Today's disclaimer is in memory of Sturgis "I'm wearing red today" Podmore:

Dammit Jim, I'm a fanfiction writer, not a published novelist!

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Chapter 14. Confessions of a Teenage Secret Keeper

In a gloomy part of London three people appeared at the front door of a dreary, forbidding house known as Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They looked at each other, all covered in dust and blood, and sporting various cuts and bruises; the smallest of the bunch clutching a squirming dog that seemed to be trying to climb onto his shoulders. Charlie was the first to crack, laughing at the sight of the overgrown puppy nearly toppling the teen in its fear – Norbert had not enjoyed Apparition. The other two joined in - the spontaneity of the laughter releasing their built-up tension. Between laughs, Harry eased the mutt onto the ground and Norbert sat expectantly at his side, happy to stay put while Harry rubbed his head.

Finally, Charlie caught his breath enough to observe, "You seem to have a habit of giving Wealeys pets named Norbert, Harry. This one doesn't breathe fire, does it?"

Bill just shook his head as he laughed, giving Harry the feeling the older boy knew all about Norbert the First. "Yeah, well, you can thank Hagrid again," he explained. "This one came from him, too." Laughing at an old memory, he added, "at least he didn't bite Ron first."

"At least he's really a he," the other replied. As the laughter died down, Charlie took in his surroundings, from the rundown neighborhood to the sinister-looking house. "So tell me about this place. I mean, how did the Order end up with such a spooky dump for its headquarters?"

Bill hid his laugh in a coughing fit as Harry replied, "Thanks … I was actually thinking about painting it a nice, warm red, but I was afraid it would make the neighbors jealous."

Charlie turned red as he realized his error. "Er, this is your place, is it?"

Harry took pity on him and explained, "Yeah, but I only inherited the place. It actually sat empty for a few years, what with its rightful owner in Azkaban and all."

Charlie didn't know how to reply once he'd realized how Harry came to own the house – his mother had gone on and on about the poor dear losing his Godfather, after all – but he was saved by the front door whipping open. Ginny came barreling out the door, throwing herself into Harry's arms. Fleur was right behind, and her welcome to her husband was even more enthusiastic. A moment later, Molly stuck her head out the door to tell them all to get their selves inside the safety of the house. Bill and Fleur were the first inside, and he let his mother know that an un-injured Arthur had headed straight for St. Mungo's to check on the others.

Once inside, the newcomers were ushered into the kitchen, where most everyone else was anxiously awaiting their missing family members. Harry dropped into the nearest available chair and Ginny took up residence on his lap, his arm sliding comfortably around her waist. Hermione was seated next to them, and she explained that Percy had sent her over from St. Mungo's, where he was watching over Fred and Muriel. Ron and George, she added, were upstairs ... supposedly cleaning up.

Apparently, George had been so overwrought after Angelina's death that he'd not been concentrating fully as he'd side-along Apparated Ginny back to the house. Ginny had arrived in one piece (thankfully), but George had managed to leave part of his left ear behind. Because it was a battlefield, it hadn't been safe to return and retrieve it, and now too much time had gone past. George would have to adjust. 'As if losing Angelina wasn't enough!'

Remus was the only person Harry couldn't account for but Hermione, who had a sixth-sense at times, informed Harry that the former professor was taking a shower.

Glancing around the room, Harry was relieved to see very few signs of injury. Molly's wand arm was in a sling, but as he watched Harry saw her cheat and use it several times as she worked her magic at the stove. Soon enough, plates of warm cookies and mugs of steaming tea were set on the table, the latter to which many added liberal amounts of firewhisky from a bottle being passed around.

From the center of the room Molly loudly cleared her throat, earning everyone's attention. She took her time inspecting each of the three newest arrivals, making each squirm in their seats in turn, before settling her gaze on Charlie. "Charlie Weasley! You dare to sit there as if nothing is wrong, when you're clearly injured? Did you think those injuries would mend themselves? You march yourself upstairs right now young man, and get that shirt off so I can see the damage."

