Chapter Twenty-One

Pure Nerve

Authors' Notes: This chapter will satisfy those of you who commented on the last chapter being too short.  We would like to emphasize that we are not lawyers, nor do we play any on TV. The wizard legal system comes straight from our heads.  It has evolved from the first wizard tribunal in Egypt in 2,987 ME (Muggle Era).  

This chapter is dedicated to Norbert, who loves his mummy.

~*~

"Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed! Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse -"

Harry slammed his hand down on the alarm, his heart sinking at the sound of Oliver's voice. He reached for his wand and lit his bedside lamp, squinting against the light.

"You should get a different clock," Ron mumbled, rolling out of bed. He stood in the middle of the room, looking confused. "Early," he muttered. "Too early." He went slowly towards his bureau and began dressing.

"Where do you have to be?" Harry asked, sticking his glasses on his nose and getting up as well. He wondered what sort of robes he ought to wear for dragon riding, then decided that it didn't matter. Whatever he wore would get burnt to a crisp.

"Going to London." Ron was struggling, in a state of half-sleep, to get his arm through his sleeve. It came out the neck of his robes and he grunted.

"With Sirius?" Harry pulled on a set of old Hogwarts robes over his shirt and trousers, wondering if it was stupid to go about with a Gryffindor crest on, now that school was out. But the only other robes he had were either for dress affairs or Quidditch; he hadn't ever
thought about getting normal ones. "Are you going to the Ministry?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't hurt to see a real trial." Ron managed to get his robes on properly, and he buttoned them up. "Anyway, if it's boring, I'll go say hi to Bill."

"Cool." Harry tied his shoes and straightened up, holding his stomach with one hand. He was going to throw up. He knew he should probably eat breakfast - going to Azkaban on an empty stomach was probably a really stupid idea; he'd need energy to summon ride a dragon. But Harry had a very clear memory of coming face to face with the Hungarian Horntail, and knew that it was suicide to get anywhere near a fifty-foot, fire-breathing creature, let alone go riding on top of one. Fear made eating seem impossible.

"Let's eat." Ron tucked his money pouch into his pocket and grabbed the door knob. "Come on, Harry," he said, turning back when Harry didn't answer. He gave Harry a knowing look. "Look, none of your 'not hungry' business today. If you're going to be an idiot and do this thing, then you're doing it like a normal…" Ron shook his head. "Never mind the normal bit. Just eat something."

Harry wanted to smile, but his nerves prevented it. "I think I'm going to be sick," he managed.

"Yeah, well, I'd be sick too if I was going to do what you're doing. Oh, come on, Harry, I'm kidding. You know it's safe enough. It's madness, but the dragons are trained, and if you've lived through…" Ron sighed, and smoothed down his hair. "If you can't eat now, take
something with you, all right?"

"All right."

"Come on, then."

"Be down in a minute."

Ron shook his head, looking exasperated and rather like Hermione, but went downstairs without saying anything else. Harry looked around the room, wondering morbidly whether he'd ever see it again, then decided to take Ron's advice and bring food with him. He grabbed his old satchel and headed towards the kitchen.

"Harry."

Harry turned at the top of the stairs, and stiffened. Sirius was standing outside his own door, dressed for court and looking quite grave. "Hey, Sirius," he said, as lightly as he could. "Have a good trial."

Sirius seemed not to hear him. "We haven't - talked." He rubbed his chin, and Harry could hear the scrape of unshaven skin against his godfather's fingers. Sirius still had bags under his eyes, and he hadn't looked so thin since just after his escape from Azkaban. "Charlie assures me that the dragons are very well trained and that there's very little danger to you from the… Dementors. Apparently the dragons are able to deflect…" Sirius seemed to lose his train of thought. He shut his eyes and sharply shook his head.

"Sirius?" Harry asked carefully. He felt strange and awkward, talking about Azkaban with Sirius. He had no idea how to navigate the conversation.

Sirius opened his eyes and laughed harshly. "Here it is, Harry. I know you can take care of yourself, but damn it, don't let me hear that you've been within fifty yards of one of those things."

"I'm not planning to get any closer than I have to," Harry said truthfully.

"And no heroics."

Harry bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sirius gave him a grim smile. "It means I want you to keep safe. It means I don't want you taking stupid, unnecessary risks."

"Fine." Harry gripped his bag, wondering just what he'd done that was so stupid and unnecessary that deserved this warning. Perhaps he shouldn't have done anything in the fight against Voldemort. Perhaps that had been a big show of stupid heroics. "Anything else?"

"If you're asked to do anything that's more strenuous or dangerous than any other rider, I want you to refuse."

Harry snorted softly. He couldn't think of anything more dangerous or strenuous than holding back Dementors with flight-trained dragons. "Yeah, all right," he said, letting an edge of sarcasm creep into his voice. He wasn't sure why, but Sirius's advice was highly irritating at the moment.

"And if you -" Sirius began, but Harry held up his hand.

"Hold on," he said, turning his head toward the girls' room and listening closely. There had been a noise.

Sirius sighed. "Harry, I know that after what you've seen you probably don't appreciate being told -"

"Hold on," Harry hissed.

Sirius frowned, but bent his head to listen. "What is it?"

Harry strained to hear it again - a low, tearful sound, like a voice. He could have sworn he'd heard -

"No…Tom…" There was a thrashing noise of sheets being thrown about.

Sirius's frown deepened. "Is that Ginny?" he whispered, and moved to pass Harry and open the girls' room door.

Harry blocked him. "Have a good trial," he repeated quickly. "I'll do what you said - I'll be fine." As he spoke, he backed towards Ginny's door and groped for the handle until he found it. "See you," he said, then pushed his way into the room and shut the door behind him, leaving a very surprised-looking Sirius standing in the hall.

The room was still dark, as the shades were drawn, and Harry hesitated at the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

"Please…not Harry…" The words were more moaned than spoken as Ginny's desperate, mumbling, one-way conversation continued. Harry shivered. He didn't have to hear Tom Riddle's threats to know what they were. It was an old nightmare, and Hermione wasn't home to do anything about it.

He could see Ginny now. She lay flat on her back with her covers kicked off and her nightdress twisted around her, revealing a good part of one pale, freckled leg. Harry faltered, suddenly not sure if he should be in here, nightmare or not. Crookshanks eyed him from Hermione's empty pillow as Ginny's hands thrashed uselessly at her sides.

"You're not him…"

Harry didn't know what to do. Her words were so clear that it was as if she was awake with her eyes closed. Her face was white and taut, and her breathing grew labored.

"Go back in…go back in…let me out - someone help me -"

She was as frightened as if it were real; real tears slid from the corners of her closed eyes and coursed down her temples. Unable to watch any longer, Harry went to her side and copied the things he had seen Hermione do. Ignoring the pounding in his blood, and doing his best not to notice how closely her nightdress fitted to the top of her, Harry sat gingerly on the edge of her bed and took her hand. It was hot and sweaty, and he repeatedly smoothed it, stroking her fingers and hushing her as quietly as he could.

"Ginny, he's gone. It's all right."

"Harry…" She rolled slightly towards him.

"I'm here." He squeezed her hand and watched her face relax, just a fraction. He continued to touch her gently, in what he hoped was a soothing way, letting his fingers travel up to her elbow and back down again. When her expression softened, he did it again, and continued to  repeat the action until her breathing was regular. She rolled entirely onto her side, burying her face against the outside of Harry's thigh and throwing her arm across his leg.

Harry looked down at the bit of Ginny's profile he could see, feeling oddly at ease. He brushed her damp hair away from her cheek, felt her sigh against his leg, and he wished it were so easy to sit near her and touch her when she was awake. He also wished that he didn't have to leave; he wouldn't have minded sitting next to Ginny and guarding her sleep until she woke up. He waited as long as he possibly could before Disapparating for work.

"Bye," he whispered, when he didn't have another minute to spare. As if Ginny had heard him, she tightened her arm around his legs. Very gently, Harry pried her loose, and he couldn't help smiling when she rolled onto her back with a bit of a pout on her sleeping face. "Sleep tight," he said quietly, bending his face close to hers.

