*ducks as several people try to kill her*

Gah! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Real life interfered. But, um, this one's long, right? Lots of, um, fun knife-twisting for some characters. And, yeah, I lied. I just had to split the ending up into two chapters. Or three. *grins sheepishly* We'll see. So, yep, more coming. Muahahaha! You can't escape this fic! ;)

Enjoy!
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"And this, Harry Potter, is how to break your trachea."

Harry swallowed, painfully. The anger in Madam Pomfrey's voice made him wonder if he was going to get out of this ward alive. He tried to lower his chin and found it still tipped firmly upwards by a strong hand.

"Do you have any idea how many ways you could have been killed?" Pomfrey was making an obvious effort to keep her voice at a pitch where humans could hear it. "And it's not just you, young man, Madam Hooch is most likely getting into trouble for this...jumping off a broom, whatever possessed you to--"

"Let's not end Mr. Potter's life now, Poppy." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Madam Pomfrey released him with a start. The ceiling lights had been starting to hurt his eyes. Dumbledore smiled benignly at them as he stepped into the ward and closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine, sir," replied Harry. He unconsciously reached a hand up to his throat and winced. He glanced apprehensively at Pomfrey, who still looked very cross. "Can I go now?"

Dumbledore stared at him a heartbeat longer than normal, sensing the numb way Harry spoke. "If Madam Pomfrey deems you fit," he said mildly, looking to the nurse. Pomfrey's lips thinned into a severe line.

"He only has a bruise across his throat, which is a miracle I can't fathom, because at the speed he was falling that jerk should have snapped his windpipe, Headmaster." She sniffed. "But he's breathing normally. It's best to let it heal on its own."

"Harry?"

Harry's jerked his head up; he instantly regretted it. "Yeah." He blinked and gave a small shake of the head, having tuned Pomfrey out. "Er, yes, sir. I'll be all right."

"Good, good. Go on and celebrate." The Headmaster sounded vaguely distracted and impatient, and he disappeared as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

After Madam Pomfrey had finished chiding him, softening as she went, and completed her notes on his injury, Harry stood from the bed, still in his crimson Quidditch robes, and walked out without a word. He could feel the nurse's eyes on him and knew what she was thinking: hardly befitting of a Seeker whose team had just won the Quidditch cup. Even if he had nearly died in the process.

Out in the hall, Harry allowed himself to lean back against the wall and hunch his shoulders, hugging himself. Don't care if I almost got killed, he thought. It's who saved me.

****

A lively celebration greeted Harry as he stepped through the hole behind the Fat Lady. "There he is!" he heard several voices crow, and then numerous hands pulled him into the center of the packed common room. Two heavy arms slung over his shoulders: Fred and George.

"Here's the Seeker!" shouted one of the twins. "Here's the best bloody damn Seeker in the world!" Before long nearly the entire Gryffindor House surrounded Harry. A mug of butterbeer (no doubt from the supply Fred and George had built up over the course of the year) was pushed into his hands and several toasts shouted out.

A camera flashed. Harry blinked, dazed, and looked about for the culprit. He caught sight of Colin Creevy poking his had around Katie Bell's back. "Sorry," he smiled sheepishly, "my cousin in Ireland wants a picture."

Harry restrained a groan. He lifted the mug to his lips. "Must run in the family," he heard George mutter. He began laughing into his drink and at the same time started as his tongue was nearly scalded.

"Whoa, careful." George reached out and steadied the cup. "We heated it up a bit for you. Thought it might be good for your throat."

Harry nodded gratefully and took a slow sip, finding that the warm glide did indeed soothe his throat. He didn't have much time to enjoy it, though, because at that moment Angelina Johnson came running down from the girls' dorm and spotted them. "Harry!" she cried, pushing across the common room. Harry lowered his butterbeer so as not to spill it as his captain grabbed his shoulders. "You are a Goddamn genius." She grinned, still ecstatic. "But you had me scared to death...what'd Pomfrey say? Are you all right? Merlin...!"

"I'm all right," croaked Harry as Angelina bent down to peer under his chin. Her eyes widened at the dark, sickly bruise that ran like a gash across his throat. "Really. It's just a bit tender."

