Chapter Six—Ageless Wars

Over the next weeks, the dynamic of the friendship between Harry, Ron and Hermione that had been going strong for five years began to settle itself into a different pattern. There were times when it felt the same as it always had, but then there were times when Harry felt distinctly like a third wheel, and found himself alone. Hermione, too, sometimes ended up on the outside, because she seemed more like a girl now and less like just someone with whom two teenage boys could share anything. When Ron wasn't around, which admittedly wasn't very often, Harry wasn't sure how to act towards Hermione; was she his friend, or his friend's girlfriend?

"Harry, nothing's changed between you and me," she told him one day as they sat in the common room together; Ron had gone to the library to find another History of Magic book. That had become a common pastime for him this year.

"I know," Harry said, nervously fidgeting with his hands and not looking at her. He could feel her regarding him thoughtfully before she spoke up, in her usual conversational tone.

"So the other day, while Ron and I were snogging—"

"WHAT?!"

Harry actually jumped in his seat, and snapped his face up at Hermione so fast that he heard his neck crack. She was looking back at him, perfectly calmly.

"That's the kind of thing you're worried about, isn't it?" she asked, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"No," Harry answered quickly, unamused by her joke. "You can do whatever you want, I just don't want to hear about it."

"That's what I meant—hearing about it. But…Harry, look at me," she interrupted herself.

He slowly managed to meet her eye. Her expression was totally serious.

"I am still your friend," she told him. "I won't do that to you." She smiled, encouraging him to do the same. He managed to return the gesture, and though it was challenging to do, he found that it felt natural once the smile was in place. It was the first such smile he'd had with Hermione since everything had changed.

"I know you are," he said, and it was also the first time he'd felt that statement was true.

Of course, the rest of the school also had to come to terms with this dramatic rearrangement of one of the most constant trios at Hogwarts. Reactions varied from Ginny's ("It's about time!") to Katie's ("That's so cute!") to Dean's ("Nice one, Ron!") to Parvati's ("Hermione, why?") to, of course, Draco Malfoy's.

The latter of these came just before one Potions class when Ron, who was leaving just as Malfoy was arriving, gave Hermione a quick goodbye kiss. Such occurrences were common now, and Harry was learning not to notice or care. Malfoy was another story altogether.

"Hold it, Weasley," came his voice loudly, so full of incredulity that it was hardly even sneering. Ron froze just as he was about to walk away, and turned slowly to face his enemy.

"Oh, Ron, don't," whispered Hermione, putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry thought she had to know her protests were futile, for Malfoy was already taunting again.

"So the Mudblood and the blood traitor! I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like either one of them could do better."

The Slytherins laughed, and Harry saw Hermione tighten her grip on Ron's shoulder.

"Not fighting back?" Malfoy teased in a tone of mock surprise. "What's the matter— Your girlfriend won't let you? Or is it just 'cause you know I'm right?"

More Slytherin laughter. Ron reached for his wand, but Hermione grabbed his arm with her other hand.

"Hermione—" he began angrily.

"No, Ron, he's not worth it."

At that moment, the dungeon door opened and Snape looked out at the scene. His eyes moved from the Gryffindor side, where everyone was standing back and Hermione was holding onto Ron, to the Slytherin side, where Malfoy had slipped into the crowd.

"Trying to start something, are we, Weasley?" Snape observed smoothly. "Five points from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight, since you did not meet the requirements of my NEWT Potions class, and no one…vouched for your skill." He turned his gaze coldly to Harry on the last words.

"Gladly," muttered Ron. Hermione released him, and he pushed his way through the other Gryffindors and off to the stairs.

"Why are you so annoyed, Ron?! Haven't you learned by now not to take anything Malfoy says seriously?!"

"I don't!"

"Then why do you let him get to you?!"

"Because…you heard what he said! How am I supposed to just ignore stuff like that?!"

"Are you kidding?! I'd consider 'blood traitor' a compliment, coming from—"

"Not that! What he called you!"

