CHAPTER TWENTY: LEAST EXPECTED
"It has been months, Draco," said Voldemort. "It is most discouraging that in all this time, Ms. Parkinson has been unable to provide any more useful information."
Draco was shockingly pale, but he stood erect and unflinching in Voldemort's presence. On surface, he seemed beyond the point of caring, resigned to whatever fate lay before him. He'd watched his mother reduced to little more than a house-elf, made to cook and clean and bear unimaginable cruelties.
Aunt Bella stood in front of the fireplace mantle, refusing to look directly at him, the crackling fire dancing behind her and casting her long shadow across the floor. Oh, how he wished he could push her into the flames.
And then there was Snape, always watching him and trying to break into his thoughts. But his thoughts were the only things he owned and controlled. Locked away for hours on end, day after day and month after month, he'd had nothing but his thoughts to keep him sane. He'd taught himself to manipulate them in ways he never thought possible. Ironically, Snape would be proud of him if he had any clue.
Alas, all any of them saw were the images he allowed them: Draco curled on his dirty mattress with tears streaming down his face; Draco attempting to hear his mother in the next room; and Draco regretting the day he ever laid eyes on Harry Potter. These certainly were not untruths, but they were the least of the things running through his mind.
"My apologies, My Lord," said Draco, "but no, there isn't any new information from Pansy. She does not have a single class with Potter or any other reason to engage him."
Voldemort hissed and Nagini slithered forward, coming within inches of where Draco stood.
"She is a Prefect. Surely, she is required to hold court with the Head Boy," interjected Snape, nearly choking on the last words.
"I'm sure she is," said Draco, doing nothing to disguise his irritation with his former mentor. "But Pansy has hated Potter since day one. It's not like she can walk up to him or his annoying friends and make small talk. We know he and the Weasley princess split up and are barely on speaking terms anymore. I guess Ginny is smarter than her brothers. Other than that, I doubt Pansy can tell us anything else."
"Potions is still a mixed class," countered Snape. "I know Ms. Parkinson was ill adept at the subject, but Zabini was taking class with you."
"Yes," said Draco, "but he isn't like Pansy. Blaise won't stick his neck out for no good reason."
"Then we will have to furnish him the perfect reason to do so," said Voldemort, in a deadly voice.
No one else spoke.
"Bella, find Dolohov and have him pay a little visit to the Zabini home this evening," ordered Voldemort. "Tell him to make a point, but restrain himself. We do not want young Mr. Zabini so distraught that he is of no use to us."
"Yes, Master," oozed Bellatrix, her excitement barely containable as she left to carry out his demands.
"Draco, I dare say you will find your former housemate more than helpful by tomorrow," said the Dark Lord. "His first task will be a simple one. All I want is confirmation that Potter will remain at the school for the upcoming holidays."
"Potter has never returned home at Christmas or Easter, My Lord," said Draco. "He may have spent one or two with the Weasleys, but he's never returned to his own home."
"I'm counting on that," said Voldemort with a sneer. "I know where he won't be. It's where I need him to be that is important."
Judging by the look on their faces, the Death Eaters were in the dark about whatever Lord Voldemort was planning.
"My Lord," said Snape, "might I inquire, what happens if we learn Potter isn't planning to remain at the school over the holidays?"
"Then we will simply need to make the Order believe it is in his best interest to do so," answered the Dark Lord, with his red eyes flashing.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The sound of wood upon wood, strike upon strike echoed across the room. Two forms moved in what looked like graceful choreography.
"Halt," called DeSousa to his young pupil, surprised to realize that even he was a bit winded today. "You've been practicing a lot on your own. It shows."
Harry nodded, saying, "It helps me clear my head. Besides, I actually do like it."
"Better than Jujitsu, then?" asked DeSousa and laughed as Harry grimaced.
"Definitely," said Harry, placing his two light weight rattan sticks on the floor and rolling his shoulders to work out some stiffness.
The "it" to which Harry referred was called Kali or Eskrima, the native martial art of the Philippines. He'd never seen it or heard of it before DeSousa introduced it in one of his lessons right after Halloween; but he'd been hooked from the beginning.
It was one of the oldest and most comprehensive martial arts in existence. It teaches both empty handed and armed fighting, the principles for each being synonymous. The techniques of body angling and positioning, zoning, striking and blocking are always the same, whether armed or not.
Harry's first two lessons had been unarmed, but by the second week, DeSousa had incorporated the Kali sticks. With a stick in each hand, he'd earned his usual souvenirs of bruises, scrapes and muscle aches. But he enjoyed every minute of it and had been sneaking off to the Room of Requirement in the early morning hours to practice before the others awoke.
"You know, I nearly lost my left weapon on that last counterattack you launched," said Andre. "You seem to be finding your flow. I'm impressed, Potter; and I don't say that lightly."
"Thanks, Andre," he said. "Looks like I've got a really good teacher."
"Okay, how'd you like to try it again with the Ginuntings?" he asked, summoning two long downward curving swords from the wall.
Harry's eyes widened as DeSousa unsheathed one of the swords. The mid afternoon sunlight skated along the length of the blade. It was simultaneously beautiful and lethal.
DeSousa flipped over the sheath to reveal a zippered compartment, from which he extracted a length of some sort of extra heavy rubbery-like material. He fashioned it along the sharpened side of the blade, securing it in a small clip embedded in the handle, just above the hilt. He gripped the sword along the now rubberized edge and offered it handle side first, to Harry.
"We'll use the protective guards for a while," he explained. "They won't stop the bruises or the stinging if you are struck; but at least you'll be leaving with all your body parts intact."
