Wow.

This fic has taken up the better part of this year. To be truthful, I only intended this to be a few chapters; an exercise in emulating Rowling's writing style. I don't know if I succeeded. I certainly deviated from it as the fic progressed. Well, anyway, now it looks like this is going to become a series. I must be crazy.

Seriously, thank you, everyone. For reading, reviewing, and providing a hell of a lot of motivation. Oh, and for obliging my annoying desire to have pictures of Rysk. *g* I have a bunch of 'special thanks', as well, but...you know who you are. :)

Oh, btw...who wants me to add an epilogue? It would be non-traditional, which is bad. But it's fun, so it's good. All in favor say 'aye'...
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The Quidditch season was over, and so Harry and Hermione were the only ones on the field, in or out of the air. The afternoon sun was bright; the clouds were heavy with the promise of rain.

"It was the Ministry." Harry confided it as they walked over the neatly-trimmed grass. His voice was low and calm; matter-of-factly secretive. He glanced at Hermione to see her reaction and found nothing. "The Ministry's been the entire problem since...well, you know."

"It doesn't make sense," she said after a moment. "What's Ron got to do with the Ministry?"

"His dad..."

"That's his dad."

Very similar words that he had once exchanged with Rysk rose unbidden in Harry's mind. He shrugged uncomfortably. "Could be they weren't going to kill him. Just..." He gestured, exasperated and becoming anxious simply thinking about it. "I don't know. Hold him for ransom, or for Mr. Weasley to stop--"

"They wouldn't dare." Hermione's eyes flashed.

"That's what we--I was thinking. But I don't know. It could be..." He eyed the grim set of Hermione's jaw with mixed feelings of relief and nervousness. "...you know, what we're all worried about. That Voldemort--"

"Harry!"

"Voldemort might have rotted the Ministry from the core. Enough to have..."

"All right, I know what you're saying."

"Right. Rysk really seemed to--" Harry felt a spark of panic as he realized his mistake. "That would be the main threat," he finished hastily. "But, really, we haven't a bloody clue."

It was in vain. Hermione had caught on and would not be deterred. "Who's we?" she demanded sharply.

Harry glanced at her guiltily. "Well, it's not really we. More just Sirius and Dumbledore. I was only there because--"

Hermione moved to stand in his path. Her eyebrow arched a bit. "Sirius and Dumbledore."

A painful silence fell between them. They stared at each other, mirror glares of baleful resentment. There was a strange lump forming in Harry's throat as he searched for a reply to Hermione's hard voice. Failing that, he searched her face. The smart, eager little girl that he had met five years ago was gone, replaced by a shrewd witch with familiar eyes.

It hurt.

"You've been hiding things. About Rysk, about...about everything," she accused.

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Don't even...!" she warned harshly.

"Hiding things!" Harry nearly believed his own lie. "You know everything!" He gestured wildly. "I told you about the Order, about the Soulsbane, about Rysk snooping in his room...! And...and he's probably under Obliviate... I've told you enough to get us both killed!"

"And you haven't said a word about it since." Hermione's gaze was angry and piercing. "Do you know why he's under Obliviate, now?"

Harry panicked. "No!"

His denial came out louder than he had intended. Cursing himself, Harry walked to the edge of the field and dropped to the grass, back against the wall of the stands. Hermione stood over him, tight-lipped. "You haven't told us everything. Don't," she added harshly when he looked up and opened his mouth. "I've known for a long time."

"Look, you're not my diary. And neither is Ron."

"No, but you used to trust us."

Harry's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Finally he dropped his gaze and sighed. "Sit down," he said quietly. After a moment Hermione slid to the ground beside him. He could feel her eyes upon him heavily. Thankfully, she stayed silent until he had gathered his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he said finally. He closed his eyes, but the hot summer sun would not be shut out. "I've had...we've all had a bad year."

"We've had bad years since...since first year!" Hermione's voice was soft but fierce.

"I know, I know. This has...God, Hermione." Harry began agitatedly shredding a blade of grass between his fingers. "This has just been the worst."

"Then why won't you talk to us about it, damn it?!"

Harry felt his jaw drop open as he jerked his head, staring dumbly into Hermione's blazing eyes. "You...you cussed," he stammered.

"I mean it, Harry. Ever since you came back from...ever since Christmas, you've just changed."

"We're all growing up, Herm," he replied, overcoming his initial shock.

"But we were growing up together. What's wrong, Harry? We told each other everything."

Harry drew his legs to his chest and bowed his head. No matter how many times it happened, that sensation of having his words stop up in his throat never became less miserable. "I...there's...it's just...ever since you and Ron..." He gestured helplessly and stole a sidelong glance at her. Hermione's face settled into an expression of reluctant guilt.

"I'm sorry," she said, not bothering to deny anything. "But, Harry, we never wanted to stop listening to you. You stopped talking."

Harry flinched. "I know. I know."

For a long stretch of time they sat, side by side, without speaking. Harry's mind was racing furiously, but through molasses. He felt like a small minnow, being tossed about and used in a sea of infinitely larger affairs.

No more, he decided with a strength he didn't know he possessed. I'm taking charge now. No more.

He felt so heavy when he should have felt so free.

Finally, with a shudder, Harry found the resolve to meet Hermione's eyes and force the steady voice he had always envied of her. "There are...some things I can't talk about." Her brow furrowed. "Some things that...that I shouldn't even know."

Hermione laughed quietly. "What news."

Harry smiled in spite of himself before sobering. "Really, Hermione. This time...this time it's dangerous. I can't. I wanted to tell you and Ron." He made a wry, disbelieving noise. "You won't believe how much I wanted to tell you and Ron. To tell anyone." He found himself running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Hermione looked away, biting her lip. "And then...then there are some things...there are some things I won't be talking about for a long time." His throat was dry, making him sound raspy. "You understand."

Slowly, she nodded; turned to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Okay."

"Thanks."

"But Rysk was there?" she pressed gently.

"Yes, Rysk was there. I can't..."

"That's all right."

Harry smiled gratefully at her. Just then, a cold sensation touched the base of his spine. He turned his head toward Hogwarts with a sinking feeling in his stomach, certain for no reason of who he would see. Draco Malfoy was standing at the end of the field, watching. An overwhelming wave of emotion forced Harry to take a strangled gasp. Anger, fear, hysteria, but most of all a sense of closeness made him shake hard as he looked sharply away. It was the familiarity that made his flesh crawl, the intimacy that only developed with much time and trust. To feel it so strongly for a stranger--and a hostile one at that--was disconcerting and frightening.

"Harry?" Hermione's brow furrowed as she saw him turn pale. "What's--" She caught sight of Malfoy. Her lips pursed. "What's he want?"

"Tell me he's not there," breathed Harry, a touch of desperation to his voice.

Hermione looked even more puzzled; she glanced up over Harry's head again. "He's there," she confirmed. "Just forget about him."

A bitter taste flooded Harry's mouth. He had to take charge of the situation. He could not let what happened to Snape, to Pettigrew, to Sirius, happen to him.

But he felt he would rather die than do anything about it.

"No. Hermione, I have to go."

"What?"

He forced himself to take several deep breaths. "Wizard's debt." The answer was so obvious and easy, he had to fight down unreasonable laughter at how complicated it really was. "You don't know what a wizard's debt is, do you?"

"Of course I--"

"No, you don't." Hermione leaned forward, concerned and alarmed by his suddenly calm voice. He met her gaze and held it. "I have to go."

She stood with him and caught his arm, looking every bit as pained as he. "Why?"

For a moment, Harry faltered. He wanted to push Malfoy away, to prove that he was strong enough to ignore any magical connection, no matter how deep. It would be easy, truly, and satisfying. Easy to hate him, hate him for what he had done. He had never asked his nemesis to save his life, had never asked for any life bond...

Pettigrew hated me, thought Harry numbly. How he must have hated me. But in the end, it was not Harry's blood that had spread over the snow in the mountains.

"I'll tell you," he promised Hermione raggedly. "You and Ron. Someday."

Hermione bit her lip. After what seemed a long time, the pressure of her fingers fell away. Somehow, Harry found a smile for her. Then he turned his back and began walking across the field, determined not to glance back.

He stopped just short of Malfoy. The other boy regarded Harry coldly before drawling, "Come on, Potter."

Harry followed him across the grounds without question in silence. Watching Malfoy's back as they made their way past the lake, he wondered if the Slytherin was as confused as he was. Overhead, the clouds began to roll steadily into one grey mass, ominously blotting out the sun. After another minute, Harry stopped abruptly when he saw where they were about to go. "This is the Forbidden Forest."

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, cocking an insolent eyebrow. The air seemed to grow denser by the second. "I can see that, Potter. I'm not blind."

"We don't have to go in there. What do you want?"

"What?" he mocked. "Is the fearless Harry Potter afraid to break the rules now?"

Harry's temper flared. "Shut it, Malfoy," he snapped, beginning to stalk away. Even as he did so, Draco's presence became heavier and heavier at his back. With a sigh, he pivoted about and brushed past him into the trees. After a moment he heard a second set of footsteps behind him. As the woods around them became thicker Harry felt his stomach curl in apprehension. "Where are we going?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

Harry halted. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know." Malfoy's voice oozed smug triumph. Harry smirked grimly. So. He knew. "You always seem to be disappearing, you know, then turning up in the hospital ward. I was only speculating on what in the world you could be up to. Perhaps tramping around these woods too often. Simply curious."

"Good for you," he replied, edged.

Malfoy clucked his tongue. "That's no way to talk to someone who saved your life."

Harry spun around. Even in the dim light he could see Malfoy's eyes shining, gloating. His hands clenched and unclenched in helpless fury before he mastered himself. "No," he ground out under his breath, "it's not going to be that way."

"You know what a wizard's debt is, Potter?" continued Malfoy, having not heard him and sounding deceptively nonchalant. He stepped purposely forward into Harry's personal space. "It means you do whatever I say. That's why you came here with me in the first place, because you owe me. And I own you.

"If you just tell me what I want to know. That nonsense they fed us this Christmas--lost travellers that had run into a pack of Leechbats--you know. You know what happened. I don't believe you were knocked out." A frightening intensity crept into Malfoy's thin face, something that bordered on desperation. "All the strange things this year. I know you've been involved. You're always involved," he added disdainfully.

Rain began to fall, beating out a staccato rhythm on the leaves of the trees and pelting both boys mercilessly. Harry leaned forward slightly as Malfoy lowered his voice. He was close enough to feel the tension in the other's body. Yes, Malfoy was desperate, and Harry knew why.

"That's all. Tell me what I want, and I'll consider myself paid in full."

Shocking both himself and Malfoy, Harry began to laugh. The other boy stepped back with undignified haste, looking shaken. He continued to stare at Harry until he subsided. Looking up, Harry was grateful for the cold rain on his face. His outburst had brought tears to his eyes, and not ones of happiness. "I wish it worked that way, Malfoy." He spent the remains of a strained chuckle as he wiped the sleeve of his robe over his glasses. "I wish it as much as you do. I want it to end. But you can't set a payment."

Confusion flitted across Draco's face before he sneered. "Aren't you the leading expert on wizard's debts."

Hysterical laughter threatened again. Harry clamped down firmly on it. "You know more than I thought you would." Even to his own ears he sounded distant; condescending. "But I can tell you've never been in one before." The rain drove harder, becoming an obscuring screen. "Why're you asking me, anyway? You always know more about everything sooner about everything than half the professors." Malfoy stiffened, and a sharp instinct developed by five years of hostility prompted Harry to pounce. "Not so knowledgeable now that your dad's dead, eh?"

The violence with which Malfoy lunged and slammed him into the nearest tree was shocking, but even more shocking was the horrified regret that stabbed through Harry the moment the words left his lips. The pain throbbing in the back of his head paled in comparison. He tried frantically to breathe as the wind was knocked out of him. "I'm sorry," he gasped the instant he could speak again. Malfoy's fist was raised, and Harry felt he deserved to be decked. It was a nauseating feeling, as though he had just wounded a dear friend. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Listen, listen. Malfoy. You...you don't know what you got yourself into. This is..." He swallowed, shaking from a surge of adrenaline. "This is bad. Really bloody bad. I meant it when I thanked you. Just...I know you're feeling it, too. Don't worry about it. Just go with it, or else..."