Harry was trying to stay engrossed in his Charms homework, but it was proving difficult when Ron and Hermione were standing nearby in the midst of a furious battle, their first one as a couple. Most of the common room was watching inconspicuously.

"That?!" Hermione was shouting. "So now you're jumping up to defend me?!"

"Well, I'm not just gonna sit there! What do you expect?!"

"I expect you to have enough faith in me to trust that I can take care of myself!"

"I do! I know you can, but you never do!"

"I don't sink to his level!"

"I don't let him walk all over me!"

"I'm civilized about it!"

"I just want him to shut the hell up!"

"He's never going to stop!"

"Not if we don't make him!"

It suddenly occurred to Harry that if they broke up, they would hate each other, and he would be stuck between them; there was no way he would be able to remain friends with both, inevitably having to listen to each complain endlessly about the other. Beginning to panic at this prospect, he lay down his quill and took a more active interest in the fight.

"Violence isn't going to solve anything!"

"Look who's talking, Little Miss Slapped-Him-Around-The-Face-In-Third-Year!"

"And I regret it! But you probably loved that, didn't you?!"

"I've never been happier!"

"Well, he crossed the line then, calling Hagrid pathetic!"

"And he crossed the line calling you that!"

"So, what, your excuse for stupid behaviour is that you're just trying to prove that you care about me?!"

"Exactly!"

There was a loaded silence, then, quite unexpectedly, they put their arms around each other and kissed briefly.

"Sorry, Hermione."

"Me, too."

"It won't happen again."

"Yes, it will. Just don't get caught."

"Deal."

And they sat down to resume their homework.

Every year, the Hogwarts Quidditch season opened with the most heated match the school would see until the final for the cup: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Harry couldn't help wondering if there wasn't a bit of sadism at play in the mind of whoever had conceived that schedule. Why start out with the worst carnage? To give the students a taste of bloodlust for the rest of the year?

He also didn't like that his first match in his first year as captain, this team's first year together, would be against Draco Malfoy and his comrades. There was nothing he could do about it, though, except continue to prove that the Gryffindors were the better players.

So, here he stood, before the other six members of his team, trying to think of effective words of encouragement to pass along. Somehow, he didn't think that, "Let's humiliate Malfoy," or, "Prove that you're your father's son," would be applicable to everyone.

Shaking his head to make himself focus, Harry took a deep breath.
"All right, team," he began, "we're ready for this. I know we are, you know we are, and those Slytherins know we are, too. Am I right?"

There was a murmur of agreement. Harry sighed.

"Come on, how about some enthusiasm?" he asked. "I said, those Slytherins know we're ready to beat them. Right?"

"Right!" the Gryffindor's echoed with much more confidence.

"Good!" Harry said, pleased. "So let's go out there and prove it! We're going to be the champions by the end of the year, and it starts today! Right?"

"Right!"

"Good!" he said again. Waving for them to follow him out to the pitch, he called, "Move out, Gryffindors!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, they sounded strange. Move out? It was like a military command.

The other Gryffindors didn't think anything of it, though. They simply followed him out of the locker room to the pitch, and their first match.

When they appeared, they met a wave of sound so powerful that it struck them like a physical blow. Harry was used to this by now, and it didn't throw him off. What he did find strange was being at the head of the small crowd. Part of him felt certain that the other six weren't behind him, and were simply letting him walk out onto the pitch alone, looking like a complete idiot. Fortunately, the commentary given by fourth-year Ravenclaw Toby Wainwright, who had taken over the job since Lee Jordan's graduation, disproved his fears.

"And here's the Gryffindor team: Bell, Kirke, Murray, Potter, Sloper, Weasley and Weasley. We've seen most of these players before, but never in this combination, so it'll definitely be interesting to see what they're like, and I'm sure all Hogwarts' young bookies in the making will be eager to see how the odds shape up after this inaugural performance… Kidding, Professor McGonagall!" He laughed nervously under her glare before continuing. "Now, as I was saying, it will also be interesting to see Potter's performance as captain, though I daresay that if he's anywhere near as good in that role as he is as a Seeker, the Gryffindor team will remain unchallenged as long as he leads them…"

Harry couldn't help smiling at the boos of the Slytherin supporters on the far end, even as he faced their captain, Montague, who bared his teeth.