"I don't mind a little bruising," said Harry as he accepted the sword and tested its weight, while DeSousa readied the second sword.
"I can't have you walking around the school with one of these," added DeSousa. "But, if you promise only to use it when practicing somewhere secure, I'll allow you access to it. When I'm not in here, everything we use is guarded with anti-summoning charms. I'd be willing to lift the protection on one of these for you."
"That'd be great," said Harry, who'd been using broomstick handles to mimic the Kali sticks. "You don't have to worry. No one except a house-elf knows when or where I practice. Thanks."
"You are quite welcome. Now then, let's get back to business. You'll work the sword with your right, and the stick with your left. Or as it's properly called, 'Espada y Daga.'"
"Espada y Daga," repeated Harry. "Got it."
"We'll start the Doce Pares drill on my mark. Remember, nothing has changed. You're still working two weapons, although the blade is going to feel awkward until you become accustomed to it."
"Okay," said Harry.
"Now," called Andre, and having opted to work the stick in his right hand, began with a San Miguel, a forehand strike with the right-handed weapon, cutting on a diagonal.
Harry stepped into it and met the strike with the dull side of his sword on an upward block, countering with a left-handed strike from his own stick. They lost track of time and worked well past their usual schedule.
When he emerged from the Prefects bathroom sometime later, students were already heading into dinner. He followed and slid into a seat between Ron and Hermione.
"Why do all your classes seem to be getting longer and longer?" asked Ron quietly. "You skipped lunch again today."
"I know," said Harry. "Sorry."
"Leave it alone, Ronald," said Hermione in a hushed whisper. "I'd be worried if he weren't really, really busy with the others."
Harry smiled at her from behind his glass of water, which he downed in one long gulp. He was thirsty and famished, and all other conversation would have to wait.
They were both right. He had been really, really busy. They all had; but Harry had looked for every bit of extra work he could fit in to his days. His insomnia was at an all time high. Only pure exhaustion seemed to knock him out for any period of time, so he kept pushing himself. The good thing was that his teachers and instructors were happy to push back.
Slughorn had begun incorporating Occlumency and Legilimency with Harry in their regular N.E.W.T. class. The first time he'd heard Slughorn commenting on his Potions work from within his own head, he'd nearly dropped a vial. The cool thing was that Harry had learned to respond back. It was rough in the beginning and it still wasn't perfect; but he and Slughorn could carry on simple conversations within their minds and no one in class was the wiser.
During Monday's private lesson with Tonks, she'd actually refused to dismiss him until he'd simultaneously transfigured the first row of desks into horses, creating a mini herd in the middle of the classroom. Harry had thought she'd gone off the deep end and was on the verge of losing his own temper when she'd been adamant that he had to stay until he did it. Apparently, righteous indignation was an excellent motivating factor for him, because he'd somehow pulled it off. He turned to her, still annoyed, but forgot all of it when she broke out into a huge grin and began applauding like a kid at a puppet show.
Flitwick was teaching him charms and spells for which Fred and George would have paid a small fortune. He'd even taught Harry the charm used to create the flying keys that were part of the enchantments that once guarded the Sorcerer's Stone. And as Flitwick had promised him at the start of term, Harry could now do in a matter of seconds many of the things it had once taken him a lot of time and effort to accomplish.
During this morning's private lesson with Jillian, he'd walked in, pulled his wand and happily presented her with a vase of fresh flowers from Professor Sprout's greenhouses. This time, he'd done it silently, quickly and without so much as a blink of an eyelash. She smiled and accepted the vase graciously, thanked him and then asked why he hadn't attempted it without his wand. He did, and she now had two vases of flowers sitting on her desk.
Jillian hadn't been kidding. She could definitely be demanding; but she was positively brilliant and Harry was thriving under her tutelage. They worked drills for the first fifteen minutes of each lesson. She'd call out any combination of spells, charms and jinxes; and he had to perform them wandlessly, and lately, nonverbally as well.
The next fifteen minutes were for advanced defensive work. For these, he was only allowed to use his wand if he failed to pull off a particular spell within three attempts. It was always understood that he would work on any of those and be ready to attempt them at their next lesson.
The end of class was free style. For this, Harry was allowed to cast any sequence of spells he wanted, with or without wand. Spells were cast verbally, so that they had time to block and deflect each other's spells. The Unforgivable Curses were the only things banned from use in these sessions.
The one drawback to his growing ability was that he had to remember to always use his wand in his other classes. He'd almost blown it in Transfiguration class last week and Ron had to kick him under the desk to get his attention.
"By the way," Ron tried to say as he swallowed whatever he'd stuffed into his mouth, "Mum wants to know what you want for Christmas lunch. She's missed us all so much, she's agreed to make all our favorites."
"Oh," Harry said, looking a little uncomfortable.
"What's the matter?" asked Hermione.
"Nothing, really," he said. "It's just that I was thinking about staying here for the holidays."
"Oh," she said. "Well, I guess we could do that."
"You don't have to," he said. "You two should go home for the holidays. Don't let me stop you."
"Why don't you want to come with us?" asked Ron.
"Really, it's got nothing to do with you. I'm just not real anxious to set foot back in that house," he said, clearing referring to Grimmauld Place. "Besides, it'll be pretty quiet around here and I can try and catch up on a few things."
"What did the others say?" asked Hermione quietly.
"Nothing," he said. "I hadn't told them. But I guess you're right; I should. I'll go see Professor McGonagall tonight."
"Are you sure," asked Ron.