"Fine way for Malfoy to catch you," sneered a voice. A strange, unnerving feeling overcame Harry as he turned around and saw Neville Longbottom at his shoulder. "Merlin, that must have hurt," he went on softly, the derision gone in an instant and replaced by the boy Harry knew. He stared at Neville, still alarmed. It suddenly struck him how the other boy's round face had thinned to the point of being angular.

"Not as much as it would have if Malfoy hadn't caught me at all," he replied neutrally. Neville looked uncomfortable and seemed about to say something, but Rosie Hether suddenly appeared out of nowhere and touched his back.

"Neville," she said softly. He whirled as though burned. Rosie tilted her head towards an unoccupied corner of the room, her expression terse. She didn't seem to notice when Harry smiled reflexively at her. They walked away together without another word.

"What's with them?" asked Alicia, staring after the two strangely. Harry shrugged, trying to ignore his own feelings of unease.

"Hey, where's Ron?"

At that moment Ron and Hermione came through the Fat Lady. Both were as pale as death, and just as grim. A momentary hush fell over the common room as they made their way to the center. "Fred, George." Exchanging a glance, the twins went to their brother. Harry followed on their heels, holding his butterbeer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione ushering Ginny up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

"What's going on?" he demanded quietly, the same question being murmured behind them as they left the common room.

"Ron?" chorused Fred and George.

Ron said nothing until they reached the empty room of beds. Then he turned around and stared at them for a moment. "Pack up," he told his brothers.

"What?" snapped one of the twins at length.

"We're leaving," said Ron, walking to the chest at the foot of his bed and beginning to rearrange its contents. George, Fred, and Harry stared at him incredulously as he continued. "Dumbledore wants us out, now. We're being taken into hiding."

"What, with Mum and Dad?" George's voice was vaguely eager.

"No. We're not allowed to know where they are."

"Then where the bloody hell are we gong?!" hissed Fred. He sounded nervous, even frightened.

"I don't know."

"When do we--"

Ron shot to his feet and spun around. "Tonight!" Even his lips were white. "Move it!"

After a frozen moment, both twins silently went to their beds and began gathering their belongings. Harry walked up beside Ron and helped him pack without a word. Once, his friend's shaking fingers dropped a bag of what remained of their kitchen robberies. Harry caught it and placed another hand on Ron's back, which was tense and tremoring. Ron inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry."

Harry could barely catch his words, they were murmured so quietly. "For what?" he asked, nonplussed.

"What I did last year." Ron laughed a soft laugh. "The Triwizard Tournament. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be in danger and be special for it and everything." He took a shuddering breath, staring down at the bed. "How do you deal with it? You must be in hell every day."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, stuffing the candy bag into a knapsack and throwing it into the trunk. "I..." He searched for words that would help. "I don't know." He sighed when he still felt Ron waiting. "Just live your life, for God's sake. Just live your life."

"Right." Ron tried to grin. "Live my life with You-Know-Who breathing down my--"

"Voldemort!" hissed Harry vehemently. When Ron winced he repeated, "Voldemort. You call him Voldemort, Ron."

"Ron, we're ready," called George quietly.

Ron closed his eyes. "Right," he whispered, "Vol...Voldemort." He looked up at the twins, standing beside their trunks, so quickly packed, and looking as grim as their younger brother. It had never struck Harry just how strong the Weasley family could be. "Okay, we're leaving by Floo powder. Wait for Ginny; Hermione'll bring her up."

Fred waved his trunk through the air to land in front of the fireplace. "What exactly did Dumbledore say, Ronnie? Where are we going?" he demanded with an edge to his voice.

"I'll tell you later. We'll be met by someone we trust; that's all I know. The powder's Charmed somehow to respond to my name."

"Your name? Why your name? We're the eldest ones here." George smiled weakly at Fred's attempt at a joke.

Harry turned when he heard noise on the stairs behind them. Ginny was climbing them, holding her trunk out before her with her wand. Harry saw that the chest jerked unsteadily in the air, a result of Ginny's shaking hand. The youngest Weasley child raised her head and stared at Ron, not sparing Harry a second glance. "Is it Percy?" Hermione came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't seem to notice.

