A/N:  Ack!  Delay, and I'm sorry!  Thanks for everyone who has reviewed so far!!


Disclaimer:  Sadly, I haven't gained ownership over the past week...

************************************

It had been the first rain-free day in a week, and Harry was utilizing the good weather as an excuse to stay out of the Dursleys' house.  He'd left right after breakfast and had spent all day just wandering around the neighborhood and hiding from the neighbors who were all out enjoying the sun and would not have delayed at talking about "that mad Potter boy."

Harry didn't know if they were right; for all he could tell, he could quite possibly be mad.  In fact, he could have been crazy his entire life and just never known the difference.

One thing he knew for sure, though, was that he certainly seemed to surround himself with crazy people.

Ron had kissed Hermione.

Hermione had kissed Ron.

They had kissed each other.

And if that didn't make them crazy, Harry didn't know what did.

When the letter first arrived, he'd nearly dropped it in shock. He'd been convinced that he was reading wrong or that it was all just a joke, but then he'd read between the lines and could literally tell that Ron had been completely flabbergasted and incoherent while writing it.  All Harry could really make out was something about mud, but he couldn't really make sense of it.

Mostly because it didn't make sense.

Ron and Hermione couldn't spend a day together without having some sort of falling out about something.  They bickered and argued and Ron purposely annoyed Hermione and Hermione nitpicked Ron and bossed him around and...  Well, it just didn't make any sense.

Harry couldn't figure it out, but in all honesty, he really didn't want to.  The thought of them kissing was almost enough to make him feel sick, so he just resigned himself to be happy not knowing the details about how, when, where, or why. 

And if he could get past the initial shock, he had to admit that it would be an interesting thing to see develop.

Of course, there was the major chance that Ron and Hermione wouldn't even be speaking to each other by next week, so Harry might never get the opportunity to witness it, whatever it was.  He would just have to wait and see, he supposed.

It was getting dark and he judged that it was around eight o'clock, well past dinnertime.  He would probably be in trouble when he went home, but he didn't care.  They couldn't really do anything to him anymore; he was sixteen years old for one thing, and they were terrified of him for another.  Not that they would ever admit it, and if he pointed out the fact that he was capable of doing them much damage, they would simply put on their best fronts and tell him that he could do no such thing because he would be expelled.  This was true, of course, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care or worry very much about that.  He wasn't planning on hexing any family members anyway, but it was always nice to know that the fear was there deep down inside.

Truthfully, the Dursleys weren't being that awful.  He rarely saw Dudley, and Uncle Vernon basically ignored him most of the time, which was fine with Harry.  Aunt Petunia still seemed annoyed with him from time to time, but she didn't really yell at him much anymore and sometimes she could even be considered cordial.

When he reached number four Privet Drive, he noticed right away that Uncle Vernon's car was gone; he assumed they'd gone out for the evening and went into the house feeling a little uplifted.

"Who's there?"

Aunt Petunia's voice from above told Harry that he wasn't, as he'd expected, alone.  He sighed a little and then answered with, "Just me."

"Where've you been?" she called, and he wondered where she was.

"Nowhere."

"Come up here," she commanded, and Harry rolled his eyes and walked up the steps that led to the second floor, which seemed just as empty as the first.

"Aunt Petunia?" he called warily, half-afraid that he really was mad and hearing voices.

"I'm in the attic," she answered his unanswered question, and he opened the door that led to the attic stairs. 

It was hot in the crowded room, and Harry realized he hadn't been up there since before he left for Hogwarts.  He used to be made to clean it each spring, but it had been several years since he'd been home for spring cleaning.  However, it didn't really look like anyone had been up there since the last time he'd cleaned it.  It was crowded, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust; there were so many cobwebs that Harry was positive Ron wouldn't have stepped foot inside.

"You missed dinner," she said shortly, not even looking up from the box she was rummaging through.

"Sorry," he mumbled, wondering why she'd called him up here.  "Where's Uncle Vernon?"

"He and Dudley went to London.  They've been gone all day, but I don't suppose you'd know that, would you?  Since you just run off without a word to anyone."