Malfoy's hand had dropped and his grip on Harry's dripping robes loosened. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

Harry reached up to adjust his glasses, which had been knocked askew. He wasn't sure he had an answer to that question. "What else have you heard about wizard's debts? It's more complicated than you just owning me; you know that." Unease flickered in Draco's eyes. "It doesn't matter what's happened before. We're close."

Malfoy snarled. "We are not friends!" The vehemence in his voice was the kind of ferocity that stemmed from fighting against the inevitable. Harry flinched as he was shoved harder back into the tree. "I don't care about you! I couldn't care if you died right now!" There was a choked quality to his words. "I don't! Do you hear me? I DON'T!"

For seconds that stretched into minutes, Harry simply let his head hang loose against the trunk of the tree, trying to concentrate on nothing but the raindrops hitting his face. He had nearly ruined everything. He remembered slowly piecing together how to best deal with Malfoy night after night, and when he had finally realized, it had seemed difficult, but still so very feasible. But within moments the situation had spiralled nearly out of his control. Shoving his pride and anger aside, he finally opened his eyes to look at Malfoy. The other boy's white-blonde hair was plastered to his forehead; rain streamed off his chin and nose. He no longer looked angry, only as defeated and shaken as Harry felt. "We don't have a choice," he croaked. Malfoy stumbled back, away from him. "I'm not going to hate you, Draco."

They stared at each other through the pouring rain. When their breathing had evened, Harry straightened and stood away from the tree, shrugging bruised shoulders with a grimace. He thought he saw Malfoy wince along with him. "It's freezing," he announced, and truthfully. His teeth were chattering. "I'm going in." He paused. "God, we could have just used Infraredus."

Malfoy laughed weakly, then looked surprised at himself. "Never thought of it."

Harry turned and began walking back towards the grounds. His wet robes stuck to his body with every step he took, hampering his movement. Suddenly, a wet root seemed to thrust from the ground and wrap around Harry's ankle. He lurched forward, too dazed to even shout. In a flash Draco was at his side, stopping his fall by grabbing his elbow. Their gazes met uncertainly, then flickered apart. It was almost embarrassing. Harry tried to concentrate on how cold he was instead. A quick memory of his ordeal in France made him smile dryly. "Going to get hypothermia," he muttered under his breath.

Malfoy had sharp ears. "Hypothermia? What the bloody hell?"

Harry wanted to laugh, but was too uncomfortable to. They walked back to Hogwarts in silence, footsteps squishing in the mud. Halfway across the grounds, Harry realized with an insane rush of relief that they were walking side by side.

****

Sopping wet, both boys trudged across the Great Hall, tracking rainwater all the way. When they emerged into the foyer, Malfoy turned to go down into the dungeons. Distracted by debating whether or not to say a simple, "Good-bye," Harry never noticed the cat with spectacle-shaped markings around its eyes. When he did, for the first second he thought it was Mrs. Norris leaping at him. Too late, he gave a startled shout as the feline shifted into Professor McGonagall.

"And just what were you two doing, may I ask?"

"OW!" yelped Harry as his ear was caught between two fingers and tugged at sharply. He heard Malfoy make a similar noise as he was dragged back by his soaking hair.

"I've half a mind to skin you both!" Harry twisted his neck to try and look up at her. McGonagall was the only professor in the school besides Snape that he still needed to raise his eyes to see. Her crooked hat made her seem that much taller. He cringed when he saw her expression. Now he knew what Seamus meant when he had said that she had blown every blood vessel in her body.

Malfoy tried his best to sound convincing while bent backwards, off balance, and looking like a drowned ferret. "Honestly, Professor, we were just--"

"We were only out on the grounds, Professor--"

"That's enough!" McGonagall's shrill voice complemented her outraged glare nicely. Harry nearly fell over as she let go of him. Both boys stood beside her, doing their best to look contrite. "You know better than to be sneaking off into the Forest, especially you, Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! And detention--" McGonagall's mouth twitched as she looked down at the soaking Malfoy, pity flitting across her face. "--for both of you.."

"Yes, Professor," they mumbled in unison.

McGonagall reached up to straighten her hat, then took out her wand to dry her robes. "This is Filch's day off," she said to herself, sounding deeply annoyed. She sniffed at Harry and Malfoy, fixing them with a severe stare. "Go down to Professor Snape's room. I expect both of you to have a signed note from him to verify that you have served the next time I see you. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Go."

McGonagall swept off. Malfoy and Harry looked at each other, then began trudging silently down into the dungeons. The stone walls seemed to emanate cold, making both of them shiver. Malfoy started to his senses first and whisked the water from his clothes with a wave of his wand. Vaguely irked that he hadn't thought of it before, Harry followed suit. "I hope he's in a good mood," he offered.

"He never is," muttered Malfoy in reply. Harry tried a weak smile that wasn't returned. Until they stopped in front of the door to the Potions room, there was nothing else said. Harry stopped and rolled his shoulders as Malfoy reached for the handle. Yes. Definitely going to be a bruise there.

Draco noticed the motion from the corner of his eye. He didn't move for a moment. "Sorry about that," he forced through clenched teeth, as though the apology were being dragged from him unwillingly. Harry blinked in surprise.

"S'all right," he said, just as awkwardly.

Malfoy tugged at the door. "Locked." He drew his wand. "Alohomora." He pulled the door open and slipped in. Harry followed after, and was suddenly very grateful that he was behind Malfoy. Snape was standing behind his desk, finishing the last drops of a purple liquid from a slender vial. He froze as the two boys came in, the bottle at his lips. Harry stopped short and stiffened, his gaze locking with the Potions master's. Snape quickly put the vial down.

"Yes?" he snapped, looking at them like something bothersome on the bottom of his shoe.

"Sorry for troubling you, sir," said Malfoy, with sickening sincerity. "Professor McGonagall sent us down for detention."

Harry continued to stare at Snape as he closed the door silently. Snape looked disgusted. "Is it Filch's day off?"

"Yes, sir. We need signed notes when we're done."

Snape glanced at Harry briefly. "Come up here, Mr. Malfoy." He pulled out a piece of parchment and quill.

"Professor...?" Malfoy walked up to the desk.

"There." Snape finished writing with a flourish, shook the parchment to dry the ink, then folded it up and handed it to Draco. "You may go."

Malfoy seemed to hesitate before taking the note. "Thank you, sir." Harry half-expected the other boy to turn around and smirk contemptuously at him, but he didn't. In fact, he brushed past Harry to the door without a glance, but on the threshold he hesitated and looked back, eyes flicking from Harry to Snape. For a moment it seemed he was going to inquire after Harry, but then he turned sharply and hurried out.

"How fair of you," Harry heard himself say, turning back around and staring not at his teacher, but the empty bottle lying on his desk. "I was thinking you'd want to get rid of me."

Snape followed his gaze and picked the glass vial up between two long fingers. "This isn't what you think it is, Potter."

"Soulsbane?" he clarified brashly. Snape's black eyes snapped to him sharply.

"It's a substitute from Madam Pomfrey. Something to curb the effects of withdrawal."

"Oh. Like patches for smokers." Snape stared at him blankly. "Never mind..." He sat down at a desk. "Is it...?"

"It serves its purpose," he replied, tersely.

Harry nodded. The brazenness that had been a result of his initial fear was fast fading away. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, hoping for the first time in his life that Snape would give him an essay to write, or huge cauldrons to clean by hand. Something that would distract him utterly. The guilt was no longer a wave of poisoned needles, but a burden on his shoulders. It was heavy but manageable, for which Harry was grateful. He was sure that he could even ignore it if only he had something to do.

Snape looked up, and Harry was wondering exactly what he would say when the door scraped open. He jumped when he saw McGonagall. "Professor." She nodded curtly to Snape, then did a faint double-take. "Might I ask where Mr. Malfoy is?"

"He has been dismissed," replied Snape coldly.

"I see." McGonagall's lips pressed tightly together. She turned to Harry, reaching into her robes. "The Headmaster was holding this for you, Potter. Apparently you weren't at breakfast and missed the owls."

Harry stared at the official-looking envelope before taking it from McGonagall. He met the professor's eyes for a moment. She gave the subtlest of nods before sweeping out without a parting word to Snape. Harry winced, thinking that she would probably go after Malfoy's hide. He winced again when he realized he cared.

"What is it, Potter?" Harry turned around, slightly startled. Snape had moved to within an arm's length of him without a sound. He looked down at the envelope.

Mr. Harry Potter
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Gryffindor Table

And beneath that,

Of Utmost Importance and
In Need of All Discretion

The official seal of the Ministry of Magic was stamped in bold ink on the top left corner. Harry bit the inside of his lip. "I wonder," he muttered under his breath sarcastically.

"That's right; I'd almost forgotten. You're testifying in Weasley's trial," said Snape softly. Harry nodded. "For Weasley?" More sharply. Harry nodded again. The Potions master snorted quietly. "You are a fool boy. You've already half-made an enemy out of Fudge."

Harry shrugged. "So I'll finish the job. It doesn't matter. It might make Percy look innocent if I defend him. I just know he deserves a second chance."

"Does he?" Harry looked up in time to see the twist of Snape's lip.

"You got one," he replied simply.

The flintiness in the Potions master's eyes faltered for a second. For a moment Harry was certain that he was going to be serving detentions until the last day of school. Snape's breath was not entirely steady. "Touché, Potter," he said stiffly. He turned and began walking toward the front of the room. Harry sighed as he tucked the letter into an inside pocket of his robes.

"I'm sorry."

"Why so courteous today?" inquired Snape scathingly without turning around.

"Harder to be courteous than rude."

Snape stopped for a moment. Harry thought he saw him nod. "I suppose you'll want your note."

"What?" Harry watched in surprised gratitude and relief as the other scratched out a few cursory words and signed on a scrap of parchment. "Thank you, sir," he said, walking up to receive it.

"Wait, Potter." Snape pulled the note back out of Harry's reach. "No matter what is written in the documents in that envelope, do nothing and sign nothing until you have consulted with the Headmaster. Do you understand?"

Take charge. Talk, don't just nod. "Of course."

Snape's eyebrow arched, a mere twitch. "Good. You may go."

****

An excited mob of students was clustered about the far corner by the steps to the girls' dorm when Harry stepped into the common room. He stopped in confusion. Hermione and an older prefect were pushing through the thick of it. "Get back...give them some air...!"

Harry ran across the room and shoved forward. The crowd around him began to fall back, heeding the prefects' shouted orders. He almost tripped as he emerged suddenly into the empty space at the center. His heart did a flip-flop.

A younger Gryffindor boy lay flat on his back, unmoving, stiff as a board and staring up at the ceiling with glassy, unseeing eyes. Unexpected panic overwhelmed him. A moment later he found himself being pushed back by his shoulders. "Get him to Madam Pomfrey!" he heard himself crying.

"Harry. Harry." Geoffery Helbling, the sixth-year prefect, looked almost frightened. Harry straightened and forced a deep breath, aware that the exclamations of those surrounding them had fallen into silence, replaced by alarmed stares.

"Sorry," he managed, staring down at the boy. A dizzy wave of relief swept through him when he saw the victim's chest rising and falling. He tore his eyes away and looked past Geoffery to Hermione. His friend had Jenny Young, a fourth-year girl, firmly by the arm. "What happened?"

"It's all right," said Hermione, genuinely concerned but distracted as she shot Jenny a warning glare when the other girl tried to jerk away. "He's just Petrified."

"I didn't--"

"Tell Professor McGonagall, Jenny," snapped Hermione. "Geoff, take her, will you?"

With a curious glance at Harry, Geoff nodded and hauled Jenny off. The incessant murmuring began again. Harry caught bare snatches of it as he knelt down by the Petrified boy. "...can you believe it?...she'll be expelled...good time to do it, at the end of the year...git's had it bloody coming to him..."

Harry felt Hermione towering over him before she dropped to her knees. She touched him gently on the shoulder. "It's all right," she said again, watching his face worriedly. Harry nodded, swallowing and banishing memories of a young phantom with green eyes and black hair that still haunted his nightmares. There was no Basilisk.

"Who...what happened?"

"Ben Swager. Fourth year. I don't know why Jenny Petrified him..." Hermione drew her wand and rested it against Ben's forehead. "Enervate."

"Will that work?"

"It'll bring him out of it more slowly," she explained briskly. "He's young; we don't want to shock him." She stood up and turned about to face the spectators, clapping her hands. "All right, that's it. Nothing more to see here. Go on."

