Time froze. Even though the Ministry building was blazing with a furious roar not fifty meters away, for just a moment, the only sound was a breeze whistling past Holly's ears. Dumbledore hadn't moved, and Holly's hand was still clasped tightly in his. Holly could tell that this was not a man who ever overreacted, but here he was, with his face locked in an emotion that she couldn't translate. She could almost see a million thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

Slowly, Dumbledore began to nod his head, and said softly, "Yes, so you are. So you are."

He released her hand and leaned back, finally breaking eye contact and turning towards the other wizard. Mr. Weasley had the distinct appearance of a man who had seen far too much in one day, possibly a lifetime. He was staring at the ground somewhere between himself and the fire, his mouth slightly open. Holly realized that he was most likely still in shock over Percy, who she assumed must be someone very close to him. She only vaguely remembered how her father acted after her mum had died. It hadn't been pretty.

"Arthur?" Dumbledore said. He didn't move, and Dumbledore spoke more firmly, placing his hand on Mr. Weasley's shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. "Arthur."

Mr. Weasley looked up and nodded, obviously still locked in his thoughts. He stood and said, emotionlessly, "We'd best get outside of the Anti-Apparition zone. We'll need to be going now."

He began walking back towards a trail that led into the trees. Dumbledore followed suit, easing himself off the tree trunk. "Come along, Holly. Are you well enough to walk?"

Holly's stubborn pride got the better of her and she was immediately on her feet. Almost as quickly, she felt the blood rushing from her head and the cold air biting through her cloak. She pulled the cloth in tighter to her body, and nodded. She gritted her teeth, equally out of determination and also a need to stop her teeth from chattering. "I'm fine. Just a bit cold."

Dumbledore placed a hand under her elbow to steady her as they walked. For once, she didn't care to protest. Questions ran through her head unrestrained, but she held them quietly. There would be plenty of time to ask shortly, she was certain.
***********************************************************************************************
Almost as soon as Mr. Weasley had left to retrieve his rubber duck, the party began to dwindle. It came to a screeching halt for Harry when he took a chance with one of Fred and George's "Weasley Crackers," which hit him squarely in the face with a cream pie. The room shook with laughter as the pie tin fell to the floor, Harry's face and hair now covered with whipped cream. Harry sat still for a moment, then reached up slowly and removed his glasses, revealing two perfectly clean round spots around his eyes.

The laughter became hysterical. Ron fell off his chair, clutching his ribs, while the twins exchanged excessive congratulations. Ginny knocked her glass over, laughing uncontrollably, while Mrs. Weasley held the edge of her apron over her face, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes as she shook with mirth. Hermione finally caught her breath, her face still contorted with a grin. She reached over and ran her finger across Harry's cheek, then sampled the whipped cream.

"Mmm, not bad. Sherbet lemon."

Harry stuck his tongue out and ran it along his upper lip. "Needs sugar."

The room broke out in another wave of laughter, and Harry finally joined in. "How long until this stuff disappears, Fred?" he asked, the cream beginning to drip down his neck.

"It doesn't," Fred answered, grinning.

"Yup, this time, it's the real thing!" seconded George.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I needed a shower anyway." He looked at his glasses, which were also thickly coated with whipped cream. "Perhaps I should wear these in the shower too. I'll be back in a little while." He pushed out his chair and stood, assuring Mrs. Weasley that he'd had a wonderful time and that the cake had been delicious. Still holding his glasses in his hand, he made his way out of the kitchen and to the stairs, proceeding to crash into the railing. He cursed loudly, causing more laughter from the kitchen. He rubbed his stomach, smirked, and walked up the stairs. Carefully.

Finally in the bathroom, he closed the door and squinted into the mirror. He chuckled as some of the cream began to slide down his forehead and past his eyebrow. He wiped his face, and then ran his glasses under the faucet. He pulled off his shirt, and was reaching down to remove his belt when a deep chill ran up his back. The sensation was odd, disconcerting, and despite the boisterous evening, he suddenly felt strangely withdrawn. He shook it off and finished undressing.