And then, because it seemed the natural thing to do, he kissed her.

It was quick, and soft, and Ginny didn't even stir, but Harry drew away with a pounding heart, staring down at her face. His mouth burned. The sun was rising outside; it sliced through the blinds and lit up Ginny's face in sections, illuminating her skin and hair. She stretched her arms over her head and sighed - and her eyes blinked open.

Harry froze. She was awake. But she hadn't focused on him - hadn't recognized him - she would go back to sleep if he stayed still. Harry held his breath and waited, his pulse racing. When Ginny's eyes fell shut again, he exhaled in relief. And when she rolled away onto her  other side, Harry got up from her bed, drew his wand, and Disapparated.

A moment later, he stumbled into a dimly lit room.  There were about a dozen people standing around, some talking, and some standing in corners, looking nervous.  He picked out Charlie Weasley's bright head of hair and waved when Charlie turned around. 

"All right everyone," said Charlie, acknowledging Harry with a nod and then addressing the group.  "We're just waiting for one more, and then we'll get started."

Harry took the opportunity to look around the room.  He saw Charlie's friend Mick talking to a woman he recognized as Lavender Brown's sister.  There were two older, burly-looking men who looked like they'd dealt with dragons before.  They were joking with a tall woman with long blonde hair who was gripping an old, rather scorched, Nimbus Two-Thousand tightly in her hand.  They all seemed very tall and grown-up to Harry, who scratched at the Hogwarts crest on his robes and wondered if there was a spell to remove it without leaving a mark.

"It is good to see you again, Harry Potter." Harry turned to see Viktor Krum standing in behind him.  He smiled, relieved that there was someone here that he knew, and shook Viktor's hand. 

"You're riding the dragons?" Harry asked.  "Brilliant."

"Yes," said Viktor, who did not look quite as surly as he used to.  "My vife, Rositza, she thinks it is exciting. She is not magic, and does not understand the danger of dragons."

"Your wife?" said Harry, curiously.  Ron would certainly be interested to hear this information.  He realized that Hermione was probably quite aware that Viktor had married, and had never bothered to inform Ron.

Viktor nodded, standing a bit straighter than normal.  "Yes, I vos married two years ago.  Ve haff a young daughter now – her name is Alanna.  Tell me," continued Viktor, lowering his voice. "That girl there, who is talking to Mr. Veasley – is she also from Hogvorts?  I saw her flying once."

Harry moved his head so that he could see where Viktor was looking.  He blinked. In the dim light of the room, he could make out short, spiky hair, not unlike his own.  He couldn't see her face, but something about her posture was very familiar.  At that moment, the girl looked over at them, and smiled broadly at Harry.  She said something to Charlie and then walked to where Viktor and Harry were standing.

It was Cho Chang.  Harry hadn't seen her since she had left Hogwarts and he had been so preoccupied with Voldemort that he hadn't even bothered to wonder what she'd been doing.   She looked even prettier than usual with her short hair. He felt a familiar flip-flop in his stomach when she said "Hello, Harry" and introduced herself to Viktor Krum, although he soon found himself reflecting that he'd never noticed how short she was. He'd grown used to Ginny, who was almost as tall as he was, and who always seemed to be looking him in the eyes.

"You're flying the dragons too?" asked Harry.  Cho had been an excellent Seeker when she had been on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. 

Cho jerked her head in Charlie's direction.  "I've been working with the dragons for the past year.  I started just out of Hogwarts as an apprentice, and then got promoted to Charlie's assistant just before the end of the war."

The three of them talked for a few minutes.  Viktor apparently already knew that Hermione was at Cortona, which didn't surprise Harry at all.  Cho gushed over a picture of a pretty, giggling baby that Viktor kept tucked in a locket under his vest, and told Harry that she hoped to get to the Burrow to see Leo very soon.  Harry was surprised that Cho knew about the baby, but quickly remembered that Penny had been in Ravenclaw.  Cho began to reassure them that riding dragons was really okay, once you got the hang of it, when the door to the headquarters burst open.  A draft of cold air made the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end, and what he saw in the doorway did nothing to calm his nerves.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway looking amazingly healthy for someone who had supposedly suffered lasting damage to his head, despite the large bandage that circled his "injury" at an angle.  Then again, Harry reflected, he hadn't thought Malfoy's head had been entirely right to begin with, and he wondered what Malfoy thought he was on about, busting into private Ministry business - certainly he wasn't going to volunteer to ride a dragon.  Harry snorted at the memory of Malfoy, wailing for months about what Buckbeak had done to him.  Hippogriff claws paled in comparison with dragon talons; Malfoy didn't have the guts.

Malfoy strode over to Lavender's sister and began to speak with her in quiet tones, but their voices carried.  Harry could make out what they were saying, but he didn't understand.

"… Mordor's stable is in terrible condition. It's bad enough that he's being exposed to such terrible weather, but I am not paying extra money to have him receiving the same care as the common …"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I understand.  We'll see to it immediately…"  Over Rose's head, Malfoy caught sight of Harry and he twisted his face into an even more unpleasant scowl. 

"All right everyone!" Charlie's voice was loud, and everyone stood at attention.  "Follow me!  We're going to give you your uniforms and introduce you to some common equipment."

They all followed Charlie through a narrow corridor to a sort of locker room, Harry keeping one eye on Malfoy, who stayed with the group as if he had something to do with it.  They came to a large, narrow table, which ran the length of the wall and contained very heavy-looking robes and other gadgets.  Charlie stood next to it with his friend Mick.  Cho moved up to the front with them, and Malfoy slid into her space, right next to Harry.  Harry shot him an irritable look, but bit his tongue; Lavender's sister had just begun to speak in a business-like tone.  

"We would like to welcome you all and thank you for accepting the task of joining the Permanent Azkaban Patrol.  I am Rose K. Brown, Secretary Privy to the Minister of Magic, and am in charge of supervising this operation.  You will notice me visiting on occasion, and should you have any problems that you don't feel comfortable discussing with your immediate supervisors, Mr. Charles Weasley and Mr. Michael O'Malley" - she gestured to Charlie and Mick in turn – "then you may speak with me.  Your safety is the Ministry's biggest concern…"

Harry stopped listening to her after a while. He was more interested in the equipment on the table, and only began to pay attention when Charlie started to explain how the robes worked, what the special gloves were made out of, and when to use the Omnioculars.  Cho held up each piece of gear in turn and passed it around to each of the riders as Charlie spoke.  She obviously knew how to use everything, and, Harry reminded himself, had ridden a dragon before as well.  He knew that Charlie and Mick had ridden dragons, and he looked around the room. The two older men and the woman with them must have ridden dragons during the war.  All three of them dismissively passed the equipment back to Mick without glancing at it, and one of the men already seemed to be wearing appropriate dragon-riding attire.

What had he gotten himself into?  Ron and Ginny were right. He was completely mad.  Harry wondered for a moment if Voldemort had placed a curse on him as a small child that gave him a compulsion to lead himself into danger. 

"Potter, are you going to adopt that belt, or are you going to pass it on?"  He heard Malfoy's drawling voice and looked down to see a pale hand stretched impatiently in front of him.  He handed the wand belt to Malfoy without looking at his face, although he did notice that Malfoy was wearing a familiar ring.  It was familiar because the pattern of the giant "M" in the center of it had been imprinted on Ron's face for several days.  Harry felt a new wave of fury, and turned to glare at Malfoy.

"What's the matter, Potter?"  Malfoy turned his head disdainfully and gave a pointed smirk at Harry's Gryffindor badge.  "Don't like sharing?  Want to be heroic all on your own?"

"Just trying to work out what you think you're doing here," Harry replied, through gritted teeth.

"You're not the only Quidditch player who was invited." Malfoy smiled. "Difficult to take, isn't it?"