Harry stayed crouched by Ben Swager. His eyelids began fluttering as everyone started to disperse, reluctant but unwilling to risk Hermione's wrath. "Hermione."

Hermione returned to his side and reached out to grab Ben's arm. It gave slightly as she shook gently. "He's loosening up. He'll be all right." She looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied. After a moment he reached into his robes and showed her the envelope. "This came."

She took it from him and studied it for longer than necessary. Harry glanced at her sidelong, searching for the familiar gestures: a sharp breath, the furrowed brow. Instead Hermione handed the letter back to him calmly. "It might take an hour to clear all this up." Her voice was quiet but strung with tension.

"Right. I'll wait for you."

She looked at him and smiled wearily. "Thank you, Harry."

A commotion from the entrance of the room made both of them jump up and whirl around. McGonagall stepped through the hole behind the Fat Lady, emerald robes swirling in anger. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with this House today?" she demanded, sweeping a murderous gaze over all of the students, who stood frozen in fear. Harry's hand automatically fumbled for the signed note from Snape. "Granger!"

"Professor..." Hermione went forward to McGonagall. The first and second years beat a hasty retreat into the dormitories. Harry watched Hermione explaining to the Transfigurations professor before heading for the stairs as well. Usually he would have stayed and helped, but McGonagall was cross with him already. More importantly, he was tired in a way he had never been since the Alps.

It was Malfoy, he thought as he climbed the staircase. Harry had never thought a confrontation with anyone could be so draining. Returning the few greetings he received absent-mindedly, Harry fairly stumbled to his bed and sat down heavily on it. He hesitated. For several moments he simply stared at the letter from the Ministry, fighting with the urge to rip it open then and there. Then he tucked it away firmly. He would wait for Hermione.

****

Harry awoke to the familiar sounds of the nightly routine. A din of voices came from the open door of the bathroom; many footsteps padded on the carpet of the dorm. Harry sat up, blinking, and stretched. For a moment he simply watched the blurred figures of his Housemates moving about, working his mouth to banish the old taste of sleep. Then he reached for his glasses and blinked several times. He felt an unpleasant jolt as he saw Ron's bed, neatly made and unoccupied.

"Hey, Neville." His sleepy voice was mellow and preferable to how it usually sounded nowadays. The boy who had once been round-faced and unsure paused and turned toward him.

"Hm?"

"Have you seen Hermione?"

Neville's face contorted into a disgusted expression. "Yeah. She's studying."

Harry shook his head several times to clear it. "Studying?"

"Yeah. Downstairs with her nose in a book. Can you believe it? Last day's on Wednesday."

"Thanks, Neville." Harry scrambled off the bed, instantly much less groggy. He reached into the drawer of his bedside stand and grabbed a handful of InsomniMints. He was already to the top of the stairs by the time he popped one into his mouth. The sharp, intensely cold flavor sizzled straight to his brain and brought him wide awake within seconds. He shoved the rest into his pocket, feeling a sneaking suspicion that they would be needed before the night was over.

He found Hermione sitting at one of the chess tables. The pieces had been pushed to one side in favor of a large book that dominated the board. She glanced up as Harry appeared. The common room was almost empty, with only a few sixth or seventh year stragglers staying up to talk. The fires were burning low, and Harry saw that Hermione was using a strong Lumos charm to help her read. "What're you doing?" he asked as he sat down across from her. "What happened with Jenny and Ben?"

Hermione blinked, then rolled her eyes skyward. "Oh, that. Ben's been somewhat of a bully, I suppose. Jenny just didn't want to put up with it anymore. McGonagall and the Headmaster are taking care of it..." She pushed her hair back and rubbed at her temples tiredly. "Madam Pomfrey saw Ben and Geoff and I had to stay there and answer questions...they're still paranoid, you know, after the whole thing with Ginny..." She trailed off deliberately. Suddenly she wrinkled her nose. "InsomniMints!" she exclaimed, smelling them on his breath. She held out her hand. Harry gave her one. His friend quickly pressed it into her tongue, shivered, and suddenly looked much refreshed. "Thanks," she said happily, sucking on it with fervor. "My supply's run out. I didn't know what I was going to do. My parents would kill me if they knew--they won't even let me drink coffee."

Harry tilted his head as he lifted the title cover of the book, using his own wand to read. "Forget Me Not: A Comprehensive Study on the Effects of Psychological Magic." He looked up. "What in Merlin's name--"

"It's about what happens to someone when they're put under Obliviate. Or at least, this chapter is." She indicated the open page. "I mean, we don't really know what happens, but we know some, and we know quite a few symptoms and how the victim copes with it psychologically. I was thinking about what you mentioned today. With Snape and Professor Harrison. With everything's that's happened I guess I nearly forgot about his taking..." she lowered her voice, "...Soulsbane. Listen to this.

"The degree of trauma of the experience suppressed by the Obliviate curse is indirectly proportional to the likelihood of that experience resurfacing in the victim's mind. However, the greater the trauma, the greater the intensity of the Reversion. That's what they call the breaking of the curse," she explained. "The effects of a Reversion can be psychologically devastating. Umm." She skimmed ahead several lines. "An Obliviated experience that played an important role in the victim's life is typically remembered in a more explosive fashion and with greater clarity, while an insignificant experience would resurface only gradually, in bits and pieces, and may never be fully recalled. However, keep in mind... " Hermione pulled a face. "Not the best choice of words. ...keep in mind that a properly cast Obliviate curse is extremely hard to break, therefore a Reversion requires either extraordinary circumstances or an extraordinary will, usually both."

Harry found that he had leaned forward, very interested. "What about this?" He laid his finger on a heading in bold type. "Coping Mechanisms."

"Hm." Hermione quickly read over it. Her eyes narrowed. "That's interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"When confronted with a person somehow involved in the Obliviated experience, events leading up to the Obliviated experience, or the caster of the curse himself, the reactions of known victims have varied greatly, ranging from indifference to loss of composure to severe headaches. Interestingly, those who undergo stronger reactions usually do not remember those reactions, or at least fail to associate such ordeals with the presence of the person that triggers them. It is a widely accepted theory that such a happenstance is a coping mechanism utilized by the victim's mind to maintain an illusion by which the victim's life, personality, and very psyche may have been shaped."

A queer burning in his chest made Harry realize he had been holding his breath. He let it out just as he was beginning to get dizzy. Hermione pondered over the book. "That's what Snape got whenever he saw Rys...Professor Harrison, remember? Headaches. I knew it."

Harry nodded his agreement. "Why would she, though?" he asked, because it would be natural to ask, and he was pleased when he sounded so.

Hermione looked up at him very deliberately. "I don't know. Why would she?"

Not natural enough. Harry's mind raced before he simply shook his head. They spent nearly a minute in a pointless exercise: Harry avoiding her gaze, Hermione trying to catch his. Finally she shut the book with just enough force to make it violent. "Let's see it, then," she said in a brisk tone that didn't mask her anger.

"What? Oh! Right." Harry fumbled eagerly for the letter.

"You didn't open it?" She sounded surprised.

Harry looked up sharply. "Huh?"

"I thought you would have opened it already. I took so long getting back." The hard look in Hermione's eyes softened.

"Oh. No. I said I'd wait." Harry finished slitting the top of the envelope open and shook its contents out onto the chessboard as Hermione put Forget Me Not on the floor. He took the neatly folded packet of parchments and smoothed it out. "Mr. Harry Potter," he read in a discreet murmur from the letter that rested on top, "Please be notified that you are expected to provide testimony at the trial of Percy Weasley, presently scheduled for the month of July. Enclosed are documents essential to your ability to participate in the trial. Please follow all instructions concerning these documents carefully and return them promptly. Be aware that you are of Pivotal Witness status and carrying out this trial in a smooth and timely manner may be hinged on your cooperation.

"If you have any questions or concerns, please direct them by owl post to The Ministry of Magic, Legal Affairs..." Harry trailed off, skipping the address. "Sincerely yours, Cornelius Fudge."

There was a blank silence in which Harry continued to stare at the letter. Hermione's gaze was fixed upon the edge of the table. Then Harry tossed the parchments onto the chess board with a faint air of disgust. "Sincerely yours, my--"

"Did Fudge really...?" Hermione grabbed the letter and scanned it. She sat back, eyes wandering in worried thought. "God," she breathed softly. "He really wants Percy found guilty."

"Of course he does."

"It'd be better if he at least tried to cover it up," she said bitterly.

"What?"

She smiled briefly. "Politics, Harry. You can tell what Fudge is more concerned about by what he's trying to do. If he had really had the Ministry's interests at heart--the Ministry's, not the magical world's--he would be hushing this trial up, or settling it outside of court, or burying this entire thing altogether. They're already split into two factions; the best thing to do right now is to reunite them."

Harry found that he was leaning forward, interested. "But he's making noise. Pointing fingers."

"Exactly," replied Hermione grimly. "He only cares about saving face. His ego. Discrediting Ron's family and their supporters so that his faction will secure the upper hand. I don't think he even realizes that we're all on the same side anymore. That's just what..." She shivered a bit. "...what You-Know-Who wants."

Harry glanced up to make sure that no one was eavesdropping and was mildly surprised when he saw that the common room had emptied. He sighed and reached for the rest of the papers. "Let's see..." He shuffled through them, unwrapping another InsomniMint as he did so. Two of the documents needed to be filled out with standard information. A third was a list of questions that Harry didn't even bother to read. He saw that all three required his signature, but it was the last one that made him frown. The form was headed Underage Witness Permission. A guardian needed to sign.

Sirius was out of the question, and the Dursleys...

"Hey, Hermione..." Harry broke off abruptly as he looked up and saw Hermione intently reading a parchment he hadn't noticed before. He glanced down at the chess table. Fudge's letter was still lying there. "What's that?"

"It fell on the floor," she explained, matching his sharpness with her own but sounding distracted at the same time. Her eyes suddenly widened and she seemed to read over the same place several times, as though not believing what she had seen.

"What?" persisted Harry, reaching for it.

"It's a letter from Percy's lawyer." Hermione passed it to him with an odd look on her face. Shooting her an equally odd glance, Harry took it and began to read.

Dear Mr. Potter,

My thanks for agreeing to testify in defense of Percy Weasley, whom I will be representing in his trial. As I'm sure you already know, your position as a witness is a unique one. Be assured that you will not enter the trial unprepared. The situation is complex, and for that reason I am requesting an appointment with you. Kindly let me know what time and day would be best. Keep in mind that the sooner we can meet, the more time I will have to organize Mr. Weasley's case.

Please don't hesitate to ask questions. Feel free to owl back to me at any time.

Sincerely,
Laura Ranone

****

In Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day, even Rysk needed to expend some effort to keep her class' attention. The only train of thought running through anyone's mind was the Hogwarts Express, which they would board in six days for summer holiday. Harry was no exception, but unlike Dean Thomas, who had been talking nonstop about the football league he would be playing for, the Boy Who Lived was wondering how he was going to survive the summer.

"Take one and pass it back," said Professor 'Harrison', dropping a pile of papers onto the front desk of each row. Her eyebrows rose imperceptibly as several students began murmuring.

"What is this?" said Neville Longbottom as he took the stack from the Slytherin girl in front of him. (Rysk had made it quite clear early in the year that there would be no 'segregation' in her classroom). He blanched when he realized that he had spoken too loudly.

"They're xeroxed pieces of paper, Longbottom." She spoke with an indifference that still made Neville squirm. There was a moment of silence as the witch's eyes landed on Harry, who was staring at something in his lap, unaware of the papers on his desk. Rysk walked to stand over him without making a sound. "We're starting my end of the year announcements right now. First, for gods' sakes, take Muggle Studies next year, especially if you're," she formed air-quotes with her fingers, "pure-blood." Most of the Slytherins and a few of the Gryffindors shifted. "Someone tell me whose world this is. Ours or theirs?"

"Ours," responded Draco Malfoy instantly.

"Really, Malfoy." Amusement ran under the words. "Why are we hiding from them, then?" Rysk scrutinized her class coldly. "Muggles are there. They have power. They are people with brains...for the most part. And not all of them are cattle to be herded. Get that through your heads, otherwise you're all going to have one hell of a nasty shock when no one's holding your hands anymore." She paused for a moment, staring down at Harry, who in turn was still completely oblivious to the room around him. All the Gryffindors (and Malfoy) cringed, but no one dared to say anything.

