A mess of letters arrived for Harry mid week, ruining an otherwise cheerful breakfast. Hermione set her fork down with a frown as Harry divested the final owl of its burden and dropped the letter in the small pile behind his chair.

"I thought she stopped..."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't seen the paper yet, but I don't think it was her." He picked up his glass of pumpkin juice and forced down a sip. "If it had been Skeeter, I'd have triple that, at least."

"How are all these letters even getting through the wards?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I wouldn't think strangers should be able to reach you here."

"Ah, that would be Sirius's doing." Remus leaned toward them, joining the conversation with an apologetic smile. "He was adamant that you had a right to your letters, back when we were altering the wards on Privet Drive. We had planned to only allow owls from known writers as usual, but you know how upset he's been about Dumbledore's insistence that you stay here, rather than in Devon. He wanted you to be able to make your own decisions about your post, if not your location." Remus glanced behind Harry's chair at the letters on the floor. "Though perhaps he made a miscalculation..."

"No," Harry said, surprise making him smile in spite of himself and the piles of hate mail he'd received over the course of the summer. "He... It was good of him to want to let me have some independence."

The three of them looked over at Sirius, who was currently explaining something no doubt fascinating to Tonks and Mrs. Weasley at the other end of the table, his hands describing wild arcs of illustrative shapes through the air and actually swooping down to pick up the salt shaker and wave it around for emphasis occasionally.

"Do you want me to talk to Dumbledore about limiting your post?" Remus asked after a moment.

"Oh, please yes," Harry said without hesitation. "As soon as you can."

"Quite the owl magnet these days, aren't you, Harry?" Fred and George dropped down into seats on either side of his chair, beaming at him. Harry met Hermione's eyes across the table and mirrored her resigned amusement. Fred and George had been trying to charm him into investing in their joke shop since his arrival.

"What can I do for the two of you?" Harry asked, spearing a bit of egg on his fork and taking a bite.

"We wanted to make a proposal-"

"-hear us out, now!"

George put on a deep announcer's voice. "Only you, Harry Potter, can help us save wizardkind!"

Harry did his best to express his skepticism via his next bite of toast. Fred and George glanced at each other over Harry's head and nodded, causing Hermione to sit up straight and Harry to put down his toast.

"The forces of darkness are gathering, Harry," Fred said in deep, mysterious tones, waving his wand at Harry's pile of letters. The majority of them rose into the air, ripping themselves open and folding around each other to create a rudimentary troll made of paper. It wasn't quite origami and it wasn't quite papier-mâché, but it was functional enough to pick up a paper club and glare around with dull eyes.

"We as thoughtful members of the community need to unite and do what we can to bring light back into the lives of the citizenry," George continued, waving his wand as well. The last two letters formed a paper wizard who went up to the troll's knee. Harry's reaction to this wanton destruction of his property was to pick up his toast and turn around in his seat to watch along with the rest of the table, curious.

The troll and the little wizard circled each other, occasionally making or parrying attacks. Despite the small stature of the wizard, it was holding out pretty well, at least until the troll seemed to realize its advantage and roared, lumbering toward the wizard and trying to step on it.

"Sometimes that means helping out the little guy," George continued. Fred waved his wand in a complicated little motion that set the troll on fire.

"Fred and George Weasley!"

Molly, who had been watching warily prior to the addition of flames, rushed forward from her spot at the table and waved her wand at the fireball that had once been a pile of insults for Harry. Water doused the troll and it crumpled into a heap of charred, soggy paper on the stone floor. "How many times have I told you, you do not set firesindoors! Especially when we are guests in someone else's home! This is the last straw!"

She carried on shouting, but it was too late. Harry stared at the mess his letters had become, biting his lip to hide his amusement. When he glanced at the twins, George took the opportunity to lift his eyebrows and grin hopefully while Fred distracted their mother.

He would hear them out, for certain.


