Vasi Extremi

by AijouSakura

He had needed more time. But time was not his to have, and so the plans had to be set in motion. Led by their child protegy, the children would fight and die. For he would dominate. The Boy Who Lived would Die. Vires Incommitatus Redone!

2. multi consilii

Many Meetings

multi consilii

Harry,

I sincerely hope that you have had a pleasant summer, although I know that that may not be possible, under the circumstances. Believe me when I say that it is truly in your best interest, as I think you now know, and I have been told that you will be spending the remaining time with the Order of the Phoenix. I look forward to seeing you there. I regret that I cannot send you a letter simply for the pleasure of it, but business does seem to monopolize our lives nowadays; so, to the point, then.

You have, no doubt, been dreaming quite a bit lately, despite the attempts you make at Occulmency. I would advise you to take whatever steps you can to record these dreams; you may be able to provide invaluable knowledge. I would also tell you to be extremely careful. You know that your dreams can act as a double-edged sword, and we do not want Voldemort to do again what he did last year. I hope that you have continued to practice what Professor Snape instructed you to do last year; it becomes more urgent now than it was before, and I will explain more of this when we meet in person.

I have, of course, seen your selection of courses for the next year. Your request for a make-up examination in Potions has been approved, and you will take the exam on the first day back, at eleven o'clock in the morning. You have my best wishes in your chosen path. I have utmost faith in you, and no doubt that you will succeed. However, this reinforces the need for you to conquer your emotions and your mind. It will not be easy.

Enjoy your summer, and I will see you soon,

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry folded the letter and put it beneath the floorboard under his bed. The Headmaster had sent him one other letter that summer, filled with cheerful words and less than cheerful messages. Harry found them somewhat reassuring; coming from Professor Dumbledore, the unnatural cheer was completely normal, and he felt like he was being trusted with something. It was that, more than anything else, that kept him trying to work on his tasks for Occulmency, and he had actually been able to master the clearing of his mind.

Dumbledore was right, of course, about his dreams. When he returned to Hogwarts, Harry had planned to talk to Hermione about some sort of charm to record them while he slept; as it was, he wrote down what he could remember, which was getting clearer and more organized as time progressed. The small notebook was hidden at the bottom of his trunk, along with his more valuable wizarding possessions; his cloak and wand, as well as other trinkets.

The idea of seeing the Headmaster again was an encouraging one, as was the fact that today he would get to see Hermione again. Which did take him to an interesting problem; how to get out of the house. Having only recently turned sixteen - Harry thought fondly to his store of sweets, still hidden beneath his bed - he wasn't able to Apparate, or to drive a car and even if he could, he suspected that his Uncle would rather die than give him freedom of mobility. This meant that the only way he could get to Diagon Alley was if he was driven. Therein lay the problem.

He went over and took the magic eight-ball from his bedside table and shook it, watching as the slip of parchment floated up to the glass surface. Words appeared quickly in shining violet ink.

It is conventional to actually ask a question, you know.

Harry glared at the trinket, once again feeling a strange and irrational need to prove himself. He shook his head, both amused and ashamed with himself.

"What do I say to get Uncle Vernon to take me to Diagon Alley?" There was a pause for a moment, and it seemed like the magical sphere was considering what to say. Probably trying to come up with the most malicious and horrible insult it could, Harry thought spitefully. And indeed, there was a distinctly malicious twist to the writing when it next appeared.

Do you even know how to get into Diagon Alley?

"Of course I do," Harry answered. "The Leakey Cauldron, tap the bricks in the back yard, or else ." he frowned, trying to remember something that he had overheard Bill telling his mother last summer. "Or else, the Eastern Bank of Commerce, locker number seventy-one. A simple opening charm."

And you plan to do this how, exactly, without using magic?

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't thought about that.

I thought so.

The invisible writer seemed very smug. Harry found himself wondering why he was even bothering to consult it, and vowed that after his question was answered he would lock the annoying billiard-ball away at the bottom of his trunk, with the Sneakoscope. When he looked down again, the writing had changed.

Have some decent advice, instead of an answer to a stupid question.

"Yeah?" Harry looked at it sceptically. This time the paper seemed to wrap around the screen as the eight-ball gave a longer answer than it usually did. Harry read rapidly to keep up.

Tap the lock three times with your wand. It's not considered magic without
a spell, but it will trigger the magic in the door.

Harry felt a grudging kind of gratitude start to creep up on him. He pushed it aside.

"So no help with the family issue, then."

The reply seemed to have a sense of finality latent in it.

I'm not a family counsellor; solve your own issue with the pruny git.

"Fine, then," Harry muttered. However, he left the ball on his bedside table instead of hiding it in his trunk. The advice had been good, after all. Maybe it deserved a second chance, if magical items were worthy of them.

Which still didn't answer the question of how to coerce his relatives into giving him a ride to the Eastern Bank of Commerce. Following the events of the previous summer, the Dursleys were now fully aware of the fact that he could not perform even a single act of magic, and although they were indeed intimidated by Alastor Moody and the other Order members, he didn't know how far that fear would take him. Still, he had to go, which left him with only one real choice; he'd go down and hope he could talk his way through it.

The Dursleys were, rather predictably, gathered around the kitchen table. Aunt Petunia was sitting with an adoring look on her face, watching as Dudley worked steadily at eating what looked like an entire pound cake. Uncle Vernon was reading his newspaper, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"We've gone up three points," he said cheerily, opening the paper to show Aunt Petunia the newest information in the business section. "Overtaking that idiot Weston by a landslide. A landslide, boy, see? This is what you're inheriting."

Dudley grunted, intent on stuffing more food into his mouth. All attempts at a diet had been completely abolished when Dudley had won his school's wrestling championship, and had advanced into a citywide competition. Now he had to 'build up his strength', as Aunt Petunia kept saying.

Harry coughed. The Dursleys looked up, startled, and stared at him as if he were a mangy and unwanted animal who had wandered into the pristine world that was the kitchen.

"What do you want, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be up in your bedroom?"

"Well, um, you see," Harry frowned, trying to figure out how to put this best, "I kind of have to go into Diagon Alley today. I need to get my supplies, and, well, yeah."

Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.

"You've never had to go to this Alley before," he said in a warning tone.

"Actually I have," Harry said quickly before he could be interrupted. "I've always been able to go with someone else, though, but this year I can't."

"Why not?" Dudley looked up with a sneer on his fat face.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "I just can't. They told me I had to go before."

An unpleasant grin began to grow from Uncle Vernon's smile. He snapped his paper once, then folded it and set it down on the table in front of him. Then, slowly and maliciously, he cracked his knuckles and leaned forwards to stare Harry in the face.

"It looks like you've got a bit of a problem, then, haven't you boy?" he asked merrily. "You want me to drive you to this wizard shop of yours" - his face contorted and he shuddered on the word 'wizard' - "and it seems like if I don't take you, you won't be able to go to your little school. Dear me, what a problem."

Harry moved away from the door and leaned against the wall. He had half expected his uncle to say something like that, and had prepared for it.

"Well," he said slowly, as if considering, "I could always just try and go myself. It's not really very far, I suppose I could walk there." He shrugged. "Although," he continued pensively, "I'm not very strong, you know. There's a chance I might collapse on the way, and if someone finds me, well, they might think that you'd been abusing me. Especially if my Godfather's friends find out about it."

"Ridiculous," Aunt Petunia scoffed, her voice rising almost a full octave with nerves. "After all we've done for you, you wouldn't dare."

"Of course I'd tell them how generous you are," Harry added quickly, "but they might not believe me. I don't exactly look honest, do I?"

"That's an understatement," Uncle Vernon muttered. He looked positively murderous. "Are you threatening me, boy?"

Harry widened his eyes, trying to feign innocence. He held his hands out in front of him in defence.

"Of course not," he protested. "Just . I'm leaving at the end of this week, Uncle Vernon. You don't have to take me to Kings Cross, another three days and I'll be gone for another year. But, if I haven't gone to Diagon Alley the people picking me up won't be happy, and they do know where you live."

"So you are threatening him," Dudley said, in an astounding display of perceptiveness. Harry shot him a withering glare, which Aunt Petunia somehow seemed to intercept.

"This is your gratitude?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. He turned back to his Uncle. "Please, Uncle Vernon. I won't ask you for anything else at all, I promise. You don't have to send me anything for Christmas or anything, just, please take me? Just to the Eastern Bank of Commerce"

"And I suppose you'll want to be picked up as well?" Uncle Vernon seemed to be considering. Harry tried to look hopeful. Finally, Uncle Vernon picked up his newspaper again. "It's ten o'clock now," he stated. "I have to go out at noon anyway, to pick up something from the office. The Bank is on the way, I suppose I could take you along with me, if you don't stink up the car. As for the return trip, well, Petunia needs to buy groceries later on, she'll be by there at about four. If you're on the curb waiting, she might be persuaded to pick you up."

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed. He left the kitchen quickly so that they wouldn't change their minds to spite him.