He was surprised to say the least; she was chastising, yes, but it was almost as if she cared where he was or what he was doing.  Not knowing what else to say, he once again just mumbled, "Sorry."

"Well, don't just stand there," she said briskly.  "Help me with this box."

Harry did as she said and helped her move a particularly large box from a shelf to the floor.  It was heavy, and it landed with a thud when they finally got it down.  His aunt stood up and dusted herself off, looked at him and said, "That's yours."

He wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly, and he tried to make sure he had.  "Excuse me?"

"I said that's yours," she said briskly, no longer looking at him but instead walking toward the door.  Before she left, though, she turned once and said, "If you want dinner, there's a plate in the refrigerator.  You can heat it up if you're hungry."

Not knowing what else to do, he just nodded, still slightly dumbfounded and said, "Okay."

She closed the door behind her, and he could hear her footsteps on the stairs as she went back downstairs.  Harry didn't know whether to be more shocked because of the box or because she'd actually made him a dinner plate.  Shaking his head, though, he looked down at the box and noticed the writing for the first time.

Written in loopy girlish handwriting was one word.

Lily.

The breath caught in Harry's throat, and he suddenly felt very cool despite the stuffy hotness of the attic.  Not daring to believe what he was seeing, he carefully reached a hand out to the name, written in faded purple marker, and ran his fingers across it.  Still not letting himself get his hopes up, he grabbed a loose nail from the floor and punctured the packing tape, which was sealing the box.  Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

"Mum...."  He whispered the word to no one as he stared down at a whole load of things he knew at once had belonged to his mother.  He wasn't sure why Aunt Petunia had all of this, but he assumed it was the contents of his mother's childhood bedroom. 

Carefully, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the contents, he removed them one at a time and studied them.  There were all sorts of things.  Among them, a folder full of primary school tests, all headed with the same loopy handwriting that was on the top of the box, the i's all dotted with tiny flowers.  She'd been smart; he could tell because all of her papers were graded with very high percentiles.  There were other things, too, records and books.  A jewelry box adorned with purple rhinestones was filled with a variety of childish costume jewelry, and he fingered the rings and necklaces carefully before closing it tightly and setting it aside.  He found a photo album that was filled with Muggle pictures of his mother's primary school years; he could tell that she'd been popular then because there were always so many friends surrounding her.  He flipped through it and saw that the pictures slowed down as she got older, all of her teenaged pictures were taken only during the summer.  He stopped on one of his mother and a younger version of his aunt, and he stared at it carefully.  They were both smiling, but neither of them seemed too enthused.

As he was studying the photo, though, something else in the box caught his eye and caused him to put away the album.  It was a framed piece of aged paper, no parchment.

Dear Miss Evans,

          We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He knew the letter by heart, having read his own so many times that he'd permanently committed it to memory.  This one, though, was his mother's...

He was in awe of everything.  All of these things had belonged to his mother, someone he'd never had the chance to know.  It was almost as if he were getting to meet her, in an odd sort of way.

A thick book was resting underneath some ribbons, and he pulled it out, dusting off the cover to see what was written on the front.  Lily's Baby Book.  The book seemed fragile and in danger of breaking at any moment, so he was very careful as he opened it and read the first few pages.  It recorded the time of her birth and her length and weight; there were tiny footprints on one of the pages and tiny handprints on another.  Her first steps and words were recorded, and there was a lock of red hair secured to one of the pages with the words "First Hair Cut" scrawled underneath.  He touched it softly and was marveled at how silky it felt; this was his mother's hair...

**************************************

"What're you still doing up here?"

Harry heard the voice vaguely in his head and forced himself to wake up, pushing his eyelids open and glancing around at his surroundings.  He was still in the attic and now sweating from the sweltering heat and stuffiness.  He sat up and realized that he must have just dropped off while he was going through his mother's things; now Aunt Petunia had returned, and he could see the sun shining in through the tiny window on the other side of the room, casting a narrow beam of light across the attic floor.

"I must've fallen asleep," he said groggily, taking off his glasses and wiping the dust away on the hem of his shirt.