"The P.A.P. must've been hard up for a ninth rider." Harry retorted, his hands clenching angrily.  Malfoy was going to dragon ride.  He was going to be around, making this whole thing a hundred times worse.  Harry seethed, and muttered under his breath, "You must not've made the Falcons if you bothered coming up here."

"Oh, no," replied Draco, in a voice that could freeze water, "I could have had a position on the team. I just thought this would be much more interesting."

"More interesting than hanging around hospitals, acting injured to get people in trouble?"

"Can't imagine what you're talking about. And if you think the fact that I'm able to walk again is going to help Weasley in court, then you -" Draco stopped himself in an uncharacteristic act of will power and grunted.  Harry didn't have time to come up with any sort of nasty response, because Charlie was now unrolling a large map, which hovered in the air in front of them.

"This is a map of the area," explained Mick.  "We'll be giving you all copies to take home.  It's important to memorize how everything is set up.  Azkaban is at the center." He pointed his wand at a drawing of Azkaban and it became three dimensional, floating in front of its space on the map.  Harry could see dark windows, cold, wet rocks, and grey walls.  At the base of the fortress, small, robed figures slithered in and out of caves and doors.  Dementors.  Harry shivered.  Draco snickered - his posture was easy, and there was no trace of fear in his expression.  He seemed to smile at the Dementors, and Harry felt distinctly uneasy.

Mick pointed out several gaps in the prison walls, then restored the Azkaban fortress to the map. He drew a green ring in the water around the island, and it began to glow.  "So far, the Aurors have been keeping the Dementors from migrating farther than this.  Of course, a few have slipped through the cracks.  That's unacceptable.  We're hoping that the dragons will enable us to keep all of the Dementors on the island itself…"

The training continued throughout the morning.  He, Viktor and Malfoy were paired off with the more experienced riders and would be trained in flight over the course of the next week.  The man who was already outfitted in dragon-riding gear, and whose name was Burke, assured Harry that riding a dragon was a hundred times more wonderful than flying on a broomstick.  Harry thought about asking why Burke had only volunteered to be on the relief crew, if it was so wonderful, but he bit his tongue and looked around the room at everyone else.

Mick was strapping on a fireproof vest and demonstrating its cords to Lavender's sister, who was jotting things down on a notepad.  Cho pointed out something on the map to Charlie, and he listened to every word she said, his brow furrowed in concentration.  When she stopped talking, he gave her a light clap on the shoulder.

"Good call," Harry heard him say.  "Don't know how I've done without you all summer."

Cho didn't seem to notice that Charlie's neck was pink when he said this; she thanked him, turned back to the map, and studiously trailed her wand across certain areas as if memorizing them.  But Harry, who had a lot of experience watching Ron go red, narrowed his eyes at Charlie and wondered what was happening there.

Malfoy looked somewhat unnerved by his trainer, a blonde woman called Lisa, which Harry found amusing considering that she was a good six inches shorter than he was.  Harry could hear her talking very quickly about breakaway harnesses and wildly waving her hands about to demonstrate while Draco leaned back to avoid getting hit.  On the other hand, Viktor and his trainer, Andras, seemed to get on well.  Andras also had a thick accent, but it seemed to help their communication, rather than hinder it.

"Yes," Viktor was saying.  "I am vell-schooled in Vind Charms."

"Good," Andras grunted.  "You vill need them to keep dragon fire from flying back into your face as you ride."

Harry swallowed, and tried to concentrate on something other than the vision he'd just had of a giant cloud of orange fire flying towards his head.  It was good that they weren't riding today, he thought.  He'd had enough, really.  It would take all night to get used to the idea of all this gear - not to mention Malfoy's presence.  Better, really, to wait until tomorrow to throw dragons into the mix.

"Everyone!"  Charlie clapped his hands.  "Oi!"  He pointed his wand to a spot on the map, and a section of shoreline glowed blue.  "This is where the dragons are kept.  Mind you don't Apparate right into the enclosure."  He grinned.  "See you outside it."  He Disapparated, with Mick and Cho close behind him.  One by one, the other riders left the room, until Harry and Burke were the only ones left. 

"Ready to meet your new partner?" Burke asked, slipping on a pair of fireproof goggles and handing a pair to Harry.  "You'll want these."

Harry did want them - he would have liked to encase the whole of himself in a fireproof bubble, actually - but he accepted the goggles without a word and Disapparated after Burke.

The Scottish shoreline was wide and cold.  Harry shivered and looked around nervously, hoping he hadn't Apparated right between a pair of giant beasts. 

"Harry," Charlie said, approaching him, "you first.  Come on with me.  Entrance is this way."

It was invisible - Rose Brown had told them about the Diversion Enchantments, but Harry was stunned to see how perfectly they worked.  Charlie walked him between two standing stones, through which there appeared to be nothing but cliffs and sky.  The moment Harry passed between them, however, he gasped and took a giant step back.

Dragons.  They were Stunned in their enclosures, but they were still massive and frightening; Harry had an unhappy sensation that he remembered from his fourth year, of being nothing more than a bit of toast to these creatures.  Huge snorts of smoke came out of their wide nostrils and their wings curled and uncurled slightly as they breathed.   The tips of their fangs showed.  Their talons gleamed.  And these were the "tame" ones.

There were keepers all over the place, too - running about and floating food in the air in front of them - enormous carcasses, which they dropped into even bigger troughs.  Harry grimaced when blood slopped out of one.  He was smaller than the meal that the dragon had just been served. 

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Charlie breathed, sounding more like Hagrid than ever.  He sighed happily and folded his arms.  "Glad you've decided to give them a chance, Harry.  You won't be sorry.  They're the most fantastic beasts on earth, dragons.  Wait till you've got one under you - there's nothing like it."

Harry agreed that there probably wasn't, and Charlie walked him between the sleeping giants, pointing them out and calling them by name.  They passed one that wasn't a Welsh Green, and Harry gaped at it.

"That's a Chinese Fireball," he said slowly.  "But..."

Charlie rolled his eyes.  "Ruddy Malfoy's too good for a regular flight dragon," he hissed under his breath.  "Had that one brought from home.  Calls it Mordor.  Bet it served in the Dark army."  Charlie glared at the dragon, which snored and shot two tiny, mushroom-shaped balls of smoke out of its nose.  "I love Fireballs, but that one's going to cause trouble, I can feel it.  Still, we had to let Malfoy come when he offered, and this was his stipulation.  'I want my dragon!' Spoiled little -"  Charlie called Malfoy several names, all of which Harry agreed to, then led him to the last huge stable.  "Here's yours," he said, pointing to the motionless mountain of an animal.  "Recognize him?"

Harry narrowed his eyes.  This dragon wasn't a Welsh Green, either.  "I thought you said only the Common Welsh's were trained," he protested.  "Why are you giving me this one?"

"Look close."  Charlie smiled.  "Bet he'll recognize you, when he wakes up - smart beasts, they are.  Remember scents for years.  Had him since he was a baby - usually this type's monstrous, they'll even feed on other dragons - but he's the tamest of all our crew."

Harry gave Charlie an incredulous stare.  "Feed on... other dragons?" he asked, his voice breaking.  He looked warily at the jet-black ridges on the dragon's back, its lizard-like expanse of skin, and its sharp, shining bronze horns.  "What kind of dragon is it?" he asked, gulping in fear as Charlie stepped up to the Stunned beast and patted him gently on the side of his snout.  But he yanked his gloved hand away when the dragon burped in sleep, sending a burst of fire at Harry, who yelped and jumped back.

"He's a Norwegian Ridgeback," Charlie answered cheerfully, giving the dragon a fond look.  "Aren't you, Norbert?"

