NOTE BY THE ACCOUNT HOLDER: THIS STORY IS NOT MINE!

WRITTEN BY RAINING INK


Chapter 29 - Everyone's August

[][] Ron Weasley [][]

The gnome, shaking its fists in impotent fury, sailed through the air and over the hedge. Weasley shoots, he scores! That's another ten points for the Cannons. I don't know how he does it. A superb keeper, fantastic, but I never knew he could play chaser as well! Ron watched as the distant gnome picked itself up and began to stagger dizzily away. He sighed and reached under the begonia for another victim. Degnoming the garden sucked a lot more when you had to do it alone, and with Fred and George living in Diagon Alley and Ginny always off visiting Luna Lovegood or Dean Thomas, Ron had been stuck on his own a lot this summer. You'd think a bloke could catch a break after nearly being murdered by Death Eaters and Department of Mysteries science experiments, but his mum didn't seem to agree.

Should've gone to visit old Loony with Ginny, he thought glumly as he swung yet another gnome around in circles. This was the first summer he could remember anticipating going back to school. He was sick to death of being at the Burrow with no company. He'd started playing games of chess with himself, which was an all-time low in his opinion. He hadn't quite been driven to studying his schoolwork to stave off the boredom, but it was a close thing. Harry owed him at least a few pick-up quidditch matches once they were all back at Hogwarts.

Not that he blamed Harry. How could he? The Dursleys were the fattest and nastiest bunch of wankers Ron had ever heard of, and everyone knew it. Harry had had the patience of a tree to put up with them for fifteen years. Ron couldn't understand why everyone was so shocked that he'd finally done a runner. Even weeks after the fact, everyone was still expecting Harry to "come to his senses,"... well, except maybe Dumbledore. The Headmaster was still looking for Harry, but as far as Ron could tell, he no longer expected to find him.

No, even if he thought that Harry ought to write a bit more often, (Really, five letters all summer? What the hell else did he have to do?) Ron could understand his absence. Hermione, on the other hand... She'd lost her parents of course. Ron didn't have any clue how awful that must be, but did she have to be such a ghost? Honestly. She would pop over for a couple hours at a time, then vanish with no explanation for days on end. It might have done her good to have some company, but she wasn't interested in hanging around the Burrow. No one else thought this behavior was suspicious. She's grieving, Ron. Give her some space, Ron. Such an independent girl. She wants to be on her own. Bullshit.

Ron wasn't the sharpest knife in the cupboard, but even he knew that Hermione was Up To Something. Ron knew his best friends. If Harry was Up To Something, then it was about Voldemort. If Hermione was Up To Something, it was about House Elves or Harry. Since she hadn't been toting around a box of SPEW badges, Ron was almost positive that Hermione's absence had something to do with Harry, and he was a little, just a teensy bit, pissed that neither of his best friends had bothered to fill him in. He could keep a secret for Merlin's sake! Pick-up quidditch. Homework help. They both owed him that much.

The next gnome felt the full effect of his frustration. It flew up in a beautiful arc, well over the hedge, and he had to squint against the blazing sun to watch it. Just as it started to descend, a bolt of white feathers shot down out of the sky and snatched it up.

Ron blinked in shock. He didn't realize that owls would eat gnomes. Crookshanks would, sure, but that cat was a beast. Pig never...well, Pig probably wasn't big enough to catch a gnome.

"Hey, Hedwig," he greeted the bird as she flapped down to land on his outstretched arm. The gnome was still twitching in her beak. Gross. "Guess I don't need to find you an owl treat then?"

He heard bones crunch as Hedwig clamped her beak tighter around her snack. She held out one leg, and he untied the scroll of parchment. "I'll send Pig back with a reply," he told her. She blinked at him, then took off into the sky. Must be nice to have an owl that smart. Pig was a nutter.

He unrolled the parchment eagerly.

Hey, Mate!

I know it's been awhile since my last letter, but I don't really have much to say. Being on the run sounds exciting and all, but there's not that much to do. Just keeping my head down and waiting for September 1st. Tell your mum I said thanks for the offer, but I can make it to the station by myself.

I have done the charms homework, actually. (Don't tell Hermione! She'll go all smug on me.) The jabs are more important than the flourishes because they actually direct the spell. The flourishes look wicked, but they're just to help you focus. Bit of a stupid thing to have to write sixteen inches on if you ask me. All the theory is in the second chapter of our new textbook.

Thanks for the birthday gift. Chocolate frogs for the win. I got Ptolemy, and you can't have him. Ha!

Like I said, I'm not doing much. Lazing about and reading. I want to get some spells prepped for the DA. I had to promise you-know-who...the bushy-haired one, not the psychopath...that I would continue it this year. You up for it?