"The reality," at that word, her upper lip curled slightly, as if she didn't even consider those in the room capable of understanding the concept, "is that more people use paper," without even bothering to utter the incantation, Professor 'Harrison' summoned the documents from the Ministry into her hand and held them up, "than parchment."

Harry's head jerked up. He instinctively reached for the letters, too startled to even protest. Rysk only turned away and walked back to the front of the room. "See me after class, Potter."

Trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, Harry glanced across the room and met Hermione's eyes, who looked every bit as panicked as he. "Hey, Harry," hissed the boy behind him, poking him in the shoulder, "Pass those back."

Harry carelessly threw them over his shoulder, barely remembering to take one for himself. He was numb, staring at Rysk as she glanced over the parchments. Even now, after nine months, he was amazed by her poker face. She tossed them into a drawer with complete indifference and never looked his way again throughout the entire class.

"...anyway, those are just extras along with the basics. Nice to learn. If you're really into it, practice over the summer." More than one student was flipping through his or her packet with mild interest by the time Rysk was done explaining. The small silver bell on her desk leapt into the air and rang, punctual as always. "Dismissed. Potter," she added in a warning tone over the din of mass departure. Harry stood and pushed in the opposite direction of everyone else, approaching her desk warily. On his way he caught Malfoy's eye. He made a point of genuinely smiling at him. The other boy quickly looked away.

"Interesting papers, Potter." Rysk was sitting on her desk, twirling a quill through her fingers. Watching her, Harry suddenly realized what about the witch made most people instantly dislike her: every posture and movement spoke of an impossible irreverence. She looked over Harry's head to the back of the now-quiet room. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Granger?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Hermione was lingering in the doorway, watching them steadily. "I'm just waiting for Harry, ma'am."

"Potter will be late, Granger. Go on." Rysk waved her hand. The door closed in Hermione's face. Harry spun around, an angry protest on his lips. He bit it back with difficulty, knowing that he would only be wasting his breath. She was already skimming over the parchments.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" she responded without looking up, moving Fudge's letter to the back.

"Magic without your wand."

"You don't need your wand to do magic, Potter. It's only the other ninety-nine percent that do." She glanced up at him. "You know that already. You unlocked Lupin's cage without..." She stopped abruptly, narrowing her eyes at the parchment. A hiss came through her teeth. Her next class began pouring into the room. 'Harrison' gave the Hufflepuffs a cursory nod before looking back to Harry. "Who hell is the Laura Ranone?" she demanded in an undertone. Harry shook his head. Rysk's lips thinned into a hard line. "Bravo, Fudge," she muttered disgustedly before handing the documents back to Harry. The ring of the bell pierced through the background din as she did so. "Go see the Headmaster."

Harry's hand paused in tucking the parchments back into his robes. "But--"

"Password's 'peaches'n'cream'. Don't even ask," she added, briefly matching Harry's nonplussed expression. "Just go." Before Harry could say another word, she stood. The entire class of third-years fell silent. Harry quietly snuck out as she began to address them. "Okay, who remembers what a Boggart is?"

Harry allowed himself to turn around and grin at the sight of every single hand raised. Then he closed the door behind him.

Peaches'n'cream, thought Harry as he walked down the hallway, shaking his head in consternation. He really is mad.

Unbidden, a memory of his very first day at Hogwarts came to mind. "Mad?" said Percy. "He's the most brilliant wizard alive! But yes, I suppose he is a bit mad."

Harry stopped in the middle of the empty hallway, struck another pang of sadness. He tried to laugh at himself. Nostalgia at fifteen years old. It was ridiculous. Still, standing alone in the vast castle he called home, he couldn't help feeling how much simpler things had been when they had all been young.

Ron was just Ron back then. My best friend. Chess wizard extraordinaire. Hermione was a bookworm, impossibly smart, but not...dangerous like she is now. And Percy was ambitious. Ambitious with a stick up his ass. God, we didn't know what ambitious was. Didn't know that he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing. Didn't know that he would fight with everything he had for what he believed in, even if it meant abandoning his own family. And I...

I...

"Morning, Potter."

Harry spun around. There was Argus Filch, peering at him suspiciously. Mrs. Norris sat at his feet. "Not skipping class, are you?"

For a moment Harry was confused as to why Filch wasn't gleefully attacking him with the accusation. Then he remembered: the groundskeeper was a Squib, and he knew that Harry knew. He deliberately smiled and watched the wariness in Filch's face turn to resentment and apprehension. The hair on Mrs. Norris's haunches stood on end. "No," he replied evenly. "I'm going to see the Headmaster."

"Eh?" said Filch, limping forward a step or tow. "Let's see your pass, then."

"I don't have one," he said coldly. "You can go with me, if you want to make sure."

Filch's face screwed up in a glare, but before he could say anything several hollow conks! rang out. Filch's head jerked forward with each one. Harry stared at the spiny chestnut shells on the ground and fought laughter.

"PEEVES!" roared Filch. An all-too-familiar cackle echoed from farther down the corridor. Mrs. Norris yowled and hissed and took off after the poltergeist, with Filch hobbling at top speed behind her. "Peeves! You've laughed your last, you dim-witted nuisance of an imp! I'll call the Baron, I will!" The old man whipped about a second later. "Potter...!"

Harry was already gone, having wasted no time in making good his escape. He jumped five steps down to the second floor as the staircase began to change under him. He landed with a painful jar to his knees and hastened to the stone gargoyle.

"Peaches'n'cream," he said to it, glancing nervously over his shoulder. When he turned back the wall had opened to reveal the spiralling staircase. He took the steps two at a time and knocked loudly on the oak door.

"Come in," called a bemused voice. The door swung open before Harry's fingertips could touch them. Dumbledore was standing before one of the many portraits in the room. He turned. "Ah, Harry. Please. Excuse me, Regina," he said to the old Headmistress in the frame.

"Not to worry, not to worry," she replied in a wobbly voice. "I've tea with Dorris this hour, anyway." And with that she disappeared.

Harry groped behind himself to close the door, only to find that it had already shut on its own. "Well, Harry," Dumbledore regarded him amiably over his spectacles, "exactly who gave you the password to my office? And without a pass, I see."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "I think you can guess, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "Hm. Yes, I think I can, as well. Very well, what can I help you with? Oh! It nearly slipped my mind. Your godfather wanted me to say goodbye to you for him. I'm sorry you couldn't see him before he left."

"It's all right," lied Harry.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" he inquired, sounding concerned.

"I'm holding up, sir," he replied with a note of self-deprecation.

Dumbledore studied him with piercing blue eyes before moving to his desk and sitting down. "I'm glad to hear it. Well then."

"These," explained Harry succinctly, crossing the office and holding out the parchments from the Ministry. "They said I should show them to you."

"They?" repeated the Headmaster mildly as he read over the letters carefully. "Please, sit down," he added, waving at a chair sitting to one side.

"Well, Professor Harrison and...Snape..." Harry watched the old wizard carefully, absent-mindedly taking out his wand and summoning the chair.

"I see..." Interest swept over Dumbledore's face. By this time, Harry knew the cause of it.

"Do you know who she is?" he asked quietly, sitting down.

The Headmaster was silent for a good stretch of time, absently stroking his beard. "Yes...and no." He tapped the papers thoughtfully against his desk. "I do know that Paul Ranone comes from a rather extensive family. Laura Ranone could be a relative of his." His face darkened. "Most likely a close one."

Harry furrowed his brows. Dumbledore saw his confused expression and clarified. "You see, Harry, our Minister Fudge wants rather badly for Percy to be found guilty of being a Death Eater. The lack of a tattoo on his arm is but a minor inconvenience in the hands of a competent prosecutor."

"But Percy's attorney--she's good?"

The Headmaster frowned and read over her name again, as if the thin signature held a clue. "I do not know. What I do know is that Paul's sister, cousin, aunt..." He sighed. "You see, I do not remember her at Hogwarts. Granted, the school is vast and I do not know every student by heart, but to have no recollection whatsoever..."

"She might have gone to school somewhere else," suggested Harry.

"Mm. Yes. That is a possibility. In any case, I'm afraid Laura Ranone's last name is no coincidence, and that she was assigned to this trial to further discredit Percy. Fudge has disassociated the Ministry from Paul Ranone as quickly and completely as possible. He is now blacklisted, condemned, evil incarnate. What credibility will a lawyer for an accused Death Eater have when she herself is related to one?"

Harry nodded as light dawned. "I get it. The Weasleys can't even afford to...God, the bastards," he finished under his breath. Dumbledore chuckled. He flushed, embarrassed. "Er...sorry, sir..."

"You said it, not I," replied the Headmaster, blue eyes twinkling. "Now, let's see here...ah, yes, a guardian's permission. I can see where you might have difficulties there. Your family--"

"They're not my family."

"--won't cooperate?"

"I could make them." When Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, he went on, "They know I have a serial murderer for a godfather." He winced inwardly, wondering if that had been the right thing to disclose. To his relief, the old wizard smiled.

"Very good, then. If the threat of a madman wielding a wand isn't enough for them, contact me. I can make arrangements."

"Yes, sir." He hesitated, watching the Headmaster glance over the rest of the documents. "Um...Professor Snape told me not to sign anything without asking you first."

Dumbledore's mouth quirked wryly as his eyes danced in amusement. "Did he, now? Ever cautious, our Potions Master. Let's see here..."

Harry's fingers clenched impulsively. He felt strangely disconnected for a moment as he stared at Dumbledore. Long silver beard, long silver hair, a kind face and gentle manner. Impossibly powerful but, for as long as Harry had known him, always benign, always an ally. A year ago, Harry would not have believed any wrongdoing possible of the Headmaster. But now...

You arranged it, he thought, feeling hollow. Anger rushed in to fill the vacuum. Or you went along with it. How could you...? How could you be so cruel?

"Well. I see no catches." Dumbledore straightened the stack of parchments and handed them over the desk to Harry. "It's illegal for any manner of Hidden Condition to be used on legal documents, so don't be too anxious."

Harry blinked. "You mean like fine print?"

"Fine print. Ah, yes, the very small writing that's all over Muggle advertisements?" Harry nodded. "Yes, Hidden Conditions are similar, only both easier and harder to expose. Easier because a wave of your wand and the proper spell will reveal them as clear as day. Harder because...well, out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes."

"Oh."

Dumbledore twisted around in his chair to check the strange clock behind it, then peered at Harry over his spectacles. "What class are you missing right now?"

"History," replied Harry dryly, summoning enough boldness to reach for a quill standing in a holder.

Dumbledore's lips quirked. "I see." He pushed an inkwell to Harry's edge of the desk. "In that case, perhaps you should fill out as much as you can now. In case there are any problems."

Harry grinned in spite of himself, touched by the old wizard's wry humor. His anger had evaporated, lingering as a half-remembered mist. He scooted forward slightly so that he could use the desk. As the quill-tip scratched across the parchment, forming his name and date of birth with painstaking neatness, the notion to press further about Ron and Ginny and the twins entered his head. When the ink began to become faint, Harry reached out to dip the quill again. "Sir?" Dumbledore looked up from a copy of The London Times. Harry blinked in surprise before sharply gathering his thoughts. "Look, I know that Voldemort's after Ron's family. But...it's too easy. We caught them too easily. They can't be that stupid." Almost unconsciously, he hardened his gaze on the Headmaster. "There's more, there has to be more. What's going on?"

Dumbledore gave a hearty laugh. "Please, please," he managed, gradually sobering when he saw the confused and slightly nettled expression on Harry's face. "I do not find the Weasley family's situation amusing in the least." He looked kindly at him. "It is the fact that you find the prevention of a plot on Ron's life 'too easy'. I'm not being sarcastic," he added quickly when Harry stiffened. "You continue to impress me every year, Harry. Although, if things had gone my way, you would have never had an opportunity to do so." He smiled a brief, sad smile. Harry found himself mirroring it, understanding. Dumbledore laid the paper down. "In all seriousness, Harry, I simply do not know. And it worries me, it truly worries me."

"Fudge himself...?" suggested Harry a little diffidently.

"It's the obvious answer, isn't it? Too obvious." The Headmaster sighed. "No. To a degree, it makes sense. But Cornelius...he is not so reckless nor blind to politics. He would have known that the world would instantly suspect him should anything happen--or almost happen--to Arthur Weasley and his family."