~*~*~*~

Harry spent the next two hours trying to pack his wizarding robes and his wand as tightly as he could. The Dursleys wouldn't be pleased with him bringing robes, and he hoped that if they were small enough they wouldn't notice them. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, he heard Uncle Vernon's voice booming up the stairs.

"If you're planning to come, boy, you should do it now. I don't have much the time to wait around for you; I'm a busy man."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry called back. He picked up the bundle of his robes and hurried down the stairs. Uncle Vernon looked at them distastefully and wrinkled his nose, but miraculously said nothing on the subject. Instead, he sniffed once, loudly, and stormed out of the house, almost slamming the door on Harry's hand.

In the car he was just as bitter. Lips compressed in a thin, tight line, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the car ahead, although Harry could see his jaw working. He looked over twice, and Harry contained a wince each time, but in the end he just growled menacingly and went back to staring at licence plates. Harry was very relieved when he finally saw the Bank coming up on the left. He barely had enough time to jump out and grab his robes before Uncle Vernon sped away in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

Harry pulled back the large, gilded double doors of the bank and entered the lobby nervously. Ahead of him, a long counter was divided into booths, and a line of people was standing behind it, waiting for the next available teller. Harry went to the end of the line, behind a tall man with a rather odd-looking purple hat. Slowly the line moved up, until the man with the hat approached the teller directly in front of him.

"Ah, Mr. Wartlegot," the woman behind the counter exclaimed warmly. "How's your wife?"

"She's fine," the man replied. "Got something she wants me to put in the safety-deposit box, again. You know her." The woman nodded sympathetically.

"You've got your key, I suppose," she asked. Harry swallowed sharply. He'd forgotten about a key. How was he supposed to get back to the lockers without a key?

As if he sensed Harry's dilemma, the man with the purple hat turned around suddenly. He looked straight at Harry, and his eyes flicked up to his forehead. Then he nodded minutely and smiled. Turning around, he beckoned to Harry with one hand.

"My nephew's coming with me today, if that's all right?" he asked as Harry came up to join him. "Just came in with my sister; she gave him something to keep safe until she goes back to France."

"Of course." The woman smiled warmly. She looked at Harry. "Enjoying your stay here?"

France, Harry thought. He kept his expression blank, and sure enough, the wizard - for Harry was certain that he was a wizard - the wizard beside him shook his head somewhat sadly.

"Doesn't speak a word of English," he said regretfully. "And I don't speak much French, but we get by, don't we?" Harry grinned vapidly. "Well, if it's all right, let's go check that parcel." And Harry was led off into the inner recesses of the bank.

When they had left the lobby, he stopped and looked up at the wizard who had helped him. The man looked at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Thank you very much," Harry began. The man held up his hand.

"Not at all," he replied. "Not at all. I recognized you when you came in, thought you might need a little help. I remember my first time in here, after all." He extended the hand. "Dominion Wartlegot at your service."

Harry took his hand and shook it. "Harry Potter," he replied somewhat unnecessarily.

"Nice acting job," Dominion grinned. "Although, I should have expected as much coming from you. Listen, I'm the manager of a shop in Hogsmeade, Awll's Sorts. It's got a wide range of knick-knacks; if you're ever in need of anything, please do stop by."

"Thank you," Harry answered. He unrolled his robes and shook them out, then shrugged them on and checked to make sure that his wand and other possessions were still safely in the pockets. Then, he turned to the wall of lockers to his right and found number seventy-one. Taking out his wand, he tapped the lock three times and stood back to see what would happen.

The wall shimmered slightly, then solidified again. Harry looked anxiously at Dominion, who smiled reassuringly.

"Farewell, then, Harry," he said, tipping his hat. Then, he straightened his shoulders and walked straight through the seemingly solid wall. Remembering King's Cross station and the magical barrier there, Harry followed him through. For a moment there was utter blackness and the feeling of stepping through a wall of mist or rain, and then Harry found himself completely dry stepping out of a doorway into Diagon Alley.

All around him, witches and wizards were making their way in and out of stores, chattering and laughing merrily. Harry looked behind him and saw a small door made of dark wood. Above it hung a sign with a single word written on it: 'out'. It was stuffed between the Post Office and Flagra's Fine Footwear, utterly unassuming.

Nearby he saw Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and he knew that Flourish and Blotts was just down the way, but Harry realised suddenly that he was rather low on funds. The small velvet bag that normally contained all of his money was feeling very light, so instead he turned the other way and headed straight for Gringotts, the Wizard's bank.

The building was still immense, with a gold tinged ceiling that made the light streaming in the windows seem older, somehow, more serious. The nearest wall was lined with large cushioned benches and tables, and many wizards and witches were seated there, counting their money or writing hurriedly in small books. One couple appeared to be in a heated discussion over finances. Harry quickly moved away and joined in one of the queues to speak with a bank goblin. He finally reached the counter.

"Can I help you?" a voice asked in a gloomy monotone as a gnarled face appeared.

"I need to make a withdrawal from Vault 687," Harry said. The goblin peered at him closely, looking suspicious.

"And is this your vault, sir?" he asked shrewdly.

"Um, yeah," Harry answered. "It's my vault, why else would I want to make a withdrawal?"

"People do," the goblin muttered gravely. "Let's see your key, then, if its your vault?"

Harry cast an appraising glance at the goblin, trying to see if he looked sane, then took a little golden key from his money bag and held it up just out of reach. The goblin leaned over the counter, peering at the key intently, before nodding once and drawing back.

"Of course, Master Potter, of course." He sounded slightly apologetic. "Just a moment, sir." He snapped his fingers once, and suddenly another goblin appeared at his feet. "Greyfeil," the goblin teller snapped, "take Master Potter to his vault."

"Of course," the goblin squeaked. Harry noticed that its voice was considerably higher than the other goblins he had heard before. The ears were also slightly longer and more delicate, and the hair was more delicately curled. Harry frowned. Was Greyfeil a female goblin?

"If you'll follow me?" Greyfeil beckoned with one long finger and Harry noticed that the sharp-looking nail was painted a strange shade of puce green. "Right this way, Master Potter."

Harry followed her through the bank and onto a somewhat shaky wooden cart. She set a lantern onto the bow and tapped it twice with her finger. The cart began to move.

"I apologise for Grundy," the goblin said suddenly, turning to stare up at Harry. "He was in charge of bank security a few years ago when something was . stolen," she shuddered, "from one of the vaults, and he took it quite hard. He tends to be a little bit more cautious about who he lets through now."

Harry, who was clutching onto the railing very tightly and trying to ignore the fact that it felt like his stomach was traveling at twice the speed of the rest of his body nodded with what he hoped was understanding.

"It's . okay," he said finally, loosening his death grip on the rail and trying to relax. All around him he could see the glimmer of the lantern- light on the metal of the vault doors as they sped along, and once the cart swerved violently to avoid hitting another cart that was stopped in front of a vault. Greyfeil chuckled merrily as the man at the vault jumped up and cursed.

The shaking cart made its way further and further into the depths of the bank, and soon it was completely dark save for the lantern.

"Don't worry," Greyfeil said finally. "We're almost there, just a few more corners." Harry gave up on relaxing and clung to the rail until the cart stopped with an abrupt jerk. "See?" The goblin jumped spryly from the cart and took the lantern off of the bow. "Come on, Master Potter, I need your key."

Harry followed her more slowly and dug his key out once more from his bag. He handed it over, and took the lantern in return when it was handed back to him. Greyfeil inserted the key into the lock and, like Griphook had years ago, ran her finger along the door. There was a series of metallic clicks and the door to the vault swung open.

It didn't seem like the amount of money in the vault had lessened any, somewhat to Harry's relief. He scooped a quantity of galleons, sickles, and knuts into the little velvet bag, pleased to feel the comfortable weight of money again, and then stepped back to let the goblin close the door to the vault.

The return trip on the cart was no less thrilling, although Harry managed finally to let go of the rail and settled for leaning nervously in the corner. He was beginning to notice the smell of fresh air, and had started to hope that he would be out soon when a sheet of flame suddenly shot out just ahead of the cart. They passed through it quickly, and Harry peered back over his shoulder to see the fire flicker out with a plume of smoke. He looked down at Greyfeil.

"Dragon," she said cheerfully. "We have two here, they keep a watch out for intruders. That one must have caught someone sneaking in. Or else he might have heartburn." She shook her head. "Horrible when that happens."

"Erm, right," Harry agreed.

"The door to one of the vaults was melted shut a few years ago when one of them got heartburn," Greyfeil continued merrily. "We actually had to bring in a team of wizards down here, you know, to unseal it. We don't normally let that happen, of course, but as luck would have it, it just happened to be Vault 395." She paused dramatically, and when Harry didn't seem to pick up on the significance she shook her head. "Minister Fudge's fault," she explained.

"Oh," Harry replied.

"Anyway, the Minister ordered a team in, and we had to let him go ahead, since he can cut Ministry funding and all, and then the dragon-tamers had to come in and help the dragon out - but we got them out again without any lasting damage, so it's all right."