See you soon!

Harry

[][] Harry[][]

Swish. CRACK. Swish. CRACK. Swish. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. "Damn!"

"Harry, don't swear."

Harry glared at his friend. Hermione sat Indian-style on the grimy pavement, hunched over the sixth year transfiguration textbook. "That's easy for you to say, Hermione. You won't even try," he complained.

"I've told you," she said primly. "There are going to be apparition lessons at school this year. I can wait for a qualified instructor. I'm only here to make sure you don't splinch yourself."

"I'm not going to splinch myself apparating just a few feet at a time. Iam licensed now, you know." He focused on a bedraggled copy of The Daily Prophet on the other side of the tiny back alley. All things considered, the area surrounding the back entrance to Knockturn Alley wasn't the ideal location for apparition practice; but at least there wouldn't be any notices from the Ministry about underage magic if they had to use their wands to fix any accidents. His shiny new "special circumstances" apparition license, courtesy of Malfoy and a note from a St. Mungo's mediwitch confirming his floo allergy, would ensure that his apparition wasn't even registered in the future. Swish. He disappeared. CRACK. He reappeared on top of the newspaper.

"Licensed or not, you still sound like a car backfiring," Hermione noted dryly.

Harry scowled at her. "I know," he said. "I'm going to get the hang of this eventually, though." Swish. CRACK. Swish. CRACK. His head was starting to pound from the effort.

"Well you've got the disappearing part down," Hermione noted. "You don't make much sound at all when you disapparate. What is it you're doing differently?"

"I just try to do it more slowly, if that makes sense, but I can't seem to reappear more slowly."

Swish. CRACK. Swish. CRACK.

"I can't believe you found a way to retake your OWL's," Hermione complained for the hundredth time. "It's completely unfair."

Harry laughed. "Only you would be jealous that I had to retake a bunch of tests, Hermione."

"I wish I could retake mine," she said in a huffy voice.

Harry rolled his eyes. Their OWL scores had arrived a couple of weeks ago. His had been predictably average, with the exception of his DADA score, while Hermione's had been predictably amazing. Harry wasn't exactly happy with his scores, but he was satisfied. He would never have wanted to retake the tests, but when it came time for Hephaestus Peverell to get his apparition license, it also came to light that he had never been registered with the Ministry of Magic. Apparently this kind of thing wasn't all that uncommon in the wizarding world. Witches had children at home without ever mentioning it to the Ministry, or the families of muggleborns chose not to send their children to Hogwarts; so some people just slipped through the cracks in the system. When one of these people wanted to purchase a wand or obtain a license of some kind, however, they had to pass at least three OWL's to prove that they weren't a hazard to society. Because Harry was friends with Hermione Granger, he had had to retake all of his OWL's to keep her from blowing up. "It's your future," she had said in a horrified voice when he told her he only planned to retake Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology. "What if you need to use these scores to get a job?"

He had tried to explain that he already had one set of scores as Harry Potter, and they were just fine, thank you very much. Of course, that hadn't worked. He'd ended up retaking all of his OWL's except for divination, and at Hermione's insistence, he'd also taken the Muggle Studies OWL as well as one for Ancient Wizarding History, which he had a fair grasp of after weeks of lessons at Malfoy manor. He expected to do a little better on all of his exams than he had before, but it wasn't as though he was ever going to use these OWL's for anything.

Silent apparition, on the other hand, would be extremely useful.

Swish. CRACK. Swish. CRACK. Swish. Swish.

Hermione looked up from her book in surprise. Harry felt a grin stretching his face. "Did you just...?" she asked.

Swish. Harry disappeared. Swish. He reappeared right next to Hermione.

"Yes!" he crowed, punching the air with a fist.

[][]Astoria Greengrass[][]

"Robin, I am not a ribbon rack. Get this stuff off of me!"

Astoria tried without much success to hold in her laughter at the sight of Hephaestus Peverell. She, Daphne, and their mother had arrived at Renata's Robes late in the afternoon to find that the whole store had apparently been prepared for their arrival. Any menswear must have been shunted into a back room, because the racks were filled with nothing but examples of the latest in witch's fashions. The seamstress, Robin, had put a "Closed" sign on the door as soon as they entered, and they had spent the last two hours going through fabric samples and sketches.

Astoria was delighted. Daphne was delighted. Their mother was feeling judgmental however. Robin was young, and her designs were a little nontraditional. Mother was a slave to Twillfit and Tattings, and she was looking for excuses to be difficult. "Where is your assistant, young lady?" she had asked in a snide voice after Robin had had to dash away yet again to find something in the back of the shop. "Surely a shop of this size has more than a single employee?"