She didn't answer, just simply walked over and sat down beside him, looking into the box and staring at its contents for a long moment until Harry worked himself up to quietly say, "Thank you."

She looked at him then and raised an eyebrow.  "For what?"

"For this," he said, looking into the box with her.

She didn't say anything for a moment and then spoke in a very even and controlled voice.  "It was your mother's.  You have every right to it."

Harry didn't know how to answer, so he just sat with her in silence, waiting for her to speak again.  Finally, she did.

"She packed this but never came back for it.  It was still in my parents' house when it was sold."

Harry realized, with a bit of shock, that he had never considered the possibility of grandparents.  He'd never heard anyone mention them, and he'd always been told that Petunia was his only family.  He was a bit wary about asking, but he was suddenly overcome with curiosity.  "What happened to your parents?"

His aunt didn't look at him; she was staring at his mother's baby book.  It took her several moments to answer, and when she did, her answer was tightly spoken and given without eye-contact.  "They died three months before Lily did.  In a car accident."

The answer struck a nerve with him, as she had told him the exact same car accident story about his parents for ten years of his life.  However, he somehow knew that she was telling the truth when speaking of her parents, and he didn't think he should make any sort of comment.  In fact, he was struck with the urge to confide something in her that he hadn't yet told any of the Dursleys, and he didn't know why.

"My godfather died."

He stared very intently at the floor in front of him, not wanting to look at her.  She was quiet for a long time before she finally said, "When?"

He swallowed, the dust of the attic making his throat feel incredibly tight.  "In June.  Right before school ended."

He didn't expect her to say much; she wasn't the type to show any sympathy or anything of the sort, especially toward him.  Still, though, she asked, "How?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to go into detail.  "His cousin killed him."

"Wasn't he a murderer?"

Harry felt angry at her question, and a glare shot from his features before he could stop himself.  "He wasn't a murderer," he said fiercely.  "He was my dad's best friend."

She didn't say anything.

Carefully opening the photo album, she looked at the pictures in silence until she spoke suddenly out of nowhere.  "Is it happening again?"

Harry was confused, and he looked at her quizzically.  "What?"

"An evil wizard killed your parents.  Is that happening again?"

Harry was still amazed that Aunt Petunia knew anything at all about the wizarding world, but he was beginning to suspect that she knew quite a bit more than she'd been letting on all these years.  Nodding slightly, he quietly said, "Yeah.  And he wants to kill me."

She stared at him, her face appearing without shock.  "Why?"

He shrugged again, not in the mood to tell her the whole story.  "There's a prophecy, and he has to kill me to fulfill it."  He left out the part about being able to counteract it by being the murderer himself; that bit somehow didn't make him feel much better.

"I didn't hate your mother," she said suddenly, staring down at a picture in the photo album of the two of them as children.  "I just didn't understand her."  Softer she said, "I don't understand you."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

Truthfully, he didn't understand her, either.

******************************************

"Stop moving," said Ginny firmly.

"Ginny, it's hopeless."  Hermione winced in slight pain as Ginny jerked her head straight and ran the comb through her tangled curls. 

"It's not, either.  If you'd just be still."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stared down at the book in her lap, being extremely careful not to move so that Ginny wouldn't assault her head or neck anymore.  She wasn't sure why she was letting her hair be put into plaits, but Ginny had begged and gone on and on about how incredibly bored she was and how she loved playing with other people's hair.  It was easier just to let her get her way.

"Your hair's really beautiful, you know," said Ginny wistfully, running the comb down the back of Hermione's head and making a part through her hair. 

"Hmm..." came the unenthusiastic reply. 

"Hold this," she instructed, passing Hermione a hair elastic while she pulled one side up and went to work on braiding the other half.  "I wish my hair was curly; it's so boring and straight."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew Ginny couldn't see her.  "You wouldn't be wishing that if you had it.  It's a pain."

"No," said Ginny earnestly.  "Straight is boring."

"Curly is messy."