Harry turned on the water, waited a moment, and then stepped under the shower head. The hot water felt great, and he relaxed as the steam rose up around him. He leaned over to reach for the soap when a sharp pain seared across his forehead. Harry's hand snapped up to his scar, pressing it tightly as though it would block the sharp burn that was now coming in vicious pulses. He slipped on the wet surface of the bathtub as a wave of pain nearly blocked his vision. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth and balled his fists tightly. Bright lights flashed before his eyes. He heard himself hissing in desperation, "Not now, please not today. . ."

Harry sank to his knees, willing the pain to end. He braced himself, battling wave after wave, noiselessly, almost completely oblivious to time and his surroundings. Finally, the pain subsided. With a shaky breath, Harry opened his eyes to find himself slumped on the edge of the bathtub. He wrapped his hands around the edge of the tub and sat upright. He shuddered. Last night had been exhausting, and Dumbledore's talk that morning hadn't been much easier. This was just getting to be a bit too much. He couldn't bear to keep bringing news like this to his friends. It was yet one more thing to make their summer difficult, and it was becoming awkward to keep going on about these topics. More reasons for his friends to worry about him. He needed to talk to someone else . . .Sirius! He hadn't sent his godfather a letter since any of this had happened, and there was certainly plenty to tell. He would need to write to Sirius immediately.

He rubbed his forehead once more, feeling the last traces of pain fade from his scar, then got to his feet. The shower was still pouring warm water over him, and he stood there for a moment, soaking it in. The steam had completely filled the bathroom, and Harry took a deep breath. A tickle in his throat caused him to cough lightly. Then again . . . and once more. He sniffed the air, and caught a faint smell of smoke. The steam around him suddenly felt much more oppressive than soothing. Ok, now I must be loosing my mind, he thought, feeling a slight panic.

Harry turned off the shower as quickly as he could, beginning to cough continuously. He wrapped himself in his shower robe and threw open the bathroom door. He raced into the hallway and turned his back against the wall, breathing deeply, as though there would never be enough air available. He realized he didn't really smell anything burning, but it seemed as though he could feel it around him, almost tasting an acidic, smoky flavor in his mouth. He closed his eyes as a few more coughs racked his thin form, and rolled his head back with a groan. This was definitely too much.

"Harry?" Ron had just come up the stairs, followed closely by Hermione. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.

Great, just what he needed, thought Harry. Now there was no way to avoid telling them. He thought about making up a story, but what was the point? "I was in the shower and my scar started to hurt," he said simply, but then he hesitated a moment too long. Hermione picked up on it immediately.

"What else?" she asked.

"I can't hide anything, can I?" he asked, chagrinned.

"Harry, why would you want to?" Hermione countered.

"Never mind. Do you smell smoke?" Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione.

Ron screwed up his face, sniffing the air, and answered, "No. Not at all. Do you?"

Harry nodded. "Let me go get dressed. This is a bit drafty, to say the least, and I'm freezing. I'll meet you upstairs, ok?"

"Ok, Harry," Ron said. "Don't be long." Ron turned to the stairs, but Hermione held her ground.

"That's strange," she said vaguely, lost in thought. "Very strange."

"What is, Hermione?" Harry questioned.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," she said quickly. "It's just something that occurred to me. I really must get to the library soon . . ."

"Hermione!" Ron howled. "Come on, let him get dressed." Ron took her firmly by the arm and led her towards the stairs to his room.

Harry actually cracked a smile at the sight. He walked back into the bathroom and took a drink of water, but the smoky taste wouldn't quite go away. He sighed and wondered if he'd ever get a moment's peace, immediately admonishing himself for even asking the question. He already knew the answer. There would be no peace until the war with Voldemort was over. In the meantime, it would have to be fought one battle at a time. He closed the door softly.
************************************************************************
That should have been the worst night of her life, Holly decided. Funny thing was, it hadn't been. Aside from the fact that she had almost died, in retrospect, it had been very interesting. Insanely, her largest personal regret was that her camera and compass had gone up in smoke. She still had almost all of her mum's things, except for the stones, but those were not as important as the things she had managed to save. All of it seemed unimportant compared to the fantastic castle she now knew as Hogwarts.