~*~

The Court of Magic in Diagon Alley had always seemed like an enormous playground to Ron when he was very small.  He could remember visiting his father at the Ministry, and then rushing ahead of his mother to the courthouse's wide stone steps.  The courthouse sat adjacent to the main Ministry building, at the foot of a grassy lawn. He and Ginny would rush to the top of the steps (there were eighty-seven or eighty-eight, depending on how you decided to count), and after resting for a moment at the top, take turns seeing how far they could run up the sloping columns. Then you could actually lie down on one of the wide steps, and, if you turned your head at just the right angle, look across to the Ministry and feel as though the enormous building went up into the sky forever.   The Ministry was a complicated jumble of triangular additions and protruding turrets and Ron used to like to pretend that he could tell behind which windows rested the Department of Mysteries, and the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.   Eventually, he would slide off of the steps and join his brothers in trying to jump into one of the white, giant-sized stone scales which balanced in midair over the courthouse lawn. 

He had never actually had reason to go inside the courthouse until today, and as he followed Sirius up the steps, which somehow seemed to be much more normal-sized than they had when he was five years old, he felt a knot form in his stomach.  They were stopped at the door by two security wizards, who let Sirius enter with a nod.  Sirius waited patiently as Ron turned over his wand for inspection and allowed a restriction spell to be placed on it.  A gold badge, stamped with "VISITOR" in blinking red letters, appeared on his robes, and finally, the guards waved him into the building.

"Wow," said Ron, following Sirius into the depths of the building, "what are they worried about?"

"Everything," Sirius answered, waving his wand over a plain wooden door.  "You can't be too careful.  We still don't have a firm idea of who might be lurking around outside of Culparrat."  He mumbled a spell, sparks flew out of his wand, and then he gently pushed the door open.  "Welcome to my office - one of them, at least."

Ron let out a snort when he stepped over the threshold and saw an office after his own heart.  Sirius had only been in residence since the beginning of the summer, but already there were filing cabinets overflowing with paper, stacks of parchment on the floor, and numerous bunches of documents nailed to the walls.  It was in stark contrast to the neat, yet cozy, library at Lupin Lodge. 

"Has Remus seen this office?" he asked, gingerly stepping over a pile of law books and lifting a stack of paper so that he could sit down.

"Yes," Sirius answered, adding a stack of files to an already teetering pile on top of a file cabinet and then sitting down across from Ron.  "That's why he prefers to help me from home."

"I thought he wasn't allowed to come -" Ron began, but stopped in mid-sentence when Sirius clenched his jaw, and picked up one of the law books from the floor: Can You Handle the Truth? by Nicholson Moore, authority on wizard law.  Beneath it were several history books, and several volumes of the Annotated Code of Wizard Regulations.  It occurred to Ron that he didn't know much about Sirius's career before Azkaban.  "Were you into all of this legal stuff before - ?" he asked.  He was still never sure if he should refer to Sirius's time in prison – it seemed like the kind of remark that would make Hermione nudge him in the ribs and say "Shhhhh!"

Sirius shrugged.  "I'd thought about it.  I was much more interested in riding my motorbike and working for the Order.  But law was always a hobby. I had to know how much trouble I was technically allowed to get into." He laughed – such a rare sight that Ron stared in disbelief.  "I had to know exactly how far I could push James without the Head Boy being able to turn me in."

Ron laughed too, and it was the first real laugh he'd had since Hermione had left. "Yeah, well, I can understand that.  It's also very important for the Head Boy to know all the rules.  Did you know, for example, that nowhere in any of the Hogwarts handbooks does it specifically say that students are not allowed in the kitchens?"

"Ahhh," Sirius answered, leaning back in his chair and raising a finger, "but it does.  It says –" he closed his eyes in concentration "- No student shall remove food from the kitchens…"

"Exactly!" Ron interrupted.  "It does not say that you can't go into the kitchens.  It does not say that the house-elves can't carry it out of the kitchen for you at any time, although Hermione did always put them off by trying to pay them.  It merely says that a student cannot remove food from the kitchens.  You can also go down to the kitchens and eat the food there.  Whoever wrote that handbook was an idiot, although I'm not complaining."

There was a knock at the door, and Sirius pointed his wand at the knob and opened it without rising from his chair.  An eagle swooped in, carrying an enormous parcel.  Ron had never seen an eagle up close and leaned forward to get a better look, but the bird dropped the parcel in Sirius's lap and turned to leave, hitting the side of Ron's head with his wing as he flew out the door.

"Ow!" Ron yelled, rubbing his ear. Sirius's face had returned to its usual grim, stony expression.  He was reaching over his desk and pulling papers out, left and right.

"Thought you might want to see this," he said, handing the bunch to Ron. "I keep meaning to bring these home for you, but then I get preoccupied."

There were several pieces of parchment, on which were scrawled hasty-looking notes.  The top of the pile said "Malfoy/Weasley Case" in bold, official-looking letters.   "Ah," said Ron, feeling his good mood dissipate.  There was something sick about seeing his name that close to Malfoy's.   Sirius had risen from his chair, and was now bent over, digging through a pile on the floor.  Ron looked back down at the files.  Sirius had written things all over the margins.  Things like 'Quine and MacMillan testimony', and 'report from Dr. Buckey at St. Mungo's indicates that slimy git was not badly injured.'  Ron choked back a laugh at that one.  Attached to the St. Mungo's report were several photographs.  Ron watched in amusement as Malfoy, in St. Mungo's blue and white striped hospital robes, climbed out of his bed, shared a joke with his mother (Ron was amazed to see that she could actually smile), and did a series of push-ups on the floor.

"Interesting," said Ron. He was starting to feel better.  If Malfoy was acting like this, then there was no way that anyone would believe that Ron's punch had caused permanent damage.  Although, he thought to himself, Malfoy did look rather idiotic exercising in those robes. 

Sirius glanced over at Ron and then down to the photographs.  "Yeah," he said.  "I don't think you need to worry about anything.  That Daily Prophet reporter, Creevey? He gave them to me yesterday.  Seems to dislike Malfoy as much as you do."

"So," asked Ron, hesitantly. "Do you think people will believe this stuff? I mean, the judges and everything, they're fair?"

"You'll see today, won't you?  This is a slightly different trial than the one you're up against.  Much more serious, after all, it's a Death Eater case.  As for yours, I've tried to get Malfoy's defender to realize that it would be much easier to drop this whole thing, but, of course, he can't do that unless he persuades Malfoy, and that git seems to have it in for you.  Still, I'm hoping all you've got in store is a monetary fine."

"Hoping?" Ron repeated uneasily.

"Perhaps community service.  At worst - I won't lie to you - at worst, I can see a short jail sentence, if the jury decides to overcompensate on grounds that you're the Minister's son and they don't want to be seen as showing favoritism.  You could get held in one of the lower security Ministry dungeons - but nothing serious, not like wizard prison."  Sirius winced as he said this, and breathed heavily through his nose.  "They want to get you in prison, of course, but attempted manslaughter? They have to know that's ridiculous."

"Well, I'd like to kill him now," Ron mumbled, wondering what a "short" jail sentence was.  He couldn't imagine what he'd do, if that happened. 

Sirius raised his eyebrows.  "Watch what you say, Ron.  Not here, but in public.  Especially because of your father - someone will always hear you."

Ron shrugged, and balanced the pile on top of some other files on the desk, thinking that being well known wasn't as much fun as he'd once hoped it would be.  He didn't want to think about Malfoy any more.  It'll be okay, he told himself. 

 "Are those for today?" he asked, trying to change the subject.  He pointed to a group of papers that Sirius had fanned out on the floor in front of him.

"Mm-hmm," Sirius answered, not looking up.  He pushed aside some brightly-covered pamphlets that looked like junk mail -  Loopholes in the Law: How to Get Anyone Off on a Technicality and It Pays to Get Injured! – and handed an enormous law book to Ron.  "Look up 'Mens Rea', would you?"

"Sure," said Ron, grunting as he picked up the heavy book.  Hermione had to have arms of steel, after hefting volumes like this one around for seven years.  "The Encyclopedia of Wizard Law," he murmured, and then flipped through the pages, which were so thin that he could see the outline of his hand through the paper. There must have been a thousand entries under 'M', but eventually he found the correct one.  Ron cleared his throat and read, "'Mens Rea' means 'guilty mind'. Conviction for certain crimes require that the defendant intended to carry out the crime; in such cases the prosecution must prove that there was mens rea at the time the offense was committed."