"Get in front of the fireplace," he told her. Ginny held him with her eyes a moment longer, and Ron seemed just about to drop his, but was saved when she obeyed. Hermione came forward and Harry stepped back out of respect he had never felt for his friends as a couple before. They spoke with heads bowed together for a moment. When Ron seemed about to turn away Hermione reached out and pulled him into an embrace. He bowed his head into his hair, and even though he was taller, it was clear that she was the one holding him. After a minute he stepped back.

"Come on."

One of the twins waved a wand and lit a fire. Ron reached into his robes and fumbled with a packet of Floo powder, hands unsteady. He finally ripped it open by the teeth and tossed the whole lot into the flames, which turned bright green instantly. There was a hesitation. Harry felt faint as he saw them standing in the green light, with their pale skin glowing and looking like ghosts. Then George stepped forward with his belongings.

"Ronald Weasley."

He disappeared. Fred followed suit, but not before stopping and looking at Hermione, then Harry. He smiled weakly. "Good game, Harry."

Harry nodded dumbly. Before he could force words from his throat, Fred was gone.

Ginny stared at the fire for several long moments before fixing them with her gaze. Harry felt a very strange chill run up his back: for one second, he saw an older witch with blonde hair in Ginny's place. Then she picked up her trunk walked into the fireplace.

"Ronald Weasley."

Suddenly, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the dormitory. Harry's heart constricted as he realized that this may be the last time the three of them were together again. He stumbled forward. "Ron..."

His best friend didn't seem to hear him; instead he grabbed Hermione and kissed her deeply without shame. Harry swallowed (and the way it hurt had nothing to do with his bruise) as the thought struck him that the three of them, even now, were not together. Not the way they had been when they were eleven.

They drew away abruptly. Ron looked over Hermione's head at him. "All right there, Harry?" he asked hoarsely. He looked as though he longed to say more, but a telltale shine had come into his eyes. He swiped at them and stepped into the fire, not waiting for an answer.

"Ronald Weasley."

The flames consumed him. After what seemed an eternity the fire began to give off natural light once again, illuminating the room and providing no proof the surreal scene had ever happened. Harry sank down onto a bed before his legs gave way. If Hermione was crying, she was doing so silently. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to convince himself that it was all a dream while he still could. He had never truly wept since Pettigrew's death in the mountains, and for some reason he didn't want to start now. Even for Ron.

"Come on, Harry." Harry looked up with a start: the voice was unfamiliar, but he found himself staring into Hermione's face. "Get some rest. I'll take care of everything." She sounded warm and steady and competent, and suddenly his other best friend of five years looked unfamiliar, as well. Feeling dazed and utterly drained, Harry allowed her to place a hand under his elbow and guide him into bed.

"Wait," he said, resisting at the last moment. "What happened?"

"Go to sleep, Harry."

"Tell me what happened."

Hermione's lower lip trembled for just a moment, but when she saw that Harry was trembling even more, she reached out and took his hand. "I can't tell you everything," she explained quietly, sounding older with each word, "because I don't know everything. But there was a plot against Ron's life. Dumbledore stopped it in time, but Ron's family has to be moved to somewhere safer."

"What?" hissed Harry. "What's safer than Hogwarts?"

Hermione sighed. Her breath was unsteady. "Sirius got in, didn't he?"

Horror overtook Harry for a split second: had there been a betrayal within the Order? The blood drained from his face.

Hermione's brow knitted. "Harry? You're pale."

He shook his head. Hermione did not know about the Order of the Phoenix, and could not be allowed to. He licked his lips. "Who was it?" he asked faintly.

"I don't know. Dumbledore wouldn't let me hear all of it." Hermione almost looked like she was about to cry, then suddenly stood and said with forced briskness, "We'll talk about it later. It's too late right now. Go to sleep, Harry." She softened and pushed him back into the mattress. Harry let her, hazily realizing that in a situation like this, Hermione needed to feel she was in control of at least something. She went so far as to tuck him in. "Good night," she said, kissing him on the forehead. A sudden pain shot through Harry's heart as he wondered if this was how his own mother might have put him to bed.