Harry got a letter from Dudley later that day, detailing all the fun, exciting, muggle things he and his mother had been doing since Harry left. The letter was addressed to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to save time, according to Dudley, so Harry just reclined on his bed and listened as Ron read it out loud to the room.

"What's it been like, having her back?" Hermione asked once Ron finished his monologue.

"Awkward," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "Tense. Alarmingly cheerful."

"Sounds like fun, mate," Ron said, making a face and tossing the letter on the bed. "Let's go down to dinner."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and stood up as well. Hermione followed reluctantly.

"Harry," she said, bumping shoulders with him as they went down the stairs. "You never hung up the phone, you know. I heard you yelling at your aunt."

Harry grimaced and fixed his eyes on one of the house elves mounted on the wall ahead. "She said she saw the dementor and was scared, so naturally she locked the door and left us to die," he said, sneering somewhat.

"Which is why I mention it." Hermione seemed distressed, and grabbed his arm, coming to a halt before they reached the door to the kitchen. "I hate to get involved, it's not my business, but... oh, Harry, muggles can't see dementors."

Harry clenched his fists and spun back to the hallway to pace. "I knew she was lying! I knew it! I - I have to tell Dudley."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, and Harry remembered suddenly the way he'd left things at Privet Drive. He came to a halt in front of her, his heart sinking. "I can't tell him."

Hermione hesitated. "Why? You have to."

"I can't." He shook his head, certain. "They won't believe me."

"But Harry, she can't even see dementors," Hermione pointed out. "It's a fact. They can't argue with facts."

Harry scoffed. "It's the Dursleys, Hermione. Of course they can." He scrubbed his hand through his hair, frowning. "They've missed her. A lot. Her word against mine; they'll side with her so they can have their normal, perfect family back, and I'll be the scapegoat."

Then things really would be 'just like they were before', and the painful feeling in Harry's chest at the thought was followed by dull surprise. He hadn't realized he liked the way things were now as much as all that.

"I can't tell them," he repeated. Hermione's brows drew together in what looked like concern, but Harry waved her off and cut the conversation short by stepping past her through the kitchen door.

He settled himself between Sirius and Ron and filled up his plate, laughing when Sirius told a joke and avoiding eye contact with Hermione, who sat down next to Remus and cast him worried glances from time to time.

"I think Kreacher's been stealing things again," Remus said to Sirius. "The spells on the rubbish bags have been tampered with, you were right."

"Bloody elf," Sirius said, sounding annoyed. His next words were interrupted by the roaring of the floo, which spit out Tonks.

"Wotcher," she said as she tumbled out of the fireplace. Without slowing down to catch her balance, she managed to grab a plate from the end of the table and fall into a chair next to Remus.

"Impressive," Remus said. She grinned at him.

"That was so clumsy it was almost graceful," Sirius agreed, tipping his cup to her.

Talk turned to Tonks and her assignment, which ended up sounding less interesting than the younger residents of the house would have hoped. Hermione and Ginny might have disapproved of being eavesdropped on themselves, but no one complained when Fred and George managed to sneak their Ears through Imperturbable doors and listen in on Order conversations.

"Kingsley claims no one will suspect an Auror hanging about, but Unspeakables are paranoid, in my experience," Tonks said, using her bread roll to point at Sirius with more emphasis before taking a bite.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Harry asked. "Is he still investigating why that dementor was at Privet Drive?"

Tonks chewed on her roll, nodding. There hadn't been much news on that front from anyone, really. Harry would really have liked to ask about Shacklebolt's connection to his aunt as well, but given the choice between finding out what his aunt had been up to and finding out why he and Dudley had been attacked, he chose the latter.

"It's a tricky situation" she said, setting down her roll. "The dementors are supposed to be under Ministry control. So that means that either they aren't, in which case we have a big problem, or, well... or someone from the Ministry sent one to your place, in which case, well-"

"We have a big problem," Remus said grimly. Tonks made a face and nodded.