"Yeah, I am," he said. "I'll be fine."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A little over a week later, Harry was preparing for their final D.A. lesson before the holiday break. Most students were leaving tomorrow. The Ministry and Order were overseeing Floo transport directly from the headmistress's office. Everyone had a set departure time.
Harry arrived early to the to Room of Requirement and had only just starting setting up when he heard the door open behind him. He turned around and was surprised to see Ginny.
"Hi, Harry," she said. "Do you have a few minutes?"
He found this a strange question, given that she'd spent the last couple of months pretty much ignoring him.
"Sure," he said.
"I hear you're staying here for the holidays," she said.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Well, Mum and Dad aren't happy about it. In fact, Mum is having a fit."
"She really shouldn't," he said.
"Like that's ever stopped her," she said. "Is there any way you'd change your mind?"
"It's not that serious," he said.
She colored slightly as she looked at him and asked directly, "Am I the reason you don't want to come?"
This was a long way from their conversations of late. They'd been more along the line of "Would you mind passing the marmalade, Harry." He wasn't sure how or if he wanted to answer her now.
"I've got a number of reasons for wanting to remain here," he said honestly.
"You didn't answer my question," she said.
"Sure I did," replied Harry, his eyes holding hers until she was the first to look away.
Harry hoped someone else would show up early, but knew it was unlikely. Most everyone else was probably trying to get some packing done.
"Ginny," he said, and waited until she looked back at him. "Please just go home and have a wonderful holiday. There's no reason for you to worry about me."
"Friends get to worry about friends," she said quietly.
"Yeah, well…" he began.
"I know I haven't been a very good one of late," she said, cutting him off.
This time Harry was the first to look away.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"Ginny, you don't owe me anything," he said, so not wanting to make things any worse between them.
"Yes, I do," she said. "I've been trying to work up the nerve to face you for weeks. So please, just let me say this while I can."
Harry nodded.
"First, I should have told you about Terry asking me to the Halloween dance. You shouldn't have found out the way you did. I know it was just a stupid dance, but still…"
"Why didn't you tell me?" he found himself asking.
"Because I was angry," she said. "And sad, and probably confused. You name it, I was it."
"About the day at the Quidditch pitch," he said. "Now it's my turn to apologize. I shouldn't have let things get out of hand."
She gave a soft laugh and shook her head.
"No, I started that fiasco of an afternoon," she said. "I'd missed you so much when I was in France, and things seemed so easy between us when I got back to Hogwarts, almost too easy. I fooled myself into thinking that because everything seemed so safe here, we could let our guards down."
"Ginny," he started but she shook her head for him to let her finish.
"I forgot whom I was dealing with," she said. "You let your guard down, all right; just only enough to give me a glimpse of what I most wanted. But your admirable and annoying sense of right and wrong kicked in; and I could look into your eyes and literally see you closing the door on us, even though I knew you wanted the same thing I did."
Harry could only look at her.
"You sent me off to the castle," she continued, "and even though I knew in my head that you wouldn't change your mind, there was a small part of my heart that kept hoping. A week or so went by and we never talked about it. Then, when I ran into you in Slughorn's office, I wanted to scream. But I knew it wouldn't do any good. You looked as miserable as I felt, but I could see there was no going back."
Harry still wanted to kick himself and she knew it.
"There's nothing you could have done, Harry," she said. "This was going to play out, eventually. It just happened sooner rather than later. I'm sorry I let it fester. Honestly, I think I was angrier with myself than with you."
"I'm the one who's sorry. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you," he said.
"I've known that all along," she said. "That made it all that much harder. It would have been a lot easier if you'd been a world-class git. But you're not. You're pretty terrific, actually."
Harry smiled and said, "You're pretty amazing yourself, Ginny Weasley."
"I know," she said and they both laughed a little, tensions slowly easing.
"So, do I get my friend back?" he asked. "I've really missed her."
"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," she said. "I made a promise to you under that tree in the Burrow, and I'm so sorry I didn't keep it."
She moved forward and hugged him tightly. He hesitated for only a second before returning the embrace, quietly breathing in the soft fragrance from her hair.
"Okay, enough with the apologies," he said, pulling back to look at her. "There's just one other thing."
"What?" she asked.
"Tell Terry I'll curse him if he doesn't treat you well," he said.
"I think he already knows that," she said. "He's a decent guy, Harry."
"I'd have already cursed him if he weren't," he said.
"I kind of avoided him for the longest time after the dance. I felt like such an idiot. But he kept coming around and we started talking. It's not serious. I mean it's not like…" she stopped at the look on Harry's face.
"Let's save all the details, shall we," he said.
She giggled and replied, "Deal. So, will you consider coming home with us for Christmas."
Harry shook is head.
"I really do have some other things to take care of," he said.
"Okay, you can't blame a girl for trying."
"I suppose not," said Harry, smiling. "Now, we've got about five minutes before people start showing up. How about giving me a hand with the mats?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and most of the other students had left on Sunday. They'd made one more plea for him to change his mind, but Harry had declined. Now, two days later, he had to admit that he was already missing them. Still, he'd been able to catch up on some of the extra work he'd been given, and he'd promised Hermione that he'd visit with Dumbledore's portrait again to talk about Rowena Ravenclaw. They'd both been stumped by his reference to her as a warrior.
There were eight students staying through the holidays. Harry was the only Gryffindor. There were three Ravenclaws and three Hufflepuffs, all third and fourth-years. And to Harry's surprise, the final remaining student was Blaise Zabini from Slytherin. Harry had never known him to stay behind during any of the breaks.