He watched Hermione as she left. The only sign of any shakiness was her hand on her breast: she was fingering the locket Ron had given her.

He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. Distantly, he heard clamoring voices in the common room, demands to know what was going on. After a few minutes they fell abruptly silent. Despite the heat of summer nights, Harry ordered the hangings of his bed to close. He never noticed how he had not used his wand.

Seconds or hours later, many soft footsteps padded up the stairs. Painstakingly quiet movements and whispered admonishments to be quiet were lost on Harry's ears. He lay in the darkness, thinking and trapped in his own helplessness. The sense of dread that made breathing difficult was strange. As Harry turned what had happened over and over again in his mind, he realized that the Weasley family had simply gone into hiding. No one had died.

But they have. Hermione's gone; I don't know her any more. She's been gone, and I never knew it 'till now. And Peter's died. For me. Mum and Dad...Snape's parents...oh, God. Cedric. Malfoy's dad. Malfoy. He saved me. He saved me. Why did he save me? I hate him. I hate him. I want to hate him.

For one moment, Harry understood why Snape had never been able to forgive James Potter for saving his life. Then, finally, it all became to much, and he began to cry in silence. This time, Rysk wasn't there to hold him.

****

Potions was an ordeal. Harry and Hermione walked in together, barely awake or aware of their surroundings, mindless of the whispers and curious glances thrown in their direction. Last night still seemed like a horrible, half-formed nightmare. Several Gryffindors tried to stop them and hiss questions. The Slytherins simply hissed.

The class became silent when Snape glanced up sharply from his desk. His black eyes lingered on Harry and Hermione for a heartbeat before he went back to whatever he was doing. They sat down mechanically. Harry saw that Hermione's face was tired and drawn.

He closed his eyes when he saw Snape put down his quill after nearly ten minutes of silence. He doubted he could even stand to look at the Potions master today, given the sleepless, tortured night he had spent just hours ago. Snape's voice seemed to come from far away amid a dry rustle of parchments. "I have completed grading the Potions section of your O.W.Ls," he announced coldly. "Your scores will be delivered by owl post in the summer. I'm sure," he sneered, "you will be pleased to hear that this class had the highest composite score. Pitiful as that may be."

Beside Harry, Hermione stiffened, becoming alarmed even through her numbness. "Don't worry," he murmured, "You did fine."

"Thanks," she replied dully, without a trace of the calm energy she had exuded last night. She reached up again to touch the heart hanging from the chain about her neck. Harry was appalled at how lifeless they both sounded, but hadn't the energy to truly care.

"Now." The murmuring ceased as suddenly as it had begun. "I am well aware that the summer heat has addled your minds. More so than usual. But unless you wish you leave this year with a failing grade, I suggest you harbor no illusions about maintaining your effort in this class."

The door opened just then with a heavy scraping sound. All eyes turned to the back of the class, eager to see what poor student would be at the receiving end of Snape's wrath today. Draco Malfoy stepped in and made his way to a seat as quietly as he could. And the Slytherin hissing began again.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for being punctual." Snape hesitated, loathe to deduct any points from his House, especially after the Quidditch game. "Ten points from Slytherin. Be quiet," he snapped at the rest of the students.

Malfoy flinched but said nothing as he sat down. Harry saw that he was removed from his usual friends and stiffened when he felt more than a flicker of pity for him, deep-felt and utterly unnatural.

Where the hell had that come from? he thought frantically. He stared the boy who had saved his life and suddenly broke into a cold sweat.

Saved my life. Oh, God.

"Get our your cauldrons and follow the directions carefully..."

The class passed too slowly. Harry was grateful that Snape didn't stare at him this time; at least, he didn't catching staring. When at last they were dismissed, Harry took his time packing up, watching Malfoy trying to finish up his potion.

"You'll be late," said Hermione as she slung her bag over her back.

"I'll catch up."

Hermione looked at him sidelong, but shook her head, too weary to argue, and left. Harry raised his head as he pushed he collapsed his cauldron and shoved it into his back. The dungeon room was empty--Snape must have stepped into the adjoining storage room--except for him and Malfoy, who was walking as quickly as he could for the door.

"Hey," called Harry softly. "Malfoy!"

