Guest: Read on!

Son of Whitebeard: Huh? I don't get what you mean - Sirius is very much alive.

Daphne was the organizer, Neville was the instigator, Tracey covered them magically and had the idea to burn the house, Valeria was good enough with Charms and Runes to notice the problem with Dumbledore's enchantments. Neville's Gran supported them because she now sees how her grandson is improving in leaps and bounds now that he has a few good friends. But yeah, nobody quite expected them to burn down the place - though Augusta Longbottom had no second thoughts after they reported Harry being abused and the magical backlash.

ro781727: Can't answer most of those due to spoilers and stuff. One is answered in this chapter though.

ReBein: Thanks!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. If I did, Harry would be showing his Slytherin traits a bit more. Also, the HP books wouldn't have sold nearly so much. I think it all balanced out. :)

...

With a barely audible 'pop' of displaced air, a very tall man came out of the darkness. His appearance was so sudden he might as well have sprung up from the ground. He hadn't, of course; he'd leave that to those Herbologists eccentric enough and good at Transfiguration enough to turn themselves to plants. He had simply Apparated.

Wide tree trunks were barely visible through mist thick enought to cut with a knife, undergrowth dense enough to prevent conventional travel between them. The forest was too old and too overgrown for the stars and moon, and too far from civilization for other lights. Moisture clung into everything and water dripped from everywhere, making the soil underneath into a near-swamp and bare rocks into slippery slopes that could be deadly if one was unfortunate. An eerie silence permeated the woods, everything decent and wholesome evident by its absence.

Despite all that, the tall man was not inconvenienced all all. Dripping water touched neither skin nor cloth, mud clung not to him, and each step he took with surety, the undergrowth seemingly scrambling to open a path for him, bare rock as good as the sturdiest steps. Those things alone would have earned him the enmity of those who dwelled in such places, and his image did not help matters. From his tall and comfortable boots, to his elaborate robes of deep blue silk and silvery decorations of constellations, to his purple traveling cloak and square, wire-frame glasses, his long silver hair and even longer beard, to -above all else- the foot and three inches of knobbly wood in his had he was not welcome. Not that minor inconveniences would stop one such as Albus Dumbledore.

Wizarding Britain's most powerful wizard had naught to fear from any denizens of this forest, magical or otherwise. He could thus tread where others could not, following the trail of a friend who, in his grief, had abandoned all he knew to live with those who were like him on the outside but not the inside - no matter what he and most of the civilized world believed. Perhaps Dumbledore could have searched for said friend years ago when he first disappeared but, unless many lives were in danger, the old wizard respected personal choice. In addition to that one most important of reasons, post-war Wizarding Britain was a dangerous place to be if one shared the nature of those who dwelled in such places. Better to be alive in dismal but survivable conditions that be killed by overzealous Aurors hunting the remaining servants of Voldemort, or be taken in and placed somewhere that was less a prison and more Hell on Earth.

A wide, deep, but low-ceilinged cave loomed in the face of the cliff before him. At its entrance, two men kept watch not by standing but by sitting down on all fours, their few clothes so threadbare, torn and full of holes to barely warrant the name. Their skin was crisscrossed with scars, some old, some new, all of them beyond healing, magical or mundane. Their hair was long, tangled and full of twigs, leaves and dirt, evidence of long years spent in the woods, while their eyes gleamed in the dark, in shapes and colors not entirely human. Their nails were long, yellowed, and crusted with filth, their teeth little better. Albus Dumbledore approached them anyway, calm, and smiling, and not at all like his evening stroll had taken him too close to a den of werewolves.

"Good evening, gentlemen." He said in greeting. "I am looking for one Remus Lupin. Could you please point me towards his location?"

"What do you mean, 'good evening'?" One of the dismal-looking men asked in a voice dry and shaky from disuse. "Do you wish us good evening however absurd that wish might be, or mean it is good evening for you when it's obviously not for us; that you feel good this evening when we do not; or that it is an evening to be good on when one isn't a werewolf?" And then the cursed man laughed eerily, more due to insanity than amusement.

"That I could make it a good evening, for a time." Albus Dumbledore said and sighed. Their curse, still beyond any known cure, had these men and possibly many others in the cave beyond them wallowing in their misery because they chose the safety of their fellow humans over their own gratification. Had they embraced their predatory natures instead, their curse would fill them with excitement and a boundless energy even as they feasted on human flesh once per month. A rather terrible way to live, if it could even be called that. "A short time for you, but considerably longer for the one I am seeking. You see, I have a job for him. A place to work for a year where being a werewolf would not be a problem at all."

"Oh, sure." Said in disbelief the werewolf who'd talked back. "A job in your Department of Mysteries perhaps, or in the Beast Division of your Ministry, where all he'll have to do would be to sit and relax while Magizoologists and Potions Masters prod, and pierce, and cut him up, or feed him barely-nonlethal experimental concoctions. How could you further your research into our kind, after all?"

"I don't think he has ulterior motives, John." The other werewolf spoke for the first time. His voice was tired and dejected, a man who'd been kicked by Fate too many times and given up, but somehow managed to hold on to his sanity. "Professor Dumbledore is a good man and a great wizard. He wouldn't do something like that."

"Sure he wouldn't, Cassius mate. Just like growing up a wizard totally didn't turn your brain into mush." That insane, teeth-rattling laugh again. "'Course, I was born muggle. Blatant lies don't work on me. What would a wand-wielder offer us anyway? Werewolves aren't allowed to own enchanted items or live in magical houses."