They both giggled at this, and Ginny went on plaiting Hermione's hair while Hermione read through several pages of the ancient spell book she'd bought in Diagon Alley.  She'd actually forgotten that she bought it with all of the drama that had occurred over the past two weeks, but she'd finally decided that she had pushed her homework off long enough and had rediscovered it in the bag with her and Ron's schoolbooks.  After finishing the rest of her Transfiguration essay, she'd taken a break and let Ginny mess with her hair; she'd decided to use the break as an excuse to look through the extra book.

"All done," Ginny said proudly, sliding off of her knees and back to a standing position beside the bed.  "It's adorable!"

Hermione turned around and looked into the vanity mirror, raising her eyebrows at her reflection.  "I look like I'm ten."

"No, you don't," said Ginny waving her hand dismissively.  "You look precious."

Precious wasn't really something that Hermione liked to be known as, but there was no use fighting with Ginny when she was in her girly mode, which she seemed to be falling into more and more lately.  In fact, just as Hermione was tugging at one of her braids, Ginny was pulling open her closet and rummaging through her clothes.

"What do you think I should wear tomorrow?" she asked, staring at her wardrobe with her back to the other girl. 

Hermione hid a smirk; Dean was supposed to be coming to visit the next day, and Ginny had barely shut up about it.  "I don't know," she said, shrugging.  "Whatever you want, I guess."

Ginny bit her lip and continued to inspect her clothes.  "Hmm, do you think I should wear jeans or a skirt?"

Rolling her eyes again, Hermione lay down on her stomach and started reading once again.  "What are you planning on doing when he gets here?"

Slowly, Ginny turned around to face her, a sly little smirk playing on her lightly freckled face.  "I don't know.  Stuff."

Hermione snorted and flipped the page of her book.  "Then wear whatever you like best."

"Probably jeans," she said more to herself than to Hermione.  She reached in and pulled out several shirts.  "Which of these do you think is the cutest?"

Hermione looked up and examined the clothes before nodding at one and saying, "The blue one.  It looks nice with your hair."

Ginny set the others down and held the blue one up to her, looking in the mirror.  "Yeah, I guess so.  I'm just so excited!"

She was very nearly squealing, and Hermione had to force herself not to roll her eyes before turning back to the book.  Ginny was now playing with her own hair, twisting it into new styles and studying her reflection.  The book that Hermione was reading was turning out to be very interesting; she was just doing a quick scan-through first to see if there was anything worth stopping on.  She would go back later and read the rest of the parts thoroughly.

Just as she was about to close the book and start looking over her homework, a heading caught her eye and made her stop.  Her pulse quickened slightly as she read what was written underneath it, and she read it through again quickly just to make sure that she wasn't making a mistake.  Without a word, she folded down the page and jumped up from the bed, hurrying to the door.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked, dropping her hair and staring expectantly at Hermione.

Hermione stopped with her hand on the doorknob and said, "I've got to tell Ron something."

Ginny winced slightly and made a face.  "Oh, god, Hermione...  He's my brother."

Hermione ignored her; Ginny had been making comments like that for days now, ever since she had forced Hermione into a confession about everything that had happened.  With a slight roll of her eyes, she rushed down the hallway and to the stairs that led up to Ron's bedroom.  His door was open, and she went in without waiting for an invitation.  He looked up, slightly startled from the Quidditch magazine he was reading.  Upon seeing him reading a sports' periodical, she couldn't resist saying, "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes," he said, and then shook his head a second later and said, "No, I'm lying."  He then looked at her oddly and said, "What did you do to your hair?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't waste anymore time.  "I've got to show you something."  She sat down beside him and dropped the book open to the page.  "Look at this."

Ron set the magazine aside and sighed before looking down and reading the section that Hermione had opened for him.  She watched as his eyes widened slightly with each passing moment and she knew that he understood perfectly.  When he finished, he looked up and met her eyes warily.  "But...  This is... Hermione, we can't."

"Why not?" she demanded immediately.  "Don't you realize what this could do?"

"It's dark magic," he said seriously. 

Hermione hesitated and then looked down at the bed.  "But it'll work.  And it'll help."