When they had arrived, she had been taken straight to the infirmary. Mr. Weasley hadn't said a word since they had left the Ministry, his eyes empty as though a part of him had burned with the building. Holly was much more worried for him than she was for herself. He sat on a chair next to one of the beds while Dumbledore walked to the fireplace at the far end of the room. Holly followed him curiously. He threw in a pinch of powder, and small fire flared up, although there weren't any logs in the fireplace. Dumbledore called out, "Poppy Pomfrey."

The face of a woman had appeared in the flames, causing Holly to start. Dumbledore observed Holly amusedly before turning back to the fireplace.

"What can I do for you, Albus? School doesn't start for a month."

"We have a rather unusual situation on our hands, Poppy. I will be requiring your immediate assistance."

The witch simply nodded, as though speaking through a fireplace was an everyday occurrence. Moments later, Madam Pomfrey arrived through a whirl of green flame, shaking off her robes in a no-nonsense manner. "Now, Albus, what seems to be the . . . Great Merlin's Beard!" she exclaimed, catching sight of Holly. She looked over the young witch and shook her head. "Do I even want to know?"

"Holly has had quite a rough evening, Poppy, but she seems quite resilient. Clean her up and then bring her to my office please. I shall be up there, speaking with Arthur." Dumbledore indicated Mr. Weasley, still sitting silently at the other end of the infirmary. He lowered his voice. "Could you also find a potion to help Arthur? He's had a terrible shock tonight himself."

When Dumbledore had left with Mr. Weasley and the bottle of potion, Madam Pomfrey turned on Holly and tutted at her. "And what have you been getting yourself into? You look as though you lost a fight with a dragon. No, don't bother to tell me. Now, take off your cloak and let's have a look at you."

Holly was perfectly fine with not getting into a discussion of the night's events. The more she spun it around in her head, the less she understood it. She laid the cloak carefully aside and noticed with a shock that the rich blue fabric was not only undamaged, but also perfectly clean. She didn't have long to consider the fact, as the Mediwitch began fussing over her, cleaning the multiple cuts on her arms she hadn't realized were there.

"Ouch!" Holly recoiled from Pomfrey's ministrations over a particularly long gash. Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at her, then tapped the cut lightly with her wand. Holly cringed and looked away as a thick sliver of glass extracted itself from the cut.

"Ok, young miss. Now I must know what on earth you did to yourself."

Holly felt inexplicably embarrassed. "That must have been from when I went through the window."

"You went through a window," Madam Pomfrey echoed vaguely. She applied a salve to the cut and immediately, the pain went away. Holly watched in amazement as the cut closed up before her eyes, leaving only a faint, pinkish scar in its wake. Madam Pomfrey continued to talk as she worked. "And why on earth did you go through a window?"

"Well, it was the only way out, and the building was burning," Holly said.

Madam Pomfrey began wiping the blood and soot from Holly's face with a warm, wet cloth. The liquid smelled faintly spicy and Holly could feel her skin tingling pleasantly. "A fire. Not another one of those horrid Death Eater attacks, was it?"

Holly nodded, then coughed roughly.

"We'll have to do something about that cough, too. Where were you? Where was the attack?"

"The Ministry of Magic."

Madam Pomfrey dropped the cloth she had been using and all the colour drained from her face. "The Ministry," she whispered through ashen lips. She sat down on the chair by the night table. "Dear Merlin. It's finally happened." She looked at Holly in slight awe. "How did you get out?"

Holly pressed her lips together tightly. "A bit of luck, I guess."