Harry blinked, and then the cart suddenly emerged from the tunnels into the loading area.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Potter," Greyfeil said cheerfully. "Have a wonderful year!"

"You too," Harry replied, feeling rather confused. When he looked back from the door, the goblin was still standing there, waving at him. Harry shrugged and left the bank.

Newly financed, his first trip was into Madame Malkin's to get a new set of robes. His old ones were getting rather worn around the edges, as he hadn't had time to get a new set the previous year. He stood on the pedestal for a fitting, and then asked Madam Malkin for two new Hogwarts robes. He was about to leave, then changed his mind, and also ordered a new set of dress robes, in a green so deep that it was almost black. Rather than the simple school-cut of his previous set he flipped through a book of designs until he found one that he liked, slightly more elegant than before. Madam Malkin smiled at his choice and told him that he was lucky, because she had school robes in almost his exact measurements, and also had a very similar robe; in fact, she said, it should only take her a few hours to complete the tailoring.

"Come back at about three o'clock and they'll be ready, dear," she said with a cheery smile, patting Harry fondly on the cheek despite the fact that he stood almost a foot taller than her.

Harry checked his watch, and found that it was already half-past one. Quickly he made his way through the crowd to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, casting furtive glances for Hermione along the way. The ice cream parlour was almost empty, save for an old witch who was sitting chatting with a young girl with bright blonde curls. After making certain he was alone, Harry ordered one of Fortescue's Magical Milkshakes and sat down at a table by the window to wait.

He'd been there for about fifteen minutes when the door opened, with a chime that sounded like a chorus of tropical birds, and Hermione entered the ice cream parlour, carrying six huge bags. When she saw Harry she beamed and hurried over to his table, dropping the bags in a heap on the floor, then headed over to the counter to order her own ice cream. She returned, carrying a silver bowl in one hand and a tall glass in the other.

"Sorry I'm late," she said quickly, putting the glass in front of Harry and sitting opposite him. "There was a giant sale in one of the book stores, and," she paused as Harry raised an eyebrow at the pile of bags, "all right, three of the book stores. I had to stock up, though, you never know when that type of thing will happen again." She blushed slightly as Harry laughed at her. "And, what is that thing?" She pointed at his glass with her spoon before tucking into her sundae.

Harry looked down at his milkshake. The ice cream was a mix of what appeared to be chocolate and vanilla, with bright green bubbles forming on the surface and pale violet steam rising each time one popped. Harry shrugged, grimaced, and took a large sip.

When he looked up, Hermione was staring curiously.

"Cherry," he said brightly. "Quite good, actually." Hermione continued to look at him. Finally, Harry began to feel slightly uncomfortable, like he was under a very large microscope. "What?" he demanded at last.

"Harry," Hermione sounded very grave and Harry inwardly winced. "Are you all right? Have you heard?"

And suddenly everything made sense. Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "on both counts. I've been working on the Occlumency thing, and my scar doesn't hurt as much as it used to, and Professor Dumbledore told me to write down my dreams, so-"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "If you're practicing Occlumency you shouldn't be getting dreams at all! That's what Professor Dumbledore said last year. What if Voldemort tries to use you again like he did before?"

Harry shook his head. "Apparently what I'm learning keeps him from getting in my mind. But, the dreams don't stop. Hey," he said brightly when Hermione looked horrified, "my scar doesn't hurt as much, right? That must mean something. And if Dumbledore thinks its all right, I'm sure it's fine. I mean, if I'd trusted him before then things might have turned out better."

Hermione sighed. "I guess you'd know better than anyone," she conceded, "but are you sure you're not being used?"

Harry swirled his milkshake and took another sip. "Green apple," he noted absently. Then he looked back at Hermione. "No," he said. "I'm not sure, exactly. But I get the dreams, and I can't exactly stop them, can I? I've just got to make do. Now, can we please change the topic? I'm sure it'll be the talk of the house in a few days, I'm kind of looking to enjoy the rest of my Voldemort-free week as best I can, if that's okay?"

Hermione looked horrified.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. She took a large bite of her sundae and made a task of eating all of the chopped nuts. Then she suddenly smiled. "What classes are you taking this year?"

Harry glared at her. "First certain death, now school. What is it with you? All right, all right," he laughed suddenly when Hermione tried to hit him with her spoon. "Well, we all have to take History of Magic, and I'm thinking about becoming an Auror, so I've got to take Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, and Potions - well, I hope, anyway, I kind of didn't get an 'O' on my OWL, so I'm taking the make-up on the first day back."

"You didn't get an 'O' on your OWL?" Hermione asked, looking astounded. "What did you get, then?"

"An 'E'" Harry admitted. Hermione frowned.

"That's . um . well, Potions wasn't exactly your best subject, now was it? That's pretty good, considering . erm . some things. And I'm sure you'll do just fine on the make-up - you can study really hard, and I've heard that the potion's not that hard anyway, if you only have to go up one grade . Ron got an A and he needs to take Potions for . well, something, I was kind of reading when he told me so I didn't quite hear, but his potion is a lot harder."

Harry sighed, relieved. Considering Hermione's attitude towards academics, he was afraid that things would be a lot worse. Apparently she had decided to leave nagging him about school work until they were actually at Hogwarts, something he thoroughly approved of. However, there was a familiar glint in her eyes again, and Harry was afraid that he wasn't quite clear yet.

"But Harry," Hermione continued, her tone becoming sharper, "To be an Auror you need to get 'E's or 'O's in all of your NEWTs, and some of the things are really hard . you have to take Advanced Magics, and that's supposed to be one of the hardest courses there is . except for Arithmancy, of course, but," she stopped with a little laugh.

"That and Wards and Protections, yeah," Harry agreed. "You don't think I can do it?" He looked at her critically.

"No, no, no!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head quickly. A faint blush coloured her cheeks. "You can do fine, I'm sure."

"Right." Harry took another sip of his milkshake and found it to be something between pineapple and grapefruit. "So, what are you taking that I'm not?"

"Arithmancy and Muggle Studies," Hermione replied promptly. Harry blinked and shook his head in amazement.

"You're not taking Ancient Runes anymore?" he asked incredulously. "You used to live for that subject. And why are you taking Muggle Studies? How many times do I have to tell you that you're Muggle-born?"

"I could only take eight courses," Hermione said sadly. "And I thought that Muggle Studies would be much more practical, when it comes down to it. Although," she looked wistful. "We were really starting to break grounds with Celtic runes and the connections between Dwarven magic and signs of the Norse inhabitation of Canada." Harry stared at her, raising one eyebrow as high as he could manage, and Hermione flushed and cleared her throat. "Anyways, Harry, Muggle Studes is an amazing learning experience. It's about changing perspective. Really, Harry, if you took it I'm sure you'd find it fascinating."

"Yeah, right."

"All right," Hermione said in a voice that made Harry feel rather stupid, "fine then. You don't have to take an interest in Muggle Studies, I can't force you."

"I live with Muggles!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione sniffed and took a prim bite of her ice cream. Harry looked down at his watch.

"Listen, Hermione," he said, looking up, "my aunt may or may not pick me up at four o'clock, but it's already two and I have a lot of things I have to do - if you want to come with me?" Hermione shook her head.

"I've already gotten everything I need," she replied. "Anyway, it's probably about time I left anyway, so I guess I'll see you next week sometime." She gathered up her bags and gave Harry a cheerful smile.

"Bye, 'Mione," he called after her as she left to the choir of tropical birds. Harry finished off the last of his now-blueberry drink and followed her out of the door.

Harry spend the next two hours wandering Diagon Alley, trying to rid himself of some of his money. He wandered into the Diagon branch of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and picked up two self-sharpening quills, as well as an ornate quill with a beautiful black plume. He also bought two pots of black ink, and one each of red, green, and gold, the latter as a random trivial amusement, and then left quickly before he could buy anything else he didn't need.

At the Apothecary there was a huge crowd, and Harry had difficulty obtaining some of his supplies; he was rather pleased to get the very last pound of powdered glow-worm, although he couldn't find any chopped snakeroot and was forced to get them whole instead. By the time he made it to the counter to pay for everything he had bumped into three other Hogwarts students and their parents, including Luna Lovegood, who smiled dreamily at him and asked whether or not he had taken advantage of the sale on Non-Extant Bats. Harry managed to decline politely and pay, and then hurried out of the shop before he could be accosted by anyone else.

Finally he went to Flourish and Blotts, and mercifully managed to get all of his schoolbooks with no problems and only minimal delay. This year, none of his textbooks seemed to be alive or malicious, which was something of a relief, although Harry noticed that the third year Charms book seemed to have an inclination to float and glitter randomly. There was something about the younger Years, it appeared, that inspired writers to magically charm their textbooks.

