Things Undone

by Zennosh

AU. In the year 1980 the good and the bad met in a bloody battle. Shortly thereafter Dumbledore disappeared and Voldemort, for reasons unknown, slowed his attacks. Sixteen years later there are rumors which could mean the end of the war, for good or ill.

3. Sticky Situations

Chapter Two

Sticky Situations

The month of August passed quickly. Before he knew it, Harry was pitching Floo powder into the fire and traveling the distance to the Leaky Cauldron to buy his school things. Harry dreaded these trips to Diagon Alley. Like most public places in the wizarding world, security measures that had become routine made for a slow and tedious day, although in Diagon Alley it was as though people expected the Great Defeat all over again. In order to do any shopping, or to even go to the Leaky Cauldron, you had to submit a request form with your reason for going and how urgent it is. Usually, the family would go earlier in the summer as soon as they had received Hogwarts letters, but since Harry had to wait for his O.W.L. results and Carolyn was just starting, the Ministry let them wait until the prime shopping season to go. When he stepped through the grate (able to stay on his feet this time), he was first pulled aside by a security wizard who had been forewarned that they were coming.

"Name?" he asked gruffly, poking Harry in odd places with a Secrecy Sensor.

"Harry James Potter," replied Harry dully, holding out his wand so it could be registered.

"Holly, phoenix feather," dictated the guard to a wispy-looking witch at a nearby table. The witch then scribbled twice on a card and tore it in half. One half she handed to the guard, who stuck it to Harry's wand with a bit of tape, while the other she dropped into a large file folder labeled "Po-Pr". The guard handed Harry back his wand and Harry waited to the side for the rest of his family to go through.

His father was next, then Elizabeth, then Carolyn (who had to prove that she didn't have a wand), and finally his mother. The guard finished the process for her, then turned to the family.

"Do you or any of your children have any special abilities such as the Sight, hand magic, or—"

"Hand magic," his father answered. The guard took note. "All three."

At this the guard's eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing, simply scribbling on his parchment.

"Are you here on Ministry business, bank business, school business, or—"

"School," said James. "And yes, I am a Ministry employee, so is my wife, our children are all underage, and no, we do not have any illegal substances nor do we plan to buy any while we are here."

Harry smiled at his dad. The guard must have been new, because he had to scribble furiously to keep up with his father's answers. Finally, he blinked, looked at his list, then up at the family.

"You are now allowed to enter Diagon Alley," he said as if reciting from a card. "Please note that minimal magic is allowed, and that Aurors are allowed to search you at any time for any reason without warning. Have a nice day."

Harry followed his parents through the pub and out to the back. James tapped the bricks and the archway opened up.

Harry had been told that once, before the Great Defeat, Diagon Alley had been a bright, bustling hub of wizard civilization. He had a hard time believing it. For years it had been a Death Eater stronghold, left in their possession after the Great Defeat. Then, suddenly, they had abandoned it. No one knew why, and it was several years after that when the Ministry had declared it open to the public. The security measures had kept out any dark activity since then, and most of the wizarding community felt safe to do their shopping there again.

The main street, he'd been told, once was bright and cheerful, with well-decorated shop signs creaking in the breeze and brightly lit shop windows showing wares. Now, the long, curved avenue seemed hung with a dark grey fog. The pavement below Harry's feet was slate grey, and the buildings looked faded and beaten. Most of the old shopkeepers had moved back in, but some were still as empty as they had been the day the Death Eaters left, memories of their dark history leering out at passerby through windows black as night. Few people were on the street, which Harry was used to. It was hard to even begin to imagine a place like this crowded or bustling. Personally, Harry liked to spend as little time as possible here.

"James, you take Harry to Flourish and Blotts, I'll take Carolyn and Elizabeth to Ollivander's and stop by Madam Malkin's on the way back," said his mother. Harry and his father parted from the group and stepped inside the large, book-crowded store.

Harry found his books in silence, and by the time he was dragging An Advanced Guide to Potion-making off its shelf, he heard Carolyn's voice.

". . . And Mr. Ollivander said it was good for Transfiguration!"