They sat in silence for a moment before Madam Pomfrey stood again and picked up the cloth. She dipped it in the basin of fresh potion and returned her attention to the cuts on Holly's face. "You and Harry." She muttered. "Must be some connection because you both seem to like trying to get yourselves killed."

Holly said nothing.

"You did a fair job of cutting yourself up," she said, applying a dollop of salve to each of the gashes. "Shouldn't leave any noticeable scarring. My ointments are the finest in the world."

She tapped her wand smartly on Holly's head and Holly felt the sticky sensation of dried blood disappear. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at her hands. They were clean. The older witch surveyed her handiwork, but noticedshe wasn't quite finished. She swiftly leveled her wand directly at Holly's eyes and said, "Occulus Reparo."

Holly had closed her eyes as soon as the wand had been aimed at her, and it took her a moment to realize that it wasn't an aggressive act. She opened her eyes and found, to her delight, that her glasses had indeed been fixed. She took them off and marveled at the repair job, then replaced them and looked up. Madam Pomfrey was rummaging through a cabinet. She returned with some blue liquid in a glass. "Drink up. This will clear the smoke from your lungs."

Holly eyed the contents of the glass suspiciously, sniffed it, and then took a deep swig. The reaction was immediate, although she wasn't sure if the potion would remove the smoke from her lungs or everything from her nearly empty stomach.

"Ugh!" she spat, turning slightly green. "What's in this stuff?"

"You probably don't want to know. Now, take your cloak and follow me. Dumbledore is waiting.

Holly unfolded her cloak and spun it around her shoulders, fastening the bird-shaped clip at her throat. Madam Pomfrey nodded in approval, then turned on her heel and strode out of the room. Holly nearly had to jog to keep up with the brisk pace.

Feeling significantly better, Holly was now able to take in the peculiar sights of the school as she walked. It looked and felt neither exactly like a school, nor a castle, and not quite anything in-between either. It seemed like a living thing, the very walls pulsing with a nebulous sort of energy. It shook Holly with a bizarre sense of deja-vu. After endless flights of stairs, they followed a long hallway lit with sconces and lined with suits of armor. They finally stopped in front of a large gargoyle.

"Fizzing Whizzbee," Madam Pomfrey said clearly. The statue sprang aside, and the stones of the wall pulled apart to reveal a long, spiral staircase that was slowly corkscrewing upwards.

"Go on up now. Don't keep the Headmaster waiting. Let him know I'll be at home if he needs anything else. As for you, try to stay away from things that will get you killed. Eventually, one of them will succeed."

Holly's cheeks flushed crimson. She felt like a schoolgirl again. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

Madam Pomfrey favoured her with a quick smile, then turned and retreated down the hallway. Holly watched her go, then carefully stepped onto the moving staircase. The deja-vu was growing stronger. The stairs went on forever, it seemed. She arrived on the landing in front of a richly varnished oak door. She reached up to the shiny brass knocker, but hesitated. What was she waiting for? She knew that the answers to so many questions probably lay behind that door. Sometimes, she realized, the answers can scare a person more than the questions. She had promised herself not to be afraid, she reminded herself staunchly. She grasped the knocker and announced her arrival.

The door opened, and Dumbledore's tired eyes gazed at her from behind foggy half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Holly. You are looking much better. Come in, please."

Holly followed him into the room and looked around in awe. The round office was warm and welcoming, with enough gadgets and gizmos to keep her curious for hours. Many had gleaming metal parts, and they tooted, whistled, and whirred softly on tables and shelves. There were books and small statues, and countless paintings. She put all this out of her mind when she saw Mr. Weasley. The wizard's eyes were as red as his hair, and faint white trails of salty tears graced his cheeks. He was twisting his hat in his hands, but he smiled when he saw her.

"Holly, I'm glad you're ok. You're quite the young woman," he said thickly. He had obviously only stopped crying moments ago. The pain was still evident on his face.

"I'm absolutely fine, Arthur. Really, I was more worried about you. Will you be ok? Is there anything I can do? You came to my rescue twice, really. I owe you."