Slughorn, McGonagall, Tonks and Jillian were staying at the castle, the latter two to help keep an eye on Harry. Kipling and DeSousa were also still on premise, and Harry was glad he'd be able to continue training with DeSousa during the long break.
Harry had just returned to the castle after spending the late afternoon visiting Hagrid. He cleared the first floor landing and was continuing up, when heard a deep, heavy and unmistakable voice from down the first floor corridor. He couldn't make out the words, but knew it was Kingsley. His voice was coming from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Harry turned back and headed down the corridor to say hello. He was just about to knock on the partially open door, when he registered the tone of Kingsley voice and knew he'd be interrupting something private. Harry also knew he should turn around and walk away; but the obvious concern in Kingsley's voice had raised his own and he remained where he stood.
"Jilly," said Kingsley, "don't tell me you're fine. You're not and I can see it written all across your face."
"Some days are harder than others," answered Jillian, her voice strained with emotion. "It was easier in the beginning, I'll admit."
"I know I'm part of the reason you agreed to do this," he said. "But if it's become too much, then maybe it's time to step aside."
"Absolutely not," she said firmly, clearing her throat. "Don't suggest it again. Please, Kingsley, this is far too important. You know that."
Kingsley sighed and Harry could hear him moving about the room.
"You're right; and I'm sorry," he started again. "But it's eating you up inside and I hate not being here for you."
"You're here now," she said, trying to force some levity into her voice.
"But only for a little while. What happens after I leave again?" he asked. "Jilly, why don't you just tell Harry? He'll under…"
Harry nearly jumped at hearing his name mentioned, but he never heard what else Kingsley intended to say because Jillian interrupted him.
"NO!" she said. "Just drop it, please. He's got enough going on without taking on any of my baggage. And as you very well know, there's nothing anyone can do about it, so what would be the point."
"All right. We'll do it your way," he said quietly. "But I think you are making a mistake."
"So noted," she said. "Now, do you have time for a meal with your sister or are you too annoyed to digest anything properly?"
"I'm not annoyed," replied Kingsley. "I'm just worried about you. I happen to love you, in case you've forgotten."
"I love you too, Big Brother," she answered.
Harry didn't hear the rest of their conversation, for he'd started back down the hall and up the staircases, pulling out of his own thoughts just long enough to give the password and gain entrance to the common room and flop into his favorite cushy and worn chair.
He was trying to figure out what he'd overheard. Kingsley was worried about his sister. But why? Was Jillian sick? Witches and wizards were usually pretty hearty, but she was part Muggle. Could she have some horrible illness? And if she did, then she was probably straining herself with all the extra lessons she'd been giving Harry. If that were true, then Harry would definitely want her to stop. Is that why she didn't want to tell him? But she seemed perfectly healthy? She'd never missed a day of class or any of their private sessions. He couldn't ask Kingsley because he didn't want them to know he'd eavesdropped on part of their visit.
Harry tried to pay closer attention to her that evening and the next, which was Christmas Eve. But Jillian seemed perfectly fine. She and Tonks were laughing and talking, and engaging a couple of the third-years. There was no way she was ill. So what had he overheard her discussing with Kingsley?
One of the fourth-years had a hundred questions for Harry about Quidditch, which he was trying to answer in between discreet glances at Jillian. Blaise was seated down the opposite end of the table, talking to Professor Slughorn. He looked perfectly miserable. The others were seated near the middle of the table, two talking with Hagrid, and another answering questions posed by Professor McGonagall. Harry couldn't say they were actually having a conversation, for the younger student was beyond nervous at sharing leisure time with the headmistress.
A wisp of silvery white smoke moved through the room. Harry was the only student who recognized it as a non-corporeal Patronus. It passed by him and the message rang clear in his head. It was from Tonks, letting him know that she'd be going to headquarters shortly, but would be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.
Feeling adventurous, Harry silently cast "Legilimens" and managed to project, "Okay. Happy Christmas," to her before she knew what was happening.
Tonks nearly choked on her drink and looked at Harry from her watering eyes as Jillian patted her on the back. He winked and she gave him a small smile, shocked and still trying to catch her breath.
Hours later Harry decided to see if McGonagall was in her office, and more importantly, if the Dumbledore in the portrait was awake. He rounded the corridor that would take him to the gargoyle-guarded entry, but slowed when he heard footsteps trailing behind him. He gripped his wand tightly just as a voice called out.
"Potter," it said, and Harry turned on the spot to see Blaise Zabini approaching him. It was past the ten o'clock curfew McGonagall had extended for the handful of students staying over the break. He was used to having the castle pretty much to himself in the late hours.
"Zabini," said Harry, watching suspiciously as the Slytherin approached him.
They'd never spoken more than a few words to each other. The Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry had been enough to keep them at odds; but Zabini had also been part of Draco's extended entourage. Harry couldn't image what he wanted.
He reached Harry and just stood there, it seemed, in an attempt to size him up.
"What do you want, Zabini?" asked Harry.
He did not answer, but continued to look at Harry, his gaze finally tracing the scar on his forehead. Harry frowned.
Finally, "I do not like you, Potter," he said.
"And you felt the need to tell me this -- because?" replied Harry sarcastically.
"Because I'm still trying to figure out if you're going to be worth the trouble," answered the slanted eyed boy.
"I don't have time to play games with you, Zabini," said Harry, moving to take his leave.
"And I really don't understand why You-Know-Who is so concerned about you," he replied, stopping Harry in his tracks.
"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, his voice going flat and cold as he rounded on Zabini.