Ron turned his head, and she could see the temptation tugging at him.  This was almost too good to be true, and it was exactly what they needed.  There was no way he could pass up this chance.

"It'll be fine," she said, urging him.  "We'll just have to wait until we get back to Hogwarts because we can't do it here."

He eyed her for a moment, and then he said, "Why not?"

She took this as a good sign but shook her head in response.  "Well, because we're not supposed to be doing any magic outside of school, and we might get caught."

"No, we won't," said Ron slowly.  "The Ministry only monitors wand-use, and this wouldn't involve any wands, would it?"

She considered him for a moment and then grinned despite herself.  "No, it wouldn't."

"And I bet Fred and George would get whatever we needed..."

She couldn't believe he'd changed his mind and given in so easily.  "You really think so?"

He shrugged.  "Yeah, they don't really care much for rules, you know."  He glance down at the page again and said, "But we'll have to convince Harry."

Hermione frowned, knowing that that task would probably prove to be none too easy.

*****************************************

Harry was flying.

The wind was rushing through his hair, and his glasses were falling down the bridge of his nose, but he couldn't be bothered to fix them at the moment.  He needed to get there fast.

Suddenly, he realized that he had no clue where he was going, and he found himself over a field of wildflowers.  The flowers were blowing gently in the breeze, and Harry considered stopping to examine them. 

That was before they turned into hundreds of students, all faceless and dressed in Hogwarts' robes.

Harry tilted his broom down and stopped in the middle of the crowd, looking around for anyone that he knew.  He spotted a head of red hair that he knew must have been Ron, and he shouted for his attention.  When the student turned around, though, he turned out to be...

"Professor Lupin?"  Harry squinted through the dimly lit room at the figure now standing just a foot from his bed and calling his name.

"Harry, wake up.  It's time to go."

Realizing that he'd been dreaming but that now a member of the Order was here to take him away from Privet Drive, he grew excited.  He sat up and immediately reached for his glasses, slipping them onto his nose and staring at his former-teacher clearly. 

"Hurry now," said Lupin briskly, turning around and surveying the room.  "Get dressed because we don't have much time."

"Why the rush?" Harry asked, scrambling out of bed and heading for his dresser.  He pulled it out and grabbed some clothes, slipping the sweater and jeans on over his shorts.

"I've got to get you to the Burrow within the next half-hour.  Are you taking all of these clothes with you?" he asked, motioning toward the open drawers.

Harry nodded as he finished getting dressed and watched as Lupin waved his wand and sent the clothes flying into Harry's open trunk.  "So, I'm going to the Burrow?"

"Yes.  Now are you packed otherwise?"

Harry glanced around at his room and threw a few last minute items into his already packed trunk.  He still hadn't emptied it from the previous year.  "How am I getting there?"

"Portkey," answered Lupin, holding up a soda can. 

"That'll only take a few seconds, though," said Harry uncertainly.  "If we have a half hour, why do we have to rush?"

Lupin sighed and took a seat on Harry's unmade bed.  "Because I wanted a chance to talk to you before we went."

"Oh."  Harry didn't know what to say; he was feeling suddenly rather uneasy.  "What about?"

"About Sirius."  The answer was short and simple, and Harry found that he couldn't look the older man in the eye.  Instead, he knelt down by his trunk and pretended to be giving it a final check.

Again, he simply said, "Oh."

"Look, Harry," said Lupin slowly.  Harry could tell that he was trying to choose his words carefully, and he realized that it would be much easier to have this conversation without any sort of eye-contact.  "I want to know if you're okay."

Harry shrugged without looking up.  "Yeah.  Fine."

There was a brief silence in which Harry knew that Lupin was trying to decide whether or not to believe him.  "If you're not, you can tell me, you know.  I'll understand."

Harry dug through his trunk searching for something unknown.  "I said I'm fine."

"You're not."

Growing a bit angry, Harry finally looked up.  "I said I am, okay?  So leave it alone."

"You don't have to pretend with me."

"I'm not pretending!" said Harry heatedly.  "God, why can't you believe that?"