Malfoy stopped with his hand on the door. "What do you want, Potter?" he drawled without turning around. Harry quickly shouldered his bag and trotted up to him. He stared at Malfoy's back, the pride he had so firmly shelved some time during the class breaking free and fighting like a terrible clawed thing. His words were dangerously reluctant.

"No...no one's been giving you a hard time, have they?"

Malfoy pivoted around and raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you?" he sneered. "If you're looking to form a club of gits who hate me--"

"I haven't made any bloody MALFOY STINKS badges, have I?" he snapped. An instant later he closed his eyes in exasperation at himself. "Wait," he said heavily as Malfoy began to turn his back. He sighed and held out his hand, looking away sullenly. "I'm sorry." Mumbled. "I wanted to say thanks."

When half a minute of silence had passed Harry steeled himself to look up into Malfoy's face. "Really." He was pleased to hear that his voice was steady. "Thank you. You saved my life."

Malfoy's gaze went to his outstretched hand before he deliberately ignored it. "You're welcome, Potter," he said coldly, warily.

Harry dropped his hand. "Did you know?" he blurted out. Malfoy stared at him oddly.

"What?"

"You know...what happens when you--"

Malfoy suddenly stiffened, his eyes fixed beyond Harry's shoulder. He turned to see Snape standing on the threshold of the storage room, regarding them inscrutably. Behind Harry, the door scraped open and slammed shut. Malfoy was gone.

"Touching, Potter." There was no derision in the Potions master's voice, but nor was there kindness. "I must admit, I never thought such humility possible of you."

Harry barely noticed the barb. Upon seeing Snape the ridiculous but familiar urge to flee had come over him, but something held him back. There was a strange look in the professor's eyes, something almost like jealousy. Unsure of how to answer, he shifted his bag and hastened to go.

"Wait." Snape pulled out a scrap of parchment and quill. "I'll write you a pass to next class."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, turning about warily.

"What is it?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," he replied, approaching the front of the room in spite of himself. The feather of the quill paused.

"Professor Harrison's class."

"Yeah." He hoped that his voice betrayed no discomfort. To his relief, Snape said nothing more. He finished signing his name and handed the pass to Harry.

"That was an unspeakably idiotic stunt you pulled yesterday."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know what I was thinking," he mumbled, avoiding the professor's gaze.

"You weren't," he snapped, then, less harshly, "How is your neck?"

"Fine." Harry tilted his chin back to let him see the bruise, knowing that the more cooperative he was, the sooner he could leave.

He also knew that from here on out he would oblige the Potions master in almost any way he could, out of pure guilt and pity.

"My God, Potter." Harry was surprised to see his cold face slightly shaken. In a flash he remembered his first year: a bucking broom, Quirrell's hex, Snape desperately chanting the words of a counter-charm. He cringed inwardly.

"I'm all right," he reassured him hastily. Snape was quick to mask his concern.

"Of course you are. You realize you have far too many lives."

Harry managed a weak parting smile and began walking away.

"Potter." He froze and glanced over his shoulder. "Thanking Malfoy was the first sensible thing you've done this year." Harry pivoted completely around. There was that expression again: bitter and rueful and envious.

"Then your father did something Snape could never forgive. He saved his life."

Harry stared at the Potions master longer than he should have. "I did what you couldn't," he said quietly. Snape's long fingers clenched, making it clear that the same thought had been running through his mind. Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself. "But while I'm at it, thank you."

Snape stared at him.

"I wouldn't have lasted on that broom if you hadn't fought Quirrell."

He pulled the door open and left.

****

When Harry finally reached Professor 'Harrison's' classroom, the period was halfway over. Ron had often grumbled at how Defense Against the Dark Arts was as far way as possible from the dungeons. Harry smiled bitterly and shivered at the same time. If only he had known. If only anyone had known.

Sticking his head into the classroom, Harry saw that Rysk had done away with all desks and chairs. He had to duck a hex as he stepped into the room, which was filled only with students throwing curses at each other. Standing at where her desk usually was was Rysk. Despite the magic that shielded the castle from the summer heat she had shed her robes, which lay on the floor in a grey pile, and sported a white tee and loose running pants, the netted kind. Even after sitting in her class for a year, Harry still had to pause and remind himself that she was not a Muggle who had wandered in from some gymnasium.