Zabini watched him very closely, seeing Harry's eyes narrow and darken.
"You don't have a mother, do you?" he asked Harry.
"Sorry, no, she and Dad were too busy being murdered by Voldemort," said Harry icily. "What's it to you?"
"It's just Mum and me. The husbands have come and gone over the years, but it has always been just us," he said, more to himself than to Harry.
Harry didn't know what was coming next, but he knew he needed to hear it.
"They hurt her," he said in barely above a whisper, anger and pain cracking his voice. "The Death Eaters hurt her."
Harry swallowed and watched Zabini closely.
"How? Why?" asked Harry, knowing that Blaise wasn't playing a game now.
Blaise took a deep breath and told Harry about the Death Eaters attacking his home almost two weeks ago. His mother, famous for her beauty, had been tortured and beaten. She'd lain helpless and wandless for a full day before her brother received an anonymous message, sending him to their home.
"Did your uncle tell you it was the Death Eaters?" asked Harry, his pulse quickening.
"No," said Zabini. "Mum was too injured to talk, then. They told me."
Harry knew who they were.
"How did they contact you?' he asked.
Blaise's face burned with fury, and Harry thought he already knew the answer.
"Draco contacted me. He sent me a letter hours after I'd learned that Mum had been attacked," said Zabini.
"How?"
"We devised a written code in our first year. It's become a bit of a Slytherin tradition of late. Almost every year has its own code. To anyone else, the letter looks like a simple correspondence."
"What did it say, the code I mean," asked Harry.
"It pretty much said they'd kill my mother the next time if I didn't do what they wanted?"
"And what did they want?" asked Harry.
"They wanted me to tell them if you were staying at Hogwarts through the holidays?"
"And did you?" asked Harry, already dreading the answer.
"Yes," he said, without apology.
"Is that why you stayed behind, too?" asked Harry.
He sidestepped Harry's last question.
"I've been in contact with my uncle. He's managed to get my mother out of the country so she can recuperate in peace. As soon as he can, he'll come back for me. I don't know when that will be."
"Why are you telling me this, Zabini?" asked Harry. "You just said you don't like me, so why not help Voldemort get to me?"
"Because I don't want any part of it," he said. "I never have. I told Draco he was getting in over his head, but he wouldn't listen. He was so full of himself in the beginning; but he was terrified in the end. Once you're in with that lot, there's no getting out."
Blaise was quiet for a long moment and then slowly pulled a length of parchment from his pocket. He handed it to Harry, who read through it quickly. It was a nondescript letter that could have been written by some distant pen pal. Not even the signature indicated it could have been from Malfoy.
Harry was frowning at it when Blaise pulled his wand and tapped the page. Instantly, the words began to shift across the page and Harry could make out several startling sentences halfway down the page.
We need to know if he is remaining at school for the holiday break. Fail us and your mother will not survive our next visit.
"The same delivery owl showed up four days later and I sent my reply."
Harry was trying to process everything Blaise was saying, everything he was seeing; but something still wasn't adding up.
"What aren't you telling me, Zabini?" he asked.
"It's double coded," he said, pointing to the two lines haphazardly scratched below the fake signature.
Zabini tapped the page once more and the words and letters shifted again.
At first Harry saw nothing, but then Zabini pointed out the pattern to him and his stomach dropped.
Four words stood out from the four corners of the letter, each formed on an inward diagonal, like a word puzzle.
"Eve. Privet. Hot. Saint."
"Are you sure Draco coded this?" asked Harry hurriedly.
"No one else could have. The first code isn't terribly complicated if you know to decipher it; but only Draco, Pansy and I know how to use the second one," he explained.
"Do you know what it means?" he pressed.
"No. None of it means anything, except 'Saint.' It's one of the code words for you."
"Why'd you show this to me?" demanded Harry, moving forward and cornering Blaise, pinning his wand hand against the corridor wall. "Did Malfoy ask you to?"
"No," answered Blaise, trying to regain purchase and maneuver away from the wall, but he couldn't budge Harry.
"Did he know you'd show this to me?" Harry asked very slowly.
"I don't know, Potter," Blaise retorted hotly. "I have no idea what Draco is doing. And I don't know why he dragged me into middle of his mess. All I know is that You-Know-Who wants at you very badly. So, if you truly are 'The Chosen One,' I figured things couldn't get any worse if I showed you. A year ago I wouldn't have cared what happened to you. Honestly, I still don't. But if it's a choice between you or being stalked by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, I'd rather deal with you."
They were quiet, staring at each other for several long moments.
"Go back to your dormitory," Harry finally said, in a voice that left no room for argument, stepping back to allow Blaise to move around him. "Now."
Blaise watched him for a second longer and then turned and retreated in the direction from which he'd approached Harry minutes before.
Harry's Patronus suddenly lit the darkened corridor and sped away. He tore off in the opposite direction, his heart racing and horrible thoughts running through his head. Harry knew exactly what those four words meant. The Death Eaters were going after the Dursleys tonight. Why did Draco include that second message? Was it a trap or a warning? Why would Draco ever warn him of anything? It had to be a trick. But he had to find out. He couldn't sit by and do nothing.
Harry hit the third floor landing and ran down the corridor, sprinting towards the One-Eyed Witch. He was trying to steady his shaking hands when he heard running footsteps and saw DeSousa and Jillian coming from the opposite end.
"Harry, what's wrong?" called DeSousa.
"What's this about your relatives?" asked Jillian anxiously, not the least bit out of breath.