"No, but I'm sure I'll see you again. I really must be going. I'll need to tell the family." He stood and put his hat on his head. The hat was now severely disfigured, but Holly didn't have the heart to point it out.

"I'll walk you to the edge of the grounds, Arthur. There are a few more things we need to go over anyway," Dumbledore said. He turned back to Holly. "Make yourself comfortable. I will return in a moment."

Arthur shook Holly's hand warmly and wished her well, and the two wizards left, leaving Holly along in that fantastic room. She sat down on the plush, burgundy chair across from the desk and looked around. She began tapping her foot. She fidgeted. Finally, she gave in to her curiosity. She had an unfortunate talent for getting her nose into everything. Why stop now?

She was examining the first table of gadgets without coming any closer to understanding them when a familiar song floated through the room.

"Bram?" she asked, spinning around, but instead of the raven, a bird with brilliant scarlet plumage was flapping its wings on a broad perch tucked behind the desk. "Whoa. You're definitely not Bram, are you?"

The phoenix bobbed his head and sang again, then cooed softly in his throat. Holly smiled and walked over to the bird and stroked his head. The feathers almost felt hot to the touch, but it was a comforting heat, unlike the flames she had faced earlier. "And what's your name?"

The phoenix sang again, and Holly laughed. "You remind me of Bram, you know."

Fawkes tilted his head with an amused expression and clacked in a perfect impression of the familiar raven. Holly's eyes widened. "Oh, so you know her, do you? I wish she were here. If it hadn't been for her, I'd probably be dead right now."

Holly sighed and turned her attention back to exploring the office, under Fawkes's watchful eye. She put her nose just a little bit too close to a flask-shaped contraption, and received an eyeful of steam. Wiping off her glasses, she decided that the many gizmos and gadgets were possibly too risky, for now anyway. She looked over at a shelf of books, reading titles and authors she'd never heard of. "The Art of the Auror," by Catchem Cornwallis; "Hogwarts: A History, Unabridged", edited by Arabella Figg; "The Darkness Within," by Alastair Moody, and "When Sugar and Magic Collide," by Herman Honeyduke.

She continued over the statues, calling out in surprise when a miniature marble lion roared at her, then stretched out and lay down. She was just as amazed when her cry of alarm was answered with a laugh from one of the paintings on the wall. An elegant witch in blue robes was sitting in a rather large painting over the mantle, watching her with interest. "My, my. Have we never before seen a statue move?"

"Uh . . . no, I haven't. I've never seen a painting talk either, actually," Holly stammered. Was this normal around here?

"Dear child, one would think you'd been raised by Muggles! At your age, really, being surprised by such simple things. Godric, what do you make of this? Godric, wake up!" She reached past the edge of her painting, and in the next frame over, Holly could see her hand lightly slapping an ornately dressed man on the shoulder.

"Who, what? I was sleeping, what is it?" the wizard grumbled sleepily. He turned to the side in his chair and began snoring softly.

"He sleeps all day anyway. You really were raised by Muggles, dear, weren't you? You poor thing. You'll learn. You've certainly come to the right place." The witches voice was soft and concerned. It reminded Holly of her vaguest memories of her mother. Holly shrugged, not really certain how to really talk to a painting. The woman yawned. "Well, it was nice to talk to you. Now, I believe I'm rather tired. Goodnight, dear."

The witch in the painting sat back in her chair and dozed off. What was this world coming to? Talking paintings, roaring statues, what next? Holly scanned the shelves and her eyes fell on the most ancient, tattered hat she had ever seen. Grinning mischievously, and figuring the hat looked absolutely harmless, she lifted it gently and plopped it on her head. The hat was huge, and it almost fell past her eyes. She turned to find a mirror when another soft chuckle startled her. She looked over the paintings, but they were all very much asleep. She spun back and forth wildly, and the laugh turned to words, speaking softly right in her ear. "Confused, Holly? You're clever enough; I'm on your head."