"But if he's become Voldemort's puppet--"

"Then, like you, I doubt we would have received any warning at all, until it was far too late. Not with our sources inside the Ministry as extremely thin as they are. I suspect..."

Harry frowned at Dumbledore's hesitation. "Go on. I can hear this."

Something in his tone made the old wizard look sharply at him. Then his face settled into resignation. "You'll have to forgive this old man, Harry. He has a bad habit of always protecting people when there is nothing to be done for them, and not protecting those in need of it enough. Sometimes I forget how involved you already are in this mess."

Can't get much worse, agreed Harry silently, seeing the way Dumbledore's shoulders bent slightly under an invisible burden. He suddenly wanted to say something to comfort him, but somehow knew that there was nothing he could ever say. And so he watched, waiting.

"I suspect that there may be a third party involved, some emerging faction in the Ministry or simply someone with their own agenda. Contrary to what many believe, Mr. Weasley does have a tidy list of enemies."

"I believe it," said Harry emphatically, picking up the quill and idly writing his home address down. "But who...?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily and with more than a little frustration. "I don't know, Harry. I don't know."

Harry opened his mouth once or twice, looking for words that would not make him sound like a broken record. In the end he said nothing and looked down again at the half-completed form. At length he heard Dumbledore push back from the desk and walk a little ways to his left. When he heard the sound of a heavy stone bowl being set down, his hand froze. He risked an upwards glance. There was no mistaking the cold, foggy vapors of the Pensieve as they rose and curled above the Headmaster's hands. Forcing himself to relax, Harry reached out to re-ink the quill (which was in no need of re-inking) and glanced up quizzically as he did so, hoping his apprehension didn't show in his face. Dumbledore was humming a whimsical tune as he placed several silvery strands of thought down into the bowl. His eyes caught Harry's as he raised his wand to his temple again. For one moment, the mirthful sparkle was replaced by hard scrutiny.

With a chill, Harry remembered being jerked from the Pensieve by an emotionless Carmen Rysk. She had not said a word to Harry, but had she to Dumbledore? He stared up at the old man longer than he should have, searching for any sign, any clue. It suddenly occurred to him that Rysk might not have known, for certain, what he had seen in the Headmaster's memories. It was possible that Dumbledore did not know, either.

Not for certain.

What would you do? demanded Harry silently. Sirius trusted me to do the right thing...he trusted me to tell. Do you, too? Do you trust me to hand Voldemort back a Death Eater that could destroy us all? Do you think I'm that stupid, or is everyone else stupid?

Despite his resentment, Harry found himself tempted, suddenly and agonizingly tempted, to confess. To spill his troubles and allow Albus Dumbledore to deal with them, because he could deal with everything. It would be a relief beyond description to confide in someone who could tell him what to do, unlike Hagrid.

There it was. The Headmaster was inviting him to say the words, to betray himself; he was offering sanctuary. All because he did not know for certain. It would so easy. So easy...

The moment shattered. Dumbledore pulled an iridescent wisp out of his head by the tip of his wand. Harry looked away and signed his name.

****

After dinner, Harry escaped the rush to the common rooms and went straight out into the evening. As had been indicated by the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, the summer sky was still painted a deep lavender by lingering rays of sunlight; but night was fast approaching, and even as Harry crossed the grounds the darkness deepened, the first stars began to flicker into being, and a light dew started gathering on the grass.

He reached Hagrid's hut and stood before the massive door, biting his lip. He lifted his hand but arrested it in mid-air, with wrist still cocked to knock. He sighed and rapped three times against the wood. To his relief, Fang's familiar bark reached his ears, followed by a gruff, muffled admonition from the dog's owner. After a moment the door swung open to reveal Hagrid towering in its frame with a firm grip on Fang's collar. The giant dog immediately began to whine in pleasure when it recognized Harry.

"Harry!" exclaimed the half-giant in surprise. He moved aside. "Come in, come in."

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry. "Thanks."

Hagrid heaved the door to against the night air, mumbling under his breath as was his habit. Fang bounded over to Harry happily, demanding to be petted. "Now then." Harry looked up from scratching Fang's ears to see Hagrid peering down at him. "What in Merlin's name are you doin' out here?"

"I thought you might want help packing up," he replied, using the excuse he had prepared just moments before.

Hagrid looked nonplussed. "What's this now?"

"You know. All the professors are packing up now that it's the end of the year and I thought that...with your Care of Magical Creatures and everything..."

"Oh." Hagrid reached up to rub the back of his head. "Well, I 'preciate it an' all, Harry, but there's not much to be packed. I live 'ere year round. Headmaster Dumbledore ought to know that. I wonder why 'e sent you all the way--"

"He didn't send me, Hagrid," said Harry.

Hagrid was alarmed. "You mean you don't have a pass?"

Harry took a long look around before answering. The wooden walls of the hut were thrown into shadow; what little light there was came from three or four burning candles. The air in here was dry and a bit cooler than it had been outdoors. But most importantly, Hagrid's hut was quiet.

Fang whined and nuzzled his hand. "No," Harry told his friend calmly, distantly. "I don't have a pass."

Hagrid tried to form a few words of protest, all of which died as flustered sounds behind his great bushy beard. He fell into silence and studied Harry, who was looking at Fang, for a several moments. "Sit yerself down, then," he finally ordered gruffly. Harry dragged one of the heavy wooden chairs back from the high table and climbed up onto it. He leaned forward onto his elbows and dropped his chin into his hands, never minding that his glasses were jarred askew. Fang came over and laid his head in Harry's lap.

Frowning, Hagrid walked away to the back of the hut. He returned with a cup of tea and placed it in front of Harry carefully, for his huge hands nearly engulfed the entire mug. The steam rising from the cup and fogging his glasses made Harry blink. He raised his head slowly, coming out of a reverie. "Bit warm for a fire, isn't it?" He scanned the hut for it, wondering how Hagrid had managed to build one without his noticing.

Hagrid had sitten down across from him, looking at Harry with concern. "Don't need one." He reached beside himself and lifted up the pink umbrella with a brief grin. "M'afraid it's not as good as real brewed tea. I prefer doin' it the Muggle way--this spell don't make it nearly strong enough."

Harry had taken a sip, braced for a very bitter taste, and nearly laughed into the drink when he encountered a very pleasant peppermint flavor. "No," he assured Hagrid quickly, "this is fine. Really."

The half-giant looked mildly relieved. "Now then. What's wrong, Harry?"

Sip. "Nothing." Another sip. "I just need to think." Keep sipping.

"You'll get int' trouble."

Harry snorted. "It's the last bloody week of school. No one cares."

Hagrid bristled. "Now--now--"

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, Hagrid. I just need to think. It's too...noisy in the school."

The half-giant twisted his hands, watching Harry anxiously. "Do you...do you need t' talk about it?" he offered carefully. When Harry only stared at him blankly, he hastened to go on. "I've been worried about you, 'arry, ever since you told me that...well..."
Vaguely, Harry was aware that his face was lacking an expression, but he doubted he could find the energy to force one. This seemed to unnerve Hagrid even more. "I know how it feels, don't you be thinkin' that I don't. I've known for...Merlin's beard, for too long. It tears a body up inside. Even now, sometimes I can't look him in the eye."

"Do you think it's funny?" asked Harry quietly.

Hagrid scowled confusedly. "What?" He glanced at Harry's hands warily. They had clenched compulsively around his mug, as though seeking to break it.

"Do you think it's funny?" repeated Harry, and this time his voice was truly unsettling, like the thick, unbearable calm before a storm. It filled the hut with a sudden chill. "I think it's all a joke. A huge, sick, cosmic joke that some bastard out there is laughing at because he thinks it's all just so damn funny. Maybe he's right." The frightening undercurrent, which had been disturbingly calm, began to rise in pitch and volume. "Maybe it's hilarious when your Mum and Dad get murdered. Don't you think? It must be bloody hysterical when you think you've killed them!"

Fang whimpered and slunk away. "Now...now, Harry--"

"I have to look at him!" he yelled. "I HAVE TO LOOK AT HIM EVERYDAY AND THINK THAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN ME!" He dropped his forehead into his hands and shut his eyes, shuddering once and breathing heavily. "It was me. It was."

Hagrid didn't say a word.

After a while--a long while--the half-giant took up his umbrella and zapped Harry's tea, which had gone stone cold. Harry jumped, then let out a faint but forceful laugh. "All right there, Harry?" asked Hagrid gently.

Harry smiled gratefully up at his friend. "Yeah," he said ruefully through a hoarse throat, "m'all right." He brought the newly warmed cup to his lips with something akin to relief. The edged burst of peppermint helped his mood a bit. "Sorry about that."

Hagrid waved him off. "None of that, now. These're hard times. You remember what I tol' you. What's comin' is comin', but whatever it is, we're all facin' it together."

"Yeah, Hagrid." Harry took one last gulp of his tea and hopped off the chair. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Harry. You remember that now. Anytime."

Harry nodded and started to leave. Right on the threshold, as the warm night air hit him, he stopped and turned back. "Hagrid?"

"Eh?"

"You haven't told the Headmaster, have you?"

Hagrid looked aghast. "No! I'd never. An' I feel right down low and dirty about it, too, but I'd never."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

****

Harry hoped that no one had missed him, though he very much doubted such luck. A year ago he would have been afraid of getting into trouble. Now he simply didn't want to bother with anyone. Whether it was McGonagall or Colin Creevy that he encountered made little difference. By the time he reached the castle his robes had begun to stick to his skin. The cooler air of the Great Hall was a welcome change.

The tables were completely empty. Harry wished he had thought to stash his Invisibility cloak before sneaking out. He glanced around. The Hall was lit only by the torches guttering on the walls and the stars in the ceiling. There was no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris. He would have to chance Peeves. Even so, he still felt vaguely uneasy, fancying that he sensed someone watching him.

Halfway across, a cold drawl from the shadows caused Harry to nearly jump out of skin. "You like sneaking, don't you, Potter?"

Harry bit his lip (and cut it) to muffle his shout. An instant after he had drawn his wand, he recognized Malfoy's voice. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a frantic hiss.

Malfoy came forward into the torchlight. "I saw you," he said simply.

"What?"

"I saw you going to the big oaf's."

Harry ignored the slight towards Hagrid, for now. "How? Are you stalking me, Malfoy?"

Malfoy sneered, but the usual edge seemed lacking. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter." Harry stared at the other boy for a moment, then shrugged and turned a cold shoulder. As he had predicted, he didn't go five steps before Malfoy said quickly, "I was up in the Astronomy Tower."

Harry stopped and tossed him an odd glance. "The Astronomy Tower?"

Malfoy looked a bit uncomfortable. "The Grey Lady doesn't mind."

Harry was more or less certain that Draco did not risk being caught by Filch at night to stargaze, especially since he had to have been looking down to have seen him crossing the grounds. His suspicions deepened when he noticed for the first time that Malfoy was wearing his black mourning robes--robes he had stopped wearing months ago. He decided not to comment for the time being. "What do you want?"

Malfoy's eyes flicked around, buying as much time as possible before having to reply. In the end, he shrugged. Harry sighed. He had been wrong: there was one person he could bother with, the one tied to him by a wizard's debt.

"You want to talk?" he offered, trying to be more open but still feeling awkward.

Draco's jaw clenched. "Why the hell not," he said grudgingly.

Harry hesitated. They didn't want any trouble from Filch and his damned cat... "Come on."

He led Malfoy to the suit of armor that sat back against the wall by the marble staircase. As the other boy watched he cast a hasty Silencing Charm, then searched in the dark for the latch behind the suit. He found it; after a moment the empty knight and a portion of the wall behind it slid aside without a sound. Harry glanced at Draco. He was staring into the secret room beyond with an inscrutable expression. Harry walked in. Malfoy followed a second later.

"Lumos," said Malfoy, after Harry had found the silver latch on the inside by feel and sealed the entrance. Harry lit his wand as well, then sat down with his back against the cold stones.

"Well." Harry watched as Malfoy found the spiralling staircase and seated himself on the third or fourth step. The other boy's face was illuminated only by a soft glow as he held the wand under his chin. When he remained silent, Harry prompted, "You wanted to talk. What about?"

"I...I don't know." Malfoy scowled at himself. "Did you get in much trouble with Harrison?"