Apparently the Slytherins had already had their introduction, because Madam Hooch was now instructing the captains to shake hands. They did so, Montague squeezing rather harder than Harry felt was necessary, before parting and mounting their brooms on her command.

Madam Hooch raised her whistle to her lips and blew. The match had begun.

Now, how long would it be until…?

"Hey, Potter!"

Apparently not long at all.

Harry glared as Malfoy flew towards him, but said nothing.

"What's the matter, Potter?" his enemy sneered in his usual drawling tone, which never failed to give Harry the urge to punch him in the face. "Don't like starting off the season with a game you know you're going to lose?"

"No," Harry retorted icily. "I just think it's unfair that they make me put this effort into publicly humiliating you every year."

Now it was Malfoy who glared. "That's what you think."

"Yeah, that is what I think," Harry confirmed.

"Bell shoots… TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!" came the commentary. Harry shot Malfoy a smile.

"And it sounds like I'm right," he added.

Malfoy was spared having to devise I comeback when a Bludger came hurtling towards both Seekers, and they darted off in opposite directions to avoid it.

From that point on, Harry tried to keep his mind on the game, ignoring the taunts Malfoy constantly threw at him in an attempt to irritate him out of concentration. Instead, he focused strictly on the commentary. The score kept bouncing back and forth.

"And we've been playing for over half an hour, and the score is tied at—NO! The score is now fifty to forty for Slytherin as captain Montague scores!"

Harry let out a groan of frustration. Ron was a greatly improved Keeper from who he had been last year, but he still didn't deal well with pressure.

"Looks like Weasley's still our king, doesn't it?" laughed Malfoy, soaring past Harry.

"The Weasleys always rule the pitch!" came the answer, but it wasn't from Harry; Ginny zoomed past the two of them, Quaffle in hand, so quickly that Harry had to duck out of her way and Malfoy nearly fell from his broom. They both watched, momentarily stunned, as she wove expertly past players on both sides before scoring sharply on the Slytherin Keeper to make up for the Gryffindors' lapse in record time. Harry laughed at the sight as she lazily flew back towards the middle of the pitch.

"Nice one, Ginny!" Harry called, exchanging a high five with her. "You sure wiped the smirk off Malfoy's face!"

Ginny smiled back modestly, but fear suddenly lit her eyes, and she screamed, "Harry, look!"

From her tone, Harry expected to see Voldemort and his hundred strongest Death Eaters on the march when he looked where she was pointing. What he saw wasn't that, of course, but it was nearly as bad; Malfoy was tearing towards the Gryffindor end, with the Golden Snitch just ahead of him.

Cursing his negligence, Harry urged his Firebolt on. It didn't need encouragement, and shot like a rocket in the direction he intended.

"And I think this game might be coming to an end as our Seekers have gone into action! Malfoy of Slytherin with the lead, but Potter of Gryffindor is gaining quickly! It's going to be close! OH!"

Abruptly, the Snitch changed course, veering left and soaring back the way it had come, apparently not noticing that this route would lead it directly into Harry's outstretched hand—

But Malfoy wouldn't give up that easily. He turned as well, making to collide with Harry's arm and throw himself into the Snitch's path—

The two of them smashed together full force. Harry couldn't see clearly in the confused tangled of his own limbs and Malfoy's, and scarlet and green robes. His glasses slipped askew on his face, but he didn't care. Grasping with one hand for the tiny, golden ball, he made a fist with the other and began randomly attacking anything he could see that was green or blond—

A whistle blew. At the same moment, something brushed his fingers, and he just managed to catch one of the Snitch's wings between them as he closed his fist. Feeling himself about to fall, he grabbed at something with his other hand, which turned out to be Malfoy's collar—

Then he realized that they had gradually been sinking, and in fact now hovered only a few feet from the ground. He released his grip on his opponent's robes, extracting himself from the brawl, and landed.

Madam Hooch was there in an instant.