"It's slow going," she admitted. "But you'll hear about it if there's any kind of resolution."

"These are dark times," Sirius said, and everyone nodded. "Times like these, a person wants to spend with their family, close to home-"

Remus groaned, and Tonks let her head drop onto the table with a thunk. Harry snickered and stuffed a big bite of stew in his mouth.

"Harry, you know you'd rather be in Devon!" Sirius turned to him for backup. Harry shrugged and pointed at his mouth in apology, chewing slowly. He was somewhat conflicted over the choice. He liked Sirius's house better, certainly, but he liked the company here, and the feeling that they could really know what was going on with the resistance to Voldemort if only they could do a good enough job of eavesdropping.

"We have almost all the same wards on our place," Sirius said, undeterred. "We have an unplottable location, we have fresh air, we can go outside! No one has ever known where our house is. Contrast that with the crazy old bat who has portraits who knows where else-"

"Sirius, I'm sure you know where else," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "That crazy old bat is your mother. This house has a Fidelus Charm on it, which ours doesn't. That's why we're here and you know it."

Sirius grumbled and stabbed his fork into his bowl. This was always the argument that caught him out. "Yes well," he said ungraciously. "We could have gotten one of those, Remus. I don't see why not."

"If we were going to bother putting in the kind of effort necessary to put a Fidelus on our house, we might as well have saved the effort of warding this one, and just based headquarters there," Remus sighed. "And you didn't want that any more than I did."

Sirius set his fork down and looked to be gathering himself for a long response, so when the fireplace flared up again everyone turned to it with relief.

Professor Snape stepped out, raising an eyebrow at the attention. His eyes settled on Sirius, whose mulish expression hadn't yet dissipated, and dark amusement curled at the corners of his mouth.

"Still, Black?" he asked.

Sirius glared. "It's none of your business, Snape. Don't stick your greasy nose in where it doesn't belong."

"How does the muggle phrase go?" Snape paused, as though in thought. "Ah, yes. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, don't you agree?"

Sirius put his palms flat on the table as though preparing to stand, his eyebrows gathering with suspicion. "Is that a threat, Snape? I'll have you know the walls of my house are well warded."

Snape's eyes glinted with delight. "Obviously."

Hermione and Remus both looked grudgingly amused, and Harry was sure his expression was no different. It was possible that Snape had been waiting months to use that one, and Sirius played his part to a tee.

"Um, Sirius," Harry said, putting a hand on his arm. Sirius glanced over as though he'd forgotten Harry was there, and a vaguely guilty look passed over his features.

"Did you need something, Severus?" Remus asked.

"I must speak to Albus," Snape said, glancing at Harry. "Find me when you have finished your dinner, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, watching as Snape swept from the kitchen. Fortunately, the wind had been taken from Sirius's sails after Snape's arrival, and Remus managed to change the topic to Quidditch.

Setting down his fork, Harry pushed back from the table and excused himself as Sirius distracted the group with his spirited defense of the Starfish and Stick maneuver when defending against stooging.

He poked his head into the parlor as he passed, and the dusty sitting room. No Snape. He checked the drawing room as well, and finally discovered his professor's cloak resting over the back of a chair in the library. He sat down to wait.

"This was waiting for you outside the wards when I arrived." Snape had entered the room silently and now stood in front of Harry's chair. Harry put aside the book he'd been flipping through and looked up to see a letter held loosely in Snape's grasp. The fine parchment told him all he needed to know about who it was from and what he'd be doing with it after Snape left.

"No matter what you may have heard, and despite his position as a school governor," Snape continued, switching fluidly to Parseltongue and making no attempt to hand Harry his letter, "Lucius Malfoy does not know everything that happens at Hogwarts. In my experience, he knows very little."

Harry frowned and followed Snape to the heavy oak table that sat near the window. Snape set the letter down between them and caught Harry's eye when he looked up. "What are the five basic components of successful legilimency?"

