"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," Hagrid said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry."

Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.

"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

-- Hagrid, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

*

Disclaimer: Oddly enough, J. K. Rowlings continues to own Harry Potter and all other things pertaining to him. Since I have no desire to be sued, I will avoid claiming the contrary.

A/N: Thanks to vmr, K.T., TheRedFeatheryPlug, Taracollowen, Lyta Padfoot, hi, LittleEar BigEar's Sis, starkitty, ArtGirl, Stonehenge, The Super Star, spangle star and Xavien (and anyone who has reviewed since I last checked) for their comments on Chapter Two – special thanks to Little Ear BigEar's Sis for pointing out the error with the dates on the tombstone. 1979 – 1981, indeed. Bet y'all didn't know James and Lily died that young, eh? ;-) Hopefully, the problem should be fixed by now.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

NO HIGHER PRAISE:

A tale covering the summer after Harry's fourth year, among other things … with a heavy emphasis on James Potter.

CHAPTER THREE

"…. Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry…"

"- you and the rest of the world," said Harry bitterly.

-- Sirius Black and Harry Potter, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

* * *

August 2nd 1995

SCANDAL AT GODRIC'S HOLLOW CEMETERY

Horace Blake, Daily Prophet Special Correspondent

It has recently come to the attention of the Ministry that vandals have been tampering with a valued national memorial to the courage and sacrifice shown in the war against You-Know-Who. Late in June, the tomb of James and Lily Potter, parents of the Boy Who Lived, was nearly demolished by a strong curse. According to eyewitnesses, chunks of marble and dust from the dome virtually turned the grass in the graveyard white.

Shockingly, the caretakers of Godric's Hollow Cemetery, George Miller and Edward Peterson by name, did not see fit to inform the Ministry of this terrible desecration. Instead, the two elderly wizards attempted to disguise the fact that they had failed in their duty by repairing and repainting the dome. Their efforts, however, were less than successful. Not only did the reconstructed dome leak, but its structural integrity had been compromised. During a heavy winds last Friday, the damaged side of the structure collapsed again, nearly injuring Howard and Bertha Crawley, visitors from the south.

When ministry officials arrived to investigate, they discovered that the irreparable damage to the memorial was the least of their worries. Far more horrifying is the loss of one of the bodies this memorial was erected to guard. The coffin that contained the late parents of Harry Potter, recent Triwizard Champion, had been shattered. Although the body of Lily Evans – no longer resembling the vivacious bride whom her contemporaries fondly remember – was undamaged, the form of James Potter had vanished without a trace.

Ministry officials are as baffled by the motives behind this peculiar and disconcerting theft as they are by the task of locating the body.

"The really bizarre thing," said Humphrey Fawcett, the Hit Wizard in charge of the investigation, "is that the damage appears to have been done from the inside. We figure that some sort of complicated exploding hex must have been used on the dome to make the left side collapse outward instead of inward, but we really don't see how the coffin itself could have just splintered outward like that. And Mrs. Potter's skeleton wasn't disturbed in the least. It must have taken some serious power to manage that."

The Minister himself suggests that the incident may have been the work of Sirius Black, notorious Azkaban convict.

"Black is still on the loose," Minister Fudge stated, "though we hope to catch him soon. Seeing that he was responsible for the Potters' deaths in the first place, it's quite possible that he decided to destroy their resting place as a final act of his hatred toward them. However, the public may be assured that we have leads and will soon have Black in custody."

The Boy Who Lived himself has been unavailable for comment, and, in fact, according to Mr. Peterson, has never even visited his parents' grave.

"We ain't sure whether 'e just don't care or whether it'd be too painful for 'im," Mr. Peterson said, going on to add that he and Mr. Miller had acted with the best intentions in disguising the horrendous theft. Mr. Miller expressed agreement to these sentiments.

Nevertheless, it seems probable that the two caretakers will lose the job that they have held for the past fourteen years.

Mr. Miller and Mr. Peterson coincide completely in their opinion on this likelihood.

"It's a bloody shame, that's what it is."

* * * * *

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! IF I HAVE TO CALL YOU AGAIN, THERE WILL BE DIRE CONSEQUENCES!"

Ron winced and clasped his hands across his ears. Mrs. Weasley's strident voice did not go well with early-morning headaches.

"Buck up, Ron," Ginny whispered from across the table, wiping a hand across her bleary brown eyes. "Look at it this way – she could be yelling at us instead."

"Urgh," Ron answered indistinctly, and buried his head in his arms, nearly getting his red hair into his breakfast.