"Hmph," snorted Sirius, tapping a quill absentmindedly on the palm of his hand, "that still won't help." He yawned and continued to mumble quietly, as if Ron weren't in the room.  "'Guilty mind' - but, how can we really know the truth if - DAMN!"  Ron jumped as Sirius slammed a fist down on the desk.  Parchment flew everywhere, and from the state of the office, Ron figured that Sirius probably did that all the time.

"Sirius," Ron said, perplexed, "why don't you just check and see if they've got Dark Marks?"

"Voldemort alone could make those visible.  At least, that's what we've determined so far - no one else seems to have the magic.  Anyway, not everyone affiliated with Death Eating was an official member of the group."

"Then why can't you just administer Veritaserum to these people? It'd tell you immediately who's telling the truth."

Sirius shook his head.  "I wish it were that simple." He rose from his chair and leaned against the large filing cabinet.  "The Death Eaters made liberal use of the Imperius Curse, among other things."

Ron shuddered, flashing unwillingly back to an extended, unshakable, floating feeling, and the sound of soft laughter all around him - Death Eaters interrogating him, wiping away his loyalties and forcing him to compromise the people that he loved.  There were few things worse than the Imperius Curse.  The pain of the Cruciatus haunted him far less.  "So just ask the defendant to tell you if they were being controlled," Ron said, burying his thoughts again.  "If they're under Veritaserum, they'd have to tell you, right?"

Sirius leaned forward.  "Say, for example, I put you under the Imperius Curse right now and made you … bark like a dog." Sirius grinned, and Ron gave a weak smile.  "If I then administered Veritaserum and asked you what you'd just been doing, you'd tell me that you'd been barking like a dog.  It's the truth.  But you weren't doing it of your own free will, were you?"

"I still don't understand.  You should just ask me if I was under the Imperius Curse."

"Would you know?"

Ron laughed softly.  "Oh, I'd know."

"You'd think so," Sirius agreed, "but it's common practice for Death Eaters to lay a Memory Charm on top of the Imperius, in case a useful captive should be rescued, or escape.  And breaking a Memory Charm can ruin an otherwise sound mind."

"Bertha Jorkins," Ron muttered.

"Right.  This makes it nearly impossible to depend on an individual's own testimony in defending their case. If they're innocent, then they can still say things that would sound horrendous, yet have no memory of having been placed under the Imperius Curse.  On the flip side, anyone can lie and say that they were being manipulated.  We have to look to witnesses and other outside evidence.  We have to look at a history of behavior - incidents before the rise of Voldemort have to be taken into account.  And then it gets circumstantial, and that's more of a nightmare."

Ron furrowed his brow. This was all very complicated. "Don't you always have witnesses?"

Sirius sighed. "We do, but they're not faultless, are they? There were dozens of witnesses who saw me kill Peter."

It occurred to Ron that he knew next to nothing about how the Wizard court worked.  "So," he asked, trying not to sound stupid, "that's what you do then? You try to defend all the supposed Death Eaters and gather as much evidence as you can to give them a fair trial?"

Gathering a bunch of papers in his arms, Sirius rose from his chair.  "I'll explain as we walk down to the courtroom – we're going to be late."

Ron had to walk quickly to keep up with Sirius, who seemed to be trying to get his legs to catch up with his head – he walked with a determination that kept his whole upper body thrust forward.  "We had to restructure the system after the war," he explained, "precisely because of people like this." He patted his papers with one hand.  "Your trial with Malfoy will be more traditional, with a judge, and defenders, and a jury.  But the Death Eater trials are conducted differently.  There's not one judge, but three in every trial.  We call them the Judicial Council – today we've got Mundungus Fletcher, Viviane Simpson, and Joseph Zug.

"How did you choose them?" Ron asked.

"They're all appointed by your father." 

Ron blinked.  It still surprised him to hear about the things that his father did as the Minister of Magic.  It seemed so far removed from the Dad he knew at home.  His chest swelled with a bit of Weasley pride. 

"And then what do you do?" Ron hoped he wasn't annoying Sirius with his questions.

"Whatever I have to," Sirius answered, turning a corner without losing speed.  "It's my job to gather the information, witnesses, and all the other stuff, and try to separate fact from fiction.  There is a jury, but they really serve only as an advisory board. They can't make the final decisions, only the Judicial Council can do that."

"And you defend every case?" Ron knew that Sirius had been working himself too hard, and now he understood why.

"Wish I could," said Sirius, stopping outside a set of enormous stone double doors. "The best I can do is look over every case and decide who handles it.  But I make sure to take every case that has a high potential for being unfairly and prematurely judged.  I take the guiltiest-seeming prisoners."  Sirius smiled grimly.

Ron nodded, thinking that taking all the guiltiest-seeming prisoners didn't really lighten Sirius's workload.  Most Death Eaters seemed pretty guilty, to him.  "And you just do whatever you can to figure out the truth."

"Yes.  The woman we're trying today – Darla Courtenay – she was a defender by profession.  She was a Ravenclaw when she was at Hogwarts and very respectable throughout her career.  She actually worked for the Ministry.  But about ninety percent of the people that she defended during the war turned out to be Death Eaters, and I have no idea if she's innocent, or if she helped to facilitate their crimes."

Waving his wand, Sirius opened the doors, and Ron's mouth fell open when he recognized the grand main courtroom from his history books.  It was intimidating.  A few witches and wizards were seated in the spectators' gallery that surrounded the room, and Ron recognized Mundungus Fletcher sitting at the front, deep in consultation with the other two members of the Council.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Black!" Mundungus yelled, not looking up from his desk.  Sirius made a rude gesture in the direction of the Council, and then showed Ron how to get to the spectators' gallery.  "See you at lunch," he said. "I can guarantee you that this trial will take that long, at least."

Ron climbed the stairs and found a seat where he could have a good view of the prisoner's face, and of Sirius.  The room was cold and dim, and Ron felt a bit like he was back in one of Snape's Potions lessons.  He looked across the room at the jury.  There was a mix of young and old witches and wizards.  He recognized his mother's school friend, Mrs. Cheshire – he'd forgotten to ask Sirius how the jury was selected. He wondered if Mrs. Cheshire could be on his jury?   With his luck these days, he'd get Millicent Bulstrode. 

A loud voice that echoed throughout the room startled Ron out of his thoughts.  "PLEASE RISE FOR THE MINISTER OF MAGIC!" said a squeaky voice that seemed to come from the ceiling.  Ron looked up, but couldn't see anyone.  It sounded like a house-elf.  Ron was surprised to see his father enter the room from behind the Council; he wondered how his father had time to come to trials every day, with all the other things that a Minister of Magic must have to do.  Arthur was wearing fancy purple robes and a very ornate, pointy wizard hat that winked with stars, and Ron snickered, despite himself.   His dad was starting to go daft about dressing, just like Dumbledore.

Sirius walked up to Arthur and handed him a piece of paper, and Ron saw his father point his wand at his throat. "On this day, let it be said, for the record, that the Ministry of Magic calls to trial one Darla Courtenay, under charges of conspiring against the forces of good and of acting as an accomplice to the Dark wizard, Voldemort." Several of the people sitting near Ron gasped at the mention of Voldemort's name.  Arthur then said, "The Minister of Magic defers to the judgment of the Judicial Council," and turned and left the room.

There was silence in the room except for the shuffling of some papers and then, a creaking noise as one of the side doors to the courtroom opened.  Two young Aurors-in-training floated the limp body of a woman to the chair in the middle of the room and strapped her in.  After they made sure that she was secure, Sirius pointed his wand at her and said 'Ennervate'.  When she awoke, she seemed unaware and disoriented, but a moment later, she opened her mouth and started screaming. 

"Ms. Courtenay! You must calm down." Sirius's voice was surprisingly calm, but his eyes burned intensely and his wand was pointed at the prisoner.