When he looked at his watch Harry saw with surprise that it was somehow half-past three. He quickly dropped his money in the cashier's hand, then grabbed his books and left the store. At Madam Malkin's he was greeted by a cheery-faced young wizard who handed him a large, wrapped package with a knowing wink that made Harry wonder if the guy knew something that he didn't, and then proceeded to unwrap the package again to show Harry that the three robes he had ordered were, in fact, all there. By the time the packages were rewrapped he was beginning to worry about getting out of Diagon Alley on time. Aunt Petunia wasn't a patient woman, after all, and Harry suspected that she might even come early, in the hopes of missing him.

Finally Harry made his way out of the shop, with the cheerful cries of the young shop clerk following at his heels. He hurried against the crowd, until he finally crashed straight into a fat, balding wizard carrying what looked like a dead parrot.

"Quite right," a dreamy voice said to his left, where Luna stood smiling vapidly. "I'd run too if there was a giant Hornelgloff chasing me! Do you want to do another interview for my dad's paper?"

"Uh, no thanks," Harry said quickly, after apologizing profusely to the portly wizard, who glared at him for a moment and then brushed by without a word. Harry also continued on, resisting the urge to look back in case Luna's giant Hornelgloff was, by some random fluke of fate, chasing him, and instead focused his attention on getting through the ally as swiftly as possible.

Harry finally reached the small door marked with the not-quite-eloquent sign. He opened it, thinking to see the insides of the bank, perhaps, but it was utterly and totally black. Biting back misgivings Harry stepped through the doorway and once again felt the sensation of tingling mist. When he blinked again, half trying to clear the water from his eyes, he found himself standing in the middle of an aisle of shining silver lockers, in the centre of a very Muggle bank. Quickly Harry took off his robes and rolled them around his wand, trying once again to make the bundle as small as possible. Then, after checking to make sure that there was no-one in sight, he made his way out of the maze of silver vaults.

True to his suspicions, Harry only had to wait for a minute before Aunt Petunia drove by, although his watch indicated that he still had a good six minutes before four o'clock. She gave him a sour look as she pulled over, but made no move to stop him from getting in the car. After receiving the standard admonition that touching anything at all would result in a slow and painful death, Harry was left to sit in a rather hostile silence as the wizarding world was left behind and he entered once more into the suburban nightmare that was his 'home'.

~*~*~*~

On Sunday morning Harry woke up ridiculously early and for the life of him could not get back to sleep. This did spare him from having to be called from sleep by the screeching of his Aunt, and by the time breakfast had been made and consumed - Harry tragically having rather a greater role in the former than the latter - he was feeling a bit more settled in. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both gave him suspicious looks as he set to clearing the table, but for whatever reason decided against questioning him. Perhaps the fact that he was about to leave for the rest of the summer added to their generous natures.

Dudley naturally felt no such compunction, and spent the entire morning throwing small wheat puffs at Harry's head when his parents weren't looking, and sometimes when they were. Uncle Vernon patted him on the shoulder and told him that if he aimed a little to the right he might hit Harry on the temple and knock him out. Harry decided to leave at that point, but Aunt Petunia called him back.

"What's going on today?" she asked, looking slightly nervous. "How are these . people . planning on getting here?"

"They are not using my fireplace!" Uncle Vernon bellowed suddenly, rising dramatically to his feet. "Not after the mess they made of it the last time, they're not! I refuse!"

"Don't worry," Harry said calmly. "Professor Lupin is driving up. As in a car," he added when Uncle Vernon continued to eye him suspiciously. "He knows how to drive, and he owled me yesterday to say that he would be coming at about one o'clock."

Uncle Vernon looked slightly pacified, but still hovered over his chair, waiting to jump up again. "What type of car does this Professor Loopy drive?" he demanded.

"Lupin," Harry corrected absently. "And how should I know? I've never seen it."

"Is it a flying car?" Dudley asked suddenly. His eyes grew rounder and he set his spoon down quickly into his cereal, sending milk splashing over the table. "Like last time, when they kidnapped you and tried to kill Daddy?"

"No," Harry replied. "It's a different set of people, and anyway, it got caught sometime last year."

"Damn right," Uncle Vernon agreed with approval.

Aunt Petunia seemed to be slightly swifter. "Caught," she asked slowly, expression turning fearful once more. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, it was running around the forest for a few years, but a team of Ministry wizards went in early last summer and caught it." Harry was rewarded by looks of utter confusion on all three of the Dursley's faces. He stifled a grin and turned from the table. "If that's all, I do have to pack, you know, if I'm going to get out of here in two hours." They just sat staring at each other, so Harry took that as unspoken consent and left the kitchen.

Packing up everything only took and hour, since the majority of his wizarding items were already stored in his trunk. Harry dawdled at it, taking out his books from the previous year and adding them to the existing shelf in his closet and then organizing the books by year and by height, just for the sake of it. He flipped briefly through his Advanced Magics textbook, but found everything beyond the first few chapters to be progressively more incomprehensible. He wondered briefly what on earth he was getting himself into, but shook it off before it could develop into worry.

His old robes Harry kept - they were still useful for practical lessons or anything where he might get dirty, and they weren't horribly small, just a little bit short around the sleeves. He put them close to the bottom, and stuffed the bundle of new robes at the top. Then he raided his chest of drawers for Muggle clothing - jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, and socks - to wear under his robes.

The rest of his trinkets, ranging from the irritating magic eight-ball to his semi-animate Hungarian Horntail, were crammed into any remaining space, and then Harry spent the next hour flipping through his Quidditch book.

Harry was looking up for now the seventh time when he heard the sound of a car horn in front of the house. He put the book on top of his clothing and slammed the lid of the trunk closed, then hurried down the stairs to the front hallway. Uncle Vernon was standing by the door with Aunt Petunia, who was talking to Dudley in hushed tones.

"I want you to stay far away from these people, who ever they are," she said sternly. Dudley nodded quickly and made a faint whimpering noise, moving to hide behind his father. He had never come out of a meeting like this without some disfigured body part or other injury, and obviously had no desire to repeat the experience. Harry privately thought that the chances of anything happening today was highly unlikely, considering Remus Lupin's disposition, but he decided not to say anything about it. It wasn't like they would believe him, anyway.

Instead he got as close to the door as he could manage with his uncle's massive bulk in the way and tapped him on the arm.

"Are you going to open the door, then?" he asked tentatively. Uncle Vernon grunted.

"In due time, boy," he said. "In good time." He was peering through the small quartered glass window in the door, apparently trying to assess 'Professor Loopy's' character by his car. Harry moved away from the door and decided instead to watch whatever it was going on through the window on one side of the door.

Professor Lupin had apparently been waiting in the car for Harry to come out, but when it appeared that he wasn't going to come, Lupin got out of the car and approached the door. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instinctively drew back from the door as the unassuming man walked slowly to the front. Despite this warning when the doorbell rang they all jumped higher than Harry would have thought possible, considering at least Uncle Vernon's weight. Panting slightly he opened the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.

"Well, yes." Lupin looked mildly confused. "I was coming to pick up Harry Potter, actually. I thought you knew?"

"Oh," Uncle Vernon grunted. "That. So, you're him, then."

"Yes," Lupin replied, still looking slightly baffled by Vernon's strange attitude. "Is Harry here, by any chance?"

Harry took that as his opportunity and squeezed himself under his uncle's arm to peer out. "I'm right here," he said cheerfully, giving Lupin a grin. "I was just having a bit of difficulty with my trunk, that's all. I can't really do much, but I was wondering if you could help?" The man smiled.

"Of course, Harry," he replied easily. "If I could just get in, that is." He shot Vernon a pointed look and crossed his arms, eyebrows raised, until the man spluttered something and stepped aside, face an unpleasant shade of puce. "Thank you very much," Lupin said pleasantly, stepping across the threshold.

Dudley looked slightly terrified.

"Mummy," he whimpered, "are they like Vampires? Once you've invited them in can they come in anytime they want and kill you?"

For once Harry saw a flash of the person Aunt Petunia might have been if she hadn't been overwhelmed with first her hatred of her sister and secondly her adoration with her son. Despite her discomfort she suddenly looked rather irritated.

"Of course not," she said more briskly than Harry had ever heard her speak to her son. "They're still human, in a way."

"The bit about vampires is true, though," Lupin called helpfully down the stairs. "So, make sure that you never invite one into your home."

"He's not a vampire, is he?" Uncle Vernon hissed. Harry laughed.

"No," he replied. He was tempted to tell them what Lupin was, but held his tongue at the last minute. People knowing things was dangerous, he thought suddenly, and the Dursleys were Muggle and therefore quite unable to defend themselves against torture. The sudden thought vanished, and Harry ran to the foot of the stairs.

"Professor," he called up, "do you need any help?"

"No, thank you Harry," came the reply. "I'll be along in a second - you might want to all step away from the stairs, though. I'll be sending the trunk down slightly ahead of myself."

And indeed a few seconds later Harry's school trunk came floating gently down the stairs, floating a few feet above the ground. It settled on the mat by Harry's feet with a soft thump and once again the Dursleys all jumped back in fear. Harry made some show of calmly walking over and checking to make sure that all of the fastenings were still locked, and noticed Dudley looking at him with a jumbled mix of awe, shock, and hatred all flashing across his pig-like features. Harry laughed at him silently.