Harry looked away, his eyes falling on the letter. "Er, eye contact, the tranquility of my mind, the specificity of my goal, stealth and awareness of potential defenses, and... ah... focus?"

Snape waited unblinkingly, and Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd missed. He took a moment to be grateful that he really had done some reading over the summer and that the book had been thoroughly annotated in Snape's own spiky handwriting, providing more insight into the text than Harry could ever have managed on his own. "Oh." He remembered. "Suggestion. It's easier if you get the other person to think about what you want to know before you attempt it."

Snape tilted his head in acknowledgement. "And what of legal restrictions placed upon Legilimens?"

"You have to be approved by the Ministry to study," Harry said, thinking back to what he'd skimmed through several weeks ago. "Character tests and registration, like animagi."

Neither he nor Snape brought up the very salient point that Harry had never been approved or even attempted as much. Harry had rightly assumed he was meant to be keeping his mouth shut, considering Snape's next question.

"Penalties for abuse?"

"Azkaban and fines," Harry responded promptly. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry waited for the next question with an expression of innocent curiosity on his face.

"Very well," Snape said after the silence had stretched to his satisfaction. "Your Occlumency lessons have reached the first plateau. In order to take your skills to the next level, you must have a more intimate understanding of exactly what it is you are defending against."

"Legllimency theory?"

"A more intimate understanding, still. I wish you to have the experience of intruding, so that you may better recognise an intruder's intentions because they will have once been your own." Snape lifted his head and fixed Harry with a cool, thoughtful expression. "As in duelling, you must be capable of understanding and employing both offensive and defensive tactics to be truly successful. Tonight we begin your foray into the offensive realm of mental conflict, Mr. Potter."

Harry sat up straighter in his chair and nodded his agreement. "Yes, sir," he hissed, thinking back to some of the more colourful descriptions of legilimency he had read about in Snape's book. Anxiety and excitement made his heart beat faster.

"Describe in detail the procedure for casting the spell..."


After a few hours, Snape gathered his cloak and swept out of the library, having arranged to meet with Harry once more before their return to Hogwarts. Harry was left sitting by himself, mind still buzzing with the concepts they had just discussed and the six feet on the ethics of mind magic he'd been assigned to finish before their next lesson.

The fine parchment of Draco's letter sat stark against the oak of the table, capturing his attention when he happened to catch sight of it in his peripheral vision. He stared at it for a long moment, until a sound from outside the library door startled him and brought him back to himself, making him suddenly aware of how he'd been leaning away from it as though it might leap up and cut him open at any moment.

He huffed at himself and stood up to rummage around in the desk on the other side of the room to find some parchment and ink, distracted completely from his thoughts on legilimency. He would write to Dudley, and he wouldn't be stupid about Draco's letter. It wasn't going to hurt him. Returning to the table to write struck him as the sort of thing someone would do if they weren't bothered, so he made himself sit down where Snape had been and set up the inkwell with determination.

Dudley, he wrote. I'm glad you're having fun. Fred and George are trying to open a joke shop, and they want me to help...

Harry told Dudley all the news of Grimmauld Place, which wasn't terribly much. He tried hard to avoid talking about Aunt Petunia, which was difficult when Dudley had written of nothing else in his initial letter. Harry dipped his quill in the ink one last time to bring the note to a close when Draco's letter caught his eye again. After another, somewhat shorter one-sided staring contest, he swallowed and pressed quill to parchment again:

Draco sent another letter. Snape says I should read them. I can't imagine what he has to say to me that would take up so much space. The one that arrived today must be at least five feet. Fred and George could probably make two trolls from all the parchment he sends.

Harry signed his name and leaned back, waiting for the ink to dry and looking out the window, at the books in their shelves; anywhere but at the letter.


One of the more positive things about staying at Grimmauld Place was that Harry could just floo with Pansy and Blaise when he wanted to talk to them, instead of having to wait days for an owl to arrive.