The woman stopped screaming, but she was anything but calm. She tried to draw herself as straight as she could in the chair, and looked around as if expecting to be struck dead at any moment.  Ron realized that she'd probably been Stunned for a long while, although someone must have awoken her at some point to let her know about her trial.

The Judicial Council explained the procedures and the charges in detail. "I know all of this," she interrupted, her voice shaking, "it's already been explained to me."

Then Sirius began asking Darla questions. They started out simply. 

"Were you ever a Death Eater?"

"Like you, you mean?"

Sirius went white with anger, and Fletcher stood up behind him.  "Mr. Black was pardoned by this Ministry in the autumn of 1997," he barked.  "You were Stunned in the spring of 1998, so don't pretend ignorance, young woman.  Now answer the question."

Ron wondered how often people did that, to Sirius.

"No," Darla spat.  "I was never a Death Eater."

"Were you ever in the service of Lord Voldemort?"

"No."

"Did you ever knowingly let a guilty man walk free?"

"My job was to defend people."

This went on for quite a while, and Ron began to wonder if Darla Courtenay was telling the truth.  He tried to guess if she was guilty just by looking at her, but he really didn't have a clue.  She looked normal enough – Ron could tell she was attractive, even though her hair was pulled back and her robes torn.  She looked a little bit angry, and that made Ron suspicious, although he supposed he'd be angry as well.  He leaned forward in his seat and strained to hear every word.

The questions became more specific. 

"Were you aware, Ms. Courtenay, that Gavin Fannon went on to kill seven people in the service of Lord Voldemort, a mere two months after you fought for his innocence?"

"I am a defender, Mr. Black. I defend people, which is more than I can say for you.  You seem determined to prove that I'm guilty.  I did my job – it wasn't my fault that some of my clients didn't tell me everything.  At least I spoke to my clients before letting them go into a courtroom."  She paused, and sat as far forward as she could in her chair, pointing a finger at Sirius. "Maybe you should spend more time trying to prove my innocence, and less trying to prove my guilt.  I don't have a guilty conscience and you'd better make sure that you don't act in a manner so as to place guilt on your own head, Mr. Black."

There was complete silence in the courtroom.  Ron could hear himself breathing; he was on the edge of his seat, hands clenched together.   He had no idea what Sirius would say, how he would react.  This was like watching a game of chess for the very first time.

When Sirius finally did speak, his voice was very even.  "I would like to call in our first witness - Clifford Parkinson." 

Darla looked angry enough to break her chains without a wand.  The guards floated in Clifford Parkinson, a tall, skinny man with a pug nose, already chained to a chair.  When revived, he looked around in frightened befuddlement, and when he saw Darla his confusion seemed to grow.

The charges against Parkinson were fairly clear-cut.  Sirius explained to everyone that Parkinson had been arrested during the war as one of the ringleaders in what had been known as the "Bonfire Night" incident.  He and a friend had killed two Muggles by using a Switching Spell.  The spell had placed the Muggles on the bonfire during Guy Fawke's Night in place of the straw man that usually burned on the bonfire.   Darla had been his defender and he had been released due to lack of evidence. 

Sirius then turned to Parkinson and asked, "Mr. Parkinson, where were you the evening of November 5, 1996?"

Parkinson's voice was quite high-pitched.  "I was at home."

"Were you?" asked Sirius, pacing.  "Then how is it that you were arrested by members of the M.L.E.S. in Skipton, when your home, as I understand it, is in Birmingham?"

"I've already had a trial, Black," spat Parkinson.  He pointed at Darla. "She knows! She was my defender."

"Mmmmm," said Sirius.  He turned to address Darla. "Did he tell you that he was at home that evening? Did he explain to you how he ended up so far from home?"

"My job," said Darla, through gritted teeth, "was to defend my client.  I was not on some sort of witch hunt.  You –" she nodded her head toward Sirius, and then at the Judicial Council.  "- you're no better than the Muggles.  You're just out for blood."

Sirius stared at her for what seemed like an eternity to Ron.  He couldn't help but remember the night that Sirius had dragged him through the Whomping Willow and into the Shrieking Shack during his third year at Hogwarts.  Sirius had transformed from a dog into a human and he and Ron had just looked at each other.  Ron had been on the receiving end of that stare, and he didn't envy Darla Courtenay one bit.

~*~

Ginny sat cross-legged in her chair at the dinner table, ignoring her plate. For two days she had been utterly absorbed with Empathy in Sorcery: A Complete History and Guide, which now sat open in her lap. She devoured each word, her body still tingling from the effort of her first lesson in Healing. She'd spent the last three hours holding her palms over various plants in the back garden and recording what she'd sensed. The lesson had left her hungry and tired, but she was too geared up to notice. It had worked. She had felt things.

"Ginny," Remus said gently, "take a break."

She nodded absently and groped for her fork without looking up. "I'll eat, I'll eat," she murmured, and stabbed something on her plate. Keeping her eyes on her book, she brought the food to her mouth, hardly even tasting it. The period which directly follows a Healer's discovery of his or her gift, she read, is generally a time of great energy and relief. Nebulous, yet overwhelming feelings which have always plagued the Healer finally have a name. Sensations which have been written off as "hypersensitivity" or "over imagination" are finally justified as real. A novice Healer may spend much of this discovery period in a state of incredible happiness; suddenly there is nothing "wrong" or "odd" about the extreme depth of feeling that he or she has always possessed. On the contrary, that depth is now recognized as a rare and useful tool, ready to be sharpened and exercised.

Ginny chewed slowly on the Brussels sprout she had inadvertently stuck in her mouth. She hated the things, but was too rapt to bother spitting it out. She grimaced, and swallowed. The recommended first subject of study for any Healer in training is not a fellow human being - though this will be most Healers' natural inclination. The newfound ability to help others must be resisted until the Healer has truly mastered his or her gift. New Healers should always begin work in the vegetable kingdom; plants are excellent practice targets and provide an enormous variety of auras on which Healers can hone their skills. This study ties into the study of Potions, at which Healers may find themselves suddenly and strangely skilled. Herbology and Potions, therefore, should comprise at least the first six months of Healer education.

Ginny frowned in disappointment. The feelings she had experienced while working with the plants had been thrilling - some good, some bad, but certainly thrilling - yet they had not been satisfying. She had harbored such an urge, the whole time, to put her hands near Remus and see what she could feel. She had an idea that she would know more about him, and about the werewolf, if she could only get him to stand still long enough.

"Six months on plants?" she muttered, turning the pages back quickly to see what the next course of study would be. Several chapters later she saw the title Care of Magical Creatures: The Second Tier of Study and groaned. "And then animals? I want to do people."

There was a clink of metal on flatware, then a pause as Remus swallowed and cleared his throat. "Of course," he said. "But you don't want to do damage to anyone - or to yourself. You said that some of the unhealthy trees made you ache, and that's to be expected, but you're going to have to build up a tolerance to other people's pain. It will serve you best to practice in degrees, starting with living things whose injuries and emotions are less complicated."

Ginny pursed her lips at this answer, which was not the one she wanted, and stubbornly continued to read. Suddenly she understood how Hermione could always complete a long course of study in half the time that it would take any other student; Ginny knew in her bones that she would be ready to take on complex animals well before six months had passed. But she kept quiet, letting her eyes scan the page. The faster she learned, the faster she could convince Remus to let her move ahead.

A loud slam! of something hitting the floor and the scrape of two chairs being pulled back broke Ginny's concentration, and when someone nudged her in the side with an elbow, she elbowed back, quite hard. "Stop it, Ron," she complained. "I'm trying to study."

"How was your day, Ron?" Ron asked himself in a girlish voice, affecting a tone of great concern. "Did you learn much at court? Worried about your trial? Sorry to pester you, but as your only sister, I care about your life."

A weary laugh from across the table told Ginny that Sirius had just Apparated home as well, but she ignored him, too.  She wanted to read.

"Rude," Ron said, yanking at one side of her book. "You're not supposed to read at the table."

Ginny yanked back, and finally looked up to glare at her brother. "Who are you - Mum? Let go!"