"Great, all the more help for her to destroy my belongings," came Elizabeth's voice. Harry turned to smile at his sister.

"Remember what I said, about missing her if she was gone?" he asked. Elizabeth shook her head.

"I would not. Most people grow out of trying to sell their younger sibling to their neighbors. Me, I'd give her away if anyone would take her."

Harry laughed. If anything brought out vindictiveness in her, it was Carolyn. Usually Elizabeth was demure and polite and proper, but not many people got to see this side of her. He climbed down off the ladder with his large book and added it to his small but heavy pile. A few minutes later he was dumping them on the clerk's counter along with his sisters' when a shrill alarm rang out.

"Dark Detectors Drill!" called the clerk. Harry rolled his eyes but followed the clerk and the rest of his family down a narrow passageway and into an Unplottable room. When the Ministry had moved back in to Diagon Alley they had required all returning storeowners to build one into their shop big enough to hold their maximum occupancy. Once or twice a week there was a drill to test the dark detectors that had been set up, and the reaction time of patrons and businesses alike. Harry leaned against the back wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. Of course, everything would be futile in an actual attack, but still, the Ministry had to do something to bring people back. A sharp whistle echoed in from outside and the clerk slid the door open.

"Drill complete," came a recorded voice. Harry's family paid for their merchandise and left.

After stopping to buy a cauldron and potions supplies for Carolyn and Harry (since he would be doing advanced potions that year) they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, where the guard who had screened them in the first place swept his Secrecy Sensor across them and through their things, checked their wands, verified their identities, then sent them on their way.

Harry climbed the stairs to his room and dumped his books on the bed. A letter lay under his window, addressed to him in Hermione's handwriting. What on earth would Hermione write to him about? He slid his finger under the seal on the back and unfolded the letter.

Dear Harry,
I was thinking about the . . . rumors we've heard lately. I really think we should have a meeting. It's best if we keep the regularity. And perhaps someone does have something to share. We won't know until we hear, right?
This is going to sound silly, I know, but . . . does Ron . . . I know you two never would have been friends with me if it hadn't been for Neville, but for some reason, Ron seems . . . Does Ron hate me? I mean, hate is a strong word, but for the past few weeks he's been acting very strangely. I suppose it could be just me, but . . . Well, I'm being silly. Never mind. I just wondered . . .
Well, anyway. Don't get into too much trouble before I see you on the train!
All of my love,
Hermione

It was a very strange letter. Why on earth would Hermione think that Ron hated her? Well, no one had ever successfully described the inner workings of girls' minds to him, and it certainly wasn't going to help speculating over Hermione's strange letter. He simply folded it and slid it into his trunk.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," said Harry. The door opened and his father walked in.

"Hullo, Harry," he said. He was standing awkwardly near the door. Harry braced himself for some kind of lecture, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Er, Harry . . . your mother and I have been talking and . . . well . . . it seems you've become quite familiar with the Weasley girl this summer—"

"Yeah, well, that happens when you've got a girlfriend," said Harry. His dad wasn't acting at all like himself, and Harry didn't like it. James ran a hand through his hair and laughed a little.

"Yeah, yeah it does." He relaxed a little bit, venturing over to sit on Harry's bed. He adjusted his square-rimmed glasses on his nose and looked up at his son. "Harry, I know you're sixteen now, and you feel like you're an adult . . ."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes, but failed to resist tuning him out. He was going to get some variant of the "responsibilities talk" and wasn't really in the mood. Pretending he gave his father his full attention, he moved over to sit on his trunk under the window.

". . . and I, er, I just want you to think about things before you rush into them. She is a year younger than you, and—"

"Dad," said Harry, "Ginny and I are not going to do anything. So stop worrying. And tell Mum to stop worrying, too."

James opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. "All right," he said finally. "As long as you're careful, though, Harry. Sometimes things happen that you don't plan on . . ."

Harry didn't have any clue why his father was doing this now, with Ginny. If anything, he should have given him this talk with Cho last year, or Lavender, but certainly not Ginny. Of course, he wasn't going to let his dad know that.

"Thanks, Dad," he said compliantly. "I'll keep it in mind."