"Skeeter hasn't written anything since our arrangement," Harry said, leaning back on his hands. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, watching Pansy's head bob in the flames when she shifted.

"Here's to hoping it stays that way," she said as the flames licked at her hair. "How are things in Gryffindoria?"

Harry had tried to give Pansy and Blaise an idea of where he was, but he found himself unable to say even the name of the place. The Fidelus Charm in action, according to Remus. He couldn't even tell them there was a Fidelus Charm, and whenever he tried to describe what Grimmauld Place was like, their eyes glossed over and his voice stuttered nonsense. They had taken to calling it Gryffindoria (and other variations on the theme), since the only thing Harry had been able to get across was that he was the only Slytherin in residence, though again, details were not forthcoming. He didn't even try to bring up Snape's visits.

"Red and gold, mostly," Harry said. He found that flippancy and outright lying worked well when trying to describe his surroundings and the people around him. He'd come up with a code of sorts and could only hope they were following along. "Merlin and Arthur got into another row over their castle at dinner last night."

Pansy's mouth and eyebrows flattened in a kind of bewildered amusement. "Right," she said. "And how are the... what did you call them yesterday?"

"Are you asking about the nargles?" Harry asked solicitously. "I think I'm going to make a deal with them after all. They made a very convincing presentation."

"I always wish Hermione was here to translate when you start talking like that."

Harry shrugged. Pansy followed most of the nonsense he said. Most of the time. There wasn't really much he could do if she didn't, because of the spell. "The centaur is being pushy. I've been trying to avoid her."

"Or Lovegood, actually, though her explanation might make less sense than you do." Pansy shifted again. "Next time, you're sticking your head in the floo. My knees hurt."

"We'll be back at school soon," Harry said, dropping back into uncoded conversation with relief. "We might not even talk again before we see each other on the train."

Pansy glared at him. "Harry Potter, you are not going to ignore me for the next week."

"I wasn't going to ignore you!" Harry rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer to the fireplace. "I just meant we'll probably be busy with packing and last minute things."

"You just mean you don't want to risk me bringing up Draco again," Pansy countered, raising an eyebrow. "Because I plan to and you know it. Oh wait!" She looked to her left, then her right, and then assumed an expression of surprise. "Fancy that, Harry, we're talking about him now. Did you read the last letter he sent you?"

Harry groaned. "No, I did not read it. And I-"

"Harry-"

"I don't want to, Pansy."

Pansy looked ready to leap out of the fire and shake him. As a matter of fact, the flames were starting to spit and crackle. Harry scooted back and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Too bad," she enunciated. "It's been the entire summer. Draco is making himself sick over everything that happened. He's sorry and worried and miserable and fighting with his parents every day, and you're sitting in your borrowed Gryffindor Tower, pretending he doesn't even exist!"

Harry frowned. "I'm not-"

"You could read his letters, even if you don't respond, Harry!" Pansy raised her voice and otherwise ignored his interruption. "Give me something to tell him that doesn't make him think you hate him."

"I don't hate him!"

"Then read his letters!"

"I can't!"

"Why NOT?"

They were both shouting now. Harry's chest felt tight and his eyes were itchy. Pansy's face was red and fierce. The flames surrounding her only accentuated her glare.

Harry rubbed his face with one hand and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. That had escalated faster than he would have liked. He tried to gather his thoughts, failed dismally, and decided to start talking anyway.

"I -" He paused and let his breath out in a woosh that made the flames flicker around Pansy's ears. "His father! He laughed, Pansy! And what he said... And Draco, all year... I just - he kept saying... awful things! I don't know if I can - I mean, how am I supposed to-?"

Pansy had fallen silent and was waiting for him to continue with a tense sort of neutrality to her expression. Harry thought it looked a bit like worry, and tried to ignore it.