Ron grinned and let go, but Ginny couldn't help noticing that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked troubled. He... felt troubled. Ginny was startled to realize that she could keenly feel his tension, with hardly any effort at all. She wondered if it had something to do with being related to him, and made a mental note to look that up. "Are you okay?" she asked, shutting her book and setting it on the table.  Maybe he would let her practice on him.  She concentrated as hard as she could on the energy that emanated from her brother, opening herself to it and attempting to work out what it was.  She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Remus was watching her and frowning, but she pretended not to see him.  "What's the matter?" she prodded, focusing on Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh don't try asking now. You missed your chance."

"Really, are you -"

"I'm fine."

But he wasn't. He turned his eyes to the plate that Sirius had just flown over to him, mumbled his thanks, and started eating. Ginny glanced at Sirius, who was watching Ron with an eyebrow raised. She wondered what they had seen in court. Perhaps witnessing a trial had been a bad idea - perhaps it had made Ron more, not less, nervous about Malfoy's case against him.

"Who was it today?" Remus asked in a low voice, as Sirius served himself.

"Courtenay," Sirius answered. He took a huge bite of chicken, and shook his head. "She's guilty," he said thickly, "and I can't find a way to prove it. There's a way, but I'm not... I know it's right there, but I'm missing it."

"You're tired," Remus answered. "If you got some sleep -"

"Can't afford more sleep," Sirius said irritably. "Ron, if you learned anything today, it should've made you feel much better. It's harder than hell to fairly convict anyone of anything."

Ron didn't answer. His face was set in grim lines, and he continued to concentrate on his food.

Ginny elbowed him a little. "Ron," she tried, but she snatched her arm away when his face darkened.

"Don't bother me right now," he snapped.

She shot him a look. It was fine if he wanted to Apparate to the table with a big bang and interrupt her reading, but when she wanted to talk... Ginny sniffed. Brothers were so obnoxious.

"Where's Harry?" Sirius asked. "He's not back?"

Ginny forgot Ron's sudden change of mood and checked her watch. It was quarter-past six. Harry was supposed to have been finished with the dragons at six. He should have Apparated home from Azkaban by now. She couldn't believe it had taken her so long to notice.

"Not yet," Remus answered.

"What's taking him so long?" Sirius demanded of no one in particular.

Ginny was glad that someone else was appropriately worried; she caught Sirius's eyes and shook her head. "I don't know," she said.

"Should I go up and see if he -"

"Sirius. It's only been fifteen minutes. I imagine the dragon riders must have to wear protective robes, or gear of some kind - give Harry a chance to gather himself. I'm sure he's fine."

Ginny and Sirius exchanged a look, but didn't protest. Sirius continued to eat. Ginny picked up her fork again, but worry and hunger clashed in her stomach and she couldn't make herself take a bite. While the other three silently ate their dinners, Ginny grew progressively more anxious, continuing to check her watch under the table until -

"SIRIUS!"

Ginny jumped and gasped. "Ron, scare everyone to death why don't you!"

Ron was halfway out of his chair, leaning across the table, suddenly and highly agitated.  "That woman - Courtenay – she was a Ministry employee, right?"

Sirius looked almost annoyed. "Weren't you listening today? She was a defender."

Ron waved an impatient hand.  He started to rap his fingers on the table. "There are files at the Ministry about each case that went through the Office of the Defender, right? I mean, that's where you found all that information about Parkinson, right? There's a big file about his arrest and the trial where she defended him, right?"

Ginny looked over at Sirius, who was chewing his pasty and looking disinterested.

"Do you know who brought him in? I mean, who in the M.L.E.S. arrested him?  Is that in the files?"

"Yes, it's all there."

"Could we find out who was responsible for arresting other known Death Eaters and assigning Darla as their defender?"

Sirius dropped his pasty into his plate; it landed with a thud.  "What are you saying, Ron?" he asked slowly. 

"What if she is innocent, Sirius? What if she was being set up - controlled by her clients, one curse at a time?  What if the person who orchestrated it works for the M.L.E.S.?  Or in the Office of the Defender?"

"I don't know." Sirius looked as if he didn't want to believe Ron.  "They've all been checked. All of them.  It's a highly secure operation."

Ginny stole a glance at Remus, who was quite pale. He reached out and touched Sirius on the forearm.  "I think you should listen to him," Remus said quietly.  "He's right. It's the perfect bluff." 

There was a moment of silence.  Ginny closed her eyes and could feel three distinct energy forces surrounding her – one excited, one worried, and one extremely frightened.  The table shook as someone pushed away from it.

Sirius was on his feet.  "I knew the solution was right in front of me," he muttered, pulling his wand.  Remus made a grab for the wand, but Sirius jerked away.  "No, I know, I need sleep, but this is too important - I have to get this researched before we reconvene."

"Wait a second."  Ron stood as well.  "I don't have to work until five tomorrow night, I don't need sleep - I'll go."

Sirius shook his head.  "You won't have access to everything I need, and I'll have to read over the-"

"Damn it, Sirius."  Remus's protest was very quiet, but so intense that everyone stopped talking and looked at him.  He very rarely swore, and Ginny felt a thrill at the dark look in his light eyes as he pinned Sirius with them.  "Let Ron help if he wants to.  You need it, and I can't."  There was something desperate in his voice.

Sirius's jaw tightened.  He looked at Remus for a quiet moment, then gave a terse nod.  "Ready, Ron?"

Ginny glanced at her brother; there were pink patches in his cheeks and his eyes were bright.  He looked... proud.  "Right," Ron said, pulling his wand.  "Do I need to bring anything?"

But before Sirius could answer, everyone at the table went still and looked up.  Someone was walking around upstairs.  Bed springs creaked, and there were two soft thuds, like the sound of shoes dropping to the floor.  Ginny's heart swelled with relief.  Harry hadn't been torched by one of Charlie's stupid dragons.  He was home.

"We'll leave in a second," Sirius muttered.  "I want to see how he is."  He went towards the kitchen door and Ron followed.

But Ginny pushed her chair back and darted in front of both of them; she raced through the front room to the stairs, and heard Remus's voice behind her; "Let them alone.  You two should get started if you're going tonight."  Ginny silently thanked Remus, made a quick vow to herself that she would never turn in her homework late, and knocked on Harry's door.

"Harry?  Is that you?"

"Yeah.  Come in."

Ginny pushed the door open and smiled so widely at Harry that she felt a little stupid, but she couldn't help it.  The fear that he would get into danger and disappear had never quite worn off, and somehow, Ginny knew it never would.  "You're okay," she said, still smiling, and he smiled back from his seat on the bed.  His shoulders were a little slumped, and he looked tired, but otherwise there didn't seem to be any injuries.  A three-dimensional map hung suspended in midair in front of him.  "What was it like?" she asked, peering at it curiously.  "Or are you too tired to talk?"

"No."  Harry shifted sideways and touched the spot next to him, coloring as he did so.

Ginny walked around the map and sat beside him, blushing in answer.  He wanted her there.  He wanted her close.  Their sides brushed and Ginny's thigh rested against Harry's, but for the first time, she felt no awkwardness.  Harry picked up her hand and pushed his fingers between hers, and they were quiet together for several minutes; Ginny felt as if the chaos of dinner and the strange burden of Empathy were falling away from her, like giant stones tumbling down a hill.  She watched the map - which she could now see was of Azkaban - letting her eyes follow the little Dementors as they slithered in and out of gaps in the walls.  They looked like toys.  She reached out her free hand and flicked at one, but her fingers passed right through the illusion.

"How was school?" Harry finally asked.  He pointed his wand, and the map rolled up and flew into his bag.

"Fine."  Ginny thought about telling Harry what she was learning, but found she didn't want to.  She hadn't discussed Empathy with anyone other than Remus.  "How were things at Azkaban?"

Harry gave a short laugh.  "I don't know what I was thinking, taking this job."

"I told you," Ginny said, leaning her head on Harry's shoulder.  "Are the dragons as big as you remember them?"