"That is true." Dumbledore said. Unfortunate, ugly, blatantly discriminatory, but true. "This however is a cave, is it not? It is most definitely not a house, a building, or even an item, however one tries to stretch the definition. Why if one were to extend its internal dimensions, make it warmer, protect it from the elements, erect a barrier that would clean those that crossed it and enchant a few square feet of it so that any mundane organic object - clothing, boots, paper, quills, ink, food - left there would be slowly multiplied... well, the Ministry couldn't complain about it, could they? After all, there is no law about caves and magic."

...

"Whoa, this is a bloody big house mate." Ron said, trying to keep all traces of resentment to himself. Yeah, the house was big and awesome - nothing his family would ever have, that was for certain. He still wouldn't like living in it with only his grandma and a pair of house elves, and semi-insane relatives like Neville's uncle Algie occasionally visiting. After the stern talking-to Tracey and Daphne had given him at the end of last year, there were a few things he'd decided to keep to himself if he could help it.

"Sure is." Neville replied, collapsing on a sofa next to Harry after a long but happy day touring the greenhouses. "Used to get lost a lot here, when I was little. Gran would usually find me hours later in the seventh bedroom, or the northern tower, or anywhere else my feet took me." He sighed contendedly. "Didn't mind it though; even pretended to get lost a few times when Uncle Algie was visiting."

"So Ron," Harry said to change the awkward subject. "How was Egypt?"

"Totally awesome! Bill guided us through some magical tombs muggles can't see or get to. Told us how his job was to break horrible ancient curses and enchantments to recover the gold and artifacts long-dead wizards left inside." The redhead laughed. "Managed to rile up mum real good. Then we got to a tomb muggles had managed to stumble into somehow and the curses totally got them. Their skeletons had a second head, or multiple arms, and other fun stuff. Mum didn't let Ginny into that last one, said it was too scary and dangerous."

"Yeah, right. No tomb ever built was as dangerous as ol' Hogwarts and we all go there." The three boys laughed again at Harry's comment.

"Anyway, the night before we left I asked Bill a few things about Ancient Runes over dinner."

"Hey Harry..." asked Neville ominously. "Your scar sent you any visions or something? Ron talking about lessons during Summer must be a sign of the end times, right?"

"Totally!" Harry stage-whispered. "He's even talking about a class we haven't even started yet."

"Oh come on!" Ron exclaimed, face crimson. "OK, I might've been a tad lazy last year but I wasn't so bad! And Bill makes them Runes sound fascinating - you should have heard him!" Not to mention finding all that treasure - even having to give most of it to Gringotts still left Bill rich enough to buy a pair of dragonhide boots and some robes of acromantula silk that must have cost more than all the clothes the rest of them wore. For once, Ron was very happy that Valeria had pushed him into that bet. For the first time in his life he was feeling motivated to do well in his classes. "Even if you got to work to carve all those runes, Bill says you can do all kinds of things with them."

"What if you didn't carve them?" Harry asked with a curious frown on his face. "If, I dunno, just wrote them?"

"Nope." Ron shook his head. That was the first thing he'd asked. He might be willing, even eager to learn a few useful things now, but he still tried to put as little effort as was actually needed. "Bill says that making the rune must be important to you somehow. Writing on a piece of parchment is easy and cheap so it'll barely have an effect worth mentioning. Cutting it into wood or cloth is only a bit better. Carving it into rock or metal makes it important because of all the effort you put into it, and expensive rock or metal even more 'cause money has meaning, you know?"

"How about blood?" Harry said. "Isn't blood even more personal because it's, I dunno, yours already?" Ron stared.

"Harry, blood magic is dark. Everyone knows that." Ron wasn't sure why the other two boys had disbelieving expressions - especially Neville who'd grown into the wizarding world. "Most decent people won't even touch it - the Ministry can take you in for questioning if you use it. Unless you're a goblin - the goblins are allowed to use it for some reason."

"Okay, got it." Harry and Neville exchanged looks. "Anything else interesting happen in your holiday?"

"Sure! Fred and George almost managed to trap Percy in a pyramid but mum saved him. And she got me an all-new wand as soon as we got back; check it out!" He drew it from his back pocket and gave it to them for a close-up. "Fourteen inches, willow, unicorn tail hair. All warmth and sparks when I first touched it; Ollivander says it definitely chose me. Too bad I have to wait till we get to Hogwarts to test it."

"You don't." Harry and Neville said in unison with broad smiles.

"I don't?" Ron asked in confusion. "Why not?"

"Gran invited you for the rest of the Summer, too. Even offered to side-along Apparate you every evening if Mrs Weasley doesn't want you sleeping here." Neville shook his head. "I think she did it for me, more than anything. Invited the girls too, though only Tracey's free to come."

"How does that help me use my new wand?" Ron was still perplexed.

"Because the Ministry can only detect when magic is used around underage wizards and witches but not who does it." Neville grinned. "And Gran gave us permission to practice as much as we'd like!"

"..." Ron was gobsmacked. All those times mum had taken their wands when they returned from school - it was because of that little detail nobody had bothered to tell him before? Made sense though; she wouldn't need to do it if the Ministry could track them. And the Ministry couldn't... because mum and dad used magic in the house all the time! Come to think of it, weren't magical explosions and accidents a frequent occurrence in the Twins' room? How did they even manage that without their wands?

"Ron?" Harry asked. "You OK mate?"

This Summer was going to be awesome!