"Leaving already, Percy?" Arthur Weasley asked, lowering his coffee cup.

"Yes, Father," Percy answered, scraping his chair back and rising to his feet. "I have a great deal to get done at the Ministry."

Ron propped his head back up on one hand and blinked unenthusiastically at the burnt toast on his plate. "Can't say I blame you," he mumbled. "Wish I had an excuse to go snooze in a cozy desk chair."

Percy turned his haggard face toward Ron, frowning. The dark circles under his eyes certainly suggested that he had not been doing much napping at work lately. "That's not very amusing, Ron," he snapped.

The twins clattered down the stairs and dodged around their mother. "Morning, Dad, Mum, Ron, Ginny," they said as one. "Bye, Perce. Pass the toast, will ya, Ron?"

"Good-bye," Percy said stiffly, and apparated right out of the kitchen.

"Cheery chap in the morning, isn't he?" Ron muttered around a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed unenthusiastically and eyed his father, who looked even more careworn than Percy. "You all right, Dad?"

Mr. Weasley rubbed at his forehead, sighing heavily. "You needn't nag at your brother, Ron. Percy and I are both extremely busy at the Ministry, what with our usual work, the disturbance created by the absences of Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, and … and You-Know-Who's return."

That put an effective damper on conversation. The twins stopped chewing to look at each other, blank-faced, and Ginny stared into her milk as if it contained the secrets of life itself … that, or the secret to gaining Harry Potter's heart.

"Where's this morning's edition of the Daily Prophet?" Mr. Weasley asked briskly, giving his coffee mug a shake. "Let's have a look at the news, shall we?"

Mrs. Weasley handed him the rolled-up paper, frowning unhappily. He shook it out in front of his face and leaned back, obviously trying to put off worrying about his job until after breakfast.

Ron stifled a yelp as an owl landed on his shoulder. Fred and George both stopped eating to watch him as he disentangled the letter, scowling.

"Is that from your girlf – that is to say, Hermione?" Fred asked innocently.

"Express from Bulgaria?" George added sweetly.

"She didn't go to Bulgaria," Ron growled, flushing hotly. "Her parents wouldn't let her. Look, just – just lay off, all right?"

"There's something wrong with that owl," Ginny said sharply, ducking as the creature in question took back to the air and began fluttering in a frustrated circle.

"It's fine," George assured her.

"Just charmed to go faster," Fred explained. "Say, George, do you think we should -"

George's eyes lit up. "Spiffing idea, Fred! Sure to work."

Ginny looked from one to the other, frowning. "What? Please tell me it's not another of your Wizarding Wheezes things. If you're inventing anything that's going to be cruel to owls –"

"You wound us with such cruel allegations," Fred moaned.

At the same moment, George muttered, "She knows us too well, Fred …"

"Finite Incantum," Mrs. Weasley snapped, and the owl settled down onto the back of Percy's empty chair, hooting wearily.

Ron unfolded the letter, ignoring the twins as they nudged each other, nodded significantly.

Dear Ron,

You'll probably have already seen the Daily Prophet by the time you get this, even though I got it very early in the morning and charmed the owl to go as fast as it could, but I do hope you haven't written Harry yet. You mustn't tell him – he has enough to worry about without this frightful article on top of it. He doesn't get the Daily Prophet, so if we don't bother him about it he won't know, and maybe he'll have a better summer. Please do be careful not to mention it around him if he comes to your house this summer, because there are a lot of simply frightful necromancy spells that can be used on corpses, and it's really too awful to think about.

Do take care of yourself.

Love from Hermione

"Huh?" Ron said out loud.

"What?" Fred asked eagerly, leaning over the table and nearly overturning Ginny's milk.

"Oh, look, you lot! She signed it 'Love from Hermione!' How touching."

"You – you prat!" Ron hissed, folding the letter up and stuffing it into his pocket. "My letters are none of your business!"

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley warned, slapping a fresh tray of eggs down on the table. "What did you just call your brother?"

"Nothing he didn't deserve," Ron muttered.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed dangerously, but an exclamation from Mr. Weasley cut him off before she could speak. "I say! Molly – did you see this?"

"I," said Mrs. Weasley with a malevolent glance at the twins, "have not even had time to eat yet, Arthur. What is it?"

He held the paper out. "Look here! 'Scandal at Godric's Hollow Cemetery. It has recently come to the attention of the Ministry that vandals have been tampering with a valued national memorial,' and so on – but listen – 'Far more horrifying is the loss of one of the bodies this memorial was erected to guard … that of James Potter has vanished without a trace.'"