Robin had looked distraught for only a moment before recovering. "Of course, Lady Greengrass," she'd said. "I don't know what's taking him so long. He was supposed to be here ages ago! Let me go get him."

She had handed Astoria's mother the latest edition of What Witches Wear, shouted "I'll be right back!" and run out of the store at top speed. She had returned a minute later with a baffled looking Hephaestus Peverell in tow.

"You need me to what?" he had asked loudly as he was dragged through the door. "Do I look like I belong in a women's robe shop?"

Their mother had sighed in exasperation as Daphne and Astoria had burst into giggles at the sight of the young wizard, but even she had eventually given in to her amusement. Hephaestus had been forced into service, and he now stood in one corner with a mutinous expression on his face. He held bolts of fabric in his arms, and he was festooned with satin ribbons, strings of pearls, and bits of lace. He looked, Astoria thought, like a very unhappy Christmas tree.

Daphne emerged from the changing room in yet another gorgeous gown, and spun slowly on the spot for their approval. "What do you think?" she asked. "Robin suggested embroidery for the bodice, but I was thinking maybe seed pearls."

"I like it," said Astoria. "You should go for the embroidery I think. Pearls are a little outdated."

Robin shouted "Exactly!," but it sounded more like "Effacty!" around the pins she held between her lips as she pinched pleats and tugged the fabric into a perfect fit.

"What do you think, Hephaestus?" Astoria asked, smiling at the exasperated expression on his face. He was so freaking cute when he was annoyed.

"Very nice," he said vaguely as he watched Daphne twirl. "Very yellow."

"It's saffron!" Robin and Daphne both shouted in scandalized voices.

"That's alright, Hephaestus," Astoria said in a mock-sympathetic tone. "I thought it was yellow too."

[][]Hermione[][]

The occlumency problem, as she'd taken to calling it in her head, had been plaguing them all summer, and with only three weeks left before they headed back to Hogwarts, Hermione was determined to solve it once and for all. She and Harry had finally found the right combination of muggle make-up and magic that kept the mark on his face hidden, so the only obstacle to him attending Hogwarts was his woeful lack of mental shields. They had looked through every book they could think of, and they had even tried casting Legilimens on each other themselves; and all they had gained for their troubles were ghastly migraines. Hermione refused to believe that the only way to counteract legilimency was occlumency. The idea of one's mind being an open book was horrifying. Surely someone, somewhere, had come up with an alternative solution. And if there was a Plan B of some kind, then surely someone in the Order had to know of it. And if they knew something, then Hermione Granger was going to make them give her that knowledge, because she was not going back to school without Harry.

Hermione ran to Grimmauld Place. I'm really out of shape, she thought as she gasped for breath, then panic, panic, panic, she reminded herself. You've got to be hysterical. Got to make this good. Got to scare their pants off. Harry had suggested this idea, half-joking, but Hermione was the one who was determined to make it work. She took the steps two at a time, burst through the front door, and ran inside screaming. "Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore!"

Tonks and Lupin appeared, wands drawn and eyes wide. "Hermione, what's happening?" Lupin demanded.

She threw herself forward. The running had been a good idea. It made her red-faced and breathless, gave her a little leeway to make up for her acting skills. "It's Harry!" she said, waving the sheet of crumpled parchment in her hand. "It's Harry! He's in trouble."

Lupin snatched the parchment out of her hand and read it with a growing look of fear. Hermione squashed down her guilt as she sucked in big gulps of air. She and Harry had spent an hour writing that short letter, trying to make it as horrifying as possible without giving any real information. "We've got to tell Professor Dumbledore!" she cried. "Harry's going to do something dangerous. I know it!"

"Shut up!" Lupin growled. "I'm reading." That almost snapped Hermione out of her fake panic. Lupin had just told her to shut up? Lupin? They must have been even more stressed out than she had thought. They'd probably chain Harry to his bed in Gryffindor tower when they finally got back to Hogwarts. Not that that was a bad idea.

Lupin dropped the letter to the floor then dashed to the kitchen, presumably to floo call for an emergency meeting of the Order. Tonks bent to pick up the letter, and Hermione saw her eyes widen. She thought about what they'd written.

Hermione,

I had to tell someone. I don't know who to trust. Ever since I rescued you, he's been so angry. I try every night before I sleep to close my mind. That's what Snape said to do. But nothing happens. As soon as I close my eyes there are no walls between us. I see terrible things in my dreams, and sometimes it's hard to wake up. I don't know what's real anymore. Sometimes I don't even know who I am, Hermione. I keep thinking about what happened to Sirius. Do you know what it's like not to trust your own thoughts?