Of course, he honestly wished that she were. Knowing exactly what she was turned his stomach.

He carefully made his way past the duelling students to her. She took the pass from him and skimmed it, then raised an eyebrow. Her eyes fell on him like daggers, but much to his relief, she made no comment, instead raising her head and scanning the room. "Malfoy!" Draco looked over from where he had been working with Crabbe and Goyle. "Found you a partner." Her tone brooked no tone for argument. Malfoy's face was closed as he approached them.

"Give me your wand."

Harry turned back around. "What?"

Professor 'Harrison' held out her hand. He uncertainly handed it to her. As he watched, she began to murmur beneath her breath and his wand began to tremor in her palm. "Here," she said carelessly, tossing it back. She glanced at Malfoy, who now stood beside Harry. "Fill him in and get to work."

She turned away indifferently, but not before Harry saw her glance at his throat.

"Come on," said Malfoy flatly, leading him into a corner of the room.

"What did she just do to my wand?" demanded Harry, holding it out at arm's length as though it might attack him.

"Charmed it. We can't use anything but Expelliarmus and Colorus." Malfoy sounded vaguely annoyed at the idea.

"Colorus?"

"They represent hexes."

"Oh."

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at him. "Expelliarmus!" Caught off guard, Harry could do nothing as his wand flew into Malfoy's free hand. His nemesis smirked. "See what I mean? Colo--"

Feeling foolish but not knowing what else to do, Harry twisted out of the way as best he could. A few dots of bright pink appeared on his robes, the spell barely grazing him. Nevertheless, Malfoy sounded viciously triumphant. "My point," he said quietly.

Harry barely noticed. His sudden jerk had brought him to face Rysk. Her eyes were on him in cool appraisal. He almost missed his wand when Malfoy threw it back at him. "New round."

They resumed, clumsy and hesitant. Within minutes they were both covered in splotches of color. "Hang on," gasped Harry, blocking a splot of green. The duelling had become intense, and his robes had started to stick to his skin. Malfoy didn't hear him. He seemed hellbent on hitting Harry with a good hex. Harry raised his head for a split second and saw that they had almost half the class's attention, particularly the Slytherins. "Malfoy, hang on," he tried again, "time out--"

"Expelliarmus."

Malfoy had timed the Disarming Curse so that Harry's wand flew in the opposite direction he was moving. A bolt of competitiveness drove Harry to dive for it. "Accio wand!" he hissed as soon as he felt his fingers close around it. His momentum was too great: he was forced to roll head over heels. Pain flashed in his shoulder. He caught a glance of Malfoy's leg as the world turned rightside-up again and aimed wildly. "Colorus!"

It was luck, and the blotch of color seemed to reflect that: yellow with turquoise polka dots. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his shoulder blade moved. "My point," he said breathlessly, looking up at Malfoy.

The other boy's jaw worked for a moment. Then he reached down with one hand carelessly, almost like he was being forced to do a disdainful chore. But Harry knew. If Malfoy hadn't realized it before, he did now.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

But things were different now. The flicker of fear in Malfoy's eyes was reflected in Harry's as well. They were bonded by magic in its deepest form.

He reached out and took Malfoy's hand, allowing him to pull him to his feet. Over the other's shoulder, he saw Rysk, watching them. She shifted, pulling out her wand and calling to the rest of the class. "Stop! That's enough for today. Bring your wands up so you can clean yourselves up." Still watching them.

Harry shivered: she knew, too.

****

"I'd say we're in deep, deep trouble, Albus."

"What happened?" Dumbledore leaned forward slightly in his chair, regarding the face of Sirius Black calmly over his half-moon spectacles. Black continued to pace agitatedly before the other man.

"What happened is that nothing is happening!" he snapped, his nerves obviously frayed. "Either we missed the rite completely and whenever Voldemort says..." Sirius's face spasmed. "Whenever he says 'kiss', every Dementor on the face of this earth kisses, or there is no rite, in which case we're on a wild goose chase."