"I can't trust him," he said after a long pause. "He loves his father. He talks about him all the time! And I can't ask him to choose me over his family, and..." Harry scrubbed at his forehead roughly and met her eyes pleadingly. "I can't, Pansy."


Shouting through the floo at Pansy had cleared a few things up, even for Harry. He hadn't been certain himself why he was so against reading Draco's letters, but now that he'd said it out loud, it made sense, and it made it easier.

Dudley's owl returned a couple days before school started, laden with a brown wrapped parcel along with a note, which Harry opened first. The letter was the same bucket of effusions as the last one, and Harry skimmed it. He found the explanation for the parcel at the end:

I thought you might change your mind, so I held on to them for you.

Harry ripped off the wrapping and sure enough, a pile of letters marked with the Malfoy crest (and some without) spilled onto the bedspread, where they stayed for another hour while Harry stared at them and staged a fierce mental debate.

Dudley was a total git, he decided finally. But the idea of opening one of the letters didn't fill him with indefinable pain anymore, which meant that, unlike before, he had a choice of whether or not he wanted to see what Draco had written.

Another stretch of time passed while Harry went back and forth, but he was and always had been interminably curious. He finally sifted through the pile and found a shorter letter, ripping it open before he could change his mind.

Sometimes you're a complete wanker, you know that?

Harry blinked and glared at the letter.

That was all of it. It was dated toward the beginning of August, and had the proper salutation and even a rather officious signature that Draco had spent months developing back in second year, but really, it was just one line.

Harry dropped it on the floor and rifled through the pile for a thicker one. Pansy and Blaise had better not have been lying all summer.

I'm so sorry for everything, this letter began. Harry nodded to himself. That was more along the lines of what he'd been led to expect. I don't know what to do, my father says I can't even speak to you anymore. If he knew I've been writing to you he'd be furious.

It doesn't matter though, you're not reading these anyway. You're just going to toss this in your muggle bin at your muggle house because you hate me and you have every right, although that doesn't mean you're not an arsehole for ignoring me...

It carried on in a similar maudlin tone for several pages, which Harry read through curiously. Draco honestly hadn't expected Harry to read it, and it showed. There were blotches that he hadn't bothered to fix, and a lot more insults directed toward both his own father and Harry than he would ever express if he thought he had an audience.

Harry also suspected from the context that Draco had used the word 'muggle' as a profanity several times, though he wasn't entirely positive. Draco's handwriting was still perfect, despite the blotches and a few crossed out words, and Harry wrinkled his nose and tossed the letter aside.

He reached for another almost immediately. Outside, the stars came out, and when Ron came in and climbed into bed, Harry ignored him, engrossed in a letter from mid-July that described Draco's mother's reaction to the whole mess and then alternated between explaining why Harry was a bad person for not returning his letters and describing at length how sorry he was for what he'd said over the course of the last year.

Harry couldn't honestly tell whether to be angry at Draco for some of the things he said, or pity him for everything he said, but he moved on to the next letter in the pile nonetheless. It had been sent in early June and inside, Draco both apologised profusely and entreated Harry to let him know he was alright, after which he asked Harry to contact Blaise if he had a message for Draco, because his father wouldn't take well to finding out that Draco was receiving post from Harry at the Manor.

When he'd read all the letters, Harry leaned back against his headboard and surveyed the parchment spooled out across his blankets with a new slump in his shoulders. There were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts.

On the one hand, that meant there was no question of Harry's having to write a reply to any of it, which was good.

On the other hand, there were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts. Draco included.

Harry didn't know what that was.


A/N: Everybody, everybody! Your reviews are like diamonds, and I adore you all. But you should know: this story is about to take a turn. It's marked humor, and there still will be humor because that's how I roll, but there's going to be a lot more drama, and a lot more plot. I cannot guarantee that all the characters will emerge unscathed. I really have to emphasise that. I cannot guarantee that for anyone. Um. So. Fair warning?