Harry quickly told them what he'd learned from Blaise Zabini, and showed them the decoded letter. They looked at Harry and then one another.
"How do we get to your aunt and uncle's home?" asked DeSousa.
"I know where it is," said Jillian, surprising Harry. "I was your rear guard that day at the fair grounds."
"I'm coming with you," Harry said.
"What if it's just a trap to get you out of the castle?" asked DeSousa. "What if they've ambushed the perimeter guards and are just waiting for you to appear beyond the gates?"
Harry waved his wand and summoned his Invisibility Cloak.
Jillian said nothing. She flicked her own wand, and a second Invisibility Cloak appeared. Harry should have guessed she'd have one.
DeSousa looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he saw the determination in Harry's eyes and knew it would be futile.
"Fine, you two stay covered and follow me," he said, his wand held tightly.
"No," said Harry. "I've got a better way."
Harry moved closer to the statue, and tapped the hump with his wand, silently casting "Dissendium," and waited while the passage door revealed itself.
"What is…" began Jillian.
"It's a passage way that leads to Hogsmeade, specifically to Honeydukes," said Harry quickly. "The Weasley twins own it now. I'll explain the rest later."
"Once they'd dropped down and Harry closed the entrance once more, DeSousa took the lead, with Harry and Jillian following behind. They ran flat out and did not say another word or stop until they reached the end of the very long tunnel.
Harry lit his wand and illuminated the steps and the trap door above them.
"McGonagall is going to murder us," said DeSousa, and a Patronus in the form of a winged horse shot from his wand and out of sight. "She can contact the others for reinforcement. Let's go."
DeSousa moved first, and climbed through. Jillian and Harry waited until they heard his voice.
"Clear," he said, and they joined him in the darkened cellar of the sweet shop.
Fred and George had indeed emptied the room of its usual stockpile of goods. It now contained two camp beds, a desk and a large wardrobe in a corner. That was it.
"Jillian and I will take the front of the house," said DeSousa. "Can you Apparate inside?"
"Yes," said Harry. "I'll head for my old room."
"Okay. Keep your Cloak on as long as possible."
Seconds later, Harry was standing in the middle of his former bedroom, strong winter winds and snow blowing outside the window at his back. The room looked more like a mini arcade. Dudley had wasted no time in reclaiming it. Harry opened the door and crept into the hall, making his way silently to the top of the staircase.
He'd just touched the first step when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone whimpering.
"I told you to shut up," came a voice from below. "You're the most pathetic bunch of Muggles I've ever seen."
There were others laughing and Harry couldn't tell how many. The voices were coming from the parlor. One joined in and said, "How's about we give 'em something to really cry about?"
A loud moan followed and Aunt Petunia let out an ear-piercing scream. Harry cleared the staircase in two steps, just as the front door burst open and DeSousa and Jillian, now uncloaked, ran through the doorway.
The Death Eater nearest the foyer tried to advance, but it was useless. Jillian moved as fast as lightening and he was down in the blink of an eye.
She and DeSousa turned in tandem as the other Death Eaters scrambled up. Including the one already down, there were seven of them. Harry recognized two, a brother and sister, from last year's attack at Hogwarts.
Still cloaked, Harry had to dodge a misfired spell that had been aimed at DeSousa. DeSousa dove, rolled and came up firing, hitting a second Death Eater square in the chest. He dropped like a bag of rocks, knocking over a floor lamp.
There were five left when Harry dropped his own Cloak and fired at a third Death Eater, sending him careening backwards, his head smashing against the fireplace mantle.
The other Death Eaters began yelling as soon as they saw Harry. They seemed surprised to be under attack, but beyond shocked to see Harry.
Uncle Vernon was flat on his back and unmoving. Aunt Petunia was trying to crawl over him and towards Dudley, who was cowering in a corner beside the Christmas tree, with its blinking lights and piles of unopened gifts beneath it.
Harry was temporarily unfocused and just barely registered the upraised arm of the witch who'd been taunting Dumbledore on the rooftop last June. His reflexes were sharp though, and he deflected her spell and disarmed her with what looked like one motion. Her wand flew to his left hand and he snapped it clean in half against the entry wall.
DeSousa and Jillian began firing rapidly at the remaining Death Eaters, affording Harry enough cover to get into the room and crouch along the walls to the Dursleys. The despicable witch was moving in the opposite direction, seeking refuge behind her fellow Death Eaters.
Harry reached Aunt Petunia and ducked down, a flash of red buzzing inches from where he'd just stood and putting a large hole in the rear wall. He raised his head to see Jillian incapacitate one more Death Eater, the brother to the ugly little witch.
Of the three who were conscience, only two were still armed. Wanting to keep it that way, Harry summoned the wands from the other prone bodies and sent them into the fireplace, which burst alive with flames. The two who were fighting were too busy to notice and there was nothing the witch could do to stop him. Even if they managed to summon the wands, there'd be no way they could hold them now.
Aunt Petunia and Dudley, still several feet apart along the wall, were looking at Harry as though they'd never seen him before. Uncle Vernon finally moaned a few times.
A sharp cry sounded in the room, and Harry saw a tall, thin Death Eater succumb to a combined strike from Jillian and DeSousa.
Only two remained, one useless without a wand. The other was brazen enough to pull the witch in front of him to use as a shield as he tried to force his way through the room, shoving her forward as he neared DeSousa and Jillian, in an attempt to distract them.