Charlie faced dragon's every day, but he was not about to stand against his mother when she was wound up. With a barely-suppressed sigh, he put down his mug of mostly whiskey and left the kitchen. Molly followed, but at the door – without even turning back to look – she added, "Don't you get too comfortable yourself, William Weasley, I know about that burn on your hand … you'll be next. And you, Harry W—Potter, that leg and those ribs need tending. Go take your shower while I work on the other boys. I'll find you when I'm ready."

She left without waiting for a reply, but Harry didn't hesitate to follow her command. After that slip of tongue, he wouldn't have disobeyed even if he felt fine – which he really didn't. And a hot shower did sound nice. Giving Ginny a gentle pat on the rump, he let her stand before getting up himself. He gulped down his own spiced tea and left, hoping that the others in the room mistook his blush for embarrassment, instead of the warm rush that came with knowing she truly did think of him as one of her own.

Once he was safe in the privacy of his bedroom, he striped down and checked out the damage in the mirror. Twisting and turning, he found bruises on his legs and his right shoulder, as well as several places in between; there were cuts and scratches and trails of dried blood on his arms, chest, and back; a nasty red welt on his wand arm that looked suspiciously like a burn; but worst by far were the two ribs that no longer appeared to be in straight lines. Maybe it was a good thing Molly was coming to check him over after all.

Moving away from the mirror, he set the tap at its hottest setting and let the water warm up. His tub was a traditional clawed-foot unit, easily twice as big as a standard Muggle version, but otherwise perfectly ordinary, right down to the gaudy plastic shower curtain that circled the tub. For a moment Harry considered taking a long soak – but he feared he'd fall asleep and drown, and wouldn't that be a fine end to a battle! Instead, he settled for a longer-than-normal shower, turning from time to time to allow the hot water to rain down on all his sore muscles.

It was when he was finally stepping out of the tub that the pain hit – hot and sharp, centered in his cursed scar, but so strong it felt like it completely penetrated his brain and came out in the back. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell out of the tub, landing sharply on his hip. Not that he noticed – no, by that point he was already lost …

… Voldemort was most displeased … his Death Eaters had failed him … it was a simple task, was it not, to destroy a family of blood traitors … but they returned empty-handed … his prized Graphorn dead … and Potter had slipped away again … no sense keeping the girl … and was that Jugson daring to make excuses … Crucio …

When reality returned, Harry found himself curled in a ball on the chilly, wet bathroom floor. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he took stock of his injuries – and sure enough there were some new ones. Every small move caused pain to shoot through his left hip, where it had impacted with the hard tile floor. His tongue felt funny in his mouth, and he reached up to feel it. His fingers came away bloody.

A firm knocking on his door stopped further exploration, but also left him in a bit of a bind. No sooner had he managed to drag a towel across his lap than Molly Weasley came storming into the room.

"Harry dear, are you … oh dear ... did something happen?" Not giving him a chance to answer, she knelt down next to him and turned his face toward her. She looked him over critically, from the inflamed scar to the blood dribbling down his chin, before tapping his cheek gently with her wand. Instantly his tongue and throbbing cheek felt better.

"Let's get you to your bed and see if we can't get you fixed right up, alright dear," she cooed in a soothing voice as she guided the teen off the floor and into the other room.

Harry had just enough sense to keep his towel covering himself as he allowed his body to be pushed around.

"Now isn't the time for modesty," she admonished as he tightened his hold on the towel. "I thought I heard screaming, and when you didn't answer I let myself in. I hope you don't mind." As she spoke, she used her wand to float a tray containing her first aide supplies into the room. "Was it one of those visions?"

She'd asked so gently, with such compassion in her voice, that Harry found he wanted to explain. He stumbled over Voldemort's thoughts concerning Penelope Clearwater, and Molly promised she would let the others know the girl's presumed fate. It was also hard to relay that her entire family had been the targets - that his being there was just a bonus.

By the time she'd coaxed the entire episode from the boy, Molly was in tears herself, even as she pulled Harry into a tight hug. Luckily for Harry's bruised ego, the mood was broken by loud footsteps outside his room. All business now, Molly quickly checked Harry over and declared him bruised but not broken – except those two ribs, which were easily mended. She had him swallow a few nasty smelling potions then stood to leave so he could dress.