Harry was almost too tired to raise an eyebrow. Almost. "Not really. She only tried to kill me again."

He was pleased when he saw Draco's mouth twitch slightly at the joke, as though he had made Ron or Hermione laugh. Then he was angry for being pleased. Harry was thoroughly and unpleasantly confused within seconds.

"What on earth were you reading?" said Malfoy. "Must have been fascinating."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "Note from a friend."

"Not bloody likely, Potter," he drawled. "You and your little friends are bloody telepathic." Harry's head jerked up as he sensed the bitter resentment in Malfoy's voice. "What were you reading?" Harry sighed, not breaking their gazes, and shook his head. In spite of his own earlier outburst, he was completely unprepared for Draco's sudden anger. "What," the other boy snarled, standing abruptly, "do you think I'm going to go tell You-Know-Who?"

Harry remembered a disturbing flash of memory from his second year, when he and Ron had used Polyjuice Potion to sneak into the Slytherin common room as Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't tell me you haven't done it before," he replied gently.

The lack of judgement in Harry's tone offset Malfoy for a moment before he glared and spat. "Who am I going to tell now? My father's dead, Potter." His voice thickened and faltered at the mention of Lucius.

Harry eyed Malfoy's black robes. "Did you love him?" he asked, half to himself.

Draco stopped and blinked. "What?"

"Your father. Did you love him?" He gestured. "You're wearing black again."

To his surprise, Malfoy sat back down as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. He pulled the black robes tighter about himself. Harry suddenly suspected he had hit the mark. He also suddenly wanted to end the conversation right then and there. Unfortunately, Malfoy took away any chance of escape by surprising him yet again and answering the question.

"I don't know." He seemed unbearably disgusted with himself, glaring into the dark, away from Harry's eyes. "I guess that's why I was up there. I was wondering if I did. Or if he loved me."

Harry took a breath, shoving away the automatic urge to say several very cruel things. He would not see this bond go the way his and Pettigrew's had; the way Rysk and Sirius's had. Never mind that he did not hold the upper hand in the debt this time. He could not let the opportunity to pull Malfoy away from Voldemort's service slip by. "I'm sure he did," he said carefully. "You were his only one, weren't you?"

"I think so."

Harry made a quiet, disbelieving noise. "He must have..."

"What would you know?" Malfoy lashed out again with derision. "You didn't even have real parents."

Harry was on his feet before he knew what was happening, acting on blind anger. "You shut up about them! What kind of ungrateful git are you? You're right, you're right," he spat furiously, "I never had mine. You did; you still have one! You don't know how lucky you are! How could you not love him?!"

"Because he was always pushing me to be better than YOU!"

The force of Draco's shriek made Harry step back and run his head into the wall. He stared at the other boy as he brought his hand up to rub the forming bruise. Malfoy's cold eyes were burning with a hateful fire. He was eerily still; the only thing that betrayed him were his hands fisting in the material of his robes. "You know that's why I saved you? He would have wanted me to let you die and then laugh at you and I was sick of doing what he always wanted concerning you! I was sick of you! I didn't want to see you, hear about you, think about you, but that's all he would talk about! Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, why can't I do what Harry fucking Potter did...!"

Harry gaped at him.

"I had to beat you." Now Harry was forced to walk forward to hear what Draco was saying. "That's all, I had to beat you, and then he'd love me." He laughed mirthlessly. "I couldn't even let you die."

In the silence that followed, Harry cautiously moved closer until he was leaning against the railing, his line of sight level with Malfoy's profile. "Why're you telling me this?" No answer. "Do you still want to beat me?"

Malfoy shook his head, swallowing. "No." A pause. "I didn't know...didn't think...when I grabbed you..." He swore viciously. "I just want you to stop mattering. I'm sick of you mattering."

"That's not going to be possible."

"Thank you, Potter, I needed reminding."

Harry searched the other's expression. "Don't tell me this is why you wanted to talk."

Malfoy sighed and hunched forward, staring down at the stairs. "I don't know what the bloody hell I wanted to talk about. I think I might be going mad." Harry made a dry but understanding sound. "You said you weren't going to hate me." He looked up into Harry's face. "So what are you going to do now, Potter?"

Harry dropped his gaze, thinking. "We have to be careful, you know," he said at last. "This kind of thing can be...dangerous. It's happened to me before. I still don't like you very much. But we can shoot for friends." He kept his eyes averted, hating how vulnerable he felt, hating how feverently he was hoping that Draco would accept him. He suddenly understood why Malfoy so desperately wanted him to stop existing.

Malfoy took a breath. "Right," he said coldly, trying and failing to hide the apprehension in his voice, "Friends. I take back what I said in the Forest, then. We can shoot for friends."

****

Half of his House was in bed by the time Harry got back to the common room. A few night owls, mostly older students, glanced up at his entrance. Forget Me Not was the first thing he saw as he scanned the room, lying on the same chess table he and Hermione had sat at last night. It was open. Hermione must have done some more reading. Harry felt a prickle of uneasiness as he began to walk to the book. Hermione was uncommonly smart. He wouldn't put it past her to figure everything out on her own with a few facts gleaned from a dry tome.

"Hullo, Harry."

Harry jumped and spun around. Rosie Hether was sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He hadn't noticed her before. The older girl smiled. "Scare you?"

He grinned sheepishly. "A bit," he admitted.

"Where've you been? Out sneaking?" she asked, returning his grin.

For one disconcerting moment, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Rosie's gaze was a bit more intense than it should have been. Then it passed, and he was sure it was only his tired mind playing tricks on him. "Yeah," he said. "What time is it?"

" 'Round nine-thirty. You're a lucky git, Harry. Hermione covered for you. Told McGonagall you left dinner early to go up to bed when she asked where you were."

"She did?" Harry dropped into the chair across from Rosie, grateful for her pleasant and relaxing demeanor. "What are you doing up so late? I mean, it's not that late, but you're usually never..."

Rosie shrugged. "I know. I dunno. You ever have one of those nights where you have to move, or at least get out of bed?" Harry nodded. "It's one of those nights. Probably because we're letting out soon." She looked away, smiling faintly. "I can't wait to get home."

Harry smiled reflexively, then yawned. "Not one of those nights for me," he said, unable to resist the urge to stretch. Rosie laughed, and he grinned. "Definitely not one of those nights. I'm going to sleep." He stood. "G'night."

" 'Night, Harry."

Everyone else was upstairs in the dorm. Most had already finished washing up and were chattering by their beds or trying to get to sleep. The crowd in the washroom was thinner, so it didn't take Harry long to shower and brush. He gratefully fell into bed with his hair still damp and pulled the hangings closed.

He lay awake for quite some time, thinking about (of all things) Draco Malfoy. He wondered how he could have been blind for nearly five years to such fierce competition from the other boy. Outside of Quidditch, he had never truly considered Malfoy his rival. Now he wondered: had Malfoy stayed after Potions class and inquired after Harry's marks as well as his own? Snape no doubt would have obliged his favorite student, especially since he would have been able to spite his most hated one at the same time.

"...he was always pushing me to be better than YOU!"

Harry flipped over onto his stomach restlessly. At least Malfoy's penchant for making life as miserable as possible for him was finally explained. He grimaced. With a father like Lucius Malfoy, Harry could hardly blame him.

He must have loved him, he thought with another toss and turn. Beyond his drawn curtains, the room had darkened and quieted. He wouldn't have pushed him at all if he hadn't.

Hovering uncertainly in the grey zone between the living world and sleep, Harry resolved to tell Draco so; tomorrow, if possible. He suddenly remembered with painful clarity that Lucius had been one of the Death Eaters killed by the Order. Guilt stabbed through Harry before he fell into a light doze.

Around midnight he woke again, and this time there was no getting back to sleep. After a frustrating stretch of staring upwards into the darkness, Harry pulled back his drapes and dipped into his supply of InsomniMints. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be properly awake. Once the little mint had taken full effect, Harry stepped out of bed ("Lumos.") and looked around. Every other boy had drawn his hangings and was asleep. The dorm was silent. Harry stood there uncertainly for a moment, then decided to go down to the common room. On an impulse, he reached under his pillow and pulled out the Invisibility cloak.

Halfway down the stairs, Harry became aware of the soft murmur of voices coming from within room. He hastily snatched his wand hand back under the safety of his cloak, plunging the stairwell into darkness. "Damn," he hissed to himself. Who else could be up this late? Annoyed, he started to climb back up the stairs, then hesitated and turned around. Maybe it was Hermione, reading to herself. It was a habit of hers that grew worse with the night.

Harry padded cautiously to the bottom of the steps. The common room was in complete darkness, except for one corner at the far end where a small fire was burning. Two of the plush armchairs were drawn close together. Neville Longbottom was sitting in one of them, leaning forward until his head was almost touching Rosie Hether's. Harry frowned and drew closer until he could see both of their faces.

"...really getting that bad?" murmured Rosie, sitting back into her chair. Neville leaned back as well.

"I guess so," he replied grimly. He bit his lip. "It's funny, you know. Last year my worst fear was Snape."

Rosie brought her hands to her mouth to muffle peals of laughter. "The Boggart!" she whispered.

Neville nodded, a smile lighting his features. It startled Harry enough to make his jaw drop slightly. Why hadn't he seen it before? Neville rarely smiled anymore, not the genuine shy smile everyone had come to know. By the faint glow of the fire, he also realized that Neville's round face had become entirely too thin. The blond boy's expression darkened. "Harry had the right idea before any of us."

"What do you mean?"

"His Boggart became a Dementor."

Harry saw the smallest hint of color drain from Rosie's face. She reached up to pull her brown hair back away from her face. There was silence for a heartbeat. "I don't like this," she said quietly. "We know too little."

"They're trying." Neville shuddered and wrapped his arms about himself. "I don't want them doing this, Rosie. How could they be doing this again, after what happened to them?"

Pained sympathy creased Rosie's brow. She leaned forward and put a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Because they weren't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. And neither were you."

Neville made a cynical noise. "My Dad was put into Ravenclaw."

"Brains and courage," retorted Rosie firmly. "Besides, at least they're only in the Ministry..."

"So Fudge can make them disappear and keep us from knowing for months!" Rosie jerked back at Neville's angry tone. The younger one sighed. "Sorry, Rosie."

"S'all right." She glanced about the seemingly empty room. Her gaze passed right through Harry, who tensed. "We'd better be getting back. It's late."

"Right. Thanks for waiting up."

Rosie smiled and stood. Harry had to jump backwards to avoid being bumped into as she walked past. For one panicky moment he fought for his balance. Neville got to his feet abruptly. Harry eyed the way his red and gold robes hung off of him. Yes, he had gotten far too thin. "Rosie."

She turned back in the mouth of the stairwell. "Mm?"

"I forgot to tell you...the package I got this morning. It was a Foe-glass."

Harry felt as stunned as Rosie looked. What does Neville need a Foe-glass for...?

"Does it work?" she inquired wryly, quickly recovering.

"Peeves showed up in it." Rosie chuckled. Neville quickly changed the subject. "Are you sure you don't want me to write any of it down?"

She threw him an affectionate look, feigning indignance. "Have I ever wanted you to the entire year?" Her face became grim. Harry felt a shiver run up his back. She reached up and lightly tapped her temple. "Don't worry. It's all in here."

****

"You look awful, Harry," commented Hermione lightly at breakfast on Saturday.

"Thanks." He popped an InsomniMint into his mouth.

"Those aren't a substitute for sleep, you know," she told him severely, buttering a slice of toast. Harry shrugged, reaching for his glass of raspberry cordial. "At least you're eating."

"Of course I'm eating. I'm going back to the Dursleys in three days. Land of the carrots and grapefruit rinds."

Hermione snorted into her drink, then sobered. "All right." She dropped her voice. "Have you written this Ranone woman back?"

Harry nodded. "Asked her if there was any way she could meet me in a public Muggle place. Without the Dursleys knowing. Set up a Portkey for me, or something." He bit off a mouthful of biscuit. "I think I feel sorry for her. If what Dumbledore says is true..."

"I don't care if she's being used as a pawn or not," said Hermione fiercely. "She'd better win that trial for Percy." She frowned. "How are you going to get this trial business sorted out with your aunt and uncle, Harry? What if they don't let you..."

"I'll threaten to kill them, law or no law," he replied evenly.

Hermione was alarmed by how serious he sounded. "Harry...!"