Lupin came down the stairs, looking at everyone with a mildly amused expression on his face.

"Is everything all right?" he asked in a deeply concerned voice, and then shrugged sympathetically when everyone immediately nodded their heads emphatically. "And that's everything for you, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry was still caught up in the pleasure of being able to watch his relatives utterly defeated, and hardly noticed as Lupin opened the door and sent his trunk on ahead with a flick of his wand. He turned to the Dursleys with a huge grin. "I'll see you next summer," he said cheerfully. "I had a brilliant time this year." And with that he left number four, Privet drive, with the satisfaction of watching Uncle Vernon try to blow himself up with consternation.

~*~*~*~

There was huge commotion when he reached number twelve, Grimmauld Place. As soon as he entered the main hall Harry found himself caught up in a huge hug until the world began to go misty and faint gold stars started spinning around his head. He made a noise that he hoped would convey the fact that he was choking to death and was set down immediately by a rather abashed looking Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry, dear, how are you?" she exclaimed. "You're still looking thin, of course, but that's to be expected, and nothing I can't fix given some time and a decent kitchen, and we've got both of those here. Ron's been desolate without you and Hermione, of course, but I think it was you he was missing especially." She winked.

"Um . thanks," Harry managed. "It's . great to be back here, how've you been over the year? And thanks for the tarts, by the way, if Ron didn't tell you. They were great."

"Of course they were," Mrs. Weasley replied with a huge smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed them, dear. Now, I'll just have Fred and George take your trunk up to your room, now, shall I - FRED WEASLEY, GEORGE WEASLEY, GET DOWN HERE NOW, I'VE GOT SOMETHING USEFUL FOR YOU TO DO! Oh, and Harry, is that a new shirt? It looks wonderful on you."

Somewhat stunned, Harry smiled weakly and stepped backwards just as a loud pop sounded and Fred - or maybe George - Apparated to the spot he had been standing in a moment before.

"Mum, don't yell," Fred - or maybe George - cautioned quickly in hushed tones. "You'll wake up Mrs. Black - she seems to hate you more than everyone else, can't imagine why."

"You can yell at us all you want in the kitchen," the other twin added helpfully on Harry's other side.

"Well if you two wouldn't disappear to the deeps of the house where even Ginny can't find you I wouldn't have to yell, now would I?" Mrs. Weasley retorted briskly, but she cast a hurried glance at the curtain hanging on the back wall. It rippled slightly but the portrait behind it remained silent. "Anyway, Hestia put a sleeping charm on her, so I don't expect to hear anything for the next few hours at least. Now," she rounded on the twins. "Take Harry's trunk up to his room."

"Harry!" one of them exclaimed. "Look, George, Harry's here!" Harry silently thanked him for the hint. George grinned.

"You know, I hadn't noticed, standing right in front of him and all. How've you been?"

"Great," Harry replied. "What about you two? Everything working out all right?" He avoided looking at Mrs Weasley, who undoubtedly knew by now that he had financed her sons' entrepreneurial venture but had yet to bring it up.

"Oh, it's brilliant," Fred beamed. "We've been in the shop already - it's still not quite ready for opening, since we've been kind of busy with stuff going on here, you know, but we've got all our supplies in and we're just setting up the front room."

"And with Umbrage gone we don't have to have any discounts any more!" George added gleefully. "Until we find other reasons, of course."

At this point Mrs Weasley shook her head and sighed. "I want you both to know that I completely disapprove," she said warningly, pointing her finger at the twins. Harry noticed that he had been excluded from this and thought that just maybe he stood a chance of not feeling her wrath. "You didn't even take your NEWTs, for Merlin's sake, what if you want to do something later in life?"

"We are doing something, Mum," Fred said wearily, and Harry suspected that this was a common argument. "We're doing what we want to, and we're good at it."

"Just because you don't approve doesn't mean it's not a legitimate thing to do," George added. "I mean, what about Gershwin Zonko? You don't send letters nagging at him to get a new job, do you?" Suddenly he looked suspicious. "Do you?"

"Of course not," Mrs Weasly scoffed. "He is a grown man who entered into the business when he was twenty-four, after taking all of his required courses and graduating with decent grades from Hogwarts - none of this flying off on brooms nonsense - and then trying many different career paths before settling into that one."

"Well we could've done that too," George replied, "but we know what'd happen. We'd get through Hogwarts fine, both follow Dad into the Ministry to work at some low-end job like Assistant Aide to the Sub-Chief of the Department of Irrelevant Idiosyncrasies before realising that the pay sucked, the holidays were shit, and the Aide to the Sub-Chief of the Department of Irrelevant Idiosyncrasies was a brown-nosing prat who worked for You-Know-Who."

Fred picked it up from there, ignoring his mothers comment about language and the shudder that passed through the crowd at the reference to Voldemort.

"Then," he continued with a flourish, "we'd have a meeting between the two of us to figure out how to handle the situation, end up hexing the bloody git of an Aide until he looked like a cross between a kneasle and a mushroom, and then quit the Ministry before they could fire us. At that point Fudge would then blame everything on Dad, which would bring horrible dishonour to the family. We'd be fugitives, and we'd have to change our names and wear permanent Glamours to hide our identities. And then we'd decide to go into the jokeshop business."

"So really," George finished off, grinning, "we'd be in the exact same situation we're in now, except that the Weasley name would be tarnished forever, and instead of the loveable Fred and George you'd have Ihmad and Jyb, the Saudi Arabian twins from Estonia."

He nodded sharply, obviously immensely pleased with himself. Mrs Weasley just rolled her eyes and flapped her hands at him.

"Trunk," she said firmly. "Go."

With identical grins on their faces the twins each grabbed one end of Harry's trunk and Disapparated with a loud crack. The cloth covering Mrs. Black's painting fluttered suddenly, and a low moan filled the hall, but the woman in the portrait didn't wake, and soon the cloth settled again. Seconds later the twins appeared again, empty handed.

"We'll take you up to your room now, if you want," Fred offered generously, coming over to loop his arm around Harry's shoulders. "You're in a different place this time - there was a weird infestation of Bundimuns when we came here at the beginning of this summer. We cleaned them out before they could do any real damage, but you never know if there's anything else, you know?"

"Come on." George headed up the staircase. "You're on the other side of the corridor."

"Great access to the kitchens," Fred added as he almost dragged Harry after him. "Mum's got a new fetish with trying to fatten us all up for eating, or something, so there's nearly always something on the stove." He waved his wand at one of the doors. There was a sound of things clicking into place, and then the serpentine handle glowed a pale yellow. "Right in here." He opened the door.

Harry looked suspiciously at it.

"What exactly was that?" he demanded. George shrugged.

"Once you've got an infestation you never know where the little buggers are going to go," he answered. "We magically sealed all of the free rooms on the hallway at the beginning of the summer. That one just hasn't been unsealed yet, is all."

Harry frowned, but followed the twins into the room. It was surprisingly cheery, considering the relative gloom of the corridor. The single bed was elaborate and silver, with a bright green comforter and silver pillows, delicate snakes curling over the headboard. The rest of the room was similarly Slytherin, but still managed to be well-lit and bright. Harry's trunk sat in the far corner off the room, next to a small ebony desk with silver trimming.

"Very . nice," he said finally. "I'm not sharing with Ron, then?" Fred and George shook their heads.

"Nah, there aren't any more double rooms on this floor," George replied. "And you don't want to the third floor."

"Cobwebs everywhere," Fred shuddered. "And I think there might be an Acromantula up there somewhere - but don't tell Ron. We're saving that for later." He looked positively evil and Harry couldn't stop a laugh.

After making sure that Harry was nicely settled in the twins Disapparated and left him to his own devices. Harry unpacked everything he thought he could use, then spent the next hour trying to practice emptying his mind of emotions and thoughts. Snape, he realised, could show up at any point, and he would die before he let himself fail again. In the distance, down the hall, Harry could hear voices talking in the entrance hall. He thought he recognized the voices of Tonks and Mr Weasley, and then suddenly the shrill screech of Mrs Black as she apparently woke up.

Time seemed to slow down as Harry tried to push the voices from his mind, but instead he found himself lulled by the tones. He pulled them in to him, like a blanket, until he could no longer make out words or even distinguish between the soft noises, which gradually receeded from his mind until he was left in a world of perfect, pearl white. He had succeeded before in blocking out thoughts and feeling, but it had never gone this far.

The impression flew through his mind and was lost again.

Suddenly Harry was brought back with a jolt as the door to his room was thrown open, slamming into the opposite wall with a sharp crack. He blinked twice to focus himself and found himself staring straight at Ron's face. Harry jumped.

"Ron!"

"Hey, mate, you're all right, then." Ron grinned suddenly, and Harry realised that he had been looking somewhat worried. "You looked like you were in a trance or something, I thought you might have been possessed, or . yeah."

"Don't worry," Harry laughed with an ease that almost worried him. "I'm just working on something Dumbledore told me to do, nothing to worry about. Sorry if I scared you, I was kind of caught up in my head."