Just before exiting, she turned back. "I'll see you downstairs," she said, but she seemed to be hesitating. "Will there … I mean … do you think you'll have another vision tonight?"

"No, one's usually it," he explained. "And I'm rather glad to get it done and out of the way now – no worries about sleeping tonight."

"You don't think you'll need a sleeping potion?"

"No. And even if I was worried, well … my sleeping pills were in my pocket, so I've got them for tonight." At her inquiring look, he explained, "I didn't think it was a good idea to leave them out where the twins could get their hands on them."

"Smart boy," she agreed as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Cleaned, mended, and fully clothed, Harry rejoined the family in the kitchen, where he found Remus was sitting at one end of the table, being fussed over by an uncharacteristically drab Tonks. Arthur, he was relieved to see, had brought Fred back from St. Mungo's. Fred looked a bit pale and was hunched forward slightly, but there was a smile on his face as he sat next to his lost-looking twin. He took in George's missing ear, and leaning close to whisper something. From that point on, every time someone spoke to either of them, Fred would elbow George in the ribs and shout "did you hear that?" Then he would repeat whatever had been said, in a progressively louder and more annoying voice, until finally George cracked a smile. It was a start.

Over by the fireplace, a solemn Arthur was standing next to Percy, and the two were talking quietly. No doubt about the missing, now presumed dead, Penelope Clearwater. Part of a nearby conversation caught Harry's attention, and he scanned the crowd until he found the speakers – Bill and Remus were debating how to get a hold of Albus. Harry knew that his guardian was in America, but not a specific location. Remus was mentioning hiring a Kittiwake to fly a message across the pond when inspiration struck. After all, one trick from the Chamber had worked today, why not two?

In a low voice, so as not to draw attention to himself, he called out, "Fawkes, I need you …" he darted his eyes around the room, not sure where he should be looking since he was talking to an animal that wasn't even in the house, let alone the room. He pleaded, "we need you … the family needs you. Please come." He finished speaking and stood in his place, fiddling with his hands as he waited to see if it worked.

Mercifully, it didn't take long. In a flash, the majestic bird appeared and landed on the middle of the table. He looked around the room, locking eyes with Harry as he waddled the length of the table to his familiar boy. Fawkes had captivated all the occupants of the room, but he paid them no mind as he stopped in front of Harry, who reached out and stroked the bird's head feathers. "Hello Fawkes. Sorry to bother you, but we need to get a message to … er" (he quickly glanced around the room) "… the Headmaster. Could you do that for us?"

The intelligent creature bobbed its head, clearly agreeing to do so, and Arthur quickly penned the message outlining the attack and naming the losses – Dedalus Diggle, Angelina Johnson, and most likely, Penelope Clearwater. Note secured, Fawkes gave the room in general, and Harry particularly, a few uplifting notes before leaving.

Since he was already standing next to the boy, Arthur took the opportunity to ask Harry to please jot him a note so he could collect Aunt Muriel from St. Mungo's and bring her to the house. The request caught Harry by surprise, but he nodded once as he took up the quill and wrote out his address. Although the two tried to be discrete, the exchange was noticed. As Arthur and Percy left, Harry noticed that many in the room were giving him odd looks. Hermione in particular had that 'solving the mystery' look that he was learning to hate.

Harry knew that the adults wouldn't push the issue- at least not with both Arthur and Albus absent - but he couldn't count on the same restraint from his friends. Hoping to at least avoid a scene, he asked his friends to come with him to the sitting room. Pulling Ginny by the hand, he went straight to the other room, not bothering to see who followed. He plopped down at one end of the sofa, pulling Ginny tightly against his side. Behind them came Ron and Hermione, surprisingly followed by Fred, who was being supported by his twin. They choose to sit on opposite arms of the same over-stuffed chair.