Mrs. Weasley snatched the paper out of his hands. "What?!"

Fred and George grimaced. "That's just …"

"Weird."

"Sick."

Ginny shivered violently, and remained in her seat as the twins rose to peer over Mrs. Weasley's shoulders. "Poor Harry," she whispered. "I don't think he'll like that very much."

Suddenly enlightened, Ron wrapped a hand around the note from Hermione. "No, he wouldn't like it," he agreed, his voice louder than he intended. "And what's more, he doesn't even need to know. That's why we're not going to tell him – right?"

The other five looked at him, wide-eyed, then looked back at the paper.

"Right," they said in unison.

* * * * *

Sirius Black propped his chin moodily on one hand, gazing at the grey rain spattering the windows. With his other hand, he prodded a fork listlessly at a piece of overdone bacon.

From across the table, Remus Lupin was eyeing said piece of bacon with a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Er – Padfoot. Are you planning to eat that?"

Sirius looked down at the blackened strip of meat and winced. "Definitely not. What's more, I don't think anyone should eat it." His eyes traveled to Remus's empty plate with morbid fascination. "Have you no respect for your teeth at all to be wolfing that cindery stuff down? No pun intended."

Remus swiped the bacon from his friend's plate and popped it into his mouth. "Have no fear: your pathetic attempts at early-morning humor are forgiven. And, no, I have no respect whatsoever for my teeth. Of course, unless you've laced these things with silver, I don't have any particular reason to worry anyway."

Looking out the window again, Sirius ignored him. "I wish it would stop raining," he said bitterly. "I'm going to go stir-crazy, sitting here with nothing to do."

"You could have stirred this bacon a little more," Remus suggested, wincing as he bit down on a chunk of pure carbon. "No pun intended. And I don't think I'm going to let you make breakfast anymore."

"What?"

"Never mind." Remus pulled the Daily Prophet toward himself, sighing. "Stop worrying about Harry, Sirius. He's fine. Dumbledore would know if something had happened to him."

"He hasn't written for over a week," Sirius mumbled miserably. "He could be sick, or depressed, or those Dursley-animals could be keeping him from writing." He turned mournful eyes toward Remus, looking (unsurprisingly) like a scolded dog. "Do you think he's angry at me for having to tell him he couldn't go to the Weasleys' this summer?"

"Oh, I don't think Harry would blame you for that," Remus assured him a little too quickly, beginning to unfold the paper. "You can't really expect him to be all bubbly and optimistic, though, after what happened. He's had a very rough time, Padfoot, and it's going to take him a while to get over it."

Sirius's eyes drifted back to the rain. "If he hasn't written by the end of the week, I'm going to go see him, orders or no orders."

"Don't be ridiculous, Padfoot. The wards wouldn't even let you in."

Sirius scowled rebelliously. "You said yourself that they're keyed not to let in anyone with malevolent intentions."

"And I'm sure you won't have the slightest ill feelings toward the Dursleys. Motives as pure as driven snow, I expect. Besides, you've started using a wand, and they are keyed to keep people with wands out."

"It's not fair," Sirius muttered. "What if something's wrong?" The sudden silence made him look up. Remus was staring at the paper in his hands, even paler than usual. "Moony? What is it?"

Remus moved his mouth soundlessly, then looked up, round-eyed with horror. "I – even – I can't – it's – they stole – they – what if they –"

"And you say I'm incoherent in the morning," Sirius grumbled, snatching the paper away. "What were you looking at? This Quidditch thing? Huh. The Chudley Cannons actually won a game? Well, I can see how that's surprising. Weren't they some third-rate team …"

Remus finally found his voice again. "They stole James's body!"

Sirius spun around so quickly that he ripped the Daily Prophet in half. "What? What? James – who – what?"

Remus tugged the paper from his friend's grasp, swept all the dishes off of the table, and used the now-empty surface to piece the two parts together. He skimmed the article again, aware of Sirius fidgeting at his side.

"Pettigrew," the latter spat furiously. "I'll bet it's Pettigrew – I wouldn't put desecration of a friend's resting place past him."

Remus ignored his diatribe, instead re-reading Fudge's quote. "With a man like that as Minister," he said slowly, "we're doomed. The man is so obsessed with proving that Voldemort has not returned that he's coming up with ridiculously implausible explanations for obvious things." Sirius continued to mutter curses on Pettigrew, and Remus rounded on him, raising his voice. "I said, I really despise men who are so obsessed with something that they refuse to look the facts in the face!"