"Because I can tell," said Lupin simply; he didn't appear to be one bit surprised by Harry's reaction.  "And I feel like it's my responsibility to help you."

For some reason, this statement made Harry mad, and he lashed out before he could stop himself.  "Well, don't, okay?  It's not your responsibility to do anything for me!  You're not my father or my godfather!"  He looked down at the floor immediately, ashamed of himself.  Not knowing what else to do, he mumbled a very quiet, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."  Harry looked up and saw that Lupin was now staring at a spot on the ground.  "You're not doing anything except telling the truth."

"It was rude."

"It was the truth."  Finally, they met gazes again.  "You're right; I don't have any sort of legal responsibility toward you, but that doesn't stop my moral responsibility."

"You don't have to help me," said Harry quietly.

"I want to.  I owe it to James and to Sirius."

Harry shook his head and pulled the lid of his trunk closed.  "You don't owe them anything."

"They were my best friends."  He sighed, and his brow wrinkled, making him look older than normal.  "And that means more than anything else in the world to me.  They were always there for me whenever I needed them, and now I want to do the same thing for you."  He glanced down at his hands and quietly said, "Because you're all of them that is left."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment and then said, "You shouldn't want to help me.  You should hate me."  He found that there was no emotion in his voice, so he spoke dully and listlessly.  "It's my fault they're both dead."

"Don't you ever say that again," said Lupin sharply.  "Ever."

Harry didn't want to waste his time arguing, so he just shrugged.  "Can we go now?"

The room stayed quiet until Lupin finally frowned and nodded.  "Yes, but I want you to know that you can always talk to me.  About anything."

Harry thought it was a nice gesture, but he somehow didn't think he would be rushing to take him up on that offer anytime soon.  Being around Professor Lupin reminded him too much of being around Sirius, and he would have given anything in the world not to have that reminder hanging over his head twenty-four hours a day.

He started to grab his trunk when he suddenly remembered something.  "Do I need to tell my aunt and uncle that I'm leaving?"

"No.  They already knew."

"That's why she gave me the box..."  Harry said more to himself than anything.

"What box?"

Harry glanced at his closet where he had stored the box containing all of his mother's things.  He'd put a few things into his trunk, but he knew it was impossible to take all of her belongings with him.  Instead of going to his closet, he undid the latch on his trunk and pulled out the first thing of his mother's that he saw- the costume jewelry box.  He knew that it was childish of him to take something like that, but he'd become enamored with the fake jewels almost immediately and he'd spent a good deal of time studying them and trying to feel his mother through them.

"My aunt gave me a box with my mum's stuff in it," he said quietly, holding up the jewelry box as evidence. 

Lupin said nothing for a moment and then quietly said, "May I see that?"

Harry passed the box over and watched as Professor Lupin opened the lid and peered inside, his fingers gliding over all of the bracelets and necklaces.  He stopped and picked up a ring; it was one of those big flashy rings with a huge fake emerald in the center of the band. 

"Your dad gave this to her when we were in fifth year," he said with a small smirk.  "He bought it real cheap in Hogsmeade and tried to be all smooth by telling her that it matched her eyes..."  His voice trailed and then he grinned.  "She told him that the only reason he'd bought it was because the stone was the only thing in the world bigger than his head.  We thought she pitched it in the bin."

"Why'd you think that?" Harry asked quietly.

"Because she said she did when he asked her about it the next day."  Lupin laughed and put the ring back into the box, shutting the lid.  "Turned out she lied, I guess."

Harry had a flashback of the memory of Snape's that he'd snuck into the year before.  His mother had appeared to detest his father, but maybe she really hadn't.  She had, after all, apparently thought enough of him to keep a valueless ring he'd given her as an attempt to impress her.  Thinking of the memory, though, made him uncomfortable, and he once again looked up at his old teacher. 

"Can we go now?"

Lupin nodded, and Harry placed the jewelry box back into his trunk and clicked the latch.  He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only just now after nine o'clock; he realized that he must have dropped off to sleep at an incredibly early time.  He couldn't wait to get to the Burrow.

"One... Two... Three."