Other than Hermione charming the door for privacy, the room was silent. Typically, it was Ron who cracked, and he blurted out, "Since when are you the Secret Keeper?" As heads turned to look at the loud-mouthed boy, he shrugged, "What? Like you weren't all thinking the same thing." He turned his attention back to his friend, "You just gave Dad the address, and back at home … you told Percy and Charlie where to go. You couldn't do that unless you were the Secret Keeper. Sooo … what gives, mate?"

"Well," Harry started, not sure what to say. "I, ah … I don't think I'm supposed to say anything, although … I mean, you all know the secret already anyway … so –"

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Hermione snapped, "will you just spit it out already!"

"Alright then … yes, I", and here Harry made that gesture of quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "have the secret, so I can," another set of quotation marks, "tell it to others. Happy?"

Ron's "why you" was drown out by Hermione's "but how did that work, I mean the Headmaster was definitely the—"

A very Umbrige-like "hem hem" silenced the room, cutting Hermione off mid-ramble. Pleased to have everyone's attention, Ginny turned to Harry and said, "We're not mad. Not too mad, anyway. We all understand that there were things happening that you weren't supposed to tell us." She turned to glare at Ron, "Don't we?"

Ron threw his hands up in surrender, "Yeah, we do, Harry." Funnily enough, although he said Harry's name, he was looking at his sister as he spoke.

"Right then," Hermione said, getting the siblings to turn their attention away from each other. "It seems to me that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak. So let's hear it Potter."

"Fine," he replied. "Just give me a minute." Harry knew just one truth wouldn't be enough – that one answer would just lead to another question, so he took his time to decide how much to reveal. "I guess it starts last summer, shortly after I left the Dursley's. That's when I joined the Order." By the open mouths of his friends, that was not what they were expecting to hear.

He chose to look at the wall behind Fred so he wouldn't have to watch his friends' reactions. "The Headmaster felt I needed to be more involved. He also wanted it to be kept secret, so I couldn't say anything. I'd attend the meetings under my cloak, and with silencing charms put on me. Then after everyone else had left, he and I would discuss what I had heard. Not the most efficient means, but it worked."

He turned to Ron, who he felt was the most likely to be upset. "I'd have loved for you guys to be included too, but it wasn't up to me. But I shared as much with you as I could." His gaze swept over to Hermione and Ginny, and he was pleased to see that they didn't look like they were plotting retaliation – yet. "Besides, it's not like I had a lot of say in anything. I was hidden in a corner, for heaven's sake! Couldn't have spoken up if I'd wanted to. I mean, when you really think about it, it was more like eavesdropping than anything else."

"Fair enough," Fred said; he was also an Order member, so he wasn't really bothered by that admission. "But how does that translate into you being the Secret Keeper?"

"I'm still not sure I understand that myself." He replied. "About a week before the invasion, there was an Order meeting, and I was supposed to openly attend. Remember that day I was pulled out of Defense, and didn't turn up 'till late that night?" Hermione acknowledged him with a nod. "It was supposed to be my first meeting not wearing my cloak." He chuckled as he realized his poor choice of words. "Without my invisibility cloak, Ron," he corrected before his friend had the chance to make a smart-ass comment.

"So anyway, before we were supposed to leave for the meeting, the Headmaster told me he wanted to discuss a few things. And one of them was making me the Secret Keeper. Honestly, I though he'd finally cracked his nut when he suggested it, but he was serious." He paused for a moment, glad his friends were being patient. "He claims it's a brilliant plan – that Voldemort would never think it could be me, so he would never think to ask about it if he captures me."

"Oh my!" Hermione interrupted. "That … that really is brilliant. Voldemort would never think you are that important. I mean," she quickly corrected, as she caught sight of Harry's narrowing eyes, "he's too arrogant to consider you a legitimate threat. And since he wants to keep you alive now –"

"Hermione!" Harry yelped.

"Sorry, but … I figured the twins probably already knew that part."

"Right you are, Miss Granger," Fred happily replied. "We important Order members – you know, the ones that are allowed to be seen and heard during meetings – we know all about You-Know-Who's plan to take Harry alive."

"Yeah, well," Ron had to cut in "we important Hogwarts students knew about the invasion first."