"What? Where? Oh!" She caught her reflection in the glass window of a cabinet door, and saw that the ripped and tattered hat had what appeared to be a face. "Who are you?"

"They call me the Sorting Hat, Holly. Yes, I know your name. There's not a thing hidden between your ears I don't know. You're in quite an interesting situation."

"I'll say. I'm talking to a hat that can read my mind."

The hat chucked again. "It's not as though mind reading was something unusual to you. Ah, fascinating. This is something I haven't seen in a long, long time. Quite the character you are, but too old to be a student. If a hat could be, I would be grateful to know that I don't have to sort you."

"Sort me?" The hat speaks in riddles, she mused to herself.

"Into a House. There are four such houses at Hogwarts, each with its own qualities and merits. Most recently, you've had a long line of relatives in our Gryffindor house. Yes, you are a Potter, no doubt about that, but still, most curious. Hmmm."

"You do speak in riddles," Holly admonished aloud this time.

"I don't often find placing students to be so difficult. The last one what caused me such indecision was your own cousin."

"My cousin?"

Another voice answered her. "Quite possibly, as that would make the most sense, yes, your cousin."

Holly pulled up the edge of the hat to see Dumbledore leaning against the doorframe of his office, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Holly blushed furiously. "Sorry, sir."

"It's not a problem, Holly. I believe I would have been more disappointed if I had returned to find you sitting placidly, keeping to yourself." He moved pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat, indicating for Holly to sit down opposite from him. "But now, it is time to answer some of your questions, as I'm sure you have many. In fact, I have some of my own, if you don't mind terribly."

Holly carefully replaced the Sorting Hat on the self, then perched on the edge of the burgundy chair, her hands folded in her lap. She watched Dumbledore nervously. He seemed to be carefully considering what he was about to say. Finally, he spoke.

"Holly, who are your parents?"

What an odd way to start the conversation, she thought. "Anna and Donald Pritchard," she answered plainly.

"Where do they live?"

"My father lives in Newmarket. My mum . . ." Holly's voice became flat. "She died when I was six. I was pretty much raised by my dad. I want nothing to do with him. He made my life miserable for the last fifteen years, since mum died."

Dumbledore tugged thoughtfully on his beard. "Do you remember how your mum died?"

"Not exactly. What little I remember is like a bad dream." Holly's monotone was interrupted by a choked sob. She tried to hide it, but she couldn't bury it completely. She'd never spoken about this to anyone. "Sometimes, I think I saw it through her eyes. It was a terrible night, that night, but I could never remember enough details to answer the questions I always had."

"What kinds of details do you remember?" Dumbledore asked softly. His voice reassured her.

Holly's eyes drifted off over Dumbledore's shoulder, and her voice became distant. "I was never fully sure it if was a dream or not. It happened at night. She was trying to save someone else, I'm certain of it. She wasn't alone when she died. She was outside a large house, then suddenly inside the house. She was very upset. I remember a man with red eyes, and a flash of green light."

She focused on Dumbledore again. "I'm sorry if I'm having trouble putting it into words. I've seen those same to things over and over in my dreams, but I'll never forget the sights and sensations from the first time, the night mum died. The other times, the settings were different, other people in the dreams were different, but always the red eyes, and the green light. For a long time, anything that glowed green had me scared stiff."

Dumbledore was caught somewhere between rapt attention and deep thought. Holly seized the opportunity. "Sir, who is the man with the red eyes?"

In one swift movement, Dumbledore sat bolt upright, his entire demeanor changed. "That man," he said deliberately, "is Lord Voldemort. He is a Dark Wizard, Holly. He killed many people, including your mother, it appears. Tonight, you nearly became another victim."

Holly completely brushed over the idea that she'd almost been killed by an evil wizard. "He's been killing people all this time, and nobody has stopped him?" Holly asked, her face growing flushed with anger and frustration.