Harry mentally cringed, but was saved from a formidable scolding by an explosion of noise and motion in the air high above the tables. The morning owl post had arrived. The entire Great Hall surged as students and teachers alike reached up to catch the mail dropped upon them. As Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet landed in her lap, Harry glanced down the Gryffindor table to Neville Longbottom. No packages for him today.

No mail for Harry, either. He fidgeted, glancing about the Hall. It was reasonable to expect an answer from Laura Ranone after three days. He accidentally made eye contact with Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Draco hesitated before nodding curtly. Harry nodded back.

Up at the High Table, he saw Professor 'Harrison' rise to her feet to snatch at a fluttering envelope from an owl, her outlandish hair flashing in the sunlight. She glanced at it, then hurriedly tucked it into her loose robes. Harry narrowed his eyes as he saw Dumbledore lean forward to catch her gaze. She looked away coldly and pushed back from her breakfast. An eerie sense of déja vu assaulted him.

"Harry." He blinked when Hermione grabbed and pulled on his shoulder. "Look at this." He leaned over to read the headline of the article she was pointing at.

Conflict in the Ministry
Rita Skeeter, Investigative Reporter

There are many things that happen within a bureaucracy that never come to light. Such skeletons in the closet, when discovered, can lead to an embarrassing aftermath. But what of the sinister internal scandals and cover-ups that nearly destroyed the Ministry of Magic during the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And why are rumors eerily similar to those of fifteen years ago circulating once again?

Are these simply idle gossip, or more serious warning signs? Investigative reporter Rita Skeeter ruthlessly digs for the truth, such as the answer to why Arthur Weasley, Minister Fudge's main opponent, has suddenly become silent...

"I take back," said Harry slowly, "anything and everything bad I ever said about that woman."

"So do I."

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione joined most of the other students out on the grounds. It was a beautiful day, a bit warm, but nothing sitting down in the shade by the lake couldn't remedy. They sat together talking idly for some time, trying to savor what was left of the sanctuary of Hogwarts before the ugly realities of summer could stake their claim.

"Do you remember third year?"

Harry followed Hermione's gaze to the Whomping Willow, innocently dormant beneath the sun. "Yeah."

"Do you suppose that's when it all started?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. That's when I first met Sirius." He sighed. "I wish I could have gone to live with him." Hermione didn't reply. Harry glanced at her and saw that she was toying with the locket Ron had given her. "Miss him?" he asked gently.

Her fingers stilled on her throat. "So much. And I'm worried. He's my best friend, you know...our best friend."

Harry nodded, running his fingers through his unruly hair. "But he's your boyfriend."

Hermione frowned, still staring at the Whomping Willow--or through it. "I know. But, really, Harry, what's a boyfriend when you're our age? I mean...it's rather awkward. We might like each other, but we don't really love each other." She sighed. "At least, we shouldn't."

"He says he loves you."

She laughed and shook her head. "That's what worries me. Ron wouldn't say something like that unless he meant it...but how would he know? He's fifteen, for goodness' sake."

Harry sat up straighter against the trunk of the tree and regarded her curiously. "Do you love him?"

She laughed again, but it was rueful. "That's what really worries me."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. A cool breeze roused Harry out of his thoughts. He glanced up at the uppermost windows of the castle, hesitating. "Hey," he told Hermione, "I'm going to go in. See if I can't get my O.W.L. marks out of McGonagall."

Hermione turned on her elbow and raised an eyebrow. "Are you mad?"

Harry grinned. "She's a softie when it comes to underage suffering and you know it."

She shook her head with a smile. "Good luck. I think I'll stay out here for a while. There's Angelina and Katie." She stood, brushing herself off, then glanced at him. "Unless you want me to come with?"

Harry winced. "That's all right," he said, giving her an apologetic look. To his relief, she only nodded and walked off.

****

Professor 'Harrison' was sitting in her chair, long legs stretched out to rest on the edge of her desk as she read over a letter for the second time, when a rather timid knock came at the locked door. She deftly folded the parchments up and tossed them onto her desk, where they looked like inconsequential articles. "Come in," she ordered, waving her hand to negate the Locking Charm.

Harry politely pushed the door open and then closed as he stepped in. Rysk's eyebrow arched sharply upon seeing him. "Potter. Need something?"

He stared at her, noticing that she didn't even bother to place her feet on the floor. "I was just wondering..." He fidgeted a bit, hating how diffident he sounded but unable to help it. Resolve forced the next words out brashly. "Was that a letter from Sirius?"

Her grey eyes flashed dangerously. "Who's Sirius?"

Harry could have kicked himself. "Sorry. Padfoot. Snuffles. Whichever."

She studied him a while longer, making him fight not to squirm. "What makes you think that?" she said coldly at last.

"I saw you..." he walked to stand in front of her, "...in the Great Hall. You always seem to have a letter from him, anyway," he hazarded dryly. Rysk made an indifferent sound that might have been amused. "Could I see it, if it's safe? Please? I mean..." He searched her icy, calculating gaze for any clue as to whether she would say yes or no. There was nothing. Distantly, a morbid part of his mind wondered (with both fear and vicious anger) if this was how she had looked at Snape's parents before torturing and killing them. "I don't think he's going to be able to write me as much anymore. I just want to know--"

Rysk took her feet off the desk. "Accio." The parchments flew into her waiting hand. Harry watched as she skimmed the letter, realizing excitedly that it was three pages long. To his dismay, she selected only the second one and handed it to him. He glanced at her before sitting down at one of the desks to read it.

...and I will.

I don't suppose you remember much of Remus. He was always quiet if he didn't know you. Or didn't like you. But you knew he was a werewolf. He was always grateful that you didn't care much, even if he didn't like you. He's nearly silent now, not speaking unless he has to. He's become so withdrawn. Sometimes I want to scream at him and tell him that it's not his fault. I don't because he doesn't want to think about it.

And sometimes I wonder if it really isn't.

He'll never know that he was about to kill Harry. I'll murder to make sure of that.

I think he's a broken man, but I'm not sure. See, I spent twelve years in Azkaban. James and Lily are dead because of me, and for that I deserve every nightmare I had in there and more. But Peter never suffered as he should have. He has the last laugh, in the end...Remus killed him. He turned Remus into a killer. But the thing is, I guess I can't tell if Remus is broken is because I think I might be, but I'm not sure. You can never tell when you're inside the situation. You would know, though. I hope he's not broken, only horribly ashamed. I couldn't stand it if he was.

The situation down here is very, very bad. Nothing has happened; no activity in any of the Whorls. Everyone is ready to jump out of their skin at the slightest noise. I think we've lost Voldemort entirely. What frightens me is that he hasn't done anything. He's waiting, biding his time, until we walk right into some sort of trap. I wish he would do something so we could do something. It's better than sitting here and waiting for the axe to fall.

My shift's coming up, so...

Harry stared at the writing on the parchment, stunned. Why would Sirius write so much to Rysk, telling everything as though to a long estranged friend? He was suddenly burning with curiousity as to what the first and last pages contained. He looked up at his teacher. She was absorbed in reading the third sheet of parchment. There was a faint crease forming between her eyebrows that deepened as her eyes progressed through the letter. Harry wondered what it might mean. It made her look much older, in any case. She could almost pass for 25, he thought sourly. He could only imagine how young she must have looked when she had attended Hogwarts as a student.

His next breath came a bit more sharply as fragments of a past nightmare surfaced in his mind's eye. For a moment Harry was sure he saw blood staining Professor 'Harrison's' hands. He quickly glanced down at the section of the letter she had given him.

...Remus killed him. He turned Remus into a killer.

Lupin. A werewolf. Blood in the snow and a hideous corpse at the center of it all. A corpse that had begged Harry's forgiveness long after it had been unable to speak. An involuntary shiver wracked his spine. Rysk's bloody hands had been the only ones to comfort him that night. They were the ones that had delivered the crucial blow to Voldemort fifteen years ago and the ones that had crushed a young man's conscience. They were the ones that had saved his godfather's life and the ones that now so ruthlessly owned it.

For one heartbeat, Harry felt a hint of what Sirius Black harbored for Carmen Rysk: eternal gratitude and viscious hatred.

"Something interesting, Potter?"

Harry nearly yelled as Rysk's amused voice brought him back to reality. He had tumbled into his own thoughts and been caught staring at her. He sat up straight and averted his gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, inwardly panicking. "I zoned out." He picked up the parchment. "This is really bad news," he added, hoping to diffuse any suspicions she might be having. He cast his eyes downwards. "God, Lupin..."

Rysk waved her hand. The parchment shivered and jerked out of Harry's grasp. "Liked him?"

"He was a good teacher," he replied evenly. "Does Padfoot write you much?"

"No." Even though he desperately wanted to, Harry knew better than to ask to read the other two pages. He watched as Professor 'Harrison' folded the letter up and threw it into a drawer. "Question for you, Potter."

"Yes, ma'am?"

Harry thought he saw her lips quirk at being addressed by that title. "Do you know why Pettigrew decided to become human sacrifice?"

He was sickened by the black humor in her voice. "It's a long story. He owed me his life, pretty much," he added, carefully watching her face for any reaction. He regretted it when he ended up being searched much harder.

"A wizard's debt."

"Right. Very long story. Don't want to talk about it." The words came out much more sharply than Harry had intended.

"Is he the one that let you out of the cage?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!"

The American tilted her head to the side and regarded him with a chilling mildness. "Very well."

Cheeks flaming, Harry rose to make his escape, mumbling his thanks and a goodbye as he did. He winced and closed his eyes when she detained him with a, "Potter." He glanced over his shoulder to see a roll of papers being tossed at him. He fumbled with it and managed to save it from falling. "Check it out over the summer. You might find it more interesting than the homework."

Harry looked at the tube of white papers in his hand, bound together by a rubber band. Seeing his blank look, Rysk warned, "Don't you dare ask me what that is." Harry glanced sharply at her, caught off-guard, before realizing that she had just cracked a joke. He grinned uncertainly. "Oh, speaking of wizard's debts. You've got an end-of-the-year Hogsmeade trip tomorrow, don't you?"

Harry blinked, then nodded. He had completely forgotten.

Carmen Rysk regarded him keenly. "Malfoy might appreciate that silver and green dragon." Her voice took on a dry note. "Just a thought."

****

When the door had closed behind Potter, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor sat at her desk for a length of time, fingers tented and tapping against each other every now and then. She finally reached for the drawer and jerked it open with a bit more force than necessary. She reached inside and drew out Black's letter. She began to read it again without realizing it.

Dear Carmen,

Professor Harrison,

Sorry for writing you. It's not the safest thing in the world, I know. You'd really rather not hear from me, I know that too...unless it's Order business. So I'll write about Order business. I just need to write to somebody, please. It's not safe to contact Harry as much as I used to. You don't even have to answer at all.

Besides, you and I need to catch up. I'm sure there's a lot to catch up on. There's a lot I want to ask you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive for sixteen years. Well, no, I knew you were alive. But then, I was alive in Azkaban, too. Technically.

There was a scribble of ink in the margin beside that paragraph, as though Black had considered dashing it out but decided against it. Rysk's lips thinned into a line. She skipped down to the very bottom of the first page.

Tell me if you want me to stop...

She turned to the second page. ...and I will.

Professor 'Harrison' bit her lip. She slipped the second sheaf to the back and read through the final page. Her eyes caught on the final words before Black's signature, or rather, his alias. They were written unevenly, as though Black had forced himself to ink them out. She had read them twice already, but the third time was the breaking point. Her teeth tore through skin.

I know you hate me. That's all right. I hate you, too. There's only one thing I really want to know. Did really you believe that I was guilty?

Rysk let out a long breath through her nose, licking the blood off her lip. She lowered the letter and gazed ahead into nothing for a time. Then, wordlessly, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and reached for a quill.

Received your letter.

Her hand hesitated. She muttered a curse.

Potter is fine.

She replaced her handwriting with the mark of the Order--a precaution Black had not bothered to take, she noted. Her lip twisted, but only half-heartedly. Rysk slid her reply into her jeans' pocket and went downstairs to find a suitable owl.