Harry snorted.  "Bigger.  But you won't believe which one I'm riding." 

Ginny pulled her legs onto the bed and tucked them to the side, nestling more closely against Harry.  "Which one?"

"Did you ever know about Norbert?"

Ginny gasped.  "Hagrid's Norbert?" She lifted her head and stared at Harry.  "Of course I knew about him, Ron told me everything about your first year.  Really - he's yours? But he's not a Welsh Green!"

"Norwegian Ridgeback."

"Those are the kind that attack each other!  Is he honestly tame enough to ride?" Ginny asked anxiously.  "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded and switched her hand into his left one.  Ginny shut her eyes, trying not to burst as Harry slipped his right arm around her and pulled her a bit closer.  She let her head fall against his shoulder once more, and tucked her knees up a little tighter so that they overlapped with his leg.  Their clasped hands rested on her knee, and Harry's fingers traveled up and down the outside of her other arm, making her shiver.  "How many riders are there?" she asked quietly, when she found her voice again.

"Nine.  Three on my shift."

"Just three of you?  Is that safe?"  Ginny felt Harry's shoulders shake with silent laughter.

"I don't know.  None of it's safe, I guess." 

"Well, who are you riding with?  Charlie and Mick?"

"No."  Harry shifted, and Ginny thought she could feel his body tense.  He was uncomfortable.  She squeezed his hand and waited.  "Viktor Krum's one of my... I don't know, colleagues?"  Harry laughed through his nose. 

Ginny turned her head in surprise, then blushed to realize how close her mouth was to Harry's face.  She did not, however, pull away.  "Viktor Krum?" she repeated, feeling her voice reverberate between her mouth and his jaw.  She felt a rush of power when Harry closed his eyes and his mouth fell slightly open.  "Viktor Seeker Krum?"

"Yeah."  Harry brought his face a fraction closer to hers, as if waiting for her to speak again.

"He's giving up Quidditch to do this?"

"Guess so."

"So you're not the only idiot, then."

"Guess not."

Ginny laughed, and affectionately touched her lips to Harry's cheek.  He squeezed her arm and rested his head against hers.  This was so natural.  This was what she'd always known it would be like.  "I'm glad you have a friend up there," she murmured.  "Who's the other rider?"

Harry tensed again, and Ginny felt a stab of apprehension.  He muttered something she couldn't understand.

"Huh?  I can't hear you."

"Draco Malfoy."  Harry was gripping her hand rather too hard.  "He's the other one on my shift."

Ginny didn't move.  She wasn't sure what she wanted to do first - scream, hit something, or get another Howler ready.  "You're joking," she said hopefully.

"I'm not."  Harry sounded resigned.  "He got a letter because he was practicing with the Falcons, and I guess he doesn't much want to play Quidditch either."

"Why?"  Ginny sat up in despair and looked at Harry.  "When has he ever done something difficult on purpose?  Why would he pick dragon riding if he could buy himself a spot on the Falcons?"

"I don't know."  Harry let go of Ginny's hand and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"What - bothering Ron isn't good enough?  Does he have to follow you everywhere?  Can't you tell him to go and - oh, I don't know.  Never mind.  I'll tell Dad to sack him."

Harry laughed, but the sound was weary.  "You can't.  No one else wants the job - Charlie says that's the only reason they took him in the first place.  I just can't figure out why he wants to be there."  Harry scratched his head.  "It's going to be hard work.   We didn't ride today, but we'll start tomorrow, and Malfoy's already had his family's Chinese Fireball brought from home.  He wants to ride a more dangerous dragon than everyone else, and I just don't get it.  It's not like him."

"He's up to something."

"Well, yeah."  Harry smiled a little.  "Familiar territory, at least," he said, mostly to himself.  His fingers had stopped moving on Ginny's arm, and he looked distant.

"Or," Ginny said, trying to bring him back, "perhaps he's had a change of heart and he really wants to help.  Perhaps Malfoy has become a selfless philanthropist, who secretly wants to be of service to the people that he's hurt."

Harry stared at her in disbelief.  "Huh?"

Ginny giggled.  "Perhaps he just wants to be friends, Harry," she continued.  "Who knows?  You two might really get along, if you'd just give him a chance.  You're so judgmental."

At this, Harry seemed to realize that she was joking.  He gave her a lopsided smile.  "Oh.  Yeah, you're right.  Maybe I'll bring him around for dinner."

"Yes, do."  Ginny smiled, and leaned her head on his shoulder again, despising Malfoy, but not wanting to disrupt the entire conversation for his sake.  It was too good, to be this close to Harry.  And maybe it was better just to be here, than to get up and rant about the things that were unfair.  Harry's hand resumed its slow motions on her arm, and, instead of taking her other hand again, he reached up and began idly playing with her hair.  Ginny sighed and leaned her head back, forgetting that Malfoy existed.  Harry was touching her.  She'd had a dream like this, just last night - another nightmare about Tom, but at the end of it, Harry had shown up and touched her hair, like this, and then he'd bent his head...

Ginny opened her eyes, her mouth tingling, a sudden suspicion waking in her mind.  "Harry," she asked slowly, "were you in my room this morning?"

He blushed.  His hand faltered on her hair. 

"You were," she said very quietly, turning her face so that her chin rested on his shoulder.  Harry took his hand down and self-consciously cracked his knuckles against his leg.  "Was I talking in my sleep?" she asked.

"Yeah."  Harry was so red that Ginny could feel the heat of it.

"Thank you for helping," she said, and softly kissed his cheek again.  She wanted him to turn his face - now - to look at her.  "Hermione usually does."

"Do you have those dreams a lot?"  His voice was low and unsteady.

"Not anymore."  She touched her nose to his cheek.  "Harry," she said quietly.  He needed to turn his face.

When he did, his eyes were unfocused, behind his glasses.  His mouth was slightly open.  Ginny met his gaze and then, before anything could be said - before anyone could interrupt - she slowly moved her chin towards his.

The contact with his lips was so gentle that it almost hurt.  Ginny shut her eyes and remained motionless, memorizing.  Harry.  Her heart slowed; time itself seemed to have taken a long, quiet pause, just for the two of them.  Harry moved his thumb on her arm, and then he let go - a second later, both his hands cupped her face.  She made a soft sound that was only his, and slipped her arms around him; their mouths opened, but exploration was tentative and shallow.  Ginny was afraid to move too much.  She had a feeling that, at any moment, she was going to break apart.

Somehow the kiss ended, as gently as it had begun.  Harry pulled her legs across his lap and put his arms around her, and she sat curled against his chest with her face in the shoulder of his robes, holding onto him and trying to breathe.  His heart pounded and she could feel it, beating out of rhythm with her own.  It lulled her, and she didn't try to fight it.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, a long while later. 

"Okay," Harry said, into her hair.  But he didn't move.

Ginny didn't want to move, either.  She didn't want to leave.  Instead, she leaned toward the pillows, bringing Harry with her.  He came willingly, spooning against her once they were both lying down, and letting out a long, satisfied exhale. 

"We can't stay here," he said wistfully.

"Ron's out for awhile," Ginny said, fitting back against him.  "Helping Sirius in London... They'll be gone for hours..."

Harry's arm tightened around her; he found her hand and kept it tucked in his own. "Just for a minute, then," he mumbled into her neck.

"Okay," Ginny sighed, so much in love that even her bones were exhausted.  She was fast asleep in seconds, cocooned in the safe warmth of Harry, who dropped a last, soft kiss on her neck just before she drifted out. 

At some point, when it was much darker in the house, she woke up disoriented.  She was in her own bed, she realized, which meant that Harry must have carried her there and tucked her in.  Her heart throbbed.  She turned over and looked at the wall that separated their rooms, wishing that he had crawled beneath her covers and stayed the night - now that she knew what it was like to curl up beside him, his absence left a terrible emptiness.  Ginny felt the pang of a sob coming on.  She rolled onto her stomach and cried quietly into her pillow, both from the ache of wanting Harry, and from the deeper ache of truly having him for the first time.