"For almost ten years, he wasn't seen or heard from. Probably not long after your mother's death, Voldmort was stopped, albeit temporarily." Dumbledore spoke slowly, picking and choosing what he revealed. He was still uncertain of this young witch's lineage, but if his suspicions were correct, there would be more than enough time to explain everything else. The magnitude of the night's events was more than enough for most people to handle.

"For some reason, a curse he tried to use to kill a young boy backfired. Voldemort was reduced to a shadow of his former self. Most people assumed he was gone, but alas, he wasn't. Now, he has regained his power. The terror has begun again."

"And I got caught up in the middle of it," she said sarcastically. "Wonderful. I finally get away from home, and look at what happens. Great timing, Holly. Absolutely great."

Dumbledore smiled quietly, noting how Holly had taken this information. Perhaps she was stronger than he had expected. Of course, so was her cousin. "I would like to know, as closely as you can tell me, what did happen on your trip, particularly over the last couple of days."

Holly swallowed. She didn't even know where to begin anymore, her mind was being pulled in so many directions at once. The whole adventure was beginning to blend together. "The night before I left, my father gave me some of my mum's things; this cloak, some old letters, a key, a feather, and a few other odds and ends. I took them with me. They were the first real personal possessions of my mum I'd ever had." She paused, and forced back a small tear. "I stopped into a village a couple of nights ago to get more supplies, take a shower at the local inn, and then I would start out again in the morning. That seems to be when I got caught up in this whole mess."

Dumbledore nodded, but did not speak, indicating for her to continue. She took a deep breath. "I was going back to the inn when I saw these men in dark robes surrounding the building. I tried to stay hidden, but when I realized they were going to kill the people inside, I couldn't just sit by and do nothing. Of course, it's not like I had any chance of stopping them, I just reacted. I have a tendency to get myself into trouble by acting on impulses like that."

"Just like another young person I know," Dumbledore smiled. Holly looked at him questioningly, but he just inclined his head and motioned with his hand that it was still her turn to speak.

Holly carefully recounted what she could remember of the Death Eater attack on the inn, Fudge's arrival, her stay at the Ministry of Magic, the fire, and her escape. She deliberately left out the fact that her survival almost completely relied on her apparent ability to hear people's thoughts, leaving some of it to luck, and the rest of it to details she forgot or didn't understand. How crazy would she sound if she admitted something like that? Finally, she collapsed backwards into her chair, and realized she was shaking. It had never occurred to her that reliving an event could take that much out of a person. "So, I guess I'm a part of this mess now too, one way or another. I don't know whether this is reassuring, or if it scares the living daylights out of me."

She looked up at Dumbledore bleakly. He was gazing off into the fireplace at the side of the office, and his eyes were burning strangely, as though something in what she had told him was vitally important, but she couldn't understand what exactly that might be.

From the perch behind the desk, Fawkes sang a comforting note. Holly could feel her muscles relax and stop shaking. Grateful for that little bit of support, she smiled and said, "Thanks, Fawkes."

Dumbledore looked at her in surprise. "You know his name?"

"Well . . ." What would Dumbledore think if she said she talked to animals? What a rediculous notion, under the best of circumstances. She sighed. Everything else so far had been far-fetched. "I asked him his name, and he told me. Doesn't make too much sense, does it?"

"More than you might think, Holly. It appears you understand Phoenixsong."

"So that's what he is? A phoenix? He sounds like Bram, and I've been listening to Bram since I was a little girl. I've had a way with animals since I can remember. They make better company than people most of the time. Their thoughts are simple and honest," she said, then adding with a scowl, "unlike most people."

"Can you hear people's thoughts, Holly?" Dumbledure asked lightly, but under that, Holly knew the question carried a lot more weight. So much for avoiding the topic. She responded carefully, "I think so. I mean, I usually seem to be a step ahead of people, know what they're going to say next. I can always tell if someone is lying, and sometimes what they're lying about."