"Unacceptable!" roared the referee. "Fighting like that in mid-air! Blatching, Cobbing, and I don't even know where to begin explaining what else! Foul shots for both teams—"

"But Madam Hooch," Harry objected, "I caught the Snitch! The game's over!"

"Foul shots regardless!" Hooch snapped. "And your heads of houses will deal with you as well!"

Harry doubted Malfoy would get in trouble from Snape, even though he deserved it. Now that they were safely on the ground, Harry could see that he and his opponent were both looking rough and beginning to develop bruises

The fact that Gryffindor missed their foul shot while Slytherin scored didn't make a difference. The final score was two hundred to sixty for Gryffindor, and everyone except Harry was pleased with the victory. He supposed he had no right to complain, especially since McGonagall had simply given him detention for unnecessary violence and didn't even subject him to a lecture. In the end, however, Ron was the one who knew just how to cheer him up.

"Think of it this way, mate. You landed Malfoy a good shot to the back of the head."

While their first major fight had made gossip headlines, Ron and Hermione soon became known for such occurrences. On an almost nightly basis, they would argue vociferously in the Gryffindor common room up something that didn't matter, kiss and make up, and then be perfectly content together again. Far from being worried or annoyed, the Gryffindors openly gathered to watch these matches now that they were sure the result wasn't going to be a painful break-up. Even Harry usually took time out from his work to enjoy the evening's entertainment. He was satisfied that things had fallen into a regular order now, and getting more confident by the day that no matter how stupid Ron was, and no matter how self-righteous Hermione was, neither one would break the other's heart. Neither had said the "L" word yet, at least not that he knew of, but it was sort of assumed. Overall, he had to admit that it wasn't so bad, now that he was used to it. Even Crookshanks seemed to accept sharing Hermione's affection with someone else, and appreciate Ron's efforts to pet him.

Quite often, the three of them were the last ones to go to bed at night, and had the common room to themselves; this had been the case for years. When it happened now, though, Harry tended to voluntarily go to bed first, to give the other two some time together.

"I'm going to sleep," he said on the last night before Christmas vacation. "We've got two weeks of partying to look forward to, and I want to get some rest."

"Night, Harry."

"Good night."

As he headed up the stairs to the dormitory, Harry heard the familiar faint sounds of kissing from the common room below. Then he heard something else.

"Ron?"

"Hm?"

A pause, then, very quietly, "I love you."

Another pause. "I love you, too, Hermione."

With everything that had been going on in his life, Harry had all but forgotten about the outside world. Over Christmas break, however, that changed dramatically. Though he didn't find himself subjected to dreams any more distinct or worrisome than mere flashes, which may or may not have been clairvoyant and certainly didn't yield any useful information, this was almost more irritating than if he had been suffering compete nightmares. His scar was also beginning to act up more and more every day; it ached and burned virtually non-stop, which was infinitely frustrating and annoying. This constant reminder of the external forces that were building against him had been driven out of his mind when there were classes and Quidditch matches to keep up with, but when these were taken away over vacation, he found himself alone with his concerns and growing dreads.

He began to sink into an emotional pit of isolation. He spent more and more time in bed, retiring early and sleeping in late, emerging when doggedly coached to do so, and even then usually doing no more than sitting in an armchair by the hearth and staring into the flames. At these time, a dull ache throbbed within him as he remembered the conversations he had had with Sirius' head in this very fireplace…the grief was another thing that routine had brushed aside, which he couldn't escape from now, which swelled within him like a sickness…

Yet even as he dwelled on himself, he obsessed over what Voldemort must have being doing outside the castle walls, which had never felt so much like a stifling prison, keeping out information.

In fact, this wasn't entirely true, because information was coming into the castle regularly. Hermione received the Daily Prophet by owl post, and Harry was sure that the members of the Order of the Phoenix were exchanging news, even if they didn't keep him informed. The problem was that there didn't appear to be any information to be obtained. As he had done before the Ministry had accepted his return, Voldemort was maintaining a conspicuously low profile. Ron pointed out the obvious one day by stating that this probably signalled that he was plotting something major.