It did not work. DeSousa caught the off-balance female Death Eater and knocked her hard to the floor, her head bouncing off the entry tile; while Jillian steadied her wand arm and aimed straight for the oncoming Death Eater. Harry had risen from the floor and cast his own spell at the Death Eater's back, stunning him a second or two before Jillian's curse struck him in the neck. Blood spewed from a gaping wound as if from a spout; and the Death Eater fell in a bloody heap, his body half in the parlor and half in the entrance hall.
It all ended in a matter of minutes, but it had felt like forever. Jillian stepped over the lifeless form before her and had just reached the overturned sofa, when a succession of pops sounded; and she, DeSousa and Harry all turned with their wands raised.
It was Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley, with their own wands poised and ready. Moody surveyed the scene, letting out a long and low whistle.
"Any more?" asked Kingsley.
"Not that we saw. Jillian and I arrived from the front and didn't see anything," said DeSousa. "No one left from in here."
"I can see that," said Kingsley, looking at DeSousa, his sister and finally at Harry.
"I'll go take another look outside and then call for more backup to help clean up in here," said Tonks, walking out the front door and pulling it closed behind her.
It had been open the entire time, and Harry was sure that only the blistering winter storm had kept the noise from carrying to the neighbors.
Lupin was oddly silent and seemed to be at a loss for words. Finally, in a voice that sounded unfamiliarly etched with anger, asked of Jillian and DeSousa, "Why did you bring Harry with you?"
"Lupin, it was my decision," said Harry. "You can't blame Jillian or Andre."
Lupin did not acknowledge anything Harry had just said. He was still looking from Jillian to DeSousa.
"You are both highly trained and well regarded," he said. "Am I to believe you didn't think you could stop a seventeen year old wizard, talented though he is, from coming here?"
Lupin was angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Everyone was watching him and before anyone could say another word, Aunt Petunia made some indiscriminate noise and Harry turned sideways to see her pointing her finger over his shoulder.
He heard it before he even finished looking in the direction in which she was frantically pointing. It was a sharp click. The Death Eater whom Harry had knocked out against the fireplace had regained consciousness. He didn't have a wand, but he apparently had a very sharp switchblade. He'd slid unnoticed several feet and was attempting to stand up when Aunt Petunia saw him.
He wasn't quite close enough to reach Harry or his aunt, but he made a quick grab for Dudley, dragging his bulky frame upright with surprising ease and holding the knife point at Dudley's throat. Harry stepped directly in front of him, blocking the Order members' aim at the Death Eater.
"Step aside, Potter," came Moody's voice, but Harry tuned them all out.
The Death Eater actually smiled sickly and said, "Drop the wand, Potter or I'll slit his throat and then snap his fat neck."
Aunt Petunia was howling and Uncle Vernon had finally come to, sitting up slowly and making a sound like a wounded bull when his brain registered the images before him.
Dudley looked in real danger of having a heart attack. Harry dropped his wand between the distance separating them and the Death Eater didn't seem to know what to do next.
Harry did. The knife suddenly flew from the Death Eater's hand, imbedding itself in the wall on the opposite side of the room.
The Death Eater didn't realize what happened, thinking one of the Order had disarmed him, and was stupid enough to push Dudley aside and go after Harry's wand. He never reached it.
Instead, Harry summoned the base of the tipped over floor lamp into his outstretched arm, and using it as a make shift staff, swung it in an upward arc that caught the Death Eater under the chin just as he stooped for the wand.
You could hear the crack of shattered bone as the Death Eater flew backwards and flipped over a side chair.
DeSousa was stooped over him in an instant, but the Death Eater was out cold.
Harry dropped the lamp base and retrieved his own wand. He could feel the slow burn beneath his skin. It was less muted than it had ever been; but he recognized it. Had he looked in a mirror, he would have seen the heat behind his eyes, as well.
Moody looked repeatedly from the Death Eater to Harry, and broke out in a wicked grin.
Kingsley looked at Harry, too, and then at his sister, with admiration warming his eyes.
DeSousa stood up, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head from side to side.
The Dursleys were simply dumbfounded.
Lupin was looking at no one but Harry.
Jillian however, seemed to think it was the perfect time to answer Lupin's last question and drew everyone's attention.
"I don't know, Lupin," she said in mock innocence. "Do you think you could have stopped him?" she added, the challenge implicit.
Harry knew that Lupin's anger stemmed from nothing but concern for Harry; but he'd clearly irritated Jillian. He watched as her brown eyes flashed copper.
Lupin saw it too, and instead of responding, looked closely from her to Harry, realization dawning upon him.
"Jillian," said Kingsley, in a way only an older brother could.
She closed and reopened her eyes, taking a noticeable breath.
"Lupin, we understand why you are upset," said DeSousa, stepping in and allowing Jillian a moment to calm down. "But we had to act quickly. There wasn't time for long debates."
"Lupin," said Harry again, "they wanted to come alone; but I insisted."
"I don't doubt that, Harry," he said quietly and turned back to the other two.
"But you do realize he could have been killed tonight?" asked Lupin, his anger checked, but his worry clear.
"Look at it this way," said Jillian, calmly this time. "Harry trusted us enough to tell us what happened. He could have panicked and skipped out on his own. What would have happened if he'd walked into all of this alone?"
Lupin sighed, knowing it could have been a real possibility.
"Or, let's say Andre and I did restrain him. What would happen the next time they baited him. Do you think he'd come running to find any of us? My goodness, Lupin, they were threatening his family," she pressed.
Everyone turned to the Dursleys, the three of them now huddled together. Silent tears were cascading down Aunt Petunia's face and Dudley looked to be in shock. Uncle Vernon, in apparent physical pain, wore an expression that was nearly unreadable.