Ron nodded confidently. "That's good," he said. "I was worried that -" he paused, suddenly, looking uncomfortable, and cleared his throat anxiously. "Anyway, Mum sent me up to let you know that dinner was ready. I would of come earlier, you know, but Fred and George kind of got me to test out their Stox in a Box and it took them a while to get me out again. Sorry about that."

"No problem," Harry replied with a chuckle.

"Well, come on." Ron moved towards the door. "Everyone's already at the table - well, except for Professor Lupin, but he's gone to pick up Hermione, and he said he'd be back before desert, which means that he'll probably come in after soup. He's obsessed with Mum's apple tart."

Harry followed him down two flights of stairs and into the dining room, where everyone suddenly looked up and beamed at him. It seemed like almost the entire Order was there, although Harry didn't see Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Lupin was obviously not present. He was suddenly and painfully reminded of the fact that Sirius was dead and felt anger and sorrow wash over him before he forced them away. Harry would never be grateful to Snape, ever, but he could appreciate the usefulness of being able to deal with his emotions when he wasn't staring at a table full of cheerful Order members. Harry smiled.

~*~*~*~

Dinner was delicious, and it appeared that Fred hadn't been joking about his mother and her food kick, although Harry had difficulty concentrating on the food. Throughout the meal he was bombarded with questions, and after reassuring everyone that yes - he was fine, no - he hadn't been treated too horribly, yes - he was glad to be here, yes - he was looking forward to school, no - he didn't want them to torture Uncle Vernon, and yes - he really was fine, Harry was beginning to wonder if everyone wasn't slightly deaf.

Lupin came in half way through, bringing with him an absolutely extatic Hermione, which then led to another round of questioning, mercifully directed at her while Harry took the opportunity to take a breath and enjoy the spiced chicken. By the time Mrs Weasley had waved her wand, making the leftovers vanish to the kitchen and leaving in their place two steaming pies, he was starting to feel somewhat normal.

Ron and Hermione kept trying to talk to him and each other, but with the high spirits of everyone else it was virtually impossible, and all three resigned themselves to being active participants in meaningful conversation. The pies - apple and blueberry, were absolutely delicious, and when drinks were handed out everyone settled into an easy sense of peace. Ron spent that portion of the evening sending glares at Fred and George who, like the rest of the adults, had received pumpkin wine rather than the juice that was handed out to him, Harry, and Hermione, until Tonks finally passed him her own goblet, much to Mrs Weasley's dismay. Harry noticed that Mr Weasley, safe on the other side of the table, chuckled behind his hand.

Finally a witch with shining black hair and rosy cheeks yawned slightly and turned to beam at Mrs Weasley.

"Thanks for the meal, Molly," she said in a rich, low voice. "I'd better stock up on your potatoes while I still can, although I do remember Hogwarts food is still pretty good." Harry started.

"Hogwarts?"

The woman smiled, but it was Mr Weasley who spoke.

"Yes, Hogwarts. You wouldn't have heard, naturally, but Hestia will be filling the Defence position this year." He tapped his nose conspiratorially. "Albus and I thought it would be best to get as many of our people into Hogwarts as possible, and with the positions available and Hestia qualified, well, it made perfect sense."

Hermione leaned forwards.

"You said as many people as possible?" she reiterated. "Who else is going to be coming?"

Mrs Weasley suddenly scowled and Mr Weasley laughed in a rather embarrassed fashion.

"Well," he said, casing a glance at his wife, "The Wards and Protections teacher from the last few years had to take an extended leave of absence - his father died and his mother's health's been rather delicate for the last while, so he has to take care of her. Anyway, we were looking at who we could put in, and really there was only one option."

"Who is ." Ron prompted, and Harry was surprised that he hadn't heard.

"Him." Mrs Weasley pointed a disdainful finger across the table to a small man who was hunched over his plate, periodically looking up as if he was afraid of being caught. Harry suppressed a snort, although Ron, Fred, and George didn't do so well, and Hermione coughed as her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Dung?" Ron exclaimed. Tonks snickered and twirled a bleached blond ringlet around one finger. "HE's teaching at Hogwarts?" Mundungus looked up from his plate with a mildly offended look on his face.

"Yeah," he replied. "What, you think I can't teach a class? I've done plenty of . decent . stuff in my time, don't you make no mistake. Either of you takin' Wards?" Harry raised a hand slightly. "Great! 'Arry, you'll have a fine time, no worries. I'll teach ye' stuff you never thought a body could do!"

Harry turned his grimace into a rather sick smile and sank back in his chair.

"And of course," Mr Weasley said cheerfully, "There's Remus." Harry blinked.

"What's he teaching?" Ron asked suddenly, ecstatic.

"Muggle Studies," Lupin replied.

Hermione looked like she had been given the answer to the meaning of life. She gave Harry a look that was perilously close to a gloating stare, and stuck her tongue out at Ron, who looked crestfallen.

"I told you that you should have taken it," she pronounced.

"Albus had to fight with Fudge to get him in," Tonks said seriously. Her hair now fell in sleek black waves much like Hestia's. "I was there, of course - but don't tell anyone, they thought I was someone else - and anyway, I thought it was almost going to get physical. Fudge was ranting on about how it wasn't safe, except that Albus pointed out that he'd been at the school for seven years at a student and one as a teacher with absolutely no accidents, except for one thing that wasn't his fault." She paused for breath. "Then they said he didn't have the qualifications, but you know, Remus spent quite a few years living with Muggles after he left Hogwarts, so he actually knows a lot about them, and after that there wasn't really much else that Fudge could say, so he was in."

Lupin had turned a faint shade of pink while Tonks was talking, and now looked somewhat uncomfortable. For all of his friendly personality, Harry reflected, he really was a quiet person, and this extra attention focused on him in a completely positive light seemed to be making him uncomfortable. Harry gave him a reassuring smile and got one in return.

Slowly talk began to turn towards more serious matters. Bill and Charlie, who had apparently both come in just a few days ago, cleared the table and disappeared to the kitchen to sort out dirty dishes, with a grateful look from their mother, then came back again to sit down at the table with serious expressions on their faces. Finally, Harry thought, he might learn something new.

In the beginning the conversation revolved around issues in the Ministry. Tonks explained that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been sent out on an emergency mission to try and capture one of the Death Eaters. Now, with the public starting to believe that there really was something happening, sightings of the reported Death Eaters were coming in more frequently, and were being believed. They had apparently come within minutes of catching Bellatrix Lestrange one evening, but she had been tipped off about their arrival and had left a wonderfully cocky message in her wake. The Ministry was now on the lookout for spies, although they weren't very hopeful. The body of one Antonin Dolohovhad been recovered in the ruins of Little Hangleton, and although his body had been burned the Dark Mark on his left arm was plain to see, but a dead Death Eater, while slightly ironic, was no help to anyone.

At that point Hermione raised her hand.

"What exactly did happen to Little Hangleton?" she asked. "I mean, I heard -" she cast a guilty look at Ron "that it got destroyed, but . how did it happen? The Daily Prophet said that the Dark Mark hung in the sky for hours . would morsmordre really do that?"

Everyone shuddered at the mention of the spell, and Lupin shook his head sadly.

"No," he replied. "The smoke that made up that image came as the result of the Killing Curse used on buildings. For a Mark with that clarity and size . the Curse was used on every single person, every single building in the town."

"A lot of magic," Bill remarked softly.

"A lot of death," Charlie echoed.

The room started to fall silent once more. Harry swallowed once, then decided that someone had to take initiative here.

"Um," he said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, but - why haven't Ron, Hermione and I been kicked out of the room yet?" Ron shot him a murderous look, but Hermione looked mildly curious as well. Mr Weasley nodded pensively.

"Things have changed since last year," he said. "You - we've all been talking a great deal about you. You in particular, Harry, of course, although we have had to address the issue you to present as well. Last year it was agreed that you were too young to be included in the discussions going on here. We still think you're too young, primarily, but sometimes that doesn't matter. Harry, your dreams will show you the truth regardless how much of it we decide to tell you, and we've decided that its best to help explain what we can, to give you a context. And, of course, I can't expect you to keep silent from Ron or Hermione, although I trust you could if needed."

Ron looked somewhat relieved.

"We are now at a stalemate," Hestia Jones said quietly. "We have spies on the inside of You-Know-Who's ranks, of course," Ron and Hermione looked vaguely surprised, the former more than the latter, "and the reports indicate that while he has not heard the first part of the prophecy he does have access to a second."

"A second prophecy?" Hermione repeated. "What does it say?" Hestia sighed.

"If only we knew," she said wistfully. "Our informant has been told nothing about the prophecy, and has therefore been able to tell us nothing. If we even knew what it referred to generally we could have some clue as to how to proceed, but until we find out something more useful we just have to wait until he does something, and then try and go from there."

"All we do know," Lupin continued, "is that the boy mentioned in the first prophecy," he looked sympathetically at Harry, "plays a crucial part in the second. We think that means there's something about you that we haven't figured out yet, but . I'm sorry Harry, we really don't know."