"This isn't a pissing contest, boys," Hermione reprimanded, seeing the conversation quickly deteriorating. But it didn't have the desired effect. Unless she had actually meant to instigate a pissing contest, in which case it worked marvelously. Fred and Ron had both instantly warmed to that idea, and Harry (who just wanted this conversation to end) was quick to join in. Despite her loud protests that it was childish and unsanitary, the three boys had convinced a reluctant George of the necessity of seeing who could hit the bulls-eye from the farthest distance.

As Hermione tried to figure out what had just happened, the boys escaped the room and tromped up the steps to a little used bathroom, three of them laughing all the way. Ginny had tried to tag along – strictly to impartially judge, she insisted – but the other three Weasleys overruled Harry's one 'yea' vote. The two girls were left alone; one wondering what other secrets Harry had, the other wishing she had an Extendable Eye.

The boys found their way back to the kitchen just in time for a late supper. At Ginny's inquisitive look, Harry bragged that he had won, prompting her to reply that she knew all along he had the best equipment. Her declaration was heard by every male Weasley in the room, prompting Harry to choose a seat between Remus and Hermione, thinking any seat next to a Weasley was bound to be dangerous right now.

Professor McGonagall had arrived while they'd been competing and had been convinced to stay for supper. Everyone was close to full when Arthur and Percy returned with Auntie Muriel in tow. The old woman looked tired enough to fall over, and maybe just a touch overheated, but held herself as if she hadn't just been severely injured. She was also moving slowly and holding onto Percy, but she managed to make it look as if she was being escorted and not supported.

Molly had pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, cushioning the seat to be more comfortable, and Muriel lowered herself into it, sighing dramatically as she settled herself. She looked up to see that she had the room's attention.

"What an interesting place you have brought me to, Molly dear," she said to her niece. "Most people try to make their homes bright and cheerful. How original to go for drab and dreary instead. You must feel right at home here, what with so much housework waiting to be done."

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Arthur place his arm gently on Molly's shoulder. 'Probably to keep her from attacking.' He stepped forward and replied, "I'm sorry if the house is a bit unwelcoming, Mrs. Prewett. I'm afraid between going to school, dodging Ministry hacks, and battling Death Eaters, I haven't had much time to dedicate to remodeling. You should be thankful that Remus was at least able to remove that loud-mouthed portrait of Mrs. Black. But then, I have a feeling you would have been able to put the old hag in her place."

"Oh, you charmer. So we're at Walburga Black's old place, are we? Well, that certainly explains the pretentious décor. Snooty as all get out, that one was. Can't say I was sorry when she passed on." She motioned Harry closer, and lowered her voice as she added, "I know it's not polite to speak ill of the dead, but between you and I, she was a little too proud to have married her own cousin, if you get my meaning … oh dear … you aren't related to them, are you?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Prewett. Sirius Black was my godfather, and he left me the house. But I think it's safe to say that he shared your opinion of his mother."

"And aren't you sweet," Muriel replied sweetly, "all 'Mrs. Prewett this' and 'Mrs. Prewett that'. You, my dear boy, must call me Aunt Muriel." Even though Harry gave no indication that he objected, she held up her hand as she added, "No … I insist."

Harry graciously thanked 'Aunt Muriel' for the offer and retook his seat. At the counter, Molly was looking at him with pride in her eyes while most of the siblings were looking at him in awe. Aunt Muriel rarely showed such warmth toward new people; and never, ever invited non-relatives to address her in such a familiar manner.

The rest of dinner was rather uneventful, and soon Molly was directing people to open bedrooms, claiming that an early night would do them all good. Bill escaped by offering to run to the Alley and pick up a few essentials to tide the family over. But no amount of arguing got the others a reprieve, and they all said their good nights and headed upstairs.

Harry escorted Ginny to the room she and Hermione would share, and after a chaste goodnight kiss, he left the girls. On the way to his own room he decided to stop and check on Ron. Knocking on the door, he entered without waiting for Ron's reply. He found his friend standing next to his bed, his shirt off as if he had been changing.

"Whoa, wrong room there, mate," Ron screeched as he turned, his arms awkwardly crossed over his chest.