I feel like I'm going mad. I can't even come back to Hogwarts like this. What if I put you all in danger? What if I'm not always myself? I'm sure Ginny will understand at least.

Don't worry if I'm not on the Hogwarts Express September 1st. I'm not going to come to school until I'm sure it's safe for all of you.

All my love,

Harry

Dumbledore was here. She watched him, her face still stricken but her mind curiously detached, as he pried the letter from Tonks's grip. She watched the look of horror that crossed his features, the look of true fear. Harry hadn't really explained his reasoning, but he had assured her that implied possession would be the most likely way to get the headmaster to take action of some kind. Harry, you were right, she thought as she watched the old man's face crumple. But we may have overdone it.

[][]Snape[][]

Severus Snape did not care that Harry Potter was missing. He did not care that the son of perfect James Potter might be hungry or cold or lost. He did not care that a large group of relatively powerful wizards had decided to devote every waking moment of the past several weeks to looking for the boy. If Harry Potter was not in mortal danger then it was not his job to care, he did not want to care, and all the lemon drops and twinkles in the world could not make him care. He strongly disliked Mr. Potter for a sundry list of reasons, and as long as the golden child of Gryffindor was not lying in a pool of his own blood at the foot of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape did not care.

Snape did, however, care very much when he was dragged away from a potion he had been working on for two and a half months so that he could hear about the brat's latest emotional crisis. Because that was exactly what this was as far as he was concerned. The letter had been read and re-read until Snape's ears bled with the horrified wailing of his fellow Order of the Phoenix members, and what did this travesty of epistolary writing say? "Dear Hermione Granger, the Dark Lord can read my mind. He can show me visions. Oh my God. Love, Harry Potter."

Snape hated to admit it, but as he observed the utter chaos that surrounded him, he was more than a little...confused. Potter received visions from the Dark Lord, and he had decided he might not come back to school out of a misapplied sense of noble self-sacrifice. Why, exactly, was this news surprising? There was no shocking revelation here. Potter's mind had an open-door policy; the Dark Lord could waltz in and build castles out of the tapioca that was Potter's brain. Was he the only one who had gotten that memo? As Molly Weasley burst into tears for the third time in fifteen minutes, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long meeting.

"Dumbledore, we'll send him a letter," Lupin was saying. The werewolf leaned across the table toward the Headmaster, his voice urgent. "We'll convince him to come back. We can protect him at Hogwarts."

"I can't believe You-Know-Who is havin' another go at Harry," Hagrid said with a shake of his head.

"I know," Molly Weasley wailed. "I th-thought Harry hadn't had any v-visions in ages."

I am surrounded by morons. Severus wanted to hex them all permanently silent. Across the room, Hermione Granger raised her hand. Snape took a perverse sort of pleasure in imagining what she might say. Excuse me, Professor Hagrid, but Voldemort is the Bad Guy in this soap opera. It's only logical that he would "have another go" at Harry, who is the Good Guy. I read about it in Hogwarts, a History.

If she actually said that, or anything even remotely similar, he was going to give one hundred points to Gryffindor. He smirked at her. "Ms. Granger," he said in a bored voice. "If you want to share with the class, by all means, shout it out."

"Err...right, Professor. Thanks," she said nervously as everyone turned to look at her. Though she'd been in hysterics when they first arrived, she had calmed down remarkably quickly. Severus attributed this to her mistaken impression that she was now in a school setting. He could understand her confusion. He often felt like he was surrounded by teenagers at Order meetings.

The girl took a deep breath. "No offense Mr. Lupin, but I know Harry pretty well; and we'll never convince him to come back to Hogwarts if he thinks it will endanger other students. He won't come back until he's learned occlumency. Isn't there a book or something we can send him? To teach him?"

Now everyone turned to stare at Snape. Wonderful. Yes, of course there's a book! Why didn't I think of that? All these years I've been sitting on a copy of How to Learn Occlumency in Three Easy Steps, and I just didn't mention it out of spite.

"Ms. Granger," he said, "I know this will come as a great shock to you, but not every scrap of knowledge is contained within books. Occlumency is a practical magic. To become an occlumens, you must learn from a legilimens, which Mr. Potter failed to do when he had the opportunity."

"Did Harry fail or did you set him up to fail, Severus?" Lupin asked in a vicious voice. Snape mentally checked the lunar calendar. Ah, yes. Two days until the full moon. Lupin is hormonal. Joy.