Sirius stopped, and blinked at him. "Should I gather that that very pointed remark is directed at me, Moony?" Remus nodded, and Sirius dropped back into his chair. "Fine. What facts am I refusing to look at?"

"This is extremely bad," Remus said bluntly.

"Tell me something I don't know," Sirius agreed bitterly. His voice shook slightly as he continued, "They can't even leave James alone after he's dead, curse the bloody bast –"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Remus interrupted firmly.

Sirius looked up at him, then shut his mouth. Remus really did look like he thought this was a grave matter – though, considering the seriousness of the matter, making a pun on the word 'grave' would be quite out of place. "Go on, then."

Remus took a deep breath before speaking again. "We need to go talk to Dumbledore about this. And Harry -"

"We don't need to tell Harry!" Sirius rasped angrily. "He has enough worrying him without having to think about his parents' corpses too, Moony!"

"Sirius. How much do you know about necromancy?"

Sirius froze in his chair, eyes dilating in sudden horror. "You can't mean – they – you don't think they're trying to do that, do you?" he stammered. Quite suddenly, he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. "I think I'm going to be sick," he whispered, trying to shut out the horrific images that his over-active imagination was conjuring up. Walking corpses, bloody skeletons, dead grey eyes behind glasses, bony fingers and skinless faces …

Remus didn't look too well himself. "It says 'late June,' Padfoot. We know when Voldemort came back. How much would you be willing to wager that Voldemort is behind this? Animating corpses is the darkest of dark arts –"

"Stop it, Moony –"

"And what other use could one have for a corpse?" Remus demanded, raising his voice relentlessly. "He's trying to get at Harry, Sirius – he's trying to use Harry's feelings for his parents to get at him where he's most vulnerable. He could even be trying to get at us. What would you do, Sirius, if James knocked on your front door and told you he'd come back from the dead?"

Sirius shook his head wordlessly.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore about this – we've got to think of some way to protect Harry." Remus stared down at the paper for a moment, then, without warning, gave the small table a shove that completely overturned it. Quivering, he turned and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

Shocked by this rare display of Remus's deeply hidden temper, Sirius looked up at him, trying to hide the fact that he was close to tears.

"Fine. But, Moony – please, let's not tell Harry unless Dumbledore says we absolutely have to."

Still facing the window, Remus nodded slowly.

* * * * *

The flickering green light lit Lucius Malfoy's pale, sharp face, and turned his silver-blond hair into a weirdly dancing halo. It cast shadows across the great snake Nagini's smooth scales and reflected deep in her unfathomable eyes. And it glinted eerily off slitted red eyes in the deep shadow of a hood.

Lucius drummed his aristocratically slender fingers on the arm of his chair, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "I suppose," he said slowly, distaste coloring every word, "that it would be possible to hire a Muggle to do the job."

Voldemort hissed discontentedly, sounding remarkably like his pet snake. "Our little friend Wormtail tells me that the wards are will keep out anyone who is considering harming the boy."

Another silence descended on the room, and Lucius watched the enchanted flames leap in the stone hearth. "So … not only does the presence of his blood relatives protect the boy from harm, but further charms have been placed on that despicable Muggle residence to keep anyone from even coming near it … anyone who has been using a wand or who plans to hurt the Potter brat. Would someone under the Imperius curse be kept out?"

Voldemort inclined his head thoughtfully. "I cannot believe that Dumbledore would not have considered that possibility. There are ways to detect the presence of that spell … it would be a difficult task to build wards that kept victims of the curse out, but not impossible for Dumbledore."

Lucius considered that for a few moments, then shrugged disdainfully. "We could simply call down a destructive curse on this whole 'Privet Drive' place – a fiery shower, an earthquake, a flood. Protecting a single house against a cataclysm of that magnitude is impossible."

For a long moment, Voldemort said nothing. Then he shook his shrouded head, slowly and a trifle reluctantly. "That boy has shown an irritating penchant for surviving things that should have killed him. No … I am certain he would find a way to escape the fires of hell themselves if we summoned them to Surrey."

"We could lure him out of safety by putting those … Weasleys … into danger, but your little rat has been unable to tell us how to get into the junk pile they call 'home.' Dumbledore has massed a ridiculous number of protection spells about it as well." Lucius smiled suddenly. "Or we could summon the fires of hell to Ottery St. Catchpole instead, my lord …"

Voldemort chuckled dryly. "I doubt Dumbledore would even let the boy know that his friends were in danger if we managed that."