"As horribly as I hear they have always treated him," she continued, "they are still his blood family. They'd probably never do anything to help him; but Harry is nothing like them. You know this better than anyone. There was no way he would have stayed behind. If anything, we should have anticipated this possibility. Voldemort is desperate to have thought this might even possibly lead him to Harry. But he wasn't wrong, was he?"
"Let it go, Lupin," came Moody's voice. "They didn't get Potter tonight and we should be grateful that it worked out in our favor."
"They weren't looking for him," spoke Aunt Petunia from her spot on the floor.
Lupin flicked his wand and the overturned couch returned to its upright position. He stepped forward towards Aunt Petunia, but she flinched. He nodded at Harry, who bent and helped her to her feet, surprised that she did not protest.
Tonks walked back in, tossing Jillian's discarded Cloak to her. Several other Order members that Harry did not know followed behind her and began casting "Incarcerous," ropes materializing and binding the surviving, still unconscious Death Eaters.
"I've been in contact with Scrimgeour," said Tonks. "He wants this lot bound and held in the Ministry dungeons. He's not all that confident about the remaining security at Azkaban."
"That's probably a smart move," said Moody. "Can you oversee transport?"
"It's already taken care of," replied Tonks. "We've got one Apparation point open in the Ministry. Aurors are on stand by for us, now."
"Good work," he told her. "Get them out of here."
"See you all, later. Bye, Harry," she said.
And one by one, they watched as each Death Eater, alive or not, vanished with an accompanying member of the Order.
DeSousa had gone to the kitchen and gotten a glass of water for Aunt Petunia. He'd sensed this Muggle gesture might put her more at ease than having a glass pop out from nowhere.
She accepted it and drank slowly. She looked up as she finished, and this time, did not flinch when Lupin walked slowly towards her.
"Mrs. Dursley," he said, in his usual calm and reassuring voice, "what did you mean when you said they weren't here for Harry?"
"They were talking to each other. They were planning to kill Vernon, bec…" she stuttered and had to take a moment to compose herself. "because he wasn't a blood relative and they thought it would send a clear message. They were planning to take Dudley and me somewhere else."
"They wanted to use you to lure Harry somewhere else," finished Lupin for her.
She nodded and looked at Harry.
"This is all your fault," croaked Uncle Vernon at Harry from the floor, as no one had bothered to help him or Dudley up.
"You should really shut up," said Harry darkly, his gaze drilling into his uncle's and his wand arm twitching.
Uncle Vernon had seen enough this one night to finally understand he had absolutely no power over Harry any longer. He fell silent.
"Lupin," said Harry, "we can't…"
"I know, Harry," he said. "We need to get them out of here. Do not worry. We'll take care of everything. But we need to see to you, first."
"We can take him back, Lupin," said DeSousa.
"No, Harry's coming with the rest of us," he said, and turned to see the refusal forming on Harry's face, but he spoke again before Harry could say one word.
"Harry, I understand why you do not want to stay there, but this really isn't up for debate," he said. "When Voldemort finds out that his plan fell apart and that he lost seven Death Eaters, he is going to strike back. We need you insulated. And you and I need to discuss some things."
Harry knew he was right, but he still didn't like it. He nodded grudgingly.
"Andre and I will head back to Hogwarts," said Jillian. "We'll fill in McGonagall and the others on premise."
"Good," replied Lupin. "We'll be in touch, and thank you both. I am sorry about earlier. I know you would have done anything to protect him."
"It's forgotten," said Jillian. "See you later, Harry."
"Bye, Jillian. Bye, Andre," he called. "You two were amazing. I owe you big time. Thanks."
"You were pretty damn amazing, yourself," said DeSousa.
They smiled and vanished in quick succession.
"Kingsley," said Lupin, "Would you escort Harry, please?"
"Of course," he said. "Grab you Cloak, Potter."
Harry moved forward, but Aunt Petunia called out.
"Wait," she said, leaving the couch and walking on shaking legs to the Christmas tree.
She knelt beside it and used her arm to fish out something from beneath its depth. She stood with a package in her hands and walked a few paces to stand in front of Harry. She could not meet his eyes as she spoke quietly.
"It's for you," she said, extending the package towards him.
Harry did not reach for it.
"They were hers," she continued. "Some of your mother's things."
Harry was frozen.
"They were Lily's," she finally managed and slowly raised her eyes to his.
Harry would have been less shocked if she'd slapped him or sprouted horns. He'd lived with her for nearly sixteen years and she had never spoken his mother's name, her sister's name, more than once or twice.
His arm seemed to move all on its own and his hand wrapped around the outstretched box. But Harry could not take his eyes off hers. He did not know what to think or how to react. He couldn't. Too much had happened for far too long. Still, he knew how incredibly hard a gesture this was for her to make, and he did not understand what motivated her.
Uncle Vernon was staring at his wife as though she'd been taken over by aliens. Dudley still had the same lost look in his eyes.
Aunt Petunia's eyes welled once more as she looked at Harry. There was very little she could say. She too, knew too much had happened. With a trembling hand, she reached out and brushed the hair from his forehead, revealing his scar.
"Be careful," she said, with one tear finally breaking the surface as she turned and hurried out of the room and up the staircase.
Lupin and Moody stood silently while Kingsley retrieved Harry's Cloak from the entrance hall and handed it to him. Harry went through the motions of putting it on, but his mind was elsewhere. Kingsley knew this. He simply grabbed Harry tightly by the upper arm and moments later, they were standing in front of the spot that would soon reveal itself as number twelve, Grimmauld Place.