James gave him a look that said he knew Harry was going to do what he wished no matter what, but no longer pressed the subject. With a parting good-night, he left, and Harry closed the door behind him.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to face his fireplace where Ginny's smiling face was looking up at him. He grinned and knelt in front of her.

"I just wanted to say good night," she said. Harry planted a small kiss on her forehead, at which she raised an eyebrow. "What was that for?"

Harry sighed and sat back on his heels. "My dad. He . . . well, it doesn't matter. Good night," he said. A sudden thought struck him. "Where are you?" he asked. Ginny grinned.

"The shed. Mum doesn't know I've got a secret stash of Floo powder out here, and if she did she'd kill me. Floo powder is awfully expensive."

In that moment he realized just why he was with her. "You're wonderful," he said. Ginny gave him a small wink.

"Just you wait. You haven't seen anything yet."

She blew him a kiss, then the fire roared up green and disappeared. Harry smiled to himself. He suddenly was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts.

---

"Five minutes!"

Elizabeth handed her trunk to Jonas, who had saved her a seat, then turned to say good-bye to her parents.

"Come on, Liz!" said Jonas. "I can't keep this compartment for long!"

Elizabeth glanced back at her parents.

"Bye, Mum!" she called through the September 1st din of Platform 9 ¾. "Bye, Dad!"

They made no sign that they heard her. In fact, her father was nowhere in sight and her mother looked quite busy trying to get Harry and Carolyn onto the train before it pulled out without them. Undaunted, she just shrugged and climbed on board the Hogwarts Express. She would see them at Christmas.

The train seemed more crowded this year. The crop of first years was much larger than the years before, probably owing to the growing confidence in the Resistance. Elizabeth knew little about politics, but one couldn't easily ignore the war.

"Sickle for your thoughts," said Jonas, struggling with her trunk. Elizabeth relieved him of it as they entered an empty compartment.

"I'm not sure they're worth a Sickle," she said, shoving her trunk onto the shelf overhead. She collapsed back into the seat, leaning against the window. There was nothing to see but wall on that side of the train, so she laughed a little to herself and focused on her excitement at returning to Hogwarts. Fourth year promised to be entertaining, at the least. Gryffindor would be getting a fairly new Quidditch team, and Professor Levinsky had promised to show them his Russian military tattoo. That, and she had transferred out of Muggle Studies into the new Practical Defense course. Most of the D.A. had transferred there, though they tried not to look too suspicious. Professor Levinsky promised them it would be worth their while.

With a jolt the train began to move, and Elizabeth watched as King's Cross turned into landscape outside her window. She briefly thought of everything that had happened that summer. Like any holiday, it wasn't particularly eventful, but it still made her sad to be going back to school.

Jonas and Elizabeth were fairly into their game of Exploding Snap when Ginny Weasley collapsed into their compartment, gasping with laughter.

"Liz, please tell me you know something about this," she wheezed.

"Something about what?" Elizabeth asked, reaching for a card just a second after Jonas grabbed it.

"Well, you know how Carrie tends to get into mischief? Apparently, just after you got on the train, your mum . . ." She broke out in peals of laughter again. "Your mum took Harry's hand, stuck their wrists together, and worked a binding charm faster than they knew what happened!" She giggled some more. "Now they're stuck like that for the rest of the trip. We've tried everything; jinxes, counter jinxes, we even shut the spell in the compartment door. Or tried to, anyway."

"What happened?"

"The door bounced right back open and Harry landed plop on the seat with Carolyn beside him. Hermione tried a Melt-Away Charm, but we think that made it worse. They're stuck up to the elbow, now."

Elizabeth laughed. It seemed an unfair punishment for Harry's part, but at least Carolyn would have to wait until they actually arrived to get into trouble.

A "bang!" emanated from a few compartments down, and a smattering of screams dissolved into giggles. Ginny stuck her head out of the door as a large orange cloud floated by. She snorted.

"I have to go. I think Harry might've just hurt himself."

She went back to her compartment, leaving Elizabeth, Jonas, and their cards alone again.

"Professor Levinsky's class should be good this year," said Elizabeth. "I can't believe you didn't sign up for Practical Defense."