And now the gazes were suspicious and accusing. How terribly predictable. "Education generally requires a student and a teacher to work together, Lupin. I did not want to teach. Mr. Potter refused to learn. To be quite frank, I did the bare minimum required of me, which would have been sufficient had Mr. Potter tried even slightly. He did not. Now he suffers. Such is life."

"Yeh cold hearted bastard," Hagrid muttered.

"Indeed. I never pretended to be anything else."

Arguments were breaking out all over the room, but Ms. Granger shouted over them, calling attention to herself. Give up, girl, it's like shouting down a well with this lot. "Well if he can't learn occlumency, isn't there something else? Anything to keep Volde...You-Know-Who from having access to his mind?"

Everyone looked hopefully toward the Headmaster. Come, Albus, pull a rabbit out of the hat for the children. "I'm afraid I don't know of anything like that, Hermione," Dumbledore said with a shake of his head. "The only way to close off a mind is to use occlumency."

No, it's not. Two dozen heads turned as one to face him. Had he spoken out loud? Surely not.

"Severus, you know of something?" Dumbledore asked with a faintly accusing look in his eyes. Apparently he had spoken out loud. He really shouldn't drink before coming to these things, but it made them so much more tolerable.

"It's not legal," he said simply. It's Dark magic.

"Surprise, surprise," Moody grumbled.

"We are, essentially, a vigilante organization, Severus. What is this illegal method of protecting a mind?"

"It's a potion."

"What's so bad about a potion?" Tonks asked. "I mean, you can brew it, right?"

I'm the most talented Potions Master in Europe, you stupid girl, of course I can. "I cannot brew it, actually. I just remembered hearing about it once. I don't even know why I mentioned it." I'm slightly drunk. Definitely not doing this again.

"A potion you can't brew," Lupin scoffed. "You mean you won't brew it because it's for Harry!"

Thank you for the backhanded compliment, but it's time to nip this in the bud. "It's a blood potion, Lupin. I highly doubt you want your puppy to consume a blood potion just to stave off some bad dreams." Look at the blood drain from their faces. Even Shacklebolt looks like a ghost.

"How do you even know about such a potion?" Arthur Weasley asked with a faintly sick expression.

I'm a Dark wizard. A powerful one. And I am a really, really good Potions Master. He allowed himself to grimace. "I keep some unsavory company from time to time. One hears things."

The conversation turned immediately to other ideas. Everyone was shouting things at random, trying to forget the horrible, horrifying thought of having their Savior consume a Dark potion. Snape's eyes drifted around the room until they settled on Ms. Granger. Unlike the others, she had not paled at his words. She probably doesn't know what a blood potion is. She had a most peculiar expression on her face actually; she looked...determined. And, then, she was raising her hand again.

"Why can't Harry take a blood potion?" she asked.

Hell just froze over. From the shell-shocked looks on the faces around him, he wasn't the only one thinking it.

"I mean…" the girl trailed off as she noted the expressions of disbelief that the Order members wore. "Um…I'm guessing a blood potion is a bad thing?"

No, not really, but they think so. Snape waited for someone to respond. No one did. Even Dumbledore was silent. Then, one by one, heads began to turn towards him. I have to answer just because I'm the potions teacher? Typical. Gryffindors are so squeamish.

"A blood potion is made with human blood as a main ingredient, Ms. Granger," he said.

She looked nonplussed. How strange. Had the girl missed out on Light Wizards 101? Snape had assumed it was standard in the first year Gryffindor curriculum. He was sure there was an entire lesson entitled "Thou Shalt Not Use Thy Blood to Do Magic" in there somewhere. "Only a Dark wizard would use human blood in a potion," he clarified. "It's reprehensible."

"You mean you have to kill someone to make the potion?" Her eyes were wide with shock…too wide. Fake. Why is she asking a question to which she already knows the answer?

"Do you die every time you bleed, Ms. Granger?"

"Then I don't understand…"

"This is an unseemly conversation, Ms. Granger. I have no desire to continue it. Suffice it to say that I will not make such a potion." Not for this lot, anyway.

Molly Weasley was now glaring at him. Again. "There's no need to be so harsh, Severus. Hermione's muggleborn. She didn't know." She turned to the girl. "It's alright, dear. We know you're worried about Harry. We'll think of something."

Granger fell silent, and the conversation went on and on, round and round in circles. And in the end, as Severus could have predicted, no feasible decision had been reached. "We'll write Harry back, and we'll increase our efforts to find him," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "That's all we can do, I'm afraid. The moment we find Harry, we'll begin occlumency lessons."