"Sirius, I must ask that you calm yourself."

"Albus, I must ask that you realize that we're starting to mutter and grumble and that I don't want to have to deal with--"

"For gods' sake, Black." A new voice slashed the air of the office. Dumbledore did not seem surprised at Rysk's silent entrance, but Sirius froze and stared at the witch as she walked up beside the Headmaster's chair. "Chill."

Sirius seemed took several deep breaths, instantly obeying. "All right, all right. We're spread thin in Ireland. There's been no bloody sign of any Death Eaters--"

"Maybe Lupin ate them all," muttered Rysk, too quietly for the other two to hear.

"--but we're monitoring where we saw them gathering for the Initiation last, and then three more sites that could be used for ancient rituals. And they're all on opposite ends of the Godforsaken island."

"Nothing?" said Rysk coolly.

"Nothing." Black avoided Professor 'Harrison's' eyes as he added, "It could all be a ruse. Focus all of our attention in one country while he takes another."

"It could be," agreed Dumbledore neutrally.

"Quite possibly planning something back here."

"That's what the Longbottoms are for," Rysk reminded him.

"They're only two," protested Black.

"They're sane, now, and they're fucking pissed like you won't believe," she retorted.

"Carmen, Carmen, your language, please." Dumbledore shot her a warning look. He looked back to Black. "She is correct, though, Sirius. It was Frank and Amanda who first alerted us to a plot against Ron's life."

"Ron? Ron Weasley?" Sirius paused in his pacing to stare at them incredulously. "By who?"

At that moment the door to the office opened, not nearly as silently as Rysk's entrance. Harry Potter stood on the threshold. Dumbledore swivelled his chair about and stood, but before he could say anything the boy's eyes had lit up in disbelief. "Sirius!" he cried, remembering just in time to muffle his exclamation. He ran forward toward his godfather but stopped short instead of hugging him. "What are you doing here?!"

The door closed with a glance from Rysk. Black glanced uneasily at her before stepping forward and pulling Harry into a quick embrace. "Staying in touch with jolly old England," he said with a watery smile. "Congratulations on your game."

"Thanks," replied Harry, trying to avoid his godfather's ruffling of his hair. He backed away and stared at Sirius. He was still too thin, his face was still too haunted and there were deep bags beneath his eyes. But he was alive. Suddenly, he registered Rysk's presence in the room. His throat went dry. He wanted to catch Sirius's gaze and tilt his head at the strange witch to show that he hadn't breathed a word, but he dared not try. However, he hazarded a glance at her as he asked, "What's going on?" Her cold face betrayed nothing.

"You are here partially at Sirius's behest," replied Dumbledore. Harry glanced at his godfather. "Of course, I'm sure you want to know about Ron--"

"How much do you know already, Potter?" There was a bite of impatience to Rysk's voice.

"Everything Hermione does," he answered, a bit defiantly. He saw the glance that was exchanged between Rysk and Dumbledore, but missed Sirius's flinch. "Who's trying to kill Ron?"

Dumbledore sighed. "We don't rightly know yet, Harry--"

"For Christ's sake!" Rysk's tone was that of one who had been dealing with idiots all day. "It's Fudge, and you know it!"

"We've no proof of that, Carmen," said Dumbledore in a steely voice, forgetting himself and addressing Professor 'Harrison' by her first name in front of Harry. "Only that corrupt sections of the Ministry may have been involved."

"Corrupt sections of the Ministry," she repeated derisively. "You mean, the entire half of the Ministry capable of being involved in anything?"

"Look, I don't understand why they were after Ron, whoever they were," broke in Harry.

The Headmaster sighed. "Thank you, Harry. We need to stay on topic. There is much to discuss, but as to your question...I'm afraid that is much of a mystery as well. My first instinct is that Ron's murder would be the starting point for a conspiracy of some kind. He is not testifying in Percy's trial at all, so I can see no reason to target him as a witness. Perhaps to weaken the Weasley family's morale."

"Why Weasley, though?" interjected Rysk. "His sister would have been easier, if they wanted to kill someone."