Harry shrugged. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything new. Naming something about him wouldn't change anything, so it didn't really matter. He decided to devote his attention to other people instead. Ron and Hermione looked concerned, but he shook his head and turned back to the adults.

"We're startin' to worried 'bout Sevvie now," Mundungus said suddenly, looking at Tonks. "'Ow's the Ministry doin' with 'im?"

Tonks frowned, chewing on her lip. "I don't really get told much," she said. "I'm still pretty new around there, and there are some people with heavy prejudices, of course. I mean, he was a Death Eater, Merlin's sake, and he's not exactly a nice person to boot. If he'd just try a bit harder to seem pleasant and reformed?"

Everyone shook there heads in unison, and a snicker ran around the table. The image of Snape being nice was highly amusing, and also somewhat disturbing. Harry rather thought that if Snape ever was honestly pleasant to him, the world would probably implode.

"So," he asked finally. "Does anyone know what happened to the secret weapon that you were talking about last year? Was the prophecy it, or?" Am I likely to get killed in my sleep, was what he was really asking, but he didn't want to say it that flat out. Again, though, the question was greeted with a slightly sad silence.

"We really don't know," said Charlie, surprising Harry. He hadn't spoken much throughout the entire evening, and Harry would have thought that he wouldn't have heard much of what was going on, being away in Romania for most of the year. However, it appeared that no one could be taken too lightly.

"We hope that we were wrong, of course," he continued. "But we're going to pretend that we were right, just in case. Either way, it's only just begun."

~*~*~*~

The arrival of Snape and Dumbledore was heralded by a massive dark cloud that hung, quite literally, over the dining room table as breakfast was served. The last week had been quiet, by Weasley standards. Most of the members of the Order had departed the first night, or else the next morning, leaving only the Weasleys and Lupin, although everyone stopped by at least once to say hello and investigate the kitchen. Fred and George had hidden themselves away, after asking Harry repeatedly whether he wanted to help them with their research. The results of these mysterious studies were always revealed to the family once they had been properly tested, hence the cloud.

Mr Weasley and Lupin had been trying to get rid of it for twenty minutes to no avail when suddenly, without any spoken word, flash of light, or any other warning, the could and all of its rain vanished without a trace. Harry had been talking to Charlie at the table, comparing Quidditch ideas, and he spun around to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway with a wand in his hand and a twinkle in his eyes. Beside him Snape seemed to be trying to fill the gap left when the thundercloud disappeared.

"Interesting charm, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said softly. "I apply this, of course, to whichever of you happens to hear, as I'm sure it will be relevant either way."

There was a loud pop and the twins appeared, knocking over a chair.

"Thanks, sir," George said warmly, sketching an absurd bow. "We always aim to please. Could we perhaps interest you -?" He cut off at a warning look from Dumbledore, whose eyes nonetheless continued to twinkle, and shrugged regretfully. "Ah well, I didn't think so, but it was worth a shot." With that he and Fred promptly vanished again. Mrs Weasley stared suspiciously at the spot where they had been standing, and Harry thought he had an idea of what was bothering her.

"How'd they hear that?" he asked Charlie, who grinned.

"Never underestimate them," he said. "They're inventors by nature, and you never know what they'll come up with when they think it's necessary. Or funny, or just annoying."

"Charlie," Dumbledore said suddenly, "I'm sorry to have arrived to find you previously engaged in a conversation, but if I can pry you away for a moment there are matters I must discuss with you. If that's all right with you, of course," he added turning to Harry, who shook his head and got up from his seat.

"That's fine, sir," he said. "We were just talking Quidditch, nothing important."

"Quidditch is a noble sport," Dumbledore replied seriously. "In fact, for many wizards it is the only sport, although I find myself prone to watching the odd game of football now and then." He smiled slightly. "I would never even have considered interrupting if I did not think that your time, too, might be requested. Or am I mistaken, Severus?"

He turned to Professor Snape, who stood glowering in the doorway.

"Indeed," the other man said slowly. The word was drawn out and low, almost like a growl. Dumbledore, however, seemed unaware of the tone and smiled merrily at his colleague.

"Good, good." He nodded once in a satisfied manor and turned back to the breakfast table. "Well then, Harry," he said. "I suspect that the library might do for you to meet?" Harry shrugged slightly. "Perfect. Oh, and Harry." The twinkle had definitely returned to his eyes now. "I thought you might wish to know - while I am in this building all goings on here leave Ministry jurisdiction completely. This means that you will be allowed to practice magic here, although I advise you to make absolutely certain of my presence before you attempt anything. I do not need to tell you the consequences that would arise if you cast a spell when I were elsewhere, I am sure."

Harry shook his head immediately. He had already had far too many encounters with the Ministry connected with underage magic, and he had no desire to be expelled from Hogwarts this year. He had gotten off before, but he suspected that everyone in general would be much less sympathetic if he found himself in court for the second year in a row.

However, he was somewhat relieved to know that he wouldn't have to go up against Snape completely defenceless. He had wondered how they expected him to have a magic lesson when he wasn't allowed to perform any magic and, as with the stinging hex the previous year, there was still the off chance that he might cast a charm without meaning to while his mind was blank.

Feeling slightly more at ease Harry followed Snape out of the dining room and across the house to the library. Receiving no clues from the Professor he sat down in one of the small armchairs near the fire and looked up at the man.

Who was staring pointedly at the fire. He stood for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought, and then he turned to Harry and spoke, his gaze boring down.

"Before this begins," he said in a cruel, low voice, "I must make certain things clear to you that you apparently failed to grasp last year. Primarily I will point out that I have no desire to do this. There is no benefit for me whatsoever, and if Albus had not requested it personally I would never have agreed. In my own opinion you have no desire to work and no talent at what you are trying to achieve. I think that Albus is a fool to keep offering you unending chances." He paused. "But," he amended. "Perhaps I am not one to speak against his chances." He turned back to the fire.

Harry realised quickly what he was thinking of, and almost said something, then bit his tongue and kept silent. Instead he tried to make his expression slightly mocking and waited for Snape to look at him.

The Potions Master, however, appeared to once more find the fireplace absolutely fascinating.

"Secondly," he continued, and his voice held a more bitter tone this time, "I have not forgotten why I put an end to your lessons last year."

"Sir," Harry blurted out, half rising, but Snape whirled around suddenly, holding out an imperious hand, and he fell back into the chair.

"Silence!" The word cracked like a whip and the air because hard somehow. The man stood motionless, frozen, staring at Harry with a blank expression that Harry almost envied, suddenly. He felt irritation rising as he found himself being examined as if he was a bug. "

"You invaded my memory," Snape said finally, coldly. There seemed to be no warmth in him at all anymore, which was worse for Harry, because it left him with nothing to fight against. "Even you must by now realise the implications of a memory placed in a Penseive, and yet you violated that. I only hope," he finished with a sardonic bitterness, "that you at least managed to shatter some of your illusions."

That was enough for Harry. He had expected some mention of the Pensieve incident; he could hardly hope not to, but the mention of his father mixed with the emotions that he hadn't let himself feel before to come out now. He stood abruptly and glared Snape.

"I invaded your mind?" he exclaimed. "You were looking in mine once a week last year, and you didn't give me a chance to hide my memories!"

Snape looked at him coldly for a moment. "Well, I will not need to make use of a Penseive again, will I?" he almost hissed, and Harry felt suddenly guilty, and then angry for feeling guilty. His face, he hoped, conveyed none of it. Regardless, Snape seemed not to have noticed. He glared at Harry.

"Sit down, Potter," he commanded, and Harry did. Snape's voice hardened again, impossibly. "The field is even, though you have no right to expect it to be so. I do not owe you decency, Potter," he sneered, fixing obsidian eyes on Harry. "Nor respect, nor courtesy. I owe you a challenge; in that and that alone I have Albus my word. But that is all that you have the right to expect from me. Now." He spun away from the fire and stalked to the opposite end of the library. "At least try to clear your mind, Potter, and stand up, for Merlin's sake. You will be under attack in a moment. And I will know if you havn't practiced." The tone was ominous now.

Harry got up quickly from the armchair and took his wand from his robes. He moved to an open area of the room, as far away from bookshelves as he could manage, and tried to think of spells that he could use to block Snape without getting a look into the other mind.

Across the room Snape pointed his wand at Harry. "One," he said and Harry jumped to attention, a protestation half on his lips before he realised the futility. "Two . three. Legilimens."

Harry was still trying to accept the lack of warning was torn between trying to empty his mind, although he was still slightly uncertain as to what that would do, and trying to pre-empt Snape's attack, and so in the end he did something of both. His wand was beginning to move up and his mouth had almost opened when the wave of memories struck, but with his mind more open he was no longer dwelling on what he feared. Instead found himself watching as Fred and George shrank Ron's sweater while half way on his head; Angelina and Katie Belle were chatting in the common room about boyfriends; Luna Lovegood politely informed him with a grave expression of the dangers of standing beneath mistletoe. It was actually more amusing than anything else.