Then, four days before Christmas, they got a break.

Ron and Hermione exploded into the common room, where Harry had slid from his chair to the hearth, to be nearer the fire. It was morning, and they had been in the Great Hall eating breakfast. Their dramatic entrance made Harry look up, but he displayed no more emotional reaction, and when he saw who it was, he looked back down.

"Harry!" gasped Hermione desperately.

He struggled to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic flames, but before he could manage it, she had shoved the Daily Prophet under his nose. It took him several seconds to be able to focus on the headline.

SUSPICIOUS MURDER IN IRELAND

He blinked, feeling concern swell slowly within him, almost below his awareness, and then read on, becoming more conscious as he did.

After months of an uncharacteristic lack of overt activity, authorities have reason to believe that He Who Must Not Be Named has struck.

The victim is a Muggle man in southeastern Ireland who owned a small museum of Irish history. Aurors today released a statement concerning his death.

"Muggle police think this was a simply robbery gone bad, and they haven't seen any signs of magic which we've had to cover up. In fact, the connection to our world is so obscure that it was more than a week from the time this act was committed until the time it came to our attention as the possible work of dark wizards."

Although details are of course confidential, we have heard that the victim "shows signs of having been in some way killed by magic," and that a few articles stolen from his museum are both "earlier than recorded Muggle history" and "significant to certain wizards." Whether these wizards include He Who Must Not Be Named has not yet been confirmed. However, Aurors have said that a connection to him "seems, unfortunately, probable."

Harry swore when he reached the end of the article.

"It had to have been Voldemort," he said. "It makes sense. Southeastern Ireland? That's what Nott told him. And…predating recorded Muggle history…" He felt his heart sink as he spoke.

"Hyrule's history," Hermione whispered. He nodded.

"Ganondorf."

Having received some news, even if it was bad, lifted Harry slightly out of the pit into which he had sunk. After all, it wasn't that bad; if they knew what Voldemort was doing, then that was the first step towards stopping him. The Order and their allies now had motivation to act, and so Harry himself was driven. The thoughts which occupied most of Harry's mind were still rather depressing, it was true, but he was at least doing other things as well while he mulled. In an attempt to distract himself, he devoted a great deal of time to homework, making it his goal to finish it before the New Year, so that he would have time to relax.

On Christmas Eve, three days after the Daily Prophet article, he decided to stop until after Boxing Day, and so he had to return two books that he had borrow from Professor McGonagall on Untransfiguration, a concept that still eluded his full comprehension. When he arrived at her office, however, he heard voices, and paused outside the door. What confused him most was the fact that he was sure one of the voices was that of Snape.

"…to tell him what's going on."

"Honestly, Severus, if you take such an interest in this, why don't you take it up with Albus yourself?" McGonagall asked, sounding exasperated.

"You know he wouldn't believe me," Snape retorted. "Any matter concerning Potter, he won't believe me for a second. Just because he thinks the boy should be kept informed of every small detail—"

"Severus, I must admit that I agree with Dumbledore on this matter, and that Potter should be enlightened on this information."

There was a bang, as if Snape had slammed his fist down on the desk. "He is not a member of the Order!"

A scraping of a chair followed, and Harry was certain McGonagall had risen to her feet. "Why should that matter?! You know what he is, and it's something far more important than simply a member of the Order of the Phoenix!"

"These are not details we can risk handing over to children!" Snape hissed, and Harry heard something almost like desperation in his voice.

"It is not a detail, Severus," McGonagall replied coldly, "and he is hardly a child."

Snape didn't answer, and Harry heard footsteps approaching the door. He made to run away, but wasn't quick enough; he had gotten only a few feet before her office door opened and her sharp voice called, "Potter!"

Stopping in his tracks, Harry wondered fleetingly exactly how futile it would be to pretend he hadn't heard the conversation. The look of outrage on Snape's sallow-skinned face as he appeared in the doorway after McGonagall answered this question.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked nervously, avoiding the potions master's eye.