Harry glared at Rysk without thinking, not liking the way she said that. He stole another glance at Sirius, who hadn't said a word. His godfather was staring at Rysk, and there was a strange expression on his face, something that Harry couldn't quite place, but it was all the more frightening for it. It almost seemed as though Sirius was struggling with some inner conflict. Harry stiffened, feeling an irrational bolt of fear go through him.

"How could anyone get to Ron while he was here, in Hogwarts?" he demanded, trying to rein in his frustration and failing. "How--how could Fudge even try...? And what are we going to do about Percy?

"Wish we knew," muttered Sirius.

"I'm afraid Sirius is correct. You know of what Voldemort is most likely attempting?"

"Yes."

"Then, at the moment, all our energies are being focused on preventing The Summoning from being carried out. Any plans beyond that are vague. Any plans beyond that are moot if we fail," he added grimly.

Rysk arched an eyebrow and seemed about to say something, but held her peace.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a noisy sigh of anger. It took an effort not to swear in front of all three adults. Instead he settled for an incoherent, infuriated sound. "We are getting no where," he ground out under his breath.

"In any case, Harry, you were called up here for several pieces of advice." Dumbledore looked at him with solemn blue eyes. "Do not use any magic of any sort over the summer. Given the Ministry's current state and your status as a witness, it would not be wise to draw any kind of attention. In your letters to your friends, mention nothing of any importance. If you are unsure, then leave it out."

"Why do I have to stay with my relatives?" he said quickly, nettled at the very mention of the Dursleys.

"For your protection, Harry."

"The Dursleys would just as soon turn me over to Voldemort."

"What do you mean?" asked Rysk, sounding less detached than usual.

"They hate me." Harry found that even in the face of Dumbledore's admonishing stare, he suddenly could not stop himself. "They've hated me since they saw me. They'd kill me themselves if they thought they could get away with it."

"Those are very harsh words," said the Headmaster sternly.

"They're true." Sirius was staring at him in open shock. Harry was not aware of how bitter he sounded, but everyone else in the office was. There was a terse silence.

"I can only hope time will prove those words wrong." Beneath Dumbledore's frigid disapproval there was a sorrow that flushed Harry with shame. But he pressed on.

"Can't you tell me why? What kind of protection do the Durselys have against Voldemort? They're...they're nothing but Mugg--"

Rysk stepped forward from beside Dumbledore's chair, invading Harry's space so as to force him a pace backwards. "Shut your mouth, Potter, before it gets you into trouble," she hissed, a vicious snake that had just sent venom shooting down his spine. Harry froze, but Sirius lunged forward and grabbed fistfuls of Rysk's shirt, snarling.

"Don't talk to him like that!"

"Sirius!"

Rysk made a motion with her hand to stay the Headmaster, who had half-risen from his seat. She did not seem alarmed at all. After a moment, Black released her with a gasp and stumbled back. He looked shock at himself, staring at Professor 'Harrison' dumbly before flinching away from her eyes. "I...sorry. Sorry. I..."

"You're jumpy, Black," she said smoothly.

He looked up with an eagerness that made Harry narrow his eyes. "Yeah."

"Just calm down."

"Yeah."

Harry glanced between the two, nonplussed, but Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. "No further outbursts, please." He smiled wryly, but sounded tired. "There is much to be decided. Harry, Professor Harrison and myself must speak privately to Sirius. And I would answer your question, but...when you're ready. I promise."

"I'm ready, sir," he protested. "I'm so tired of not knowing what's going on. You...you know what happened in the Alps. You know everything that's happened to me. I've been ready, sir."

"People can be ready for hell, but not the truth." Rysk's voice was queer: quiet and cold and final, as though she were damning someone.

Harry imagined, for a moment, that he saw her eyes flick to Dumbledore.

"I defer to Professor Harrison. Now, Harry, I'm sorry, but we must--"

"I understand," said Harry quickly. "Just...could I talk to Sirius?" He glanced at his godfather pleadingly. "It won't take long, Please."

Rysk and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. The Headmaster nodded, smiling gently. "Of course. We'll just step outside."

"No, that's all right, really." Black was already halfway to the door. Harry suppressed a grimace: his godfather made it too obvious that they had something to hide. Before they could be stopped, he followed Sirius out of the office and shut the door.