vital for, not only your survival, but your defeat of Voldemort."

Harry took a moment to process this information. "When will we be having these lessons, sir?"

"I have yet to set a specific date, but when I have I will let you know. Is that agreeable?"

"With your permission I would like to continue my defense club, if I am allowed I will need to work my schedule around yours, but otherwise your plans are acceptable."

"I give you my full permission to continue, on the condition that you allow one staff member of my choosing to observe your first lesson. Would you object to having Professor Flitwick present?"

"I wouldn't."

"Very good," Dumbledore beamed. "I believe we have a deal. Now, unless you have anything else you have to ask me, I bid you a good night."

Harry nodded, but faltered in the act of rising from his seat. He hesitated a few seconds before asking the question that had been nagging him since he'd met up with Dumbledore over the summer. "The curse on your hand," he said, "of what magic is it?"

Dumbledore looked down at his uncovered hand, which was even worse up close. The skin was blackened and shriveled and radiating a positively malignant magic.

"It is of dark and evil magic," the aging headmaster replied calmly.

"Yes, I can see that," Harry reeled his magic in tightly to keep it as far away from the evil oozing from Dumbledore's cursed hand. "It doesn't leave you with much time to live, does it? A year, perhaps a little more, but not much more than that."

Dumbledore looked up, obviously startled. "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged and finally stood from his chair. "Good night, Headmaster."

---

"He's dying?" Hermione whispered, the next morning at breakfast. "From what?"

"The curse on his hand," Harry said, "whatever it is it's powerful and evil, really evil."

"Do you think there's a counter?" Ron asked, the seriousness of the situation was proved by the fact that the redhead was completely ignoring his plate full of food.

"If there was don't you think Dumbledore would have found and used it by now?"

"Maybe we could help," Hermione said desperately "What was the curse on his hand?"

"Hell if I know," Harry shrugged, focusing his attention on peeling an orange.

"You could at least act concerned" Hermione cried. "I know you and the headmaster don't get along, but this is more than this disagreement between you two. He's dying, Harry."

Harry sighed and set his orange aside. "Hermione, I know it may not seem like it, but I am very concerned. You're right, Dumbledore and I don't get along, but I would very much prefer it if he would stay alive. I don't like the manipulative old man, but all those opposing Voldemort will be lost without him. But there's nothing we can do for him, that curse isn't just evil, it's alive, it'll take far more than a quick wave of your wand and a simple phrase in Latin to cure him of it.

"I've come to accept the fact that Dumbledore is going to die, and nothing we do will change that. But what we can we do is prepare, we have to teach ourselves how to defend, how to fight, and how to win, because when Dumbledore's time is up Voldemort will take full advantage of our weakness, and there will have to be someone to make sure innocents won't be killed in droves."

"And you think we should be the ones to do that?" Ron asked.

"If not us then who?"

"The adults."

"The adults?" Harry snorted. "Ron, the adults were the ones who started this whole mess in the first place."

"But what can we do? Against the Death Eaters? Against Voldemort?"

Harry sighed and retrieved his orange. "Whatever we have to."