****

On Sunday, everyone third-year and up made the last trip of the year to Hogsmeade. There was a frenzied rush to Zonko's Joke Shop and every candy store in the town. Harry went into one of them, but found that without Ron, he didn't really have an appetite for sweets, even the Firecracker Dust he had grown so fond of. Still, he dutifully bought several Chocolate Frogs and a bag of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for Hermione, more of a gag gift than anything. He left her at the Three Broomsticks sorting through the beans, making three steadily growing piles: ones that would kill her, ones that she didn't want to know about, and ones that she would risk eating.

He went into Kullener's Odds and Ends and bought that silver and green dragon.

On Monday, teachers used what little order there was left in their classrooms to hand out and go over (if they felt so inclined) summer assignments. Despite everything, Harry found himself murderously jealous of Ron: he didn't even have to hear about this painfully long list of homework that Harry was staring at. At breakfast on Tuesday, Hedwig returned with a reply from Laura Ranone. He couldn't open it until much later that night, after he had packed everything and forced a reluctant Hedwig into her cage. The daylight hours had been spent with Hermione, debating on which classes to schedule for next year. Harry was grateful for being absolutely swamped: it kept his mind off of the morbid thought that there might not be a next year.

"Well, then, what's it say?"

The common room was completely empty, even of the seventh years. Everyone wanted to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow, when they would all go home for three months. Hermione had persuaded Harry to stay up later so that they could read the letter from Percy's attorney together. She hadn't needed to try very hard. Sleep had escaped Harry ever since Rysk had allowed him to read a section of Sirius's letter. He had been plagued by frequent nightmares of Dementors sweeping into the dorm, or lurking behind his godfather in Ireland. Hermione seemed to be having the same problem. She had paled visibly when he had confided Sirius's worries to her.

Harry looked up at her over the edge of the parchment. He sighed and shifted, using the moonlight coming in through the window to read. "She said she'd try and get a Portkey set up. She's asking me where and when. I'm thinking perhaps somewhere in front of Mrs. Figg's house...on a Sunday morning, when the Dursleys go to church..."

"Oh, God!" Hermione made a hacking, spitting sound. Harry jumped, alarmed.

"What, what is it?!" He blinked when her hand was into his chest. There was the most comical look on her face: her eyes were wide and features twisted in an expression of disgust.

"Give me a mint," she demanded frantically, "Gimme a mint!"

Harry dumbly handed her an InsomniMint. She practically ripped its wrapper off and pushed it into her mouth. After a moment she breathed a sigh of relief. "Hermione...?" he hazarded timidly, trying to hold in laughter.

His friend's eyes flew open as she glared at him in the dark. "I thought it was pina colada!" Harry's mouth worked as he looked about for an explanation. Then he saw the half-chewed jellybean lying on the carpet. He started to shake with silent laughter. "It's not funny!" snapped Hermione, fighting to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching.

"What was it?" he gasped, trying to keep his voice a whisper.

Hermione screwed up her face. "I don't know, and I don't care to."

Harry eyed the gummed-up, white mass and suddenly grinned. "I think I can guess. It looks like bird--"

She reached across the chess table and socked his arm just hard enough to hurt. "All right, that's enough!" She feigned hurt anger until he had stopped chuckling. "All right, the Portkey...be careful, Harry, you don't know if you can trust her."

"Dumbledore did say something about a third party." Harry frowned at the parchment. "But this is Percy's lawyer."

"You never know," said Hermione darkly. The fact that she was glaring suspiciously at another jellybean was almost comic.

"Right." He blinked tiredly. "God, I wish Ron were here."

****

The entire student population of Hogwarts filed into the Great Hall on Wednesday afternoon for the Parting Feast. Discontented murmuring came from the Slytherin table as everyone saw the crimson-and-gold drapes hanging from the ceiling. Behind the High Table, a rearing lion filled the Hogwarts crest. Draco Malfoy received more than a few murderous glares from his fellow Slytherins.

As soon as everyone was seated, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his seat. The Hall fell silent within moments. Dumbledore regarded the students with keen, twinkling eyes over his spectacles, then lifted his arms, spreading his voluminous robes. "This has been," he declared amiably, "yet another year completed without irreparable disaster." This drew several dry sniggers out of some of the more cynical-minded. Dumbledore sobered. "I'm afraid I must make the same announcement that I made at the beginning of the year. I urge all of you to bear it in mind when you go home this summer.

"The Dark Lord has returned. And he is still here." A deathly hush filled the vast room. Watching the High Table, Harry saw Rysk and McGonagall exchange a quick glance. "I ask only this: take precautions for your safety, but continue to live your lives. Terror is his weapon. Do not succumb to it."

The Headmaster allowed a few moments for his words to take full effect. Then he cleared his throat, his tone taking on a considerably lighter quality. "Now, before I allow you all to partake in the delicious repast of our House Elves," his blue eyes sparkled to Hermione, who flushed, "I believe there is the issue of the House Cup to address. In fourth place, Ravenclaw, with three hundred and fifty points; Slytherin in third with five hundred and ninety points; Hufflepuff in second with six hundred...oh, my." Dumbledore glanced around. "Forgive me; I've gotten carried away with the festivities. A moment of silence for Cedric Diggory, please."

Harry bowed his head and closed his eyes, not caring if he looked overly sincere. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye sympathetically. A minute passed without even the rustle of a robe being heard.

"Ahem." The Hall roused into life again. "As I was saying, Hufflepuff comes into second place with six hundred points, and Gryffindor takes first place with six hundred and fifty points!"

A storm of wild cheers and clapping erupted around Harry at the Gryffindor table. At the High Table, Snape scowled. Harry stood with everyone else in the excitement, but his eyes were on Draco Malfoy, who sat ignoring the cold hostility of his friends as best he could. He hoped that the flowing dragon from Kullener's would be some consolation...

"Well done, Gryffindor," said Dumbledore when the noise had finally dropped from its ear-splitting level. Then he met Harry's eyes. "But before we award the Cup, there is one final batch of points that I would like to dish out."

The beaming smiles at the Gryffindor table faltered.

"There are some in this Hall that have suffered great losses. There are also those who have overcome those losses with great courage in the face of adversity. Sometimes people are not who we think they are. So for sheer bravery, quick thinking, and noble sportsmanship, I award Draco Malfoy one hundred points."

There was a stunned silence. Malfoy seemed uncomprehending; many at the Gryffindor table looked ready to murder or cry. Harry took a shaking breath, then got up and began to clap.

He broke the spell. Hermione stood up beside him as the entire Slytherin table erupted into deafening celebration. One by one, everyone at the Gryffindor table rose to their feet. Harry saw Malfoy struggling not to disappear under a wave of euphoric Slytherins, showering him with claps on the back and congratulations. Their eyes met from across the Hall. Harry smiled, and after a moment, Draco smiled back.

"I believe a change of decoration is in order!" shouted Dumbledore over the din, and with a wave of his wand, the scarlet hangings became emerald and the gold became silver; the towering Gryffindor lion vanished and a huge Slytherin serpent took its place.

As the thunderous applause continued, Harry glanced over at Hermione and was shocked to see that she was whooping at the top of her lungs. He knocked her elbow and gave her a puzzled look. She grinned ruefully. "He saved your life!" Even though she was shouting, Harry could barely hear her above all the noise. "Slytherin can have the Cup until seventh year for all I care!"

"Eat!" cried Dumbledore as the golden platters were suddenly piled with buttered toast and delicious sweetmeats and the crystal pitchers became filled with the most delicious drinks. "Eat, drink, and play Tetris!"

****

Hogwarts was silent, devoid of the usual chatter and pounding of many footsteps. The sound of the students outside, shouting goodbyes as they climbed onto the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express, did not penetrate the castle's thick walls. But it reached Professor 'Harrison's' ears as she stood in the open window of her classroom and prepared the last owl she would send out today. The large brown bird stood cooperatively still as she tied a roll of white Muggle papers around one of its legs. The packet was an exact copy of the one she had given to Potter. It was destined for the Order, bearing only the simple message of: Get this to Ginny Weasley.

Rysk threw the owl into the air and watched it fly away into the glare of the sun, unnoticed by any of the children below.

Except for Harry Potter, who felt the strangest bit of a tingle along his scar and looked back and up to see her leaning in the window frame.

"Quite a year, wouldn't you say?" Rysk wheeled about. Dumbledore was standing in the hallway, still wearing his festive blue robes. "With quite an unexpected finale."

"It was about fucking time," she said evenly, closing the window.

"I thought you might appreciate it," he beamed.

"What do you need?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in an amiable manner. "Must you always be so hostile? I know this has been a long year, for you especially. Will you be all right?"

She crossed her arms. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Albus looked at her, the twinkle in his eyes fading to reveal a deep, impossible sorrow. She returned his gaze with an emotionless stare. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally, unable to withstand her silent accusation, Dumbledore broke the silence. "Scorn the world, Carmen," he said softly. "Scorn the world and deceive all others, but do not deny to me that you have a conscience."

Rysk's upper lip curled imperceptibly. "I have O.W.L.s to send out." She crossed the space to her desk and sat down behind it. She didn't look up as Dumbledore left. Her grey eyes were as hard as ice.

****

Harry looked up from talking to Hermione as a cart filled with every sweet imaginable stopped in the aisle beside them. "Anything, dearies?" asked the plump woman cheerfully.

"Nothing, thanks." He couldn't help noticing that the witch was glancing furtively at his scar. He shook his head, hoping that some of his hair would fall conveniently over it. Hermione bought some Rainbow Taffy.

"Have some?" she said, tearing off a piece and offering it to him. He eyed the constantly-changing color with some interest, but quietly refused. He turned his chin in his hand, staring out the window and watching the countryside fly by.

They had left Hogwarts quite some time ago, but Harry was still back in the castle. Or, to be specific, Snape's dungeon.

"Sir?" he said quietly, knocking on the open door to be polite as he stepped into the cold room. Snape turned from packing empty glass vials into an old box.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" asked the Potions master, his voice matching the temperature of the room. "The carriages will be arriving soon." Snape's black eyes were wary. Harry smiled to try and put him at ease.

"I just wanted to say congratulations."

Snape's eyebrow arched sharply. "Will wonders never cease." He turned back to his task. "It's only a silly school competition."

Harry wasn't fooled by the professor's sneering tone. "I'm sure that's what you told yourself when we won for four years straight," he muttered.

Snape froze. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Um, Professor..."

"Out with it." He sounded impatient.

"Will you be all right?"

Harry stiffened as the Potions master slowly turned around and sent his gaze boring into his eyes. He refused to look away, braced for a cruelly sarcastic remark or an enraged shout.

Snape drew a long breath. "Yes, Potter." For a moment, he sounded almost grateful. "I believe I'll be all right."

Relief brought a genuine smile to Harry's face. "Good. One more thing...thank you."

"What for?"

"Just in case I won't be able to say it next year." He sounded strangely calm. "You never know."

"You mustn't think that way, Potter," said Snape. There was a quiet ferocity in his voice and in the way he took a step forward, as though alarmed. Unexpectedly, Harry felt his resolve to turn and leave his teacher in the hell created by an Obliviate curse cast sixteen years ago weaken dangerously. His lips moved on their own.

"Right. Professor..." Snape must have sensed the strange catch in his voice; he stared at Harry intently.

"Yes?"

Say it. Say it, cried a desperate voice in Harry's head. "You didn't kill them." Say it.

"Nothing."

"Nothing," whispered Harry to the world passing by, hating himself.

"I'll see you next year."

Snape's lips creased in the faintest of smiles. "Next year, Potter."

Hermione's voice jarred him back to the present. "...you want, Malfoy?"

Harry jerked. "Sorry, what...?" She wasn't looking at him. He followed her glare (if looks could kill...) up to Draco Malfoy standing in the aisle beside them. For once, the blonde boy wasn't flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Something pricked smartly at Harry's memory.

"Hello, Draco." He glanced at Hermione. She pursed her lips but did not unleash the barrage of insults she no doubt had in mind for Malfoy. Harry scooted slightly closer to the window. "Sit down, if you want. I've got something for you..."

Harry reached into his bag, pulled out the crystal case, and handed it to Malfoy. The sinuous, beautiful dragon, flowing around and around in its box, widened the other boy's eyes. "Made of safe mercury and dragon blood synthate," he told Malfoy, repeating what Rysk had told him over six months ago.

"It's wicked," said Draco after a moment, almost grudgingly.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who simply looked shocked. Harry suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time: his life had been turned upside down and inside out. Again.

Whatever was coming, it was going to be an unforgettable summer.

FIN