To his surprise, McGonagall didn't sound at all angry when she asked, "Did you need something, Potter?"

"I came to return your book," he told her, holding it up as proof.

McGonagall nodded. "Thank you." Stepping out of her doorway, she added, "Come into my office for a moment. We need a word."

She and Snape exchanged warning glances as the latter swept into the hallway, though who was doing the warning and who was receiving it, Harry couldn't say. It might have been both. At any rate, McGonagall was quick to look away from Snape and close the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, by way of beginning. "I didn't mean to overhear what you were saying. I just came to return the book, like I said…" He lay it on the desk as he spoke.

"I know," McGonagall replied curtly, passing him to sit behind her desk. "Frankly, I'm not at all bothered that you did hear. The conversation did concern you, after all, though I'm sure you gleaned that."

"Er… Yes, I did."

"I'm not sure how much you heard, but it doesn't really matter. I have a message for you from Professor Dumbledore, that's all. He would have delivered it in person, but…you know he sometimes has other obligations."

That was the roundabout way of saying that he was busy with official Order business, Harry assumed. "Yes, of course," he said, nodding.

"Well, he instructed me just to tell you this. You-Know-Who has become active again. You heard of the murder that was reported in the Daily Prophet yesterday?"

Harry nodded.

"And you've heard of a man named Ganondorf Dragmire?"

Harry found that this name already inspired more fear in him than any other; he knew what to expect from the lord of the Death Eaters, but the King of Evil was an unknown force. For the same reason that most people feared the iconic force that was Lord Voldemort, Harry dreaded King Ganondorf Dragmire. He nodded again, a lump of anxiety in his throat.

"The two events are not unrelated. Dumbledore suspects that Lord Voldemort plans to ally himself with his ancestor, Ganon, in order to seize control of the Triforce of Courage. But the Headmaster seemed confident that this wouldn't strike you as much of a surprise."

"No," Harry admitted, feeling a lead weight settle in the region of his stomach, "it doesn't. But how would that happen? How can Voldemort…You-Know-Who… How can he be allied with Ganon?"

McGonagall pursed her lips before saying. "There was a minor comment in the article on the murder which roused Professor Dumbledore's suspicions," she said slowly, rather as if she was trying to understand what she was saying even as she spoke. "It mentioned that the victim showed signs of being murdered by magic."

"Yes," Harry said. "So that just means Avada Kedavra, doesn't it?"

"That's the question. Does it? Or did the Aurors who released the statement make a point of avoiding specific references to the cause of death because they don't know what it was?"

When she spoke, it sent a chill of realization up Harry's spine. In his dreams, Ganondorf often used magic quite unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of. Did that mean…?

"Professor Dumbledore didn't explain the details to me, though I'm sure he knows them," McGonagall went on in her usual businesslike tone. "He has simply asked you to meet him at sunset on 3 January, just outside the main entrance to the castle. I think he will inform you then of the full situation."

It sounded like an unusually intentional meeting place and time. Dumbledore more often met people whenever they had a moment, in his office, or wherever they happened to be. Something as structured and precise as this sounded to Harry like something out of an international espionage novel.

He gave a short nod. "I'll be there."

So it was that for the next days, Harry was much more active in his life, though thoughts of what surely was happening in the world still ate at the back of his mind. When he woke up on Christmas morning, however, he managed finally to find something that put him firmly in a good mood.

It was a pillow to the head that roused him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that Ron had chucked it from his own bed and was now reaching for the pile of wrapped parcels at its foot.

"Presents!" he said enthusiastically.

Harry, spotting his own pile, sat up sharply and threw Ron's pillow back before grabbing the first of the gifts.

Hermione had given him a book entitled Great Quidditch Strategies of Our Time, which he knew would come in quite useful in his role as captain. From Ron, he received a box of Weasleys' Wildfire Whizbang Fireworks along with a note in Fred or George's handwriting that said, "Have some fun with your cousin with these!" ("Oops…I was supposed to put their names on the card, too!" Ron said when he saw the package.) There was also the usual fudge from Mr and Mrs Weasley; he slipped the lumpy blue jumper on over his pyjamas. A few members of the Order of the Phoenix had given him presents, too, including Remus' gift of what looked like quite an old book. Inside, Harry read in curly handwritten letters, The Legacy of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Flipping through the pages, he found that it was filled with instructions, explanations, and anecdotes of their best pranks and adventures. As he put it down, Ron said, "Hey—something fell out."