"The less time I spend with that man, the better."

"He's fascinating."

"He's scary."

"Well, he at least knows what he's talking about, and he's stuck around for another year. You know, we're his favorite class."

"Doesn't matter," said Jonas, dealing the cards again. "He's still scary."

They lapsed into silence, playing the game. After Jonas won, Elizabeth sat back and watched the countryside go by, wondering if he would speak again. He'd grown curiously quiet around her in the past few months. When he remained soundless, she reached up into her trunk and pulled out her novel (the newest Samantha Sonorus, Sorceress Sleuth paperback). Jonas made a funny noise, but she ignored it and settled in to read.

There were droves of people drifting by in the corridor, their voices rising and fading as they walked by. Elizabeth felt almost lazy in the warmth of the hot summer day, her eyes drifting closed.

"Hello, Elizabeth."

She hadn't even remembered falling asleep, but at the voice her head popped up off her chest. Hermione stood in the doorway, smiling at her. Neville fell into place behind her, his eyes laughing as he looked over Hermione's shoulder.

"Oh, hi, Hermione."

"Can we join you?"

Elizabeth nodded, and Hermione and Neville sat down nearest the door.

"How are the prefects this year?" asked Elizabeth. She couldn't help but notice Jonas move away from his brother as he sat.

"The fifth years seem fine," said Hermione. "Young, but fine. Most of the sixth years are the same. I don't think we should have a problem."

"Well, that's good."

"I just wish that McGonagall would replace Marius Lestrange! He's so awful, always picking on the younger students, making a mess of everything, and he's so horrible to Ron. And as if Slytherin House wasn't bad enough . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip, which usually meant she had a lot more to say, but being Hermione she would not say it if she had been told not to. Neville's eyes were still laughing, and Jonas seemed to be looking away from him pointedly.

"Well, there have been some new developments," said Neville.

"Don't, Neville, we're not supposed to say anything!" hissed Hermione.

"Oh, come on," said Neville. He nudged Jonas with his elbow while Jonas bit his lower lip and tried to ignore him. "Jonas wants to know. Don't you Jonas?"

Jonas shrugged his arm away from Neville. Neville laughed.

"I'm just teasing," he said. "Although, a new student from Durmstrang—"

"Neville!"

"—might just help you with your weak Defense skills."

"Neville, you know we weren't supposed to say anything!" Hermione was livid. "If you're going to abuse your privileges as a prefect—"

"All right, all right, Hermione," said Neville. "It's not going to hurt. Anyway, you know the Slytherins have been told everything by now."

"Yes, but that doesn't make it right!"

Elizabeth sighed loudly, hoping they would take the hint.

"Well, anyway," said Hermione, catching on, "don't say anything, Elizabeth, Jonas. We'll get in trouble, and you'll find out everything soon enough."

Another bang sprang from Harry's compartment and another loud chorus of laughter. Hermione sighed.

"I told them not to try anything else, it'll only get worse . . ."
"See you later, Elizabeth," said Neville, following Hermione out of the door. "Stay out of trouble, little brother."

Jonas gave him a dark look as the compartment door closed. The two never really saw eye to eye, but this had gotten ridiculous. The situation seemed to be even worse than it had been on holiday. Usually Jonas just ignored what Neville said, and Neville's insults weren't typically as harsh. This time, for some reason, Jonas looked seriously hurt.

"You don't have to let him talk to you like that," Elizabeth said quietly.

"No, he's right," said Jonas quickly. "I'm lousy at Defense."

"Jonas, you—"

"Don't."

Then he fell silent. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed himself off from her.

She tried to read again, but she was too distracted. A student from Durmstrang . . . She had been under the impression that Europe's schools didn't have exchange programs. Maybe there were special circumstances. But Durmstrang . . .

She fell asleep again. By the time she opened her eyes darkness had descended, the landscape had turned rocky, and rain poured outside the windows. Jonas wasn't there. She wondered where he was, but only briefly. They had to be close, and she needed to pack her things back into her trunk. She reached up and put her novel away, and stretched to pull her uniform out when footsteps entered her compartment.