Severus idly scanned the dejected countenances of his fellow Order members. All so sad. All so defeated. Except...Granger had that look. It was that horrible, obnoxious, expression of stubborn self-righteousness that graced the face of a Gryffindor the moment before they did something incredibly brave and foolish, like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. His eyes met hers for the briefest of moments, but before he could even decide if he ought to take a glimpse of her thoughts, she stood up and slammed both of her hands down on the table. "No!" she said shrilly. "That's not acceptable!"

They all stared at the witch. The death of her parents has not improved her temperament. "Now, Hermione," Dumbledore said gently.

Granger rounded on him. "I'm sorry, sir," she said in a tone that suggested she was anything but sorry. "But I don't see how you can claim to care for Harry, to love him, if you're not willing to do everything in your power to keep him safe. He's fought Voldemort for us, over and over again, and now that he needs our help, we're just going to twiddle our thumbs and hope for the best? You-Know-Who is in Harry's head. He's controlling Harry's thoughts. He's hurting him."

She took a deep breath. "You need to use all the resources at your disposal to help Harry." She glanced pointedly at Severus. How rude. "You can't just abandon him to that kind of torture. He trusts you, Headmaster, and you owe him."

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Hermione, my dear, that is something we cannot do."

The girl straightened her back and lifted her chin. "You're not the man I thought you were," she bit out, then she turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

The room was so silent that a quill dropping to the floor would have been earsplitting. Dumbledore looked like a man weighed down by the burden of the ages. "Her distress is understandable," he said at last. "She has lost too much for one so young."

He turned to the room at large. "This meeting is adjourned. Everyone should return to their posts."

Chairs scraped against the floor as Order members beat a hasty retreat from the charged atmosphere in the meeting room. Severus stood to leave, but Dumbledore pinned him with his gaze. "Stay behind please, Severus. I wish to discuss your latest findings."

Findings? My latest findings were non-existent. The Dark Lord is running around the English countryside looking for Potter in every rabbithole. What else is there to report? He only nodded and said, "Of course, Headmaster."

Alastor Moody stumped out of the room last, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Severus as he did. Dumbledore raised his wand and cast a number of privacy spells. "You can brew the potion?" he asked.

What? I thought we had gone over this already. "It is a blood potion."

"I am old, but my hearing remains intact, Severus. I heard you the first time. Can you brew it?"

Is this a trick of some kind? Look at his eyes. He looks…tired, sad, old. "If I were the sort of wizard who practiced such magics," Snape said slowly. "I would not be working for you. I am sure I have the skill to brew it, but I lack the will."

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and polished them on his robe. A nervous gesture. Is he really going to ask me what I think he's going to ask me? "You were not always the man you are now, my boy. I am sure, at some point in your youth, you brewed a blood potion. I am equally sure that you are capable of doing so now if you wished to."

"But I do not wish to, Headmaster."

"We cannot allow Voldemort to control Harry, Severus. You know this. Think of the damage that he could do." Dumbledore sighed. "I confess, I thought at first that we would be able to find Harry, but he has hidden himself too thoroughly. He must return to Hogwarts on September 1st. It is the only way."

Blue eyes met black. "I want you to brew the potion."

Hypocrite. "You ask too much of me, Dumbledore. You, who will not even allow me to teach my chosen subject for fear that I will succumb to temptation. How dare you?"

The old man's eyes hardened. "I dare because I must, Severus. There is more at stake than my morals, more at stake than your own morals."

"What about Potter's morals? Your Chosen One would rather choke to death than let a Dark potion cross his lips."

"He must not know, Severus," Dumbledore said seriously. "He is hardly a potions prodigy. He will not question it, and his ignorance will protect his innocence. I will talk to Ms. Granger. She will not tell him."

Anything for Potter, Headmaster. You'd sell your very soul for him wouldn't you? Because he's needed. Severus nodded slowly. "Very well," he agreed. "I will see what I can do."

The old man's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you, Severus. I am sorry to ask. How long will it take you?"

A few hours. "At least two or three days, Headmaster. I will need to research."

"Will you need anything for the endeavor?"

Coffee. Liquor. "The potion will require the blood of a living occlumens, freely given." And there is no way it's going to be my blood going into that potion, you old goat. Do you know what could happen to me if it fell into the wrong hands?

Dumbledore flinched but nodded his head. "Let me know when you are in need of that particular…donation."

"Of course."

"How long will the potion last after Harry takes it?"

99 days. "I'm not sure," he lied smoothly. "As I said, I must research."

"Are there likely to be any side effects?"

He will be puking his shoelaces out every morning, and he'll have the mother of all headaches if anyone tries to scan his mind. "Only minor ones, but he won't be able to take the potion forever, and it will be impossible to teach him occlumency while he's on it. We will eventually arrive at the same problem we are now facing."