Ignoring the comment, Harry moved to the bed and sat down. "I just wanted to check on you. You alright?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" he answered back, dropping his arms as he reached for a nightshirt. "I know I can be a bit of a jealous git at times, but trust me … I have no desire to be anyone's Secret Keeper. You're welcome to the job."

"No, you git," Harry shot back. "I didn't mean about that. I was talking about that curse you got hit with back at the Burrow. I didn't see you getting any, er ... I mean I didn't see your Mum up here with you. So, did it get … I mean, is your …" he paused as he waved his hand in the general direction of Ron's privates "I mean, no lasting damage?"

"Nah," Ron shrugged, "it weren't nothin' serious. Not worth the fuss Mum would've made over it."

"You mean you didn't tell her?"

Ron shook his head. "A man's privates are, well … private, ya know? It stopped tingling, so I figured the curse musta run its course."

"You sure?" Harry pressed, "Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their harmless pranks."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Ron answered, "it worked fine during the contest, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed back, "fine enough for third place, anyways."

"And I still say you cheated," Ron protested. "Either you or that house-elf of yours. It's not natural for a man to have that much control over his piss stream."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved him off, "you're just jealous."

"Or maybe you've just had lots more practice handling your stick."

Harry jumped from the bed. "No way am I touching that one – if I agree, I'm a wanker. If I deny it, you worry about Ginny." He moved to the door, but turned back just before leaving the room. "I guess you must be alright, if you can make such lame-arse jokes. Night, Ron." He ducked out the door just as a pillow came flying toward his head.

Safely locked in his own room, he waited for about 45 minutes, then called Kreacher for a secret mission. The strange little elf didn't disappoint, popping out and back in less than a minute. Behind him, the air shimmered before Ginny appeared from under Harry's cloak.

Harry smiled as he thanked the elf. "If you could just make certain we're not interrupted?" The elf grumbled even as he vowed to do so, but Harry knew his heart wasn't really in it. Now that he liked his Master, he had really started to enjoy serving the living again.

Once they were alone, Harry relaxed on the bed while Ginny looked around the room. Spotting a picture frame, she went over to the desk and found a photo of a young James and Lily Potter standing in a garden.

"It was Sirius'," Harry explained, even though she hadn't asked. "I figured, might as well keep it here. I already have one like it at home."

"Hmm," she absently responded as she continued her investigation of his room. She ran her fingers over the pile of musty old books on the desk, lifting the cover of the first. "Blood of my Blood: Manipulating Familial Ties … planning something Harry?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Not exactly," he evasively replied, "and it didn't have what I was looking for anyway."

She had asked in jest, but his answer got her attention. "What exactly were you looking for in a book about blood relatives?"

Looking beyond her, he quietly answered, "Voldemort shares my blood, so I thought … well … anyways, it mostly just showed you how to get around family inheritance clauses."

"Oh," was all she could think to say. The mood in the room was turning decidedly gloomier than she'd expected when they'd planed this rendezvous. Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, she searched for something else to discuss. When she spied a book sticking out from under the bedside table, she knew it had to be something good.

Before he realized what she was up to, Ginny had moved around him and scooped up the book. Holding it up so he could see what she had, she read, "The Bridal Quest, huh? Was this Sirius' too?"

Harry jumped from the bed and tried to grab the book from her hand, but she easily evaded him, turning her back to protect her treasure. He moved behind her, reaching around to try to wrestle the book from her grip. Stretching her arm so the book was out of his reach, she flipped it open to a creased page.

With one last look over her shoulder, she turned her attention to the book. "Let's see … 'His hands slid up her back, moving to caress her sides, then sweeping down to curve over her buttocks'." She was trying her best to read in a sultry voice, but couldn't keep the laughter out of it. "I see why you like this … 'His fingers dug into the soft flesh, cupping her and lifting her up onto the hard, pulsing evidence of his desire. Irene had never felt a man in this way, indeed'—"

The book was knocked out of her hand, stopping the impromptu recital. But the damage had been done. "Why, Harry," Ginny cooed, turning to face him, "you naughty little boy. My mum never lets me read those kinds of books."