Lucius rested his chin on one hand, wondering at the Dark Lord's lassitude. This "planning session" seemed to consist primarily of him, Malfoy, making suggestions, and the Dark Lord shooting them down. While being Voldemort's favored consultant was an excellent position, it was growing rather wearisome.

"It all seems to come back to Dumbledore," he mused. "If only Severus could manage to poison him …"

The heavy oaken door banged open, setting the heavy green curtains fluttering. "My lord!" Peter Pettigrew's shrill voice called. "You – you requested t-today's Daily Prophet. It – it has c-come."

"How very observant of you, Peter," Voldemort hissed, his voice suddenly hardening with cold menace. Lucius sat up straight and arranged his face into a mask of cool arrogance. He really couldn't stand Wormtail – a cowardly, mindless, sniveling traitor who had betrayed his friends out of simple fear, when he had surely known that he could get nothing out of being Voldemort's lackey. Given the chance, Wormtail would probably go running back to his friends … but, no, evidence suggested that he was even more frightened of them than of the Dark Lord.

That only further proved the man's lack of intelligence.

Pettigrew approached slowly, sweat glistening on his forehead, and held out the paper, though he was not near enough for the Dark Lord to take it without having to stretch in an undignified manner. Idiot. "Th-th-there's an article about – about G-godric's Hollow C-c-c-cemetery – the P-potters' g-g-g-grave – it – it – b-broken into and – and – i-i-into a-and – in –"

Malfoy languidly reached out and swiped the paper from Pettigrew's trembling hands. It took him less than five seconds to run an eye down the column and gather the gist of the article. Smoothly, he handed the Daily Prophet to Voldemort with a half bow. "Someone appears to have stolen James Potter's body, my lord."

He knew the Dark Lord well enough to tell when he was surprised. Voldemort's long white fingers tightened on the carved arm of his throne-like chair, and his head tilted back slightly. He drew in a long, hissing breath, then laughed softly, sounding genuinely delighted. He waved the paper away, leaning back.

"Read it to me, Lucius." His voice changed, sharpened. "Wormtail – go."

The short man scuttled from the room, casting an anxious glance over his shoulder as he went.

Skipping the title, Lucius began to read the article, keeping his voice measured and clear. Voldemort listened through the first four paragraphs without moving, but interrupted when Lucius reached the quote by Humphrey Fawcett.

"From the inside?" His cold voice was vibrating with excitement, and Lucius had a difficult time keeping the curiosity out of his voice as he answered.

"Yes, my lord – both dome and coffin were exploded outward rather than inward."

"And the mudblood girl's body was not disturbed," Voldemort mused. Shaking himself out of whatever reverie he had fallen into, he waved a hand. "Continue."

When Lucius finished and folded up the article, Voldemort laid his fingertips together, steepling his long white hands. "It's a bloody miracle, that's what it is," he murmured mockingly, paraphrasing the article's ending quote. Then he smiled slowly, green firelight shining off his teeth. "Well, well, well. It seems, my dear Malfoy, that I was wrong … for once. I really thought that my 'death' had finished him off forever … but I must say I have rarely been happier to be in error."

Lucius arched one of his eyebrows, managing to appear interested and non-judgmental at the same time. There was excitement seeping back into Voldemort's voice and gestures – whatever this bizarre article meant, the Dark Lord was certainly pleased by it.

"How many of my trusty Death Eaters have spare time on their hands … or have any experience tracking people?" he inquired.

Lucius reeled off a few names, ending, a trifle reluctantly, with his own.

The Dark Lord nodded slowly, then let out a hissing sigh. "Too few, Lucius. Too few. Had I but half-a-dozen competent servants, this war would be over before it began … but you and our dear friend Severus are among the only intelligent soldiers in my ranks, and Severus's loyalties are … in question, shall we say." His serpentine eyes glittered in the half-light. "But it appears I may be able to remedy this problem after all."

He glanced sharply at Lucius's face, then continued, "Leave Severus Snape unaware of this mission, Malfoy, or it will go worse for you. Pick five whom you can trust not to bungle this affair too badly, and go to Godric's Hollow. When you get there … I want you to find James Potter. And bring him to me – alive."

END OF CHAPTER THREE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Answer to hi's question: No, James has no idea that Peter betrayed him. He assumes that either the secret was tortured out of Peter, or that Peter was just killed by the Death Eaters. He's not the type of person who would jump to the conclusion that one of his three best friends would really be spying for Voldemort. Needless to say, this is going to cause him a bit of trouble later on…