Sure enough, an envelope had slipped lightly from between the pages of the book onto Harry's lap. He picked it up and opened it, removing two pieces of parchment. He looked at the small note first; it was in Remus' handwriting.

Harry,

I received this a month or so ago. Consider it a Christmas present from your godfather.

A fresh wave of pain hit Harry in the stomach. He had been doing so well, coping with his life... He didn't want to think about Sirius, not now, not on Christmas, not while he was happy. But he had to.

Apprehensively, Harry looked at the other pieces of parchment. They were large, folded over several times to fit into the envelope, and as he opened them, another small note fell out.

"Harry…" Ron said slowly, no doubt spotting the fear in Harry's face as he glanced over the manuscript, which was written in complicated lettering and looked to be some sort of legal document.

The note was written in an unfamiliar, official-looking hand. Harry read it, curious despite his worry.

In light of the recent tragic death of Mr Sirius Alpha Black, it has fallen to me to be the executor of his will. As the last member of a very wealthy family line, Mr Black's assets were substantial, and are outlined more specifically in the last will and testament enclosed herewith. In accordance with his wishes, his considerable wealth, excluding the residence at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, is to be divided equally between his closest living friend, Mr Remus John Lupin, and the godson of whom he had legal custody and whom he therefore considered to be his heir, Mr Harry James Potter.

There followed the signature and certification of a wizard lawyer.

Harry reread the words, particularly the description of himself, particularly the one word that jumped out most—heir. In their last months together, Sirius had already made this will… He had already planned to give Harry half of his fortune… He had never mentioned it… But then, he hadn't planned on giving it to him so soon, and it wasn't a very easy topic to bring up casually.

"What's up, Harry?" asked Ron uncertainly.

Harry passed him in the note, and as he read it, Hermione entered the room.

"Happy Christmas," she said merrily. She was wearing a scarlet Weasley jumper with a stylized "H" on it and a pair of old jeans, Crookshanks was winding around her bare feet, and she held a book that was presumably a new gift. "Have you finished opening your—"

"'Considered to be his heir'?" yelped Ron suddenly, jumping up from the wrapping paper scraps and presents on his bed.

Hermione looked slightly affronted at being interrupted, but she forewent the lecture to give in to her curiosity.

"What's that, Ron?" she asked, frowning.

"One of Harry's Christmas presents," he answered, handing it to her. She read it with a speed that only she could manage, then handed it back to Harry with tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh…that's so…"

"Wild," Ron offered.

Hermione cast him a look. "I was going to say touching," she informed him, still sounding almost on the verge of tears.

"Well, yeah, that, too," Ron mumbled uncomfortably, looking at his pile of presents to avoid looking at her.

Harry as well didn't know what to say or do. Of course he was touched by Sirius' gift, but her would never be able to spend it without feeling guilty, and it would be a horrible insult to his godfather's memory to refuse the money or even give it away… There was also the fact that he was quite sure Sirius hadn't meant for the money to come to him like this. Sirius was supposed to have lived to see Harry grow up, to see Voldemort fall, to see his best friend's son become a hero, and die decades after peace had been established, or natural causes or maybe a painless illness. He wasn't supposed to fall victim to an almost accidental murder, in the prime of his life, before Harry had even known his own destiny. Not for the first time, Harry found himself thinking angrily that this was not the way things were supposed to be. Good people were not supposed to suffer and die while evil ones gained strength and power.

"Are you okay, Harry?" came Hermione's voice quietly.

Snapping back to the present, Harry looked up from the note in his hand and said, "Yeah. I'm fine. Fine."

The world was not supposed to go on turning, indifferent, unchanging in its rhythms, without Sirius Black in it.