Then he felt something, like a light touch of a finger on his mind. It vanished for a moment, then reappeared, and Harry tried to push at it with a thought, having no idea how to go about it. At the same time he broke free of the string of memories and he saw Snape.

"Maledictobsiste" Harry exclaimed, bringing his wand up finally. A stream of blue light shot from the tip to burst around Snape, who staggered and reached out a hand to the back of a chair nearby. He seemed on the verge of falling.

"An interesting choice of spells," the man said, with a thoughtful expression on his face. "More effective than I might have suspected. But you need to stop using spells to stop me, Potter. You touched on it just now - use your mind, not your wand, if that's at all possible for you." The sneer was back. "Legilimens."

With no warning whatsoever Harry was swept away before he could register what had happened, but again the memories were either dull or amusing rather than frightening. With the part of his mind that could still function Harry left his wand at his side and began to try and find the "hand" on his mind again. He was half way through listening to one of Lee Jordan's commentaries when he felt it - the fleeting ghostly impression of a thought not his own.

He reached blindly for it, trying to find something he could grasp or push away, it was like trying to catch water in a net. Finally he broke from the main stream of memories until he could see Snape again, his mouth moving, imposed over the images in his mind. Suddenly, acting completely on impulse, he tried to imagine a black wall between Snape and his memories, where Ron was now falling off of his broom.

"Enough."

The word sounded loud, and the memories vanished leaving Harry staring once more at Snape and the library. The man was once again leaning slightly on the armchair.

"Well," he said. "You appear to have managed to block off memories you fear -"

"Unless you've just seen them all," Harry couldn't stop himself from injecting. He received a chilling glare.

"I said enough," Snape snapped. "You've touched on something twice now. You must master it. You must also learn to cover your thoughts, feelings, and memories when you are in a normal state if you do not want to be read like an open book. I said before that eye contact plays a large part in Legimency, but it is not the only way that Masters can gain information. There are other ways to spot lies and deception, and that is one of the core reasons I am training you. I will not be so lenient from now on, Potter." Harry wondered briefly how Snape could possibly consider himself lenient. "I will be attempting to discern your emotions when you do not expect it, and I will know if you have practiced. This will mean work and as much as you detest the concept I hope that you will put in some effort. The outcome doesn't matter at all to me, after all."

With that as his only farewell he swept out of the library in a swirl of black fabric. Harry stared at the doorway battling, despite what he had just been told, with conflicting emotions that wouldn't leave him. A large part of him was still furious with Snape - after all, he had been horribly unfair, given no warning, and he had the nerve to make Harry feel guilty, which was worse than anything else. However another, smaller part of him thought that perhaps there was a small chance that he'd done some thing right.

Harry stood facing the door for perhaps a full minute, then pocketed his wand and took a step forwards to leave the library. He was stopped, however, by a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," Dumbledore said warmly. "If you could stay for a few moments I have something I would like to discuss with you, if I may?" Harry shrugged and went back over to his armchair. Dumbledore walked over and seated himself in one that faced away from the fireplace. Slowly and deliberately he steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips, and with the fire behind him he suddenly looked very mysterious and powerful.

"Severus tells me that you have made immense progress," he said, and then amended the statement when Harry shot him a disbelieving look. "Well, rather, he tells me that you may stand a chance in a decade, perhaps, if there is someone there to guide you along the way. However, considering his preliminary remarks I was able to deduce your improvement."

The anger rose up again in Harry, along with that sneaking suspicion. He had been improving, then. Why hadn't Snape told him, though? Would it have killed him to offer a compliment? Or even some sign that he wasn't horrible.

"That is not why I wanted to speak with you," Dumbledore continued before resentment could set in. "However I thought I must convey my sincere good wishes. No, your improvement in Occlumency has merely suggested to me that the next stage was possible."

Harry leaned forwards slightly, curious, but all that followed was a long pause. "The next stage of what?" he asked finally, when it seemed that perhaps Dumbledore had actually completed the thought.

"Why, your mental development, of course." Dumbledore leaned forwards and stared at Harry intently. "You have not stopped having your dreams, despite your growing skill in the art of Occlumency. I had hoped that Professor Snape's teachings would put an end to your dreams," he sighed, "but you have managed to regain your distance with Voldemort, despite my fears, and good has come of it in the end. I have no fear for your safety in those dreams."

Harry frowned, not quite certain how he was to react. Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, but then his expression turned more serious.

"However," he continued, and Harry almost winced. Howevers didn't' tend to go well. "There are ways of teaching you how to control your dreams, to an extent, and in your case I believe it might be prudent. It is a skill called Dreamwalking. Actually, every witch or wizard could become a Dreamwalker if they had the will."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, trying to see what the old man was thinking, but the light was behind him and his face was hidden in shadows.

"Dreamwalking," he echoed. Dumbledore nodded.

"A trained Dreamwalker has more power in the dormant world than he - or she - has awake," he explained, still speaking slowly. "She - or he - is not bound by the limitations of normal dreams. A truly skilled Dreamwalker can even summon other dreamers into a dream of his - or her - own creation, but that level of skill takes countless years to master. The only wizard I know with abilities on that level is -"

"Voldemort," Harry supplied.

"Indeed. Even I cannot do something of that nature." Dumbledore regarded Harry gravely. "If you had no other connection to Voldemort he would be able to summon you, if he so chose, and it is there that the danger lies. You could not be unwilling, of course, for not even he can summon those who resist him completely, but in a dream one can often be confused."

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly. Confused was one way of putting it, certainly. Tricked, mislead, used, taken advantage of, tortured -

Dumbledore shook his head minutely.

"This is not a time for blame," he said with finality. "Do not forget the past, of course, but you must use it as a lesson and a reminder. Do not let it hold you back."

Harry sighed and nodded.

"YOU cannot hope to master Dreamwalking in a matter of weeks," Dumbledore continued. "Even months or years would not be enough time, but the first stages are not hard to learn. If you wish, you can be taught to maintain awareness in dreams. This will prevent you from being summoned. It also gives you some control as to where you go - it will prevent you from being swept up. If you can dream a wand in with you, you may be able to perform magic. I'm not certain if that applies to everyone, or simply myself." He shrugged slightly and Harry saw something shine in his eyes suddenly. "My problem when I first began to learn was never dreaming the wand," he confessed. "Rather, I found it more difficult to convince the dogs that it wasn't a bone. There were always dogs." He sounded slightly bemused.

Harry laughed.

"Another aspect that you might find useful is that there is an ability intrinsic in even the most basic Dreamwalkers to sleep and wake as desired. I've found it useful to prevent needless tossing and turning at night."

He paused for a moment to let Harry absorb all of the information, then paused, seeming to be expecting something.

"So," Harry said eventually. "What do I need to do?"

This seemed to be the right question. Dumbledore smiled gently.

"Sleep," he said simply. "Your exercises will be in your dreams. But," he added, seeing a confused look appear on Harry's face, "I will of course provide you with some assistance initially."

Dumbledore took out his wand and waved it once in a circle, whispering under his breath. There was a bright cascade of silver sparkles and suddenly a small glass cup fell into his other hand. He held it out to Harry.

"Tap this twice with your wand," he instructed. Harry complied, and the cup began to glow a pale pink colour. When it faded the cup was half filled with a liquid of the same colour. Dumbledore nodded and tapped the cup himself once, vanishing the liquid, then set it down on a small table beside his chair.

"Each night before you go to sleep tap the cup twice as you just did," he instructed. "It will fill with liquid as is just did, which will help you to bring clarity and control to your dreams. The amount in the cup will lessen each two days, accordingly so that you will not find any at all when term begins. After all," he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "it would hardly do for me to be supplying my students with drugs during the school year, would it?"

Harry looked mistrustfully at the innocent-seeming glass cup on the table. "Is it safe?" he asked, aware that he might have just insulted the Headmaster.

Rather than being offended, Dumbledore laughed merrily.

"Beware of strangers bearing gifts," he said, and Harry wondered if and who he was quoting.

"You did say you were giving me drugs," he replied slightly defensively.

"That is true," Dumbledore conceded. "Still, many drugs are beneficial. This one in particular is brewed for me by Professor Snape, and I will personally attest to its benevolence. However, you are under no obligation to consume even a drop. It is for your own benefit that I offer it to you, and if you do not trust either my drugs or my Potions Master it is your decision.

"No sir," Harry laughed, ignoring the temptation to insult Snape. "It's fine. Thank you."

Dumbledore nodded and rose slowly to his feet.

"I think, then," he said, "That I will leave you to your day and to your summer." With a smile he turned from Harry and walked around his chair to the fireplace. He took a handful of powder from an elaborate silver vase on the mantle and threw it into the flames, which crackled and turned a brilliant green.

"Sweet dreams," he said as he stepped into the fire and vanished.

Harry looked at the hearth for a moment, and then over at the little cup. "Homework already," he said with a wry laugh as he picked it up and pocketed it, then got up and left the library.

~*~*~*~