"That's how you escaped from Fudge, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked. His voice wasn't accusing or harsh, but a wave of guilt immediately washed through Holly.

"Yes sir," she said, knowing full well that her guilt was written clearly across her face. "I can't read everything, just really blatant things, usually. The only times I really heard anything more than just surface thoughts, it nearly floored me. Completely wiped me out. It still just sounded a bit rediculous, though, the idea of reading people's minds. Complete nonsense, at least, that's what my father told me."

"It's not nonsense, Holly," Dumbledore said. His focus drifted slightly, and he mused softly to himself, "No, that's not nonsense at all."

Dumbledore sat quietly for a moment, obviously considering this matter deeply. Holly wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not. She sat quietly, taking the opportunity to collect her own thoughts. She reached up and wrapped her hand around her pendant, for comfort. Now was the time to ask.

"Sir, do you know my grandfather?"

Dumbledore snapped out of his thoughts and replied absently, "Perhaps. Who is your grandfather?"

"Harry Potter."

The old wizard didn't speak immediately, but slowly began nodding his head. "There was a man called Harold Potter who may have been your grandfather. That is most certainly a possibility. Did you ever know him yourself?"

"No, but my grandmother certainly did," Holly snapped. She was beginning to tire of questions, now wanting answers for herself. She held her edge for a moment, then sighed and sat back again. "She gave me this necklace a long time ago," she said, holding out the pendant. "My grandfather must have given it to her as a going-away present. I think they were separated by the war. It's where I got my last name."

"May I see it?" Dumbledore asked.

Holly shrugged, then reached up to unfasten the necklace, realizing that it was the first time she had ever removed it. Dumbledore took the piece in his outstretched hand and turned it over several times, observing the inscription on the back. He furrowed his eyebrows, then passed one hand over the pendant slowly, as though trying to feel something within it. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He stood and walked swiftly over to one of his shelves and took down one of his strange, whirling gadgets.

"What are you doing with my necklace?" Holly asked, obviously anxious. "You're not going to hurt it, are you?"

"No, no, not at all, I assure you," Dumbledore said, with a softness that belied the intensity of his actions. I am merely checking this necklace for spells and charms. He had placed the necklace in a small opening on the side of the charm-detector. One of the wheels whirled, a high pitched whistle sounded, and a crystal embedded in the top of the device glowed with a rich purple colour. Dumbledore smiled as he removed the necklace from the odd machine. He handed it to Holly. "It appears that your grandmother was very clever indeed. This is one of the best shielding charms I have ever seen."

"Shielding charm?" Holly repeated, clipping the chain back in place, relieved as the familiar weight settled on her neck.

"Shielding charms have many uses, Holly. Some protect the user from spells and hexes. Some camouflage the user from magical detection, or possibly inhibit the use of magic. Some do both, and I am fairly certain that this one was designed for both." Dumbledore settled himself back into his chair. "Why she wished to hide you is another matter entirely. There are a few possibilities, and I will tell you as soon as I know for certain. I will need more information, and it may take a couple of days for me to determine that."

Holly looked dejected. "Great, more waiting." She leaned back against the edge of Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore reached up and rested his hand on her shoulder. "I can give you some news you may be glad to hear. You do, indeed, have a cousin."

Holly's head snapped up with renewed interest. "Is that what the hat was talking about?"

Dumbledore laughed at the simple response. "If Harold Potter is actually your grandfather, a fact of which I have little doubt, then yes. One might have guessed the relation without any knowledge of the family history. You see, you look very much like Harry. Remarkably so, in fact, except for the eyes. Your eyes are very familiar. Perhaps I knew your grandmother . . ." Dumbledore froze mid-sentence. "Your grandmother," he whispered.

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, and once again his eyes searched Holly's. What he was looking for, she could only guess. Holly knew something important had just happened, but she had no idea what it was all about. "Did you know my grandmother?"

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. "Did you?" she asked again, becoming impatient.

Finally, so softly she had to lean in to hear him, he said, "I think I did."