Dinner that night was its usual festive affair. Besides Harry, Ron and Hermione, there were five other students staying at the school, two Hufflepuffs and three Ravenclaws, one of whom was…

"Oh, hi, Luna," said Hermione unenthusiastically as Luna "Loony" Lovegood waved dreamily at them. Perhaps she had signed up to stay for Christmas, or perhaps she simply hadn't been paying attention when it was time to catch the train home.

"Hello," she said in her usual tone. "I hope you all had a nice Christmas."

They murmured that they had. "How was yours?" Harry asked politely.

"It was quiet," she said, sounding neither pleased nor upset but almost bored by the fact. "It usually is. Winter isn't a very active time for interesting creatures and phenomena. I suppose that's why I mostly end up just reading. Maybe I'll see you over the break some time."

And she strode away. Ron looked after her for a moment before shaking his head, and Hermione turned her attention to the dinner that was setting itself up, with an unconcerned air. Harry watched Luna go, wondering vaguely what made her tick, then sat down on Hermione's right.

"That girl is amazing," Hermione said. "She doesn't even know that everyone makes fun of her."

"Yes, she does," Harry corrected her. "She told me so last year."

Wide-eyed with horror, Hermione looked up at Harry. "She did? Oh, no! I knew it! Did she mention me? Does she think I'm horrible? She must—"

"No, she didn't," interrupted Harry. "She didn't seem to much care, to tell you the truth."

"Of course she cares," Hermione snapped wearily, sighing before turning her attention to a cracker she was pulling with Ron. It let off an explosive bang and released a large and very gaudy red necklace.

Dinner was made interesting, as usual, by the teachers, who relaxed their own standards of behaviour only once a year—perhaps it was because this was the once a year that they had as much to drink with their dinner as they liked. Hagrid was booming out Christmas carols, Sprout was giggling like a teenager at every joke Flitwick cracked, McGonagall was engaging everyone in conversation, Dumbledore and Sinistra were taking it in turns to try on all the ludicrous hats that had burst from the crackers, and Tonks was changing her appearance by the minute; Hermione laughed until she couldn't breathe when their new professor made her hair a large ball of colourful stripes like a clown's wig.

After dinner they all stayed up late reclining by the Gryffindor fire. They played chess and Gobstones, toasted marshmallows, broke in some of their new presents, and talked about everything from Quidditch to school to nothing in particular.

Not until he was lying in bed in the dark in the early morning hours did the omnipresent anxiety which had mysteriously melted away that morning reappear in Harry's core. Though he didn't know what it sounded like, he could almost hear Ganondorf's deep, rolling laugh…blending in contrast with Voldemort's high, cold one…

All the students who had gone away for Christmas would return on 6 January, but that was not the next significant date on Harry's personal calendar. What he awaited, the only thing he could think about, was 3 January.

The day after New Year's Day, he spent his time doing the homework he had all but given up on after Christmas, which he had meant to have done by this time. That night, he sat up in his dormitory, wide awake in the early hours of the morning. He had been unable to sleep, not because of nightmares, but because of worry that he would have them. And so he was curled up on a window seat by his bed, leaning his chin into the heel of his palm and looking at the moon.

It was getting fuller, drowning the dark night in brightness. Harry felt sure that the night when Remus made his transformation from kind, intelligent, moral man to vicious, blood-thirsty monster would fall on the night that he would meet Dumbledore for some mysterious business…

He stared so long at the still lake, reflecting the luminous ball of the spectral moon, that for a moment he thought he saw a figure walking across the surface as softly as light…clad in green, bright blond hair, blue eyes set in its pale face…and another being walking beside him…wearing a billowing, pale dress, with waves of golden hair and the same expressive eyes, staring up at him… They smiled, and raised their hands to wave in greeting…

A sudden, soft breeze slipped through a crack in the window frame and tickled Harry's arm. He jerked, and realized that he had fallen asleep sitting before the window.

Of course. Link and Zelda wouldn't be floating like ethereal spirits over the surface of the lake. It was still, black and deep. But Harry couldn't help glancing at it again as he climbed into bed.