"Oh, Jonas, there you are, I—" she turned to face him and stopped when she saw the person she was talking to wasn't Jonas. Instead, the boy there was taller, with a very tidy mop of wavy honey-brown hair just long enough to curl up at the ends, a handsome face with high cheekbones and a very slender nose, and his mouth spread in a wide, slightly impish grin. Elizabeth lit up when she saw him.

"Nate?" she asked breathlessly. He nodded. "How are you?" Nate Dashwood, a fellow fourth year, also belonged to the D.A., and his father, was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"I'm all right. How was your summer?"

"Good. It was good. We went to France again, the whole family. Which includes the Longbottoms and the Weasleys this time."

"Quite a group!"

"Yes, indeed. We had enough to form two Quidditch teams and play each other. The Potter/Longbottoms won, of course."

Nate laughed. Elizabeth swooned a little bit despite herself. His smile was so infectious, and his laugh . . . Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder.

"Well, what did you do this summer?" she asked. Nate shrugged.

"Not much. Having one married older sister isn't nearly as interesting as having all those siblings and honorary siblings to idle away hours with. I did a lot of reading, and I helped Dad around the house. It's not easy for him since Mum died, and I'm away at school all the time." A look of sadness passed behind his eyes for a moment. Elizabeth had forgotten. Nate's mother, a Muggle, had been killed the summer before his first year in a traffic accident while on a business trip in Spain. He had wanted to stay at home with his father, to help him, but his father had insisted he go to the school. Nate was actually remarkably mature about it. Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment another figure appeared behind Nate.

"Excuse me, I'd like to get into my compartment."

Nate moved aside and let Jonas through. For a second Elizabeth thought she saw a very nasty look come over Jonas' face, but as soon as it appeared, it vanished, and she assumed she'd imagined it. She turned back to Nate.

"Well, see you there, then?" she asked. He smiled again.

"Yeah, see you there. It's good seeing you again, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled, and Nate left. Whatever queer humor had come over Jonas, it had disappeared. He gave her a slight smile and before she could ask where he'd been, he spoke.

"We'd better change, we're almost there," he said, reaching up into his trunk. Elizabeth resigned herself to silence and reached into her own trunk and pulled out her uniform. She then waved her hand and a curtain of opaque fog obscured their vision of each other. Elizabeth changed quickly, knowing that the spell wouldn't last long. She pulled her hair out of its long ponytail and ran her fingers through it, shaking out the knots. Just as she'd managed to put the last button through its hole in her shirt, the fog faded and she and Jonas were face to face again.

"Just one more year until you get that prefect badge," said Jonas.

"There are a lot more qualified people than me," said Elizabeth. "Besides, the only Potter who ever got a badge was my father. The odds are not in my favor."

"You don't think Harry will get it?"

"Next year it'll be Head Boy and Girl, and that should be Hermione and your brother."

Jonas shrugged. He looked so much older than he had the year before. His dark brown hair grew long, and curled up haphazardly at the ends. He had more of a bookish, slightly nerdy look, too, but it became him. He also seemed to have grown into his nose. He looked so much more like his father than Neville, and really was better looking. She found it amazing how much someone could change in just a few months.

The train came to a halt and Elizabeth realized she had been staring. She quickly looked away, but didn't notice Jonas' eyes look away just a moment after.

They braced themselves for the weather and trudged out into the corridor. They stepped onto the platform to Hagrid's familiar cries of "Firs' years, this way!" They saw Neville and Hermione, still arguing, guiding first years toward Hagrid. Carolyn's bright red head bobbed somewhere among the crowd of tiny first years, unseen for the moment.

"The situation could be worse," said Elizabeth, huddling in her robes. She and Jonas, and everyone else on the platform, for that matter, were soaked through with the chilled rain. "We could have to cross the lake."

Elizabeth looked to find Carolyn to see if she was all right. Her soaked red hair stood out like a sore thumb, but so did something else. Right next to her, nearly twice the height of many of the first years, stood her brother. She laughed. "Oh, no!"

---

Harry planted his feet firmly on the platform in front of Hagrid. If he had to do this, he wasn't going to run around like an idiot with the other first years.