Harry's face was possibly the reddest it had ever been, and he was having trouble looking her in the eyes. "Come on Gin," he tried to reason, "wasn't there something we were wanting to do. You know … you … me … bedroom."

"What, Harry? Are you going to dig your fingers into my soft flesh? Maybe hold me against your big … pulsing … manhood?"

Ginny had accentuated each word with a thrust of her hips, and suddenly Harry decided he didn't mind the teasing after all. In fact, he might still get what he wanted. He took the half-step that separated his body from hers, and snaked his left arm around her waist. In one powerful move, he pulled her body flush with his. His right hand came up to find that soft flesh of hers, and he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "what do you think, Ginny-love?"

As the two frantically moved to the bed, the well-read book was kicked under underneath. They never missed it.

-000-

Morning came to much too early for Harry's liking. He stumbled into the kitchen still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. To his surprise, Albus was seated at the table, enjoying a warm roll and a glass of pumpkin juice. The man smiled as he noticed the boy, gesturing for Harry to take the seat nearest him.

Not many were in the kitchen. Hermione, Fleur and Bill were eating while Arthur was engrossed in papers of some sort. Molly was busy at the stove (really, when wasn't she?) but the scrubbing at the sink told Harry that others had already finished their meals. He poured himself a glass of juice, accepted a plate from Molly, and waited. It took thirteen seconds for Albus to ask.

Setting his fork down, he launched into a recap of the battle. Ron arrived during the telling, looking as tired as Harry felt, and he jumped in, adding bits to the story to give a full picture. When Harry got toward the end of the battle, the part after Ron had left when just the four remained, Bill took up the story. Fleur leaned into her husband's side, grabbing his hands in hers, as she listened.

By the time the tale was over, the tellers had the attention of everyone in the room, and Harry decided to use it to his advantage. He addressed the Weasley parents, pleading that Ron and Ginny (and by extension, Hermione) should be allowed to join the Order; or at least sit in on meetings. He reasoned that he'd already done so for close to a year, and nothing bad had happened as a result. He could see that Molly in particular didn't look convinced, and he turned to Hermione for help, but she only nodded encouragingly.

So on he rolled. They needed to be included, he argued, since they tended to be dragged into everything right alongside him. They had the experience fighting, having survived confrontations with Death Eaters on three separate occasions now. They were practically working for the Order already – they'd been instrumental in both discovering Malfoy's plan and in defending the school last year.

Harry could tell that he had Bill swayed, and Arthur looked to be considering all he'd heard. Molly was conspicuously silent, and Harry decided to take that as a good sign. She couldn't be too upset if she wasn't yelling, right?

Arthur broke the silence, "you certainly make a good case, Harry. Why don't you lot give us a chance to discuss this in private, and we'll get back to you with our decision?"

After Ron and Hermione had voiced their agreement, Albus loudly cleared his throat. Harry turned back to his guardian, and once again had the feeling that Albus was looking upon him with pride.

"Perhaps now we can get back to the task at hand. I wonder, Harry, if you could tell me again how you defeated the Graphorn? I'm afraid your description left a bit for the imagination."

'Of course it did, it was supposed to.' Harry in fact had given hardly any details; only that he'd gotten a sword and stabbed the beast. It wasn't that he thought he'd be in trouble for using Gryffindor's sword, he just didn't want to draw people's attention to it. It was rather odd, after all, to have been able to call it from its place at Hogwarts all the way to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Unfortunately, Ron mistook his friend's silence for modesty, and he enthusiastically described the fight from the initial attack, to his own quip about killing the basilisk, to Harry's use of the familiar sword.

"Good heavens," Arthur exclaimed, "that was Gryffindor's Sword?" He seemed to suddenly be looking at Harry in a new, slightly calculating, though no less friendly manner.

Harry shrugged, but Ron would have none of that. "You better believe it. Just like Second Year. Pulled it right out of the hat, he did. Oh, that reminds me … Accio Sorting Hat." He held out his left hand, and soon enough the ragged hat flopped into his hand. Looking at it critically, he tried to wipe dust off the fabric before tossing to Harry. "Here you go, mate. You sorta dropped it on the ground during the fight, and I didn't think we wanted to leave it behind."