Harry felt the tugging inside of his stomach as he kept one hand tightly on the handle of the trunk and the other on the soda can that he was sharing with Professor Lupin.  A few moments later, they were slowing down and pulling to a stop.  Harry hit the floor of the Burrow's living room full force and fell into the side of his trunk.

"Oh, dear!"  Mrs. Weasley's familiar voice rang out to him as he opened his eyes and peered around him.  He was clutching the shoulder that had slammed into the trunk, and he could feel the bruise showing up already.  "Harry, are you alright?"

He winced and stood up, nodding slightly.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"It's so wonderful to see you!" she said brightly, wrapping him in a hug and just narrowly missing the now very sore spot on his upper arm.  "Did everything go alright?"

Professor Lupin, who had traveled with considerable more ease than Harry had, nodded and sighed.  "Yes, very smoothly."

"Excellent," said another voice, and Harry looked over to see Mr. Weasley rising from his armchair.  "We were about to get worried."

"We're on time, aren't we?"  Lupin glanced at his own watch, and Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Yes, but it was getting close."

"Have you gotten any news yet, Arthur?" Lupin asked, and Harry knew that whatever they were talking about was not for his ears.  He was inclined to try and decode the secret conversation that Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin were now having, but he was far more anxious for other things.

"Are Ron and Hermione still awake?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Weasley hopefully.

She nodded.  "Yes, they should be.  They don't know that you're here, though, because we didn't want to get their hopes up in case the plans changed."

"Are they upstairs?"

"As far as I know, yes.  But Harry, dear, don't you want something to eat or drink?  I can make you something if you like."

"No, thank you," he said politely.  "I think I'm just going to go upstairs."

"Okay, I'll get Arthur to bring your trunk later."

He nodded, and she smiled at him once more before he turned and hurried up the stairs.  He stopped on the second landing and glanced in the direction of Ginny's bedroom, wondering if Hermione might be there.  He started to knock on her door but decided he would just try Ron's room first.  He got to the top of the house and found the only door on that landing to be open.  He could see both Ron and Hermione, hunched over something on Ron's bed with their backs to him.

"Hey," he said, watching as they both started and spun around at the sound of his voice.  For a moment they stared in shock, and then Hermione let out a happy little squeal and darted across the room, throwing her arms around him in a hug that made the one Mrs. Weasley had just given him look very weak. 

"Harry!" she said excitedly.  "When did you get here?"

"Just now," he said when she finally let go and he could breathe.  "Lupin came to get me."

"We didn't know you were coming," said Ron, standing up and crossing the room to where the other two stood.  He grinned.  "But this is excellent!"

Harry started to say something else but cut himself short as he caught a good sight of Hermione.  "What's with the hair?"

Hermione frowned and shrugged.  "Ginny," she said simply.  "But Harry, this is amazing because we were just talking about you!"  Harry looked at her expectantly, but she was grabbing his arm and tugging him to the bed before he had a chance to ask for an explanation.  "Read this," she commanded, shoving him into a sitting position and pushing a large book toward him. 

Harry had really never found anything that Hermione wanted him to read to be quite interesting, but he knew that Ron had apparently been engrossed in whatever it was, so he figured that it couldn't be all that bad.  With only the tiniest of sighs, he bent his head and started reading the open page.

He couldn't quite believe what he was reading.  They had to be insane to think that he would go for this.  The page was filled with what looked like a very complicated potion and a Latin incantation that Harry couldn't quite translate.  The spell and potion were apparently supposed to be performed on three people with the use of their blood being the main component.  For a moment, Harry thought that they were actually supposed to use their blood in the potion, but when he read on, what he found was even more appalling.  They were supposed to drink the potion and then cut their hands open, joining them with the others and allowing their blood to mix as one.  Apparently combination of three bloods was supposed to provide an ancient form of protection over the three who performed the task.  The warning at the bottom of the page said, "There is no such thing as complete protection.  This spell is to be used only for heightened precautionary reasons.  There are no guarantees."

When Harry finished reading, he looked up at his best friends and shook his head.

"No."

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