"All righ' there, Harry?" asked the half-giant, an amused twinkle in his eye. Harry hoped it was just the reflection of the lamp in his hand; otherwise Hagrid would have the pointy end of Harry's wand to deal with.

A mighty tug nearly pulled him to the ground. He jerked hard on his right hand and pulled his sister back to his side.

"You're staying right here," he said.

"No, I'm not. Lara's over there, we want to get a boat together."

"That's too bad, because as long as I'm here, you're staying with me, and I refuse to run around with the rest of you in this downpour."

"You just want to stop me having fun."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, Carrie, that's exactly what I want to do. So I cleverly stuck myself to your arm so I could stand out here in the rain instead of ride up to the castle nice and dry with my friends. Oh, no, wait, I forgot. Mum stuck us together like this."

"All righ', firs' years, follow me!" Hagrid's call rang out through the commotion, and Harry and Carolyn's argument dissolved for the moment. Harry marched right in Hagrid's footsteps, trying to stay in the lee and perhaps stop the rain from penetrating him any more. Carolyn let herself stumble reluctantly along behind him. By the time they rounded the last bend in the muddy path, however, all signs of resistance in Carolyn were lost.

Harry still remembered his amazement at seeing the legendary castle for the first time. And still, six years later, the sight of its torch-lit windows and magnificent turrets took his breath away.

A light pull on his wrist called his attention back to his sister. He looked down to snap at her again, but she looked up at him from inside a boat. He climbed in and watched as Hogwarts loomed ever closer.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier," said Harry. Carolyn shrugged.

"I'm sorry you're trapped with me," she said. "I know you'd rather be with your friends."

Harry looked away from the castle to his little sister. Suddenly he fully appreciated just how little and vulnerable she was. Her eyes were trained on the school, wide with wonder, and she looked genuinely docile. That would all change once she'd gone inside, of course, but for the moment she was just another eleven-year-old coming in to Hogwarts for the first time. It made him smile that he could be part of it.

"Actually, Carrie, there's no one I'd rather be with right now than you."

She gave him a look of appreciation for an instant, and then turned back to watching the school.

"You know, Harry, I think it would be nice if people didn't know we were related, just until I've built up my own reputation."

Yep, same old Carrie.

They pulled into the dock under the school where Professor Slughorn stood to greet them. Harry always thought it a gross misrepresentation of Hogwarts to have the eccentric old Potions Master as their first introduction.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he declared happily. The pudgy old man was clad in robes of a brilliant aquamarine and held his hands on his round belly, smiling at all of them appraisingly. Harry knew from his own first year that he actually was appraising them. His sharp eyes alighted on Harry and immediately went to the redhead attached to his arm.

"My goodness, Mr. Potter, you seem to have acquired a very attractive growth on your arm," he said bemusedly. "No need to ask who she is. The very image of your mother! Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Carolyn. You'll join us at Slug Club meetings, of course. I'm certain your brother and sister have already told you all about them. You'll make such a wonderful addition!"

Carolyn looked at the floor and shifted her weight, not used to such strange attentions. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Hagrid cleared his throat.

"You'll be wantin' to get these firs' years to their sortin', Professor," said Hagrid, ushering the other students toward Professor Slughorn. Slughorn gave the Potters one last grin then turned to the others.

"If you'll all follow me. And don't be frightened, this whole sorting business will soon be over with." Harry, Carolyn, and the other trembling first years began their trudge up the stairs.

"What's the Slug Club?" said Carolyn quietly. Harry suppressed a laugh.

"It's horrid. You'll hate it. It's all this fuss over blood ties and who your parents are. He thinks we're rather special because we can 'do odd things with our hands' as well as come from a powerful family."

Slughorn led the way straight into the Great Hall. Suddenly Harry felt very aware of just how tall he was. It seemed as though every person in the school had their eyes on him and laughed. He smiled sheepishly at his friends as he passed them, finally arriving before the stool and the Sorting Hat.

According to some of the older students, and everything else he'd been told about Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat used to have a song for each new year, explaining the houses and, at times, giving warnings. But the Hat had long since grown silent, as though it knew its words were unheeded. Harry wondered what it would have had to say if it spoke to them now. But the Sorting began without any kind of words from the Hat, either in song or no.