Ron had been looking at Harry as he spoke, so he missed the look of approval that Hermione gave him. For his part, Harry thanked Ron before himself tossing the hat toward Albus who, to everyone's surprise, caught it by its brim as it made to sail past him.

Seeing the hat reminded Harry of one important detail to the story. "While we're on the subject … I, er, don't exactly know where the Sword is … right this very minute."

"Right this very minute, Harry?" Albus questioned. "Does that mean that you know where it was, say … five minutes ago?"

"Er, not exactly," he mumbled, ashamed to confess he'd lost the priceless relic.

Twinkling eyes looked at him, but not from the face of his aged guardian. Oh no, it was his beloved Ginny that was finding such glee in Harry's discomfort. She'd snuck into the room at some point whilst he'd been pleading his friends' case; but he pointedly ignored her now as Albus patiently asked him, "Then what, exactly, do you know?"

"Well, I know that it was in my hand. I mean, I did use it to kill that thing. But then, I … I sorta dropped it so I could go for my wand." In hopes of leniency, he hastily added, "I did go back for it before I left, but it wasn't there. I know it was the right spot, because of the bloody imprint in the grass. I would have looked around for it, but … there were still Death Eaters and all … then when I finally got here … I kinda … forgot about it."

"Not to worry, Harry," Albus offered, sounding remarkably unconcerned. "I suspect that the Sword felt its usefulness had ended, and it simply went home. However … as Professor McGonagall has pointed out to me on numerous occasions, if suspicions were facts, we wouldn't need the word 'suspicion'. So why don't you summon it for us, so as to put our collective minds at ease."

With a quick nod, Harry took a deep breath and brandished his wand. He wasn't sure this would work; it wasn't how he'd done it at the Burrow after all. But noticing the expectant looks around him, he went ahead and said it anyway, "Accio Gryffindor's Sword."

Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been for the Sorting Hat to leap from Albus' fingers back toward him. He caught the hat by its side, and laughed as he realized why he had the hat again. "It really is magic … pulling the rabbit from the hat. Or in this case, the sword from the hat," he said to no one in particular, although Hermione at least laughed along with him.

Aware that all eyes in the room were watching, Harry silently prayed that this worked again as he reached into the hat. A smile exploded on his face as he felt the familiar metal fit itself to the palm of his hand. He withdrew the sword, letting his left hand fall to his side as he twisted the sword in the air in front of him. "That never gets old," he laughed.

Pointedly ignoring the looks of awe on several faces, Harry spun it around and offered the handle to Albus, who accepted it with a smile of his own. The old man briefly examined the sword, and when he was satisfied that it was no worse for its wear, he made a quick swirl with the blade, snapping his wrist to bring the sword upright. It seemed to stop in the air for a heartbeat, before disappearing with a flash of light.

"Bloody hell … now that was impressive," Ron exclaimed.

"Language Ronald," shouted his mother, before she turned to Albus and added, "nicely done, Albus. I presume you've sent it back to Hogwarts?"

"As Headmaster, I can send anything or anyone directly to my office. A perk of the job, you might say." He glanced Harry's way, and was relieved to see the boy smiling at the little joke. "And now, I am afraid Harry and I must be taking our leave. But I wonder, William, if perhaps you could help this old man with something at the front door while Harry takes a moment to say his goodbyes?"

A confused Bill hopped up and followed Albus out of the room. The door swung closed behind him to the sound of his mother fussing over the dark-haired teen, but Bill was too busy thinking to notice. After the disaster that was supposed to be his wedding (thank Merlin they'd already exchanged their vows, or he'd have one pissed quarter-Veela on his hands!), he was all too eager to repay the Death Eaters their kindness.

** end chapter **

Notes: About the books mentioned in this chapter: 'Blood of my Blood', I think that's the book Sirius used to make sure Harry would inherit everything. The Bridal Quest is a real book by Candace Camp, and a good one, too. Wink, wink. The section quoted is from page 184.