"True," Dumbledore agreed with a small smile. "But Harry will be at Hogwarts. That is what matters in the long run."

Severus couldn't bring himself to comment on that particular statement. "Am I dismissed?"

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore's eyes regained a bit of their normal humor as he looked at him. "By the way, Horace Slughorn is returning to Hogwarts this year."

The universe hates me. "How…unexpected."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I admit it was rather difficult to persuade him, but when I promised him his old job, he couldn't resist."

What? "Beg pardon?"

"Horace does love his potions, you know. I couldn't persuade him to teach anything else."

Am I being fired? "Really?"

"He doesn't have your skill, but then, few do. I hope you won't mind teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, my boy?"

Snape had the awful feeling that he might be smiling. He fought to gain control of his features. "That would be…most satisfactory, Headmaster."

"Excellent! I thought you might be a bit put out to have only three weeks to come up with your lesson plans."

"I'm sure I can manage."

[][] Remus Lupin [][]

Remus had failed too many people in his life - James, Sirius, and now Harry. He sat outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, digging viciously into a triple fudge sundae. Harry had been missing since June, and other than a handful of letters to let the Order know that he was safe, no one had heard from him.

So what did they do? They watched. Remus, jobless once again, was almost always one of the watchers, while the others took turns when they were free from work. They posted themselves around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, hoping to catch a glimpse of a disguised Harry Potter. The others were certain this would work. "Kid's got to get his school things sometime," Shacklebolt had said reasonably. But Remus lacked confidence in this assessment. Harry was smart enough to stay away from Diagon Alley, and even if he did decide to show, the boy was clever enough to do it in secret. An invisibility cloak would hide him from everyone but Moody.

Remus shot a glare at Fletcher that went unnoticed. Mundungus was once again heading towards Knockturn Alley. "Gotta patrol it fer signs of the lad!" He should complain to Dumbledore, again, but in all honesty, Remus didn't care if Dung spent his turn on watch bartering for stolen goods with the Knockturn lowlifes. The crook probably wouldn't notice if Harry walked past him wearing a nametag.

Remus was on his third sundae around sunset. Fortescue was an old friend. He got discounts. He watched the entrance to Knockturn Alley, waiting for Fletcher to emerge. Fred and George had the evening shift, from late afternoon until the shops closed. "Potter Watch" they called it. Remus doubted the twins would actually report Harry if they found him; he had suspected for awhile that Harry might be hiding out with the terrible twosome, but at least if that were the case, Harry would be relatively safe. He saw movement at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and he stood up. Finally. He really was going to insist the Dumbledore take Mundungus off duty.

The person that emerged from the growing shadows was not Dung, however. It was a teenager, around Harry's age, dressed in a nicer than average set of work robes. Remus scanned his face automatically. Pale blue eyes, no scar. Remus sighed and settled back down in his seat. The boy hurried towards Slug & Jiggers, and emerged several minutes later with a bag that appeared to be stuffed full of empty bottles and vials.

"That's ol' Zatey Zate's boy, that is."

Remus startled at the sound of the voice right behind him. The smell of rancid alcohol and stale smoking tobacco should have given Mundungus away long before he got this close. He must be more tired than he had thought. "Zate? Weren't they a Dark family? I thought they were all dead."

"Aye," said Dung with a sniff. "That's the family. Zate's the Knockturn 'pothecary. Got hisself that boy as an 'prentice this summer. I amn't allowed in his store...didn't know those hissin' roaches were his when I borrowed 'em...but I seen the boy runnin' round the alley."

"Did you happen to see Harry running around Knockturn Alley while you were fencing stolen cauldrons?"

"Nope."

[][]Harry[][]

Harry grimaced at the palm full of slimy green goo and reached for the towel on the counter beside him. "This is disgusting," he said conversationally.

"Hmmph," said Zate, his expression disgruntled. "This is expensive, boy. Chinese Chuckling Cucumber costs a galleon an ounce. You're supposed to be peeling it, not smashing it."

Harry sighed and reached for another of the wriggling green tubes in the basket beside him. "We've been at this for the last ten days," he said. "The exam proctor is coming in an hour. How am I supposed to get the hang of this by then?"

"You're my apprentice. You'll do fine. Don't smash this one."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Mr. Zate, I'm not your apprentice. I'm the guy who cleans up the storage room and runs the till. The proctor's going to know."

"Nonsense, boy! Keep peeling."

The cucumber squeaked in fright as the small silver knife approached it, and Harry began to peel with fierce concentration. This was a crazy, stupid idea. When Zate had said he would take care of coming up with a cover story for Hephaestus Peverell's absence during the school year, Harry had assumed it would be something a little easier to pull off. Zate had stumped into the shop ten nights ago with a stack of parchment four inches thick in hand and told Harry, with a triumphant expression, that it was "every possible task that might show up on this year's journeyman apothecary examination."

"Errr...okay?" Harry had replied. "Aren't you a Master apothecary? Do you have to retake the test or something?"

"Don't be daft, boy! It's for you."
Harry had sputtered. He had protested. He had proved his ineptitude by squishing three dozen Chinese Chuckling Cucumbers, but Zate wouldn't budge. "It's the perfect excuse! Everyone knows that journeymen apothecaries have to travel. Got to head to the edges of the earth in search of new products. Once you pass the test, no one will expect you to hang around here or keep in touch. You can go back to being...well, you...with no one the wiser."

So they had practiced. Harry had never realized that there was so much technique involved with being an apothecary. There was a correct way to collect everything, a correct way to prepare it, a correct way to store it. "A good potion is half the work of the apothecary and half the work of the potions master," Zate had told him with a smug look. "Now juice that sopoferous bean."

Hermione didn't approve either ("Harry, it's cheating!"), but Zate stood firm. He had apparently bullied and bribed a large number of people in order to obtain the information about the test, and he was determined to see Harry named journeyman apothecary.

"What am I going to do if this does work?" Harry asked as a horrifying thought came to him. "People are going to ask me questions about shrivel figs and chuckling cucumbers and Eurasian blow toads, and I'm not going to know anything."

"That's easy, lad! If you can't avoid the question, just insult the questioner."

"What?"

"Go on. Ask me a question," Zate urged him.

Harry sighed. "Alright. How does grinding a billywig stinger change its function in a potion?"

"Shut up, you nitwit! It's obvious you haven't got the faintest idea what a billywig is. If I had a stinger right now, I'd shove it up your nose to give you some practical experience!" Zate smiled. "See?" he said. "It works every time!"

Harry was now absolutely positive that Zate was going senile. "At least that won't be a problem," he muttered to himself. "I'll never pass the test."

The proctor showed up right on time. Harry passed with flying colors.

[][][]Dumbledore[][][]

The Headmaster's office was quiet except for the faint whirring and ticking sounds of the delicate silver instruments that covered every surface. Albus Dumbledore stood at the window and looked out over the grounds as the sun rose, painting the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest with a golden glow. Another sleepless night ended, and a new day began.

Students would be arriving in just a few days. The castle had been cleaned meticulously over the past weeks. It was warded down to the last flagstone. The teachers had submitted requests for supplies. Prefects had been assigned. Madame Pomfrey was back from her vacation in Spain. Mr. Filch had finished his detailed catalogue of all the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products that would be forbidden in the coming term.

All in all, everything was much the same as it always was at the beginning of a new school year. The few differences, however, were profound. A small number of students would not be returning, most of them muggleborn or from families that had dual citizenship in other wizarding countries. A permanent MLE presence had been established; there would be two aurors patrolling the school at all times. Dumbledore had selected the aurors himself without so much as a squeak of protest from the Ministry. His political influence had never been higher, and even Scrimgeour, a much stronger leader the Cornelius Fudge had been, was walking on eggshells around him.

Dumbledore glanced down at his blackened hand and sighed. Old age had come with more than just sleepless nights. He was making mistakes. Not a new experience for him by any means, but still one he had never become accustomed to. He had told Severus the truth about Harry, the truth about Harry's fate in this war. For a man who professed to hate the boy with a passion, Severus had not taken the news well at all. The Potions Master's response had been so honestly appalled that Dumbledore found himself confronted with more doubt than he had felt in many years.

And he did not have the time to doubt himself now, not with his own end so near and the war just beginning. He had a school to protect, a nation, a world. It would be...exceedingly selfish...to forget that. Sometimes, a single person could not be saved, no matter how singularly special that one person might be. For the Greater Good - the comfort of monsters, the conscience of saints. An inescapable grief.

[][] Draco [][]

It hurt. More than anything he'd ever experienced, more than physical pain. It hurt. It was an agony of the flesh that somehow sank hooks into his soul, and Father and Severus hadn't told him it would be like this. A burning pain, they had said. Intense but momentary, they had promised.

But as the black mark oozed from the wand that was pressed to his pale forearm, it felt like something poisonous was seeping into him. It should have been alright. He had been expecting this for months. This was servitude. He knew that. It was also necessary, no option, safe for mother and father and me, just a mark, a tattoo, a promise that could be broken, a chance for revenge, a chance for redemption, a burden to bear, the only way. He knew all of that, and it shouldn't have hurt like this.

But it did.