"Each of you will place the Sorting Hat on your head and it will call out the name of the House into which you will belong," said Slughorn cheerfully, taking a scroll from the High Table. He unrolled it with a flourish and read out the first name.

"Abell, Lara."

Carolyn's blonde friend stepped out of the crowd and went to sit on the stool. The hat sat on her head for a few moments, then called out "RAVENCLAW!" Carolyn was crestfallen.

"I wanted her to be in Gryffindor," she said. Harry remembered his own Sorting. He had felt so much pressure to be put in Gryffindor, even though Dad had told him it didn't really matter, so long as it wasn't Slytherin, that he'd gone up to the stool and simply told the Hat that he needed to be in Gryffindor. He'd explained about his father, and about how Neville, his best friend, was already in it. He thought he'd put forth a rather excellent case, really. But surprisingly, the Hat didn't put up an argument or propose another House, so barely ten seconds later it had called out "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry never wondered if he belonged in Gryffindor. He could simply look at the great friends he had there and know.

Carolyn must have felt some kind of pressure. First Harry, then Elizabeth, and now it was her turn to satisfy the family tradition. Slowly the crowd around them thinned, and Carolyn's turn arrived.

"Potter, Carolyn."

Harry let his sister lead the way as she stepped hesitantly toward Professor Slughorn and the Sorting Hat, accompanied by a shower of giggles from the Hall. She settled onto the stool nervously, then closed her eyes tight as Slughorn lowered that Hat onto her head. Harry waited with bated breath for what seemed an eternity, wondering what the hat was saying to her. Finally the great tear near the brim opened wide and called:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

A great cheer rose from Harry's table as Carolyn nearly leapt off the stool and swiped the Hat from her head. It took everything Harry had in him to keep her from running over to the table.

"Come on, you're sitting with us tonight," he said, dragging her by the wrist to his group of friends. Carolyn made small protest, considering her best friend had just been Sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry swung one leg over the bench before several things happened in quick succession.

There was a loud bang! and a lot of smoke from somewhere between Harry and Carolyn. Neville dumped his pumpkin juice all down his front, in the process jabbing an elbow into Hermione's rib, who then cried out and hit him hard across the shoulder. The poor little first year sitting under the Sorting Hat fell off the stool, and a large chorus of laughter rang in the Great Hall as Harry landed hard on his backside and Carolyn flew several feet backward.

"What happened?" he asked dazedly, rubbing his sore rump.

"The end of a spell is what happened," giggled Ginny. She was right. Carolyn and Harry were free of their magical manacles. Sheepishly, Harry stood and slid onto the bench. Carolyn disappeared somewhere down the table.

"All right, all right, settle down," said McGonagall. Snape read out the next name and the Sorting continued.

The Sorting concluded without further incident. Snape rolled up the parchment containing the first years' names and bent to carry the hat and stool back to its corner. McGonagall stood in front of her Headmistress chair at the High Table and called for quiet before the feast began. Harry and his friends fell silent and gave her (for the moment) their full attention.

"Well, I'd like to welcome back our returning students," she said. "And I would like to welcome for the first time our new ones. As you know, the Forbidden Forest is called so for a reason, and under no circumstances should any student enter it at any time unless accompanied by a staff member. This does mean staff member, not an older student or staff member, by the way." She gave Harry's group quite a look at this point, which they returned with smirks in each other's general direction. McGonagall gave a sigh and continued. "Anyone caught out of bounds, out of bed after lights out, or doing anything that violates quite a long list of behavior regulations that our dear Mr. Filch has laid out, had framed, and put on display outside his office door will be promptly given a detention. Detentions are not pleasant, and are not designed to be so. I strongly advise every one of you to avoid them. It's never too late to make a fresh start."

Harry's attention began to wander. He wondered if Dumbledore's speeches had ever been like this when his parents were at school. He wondered if he, Neville, and Ron really were like the Marauders. He wondered if Ron really reminded Sirius of the hero, Peter Pettigrew. He wondered what things would have been like if the Great Defeat had never happened . . .

". . . another new student among us." McGonagall broke into his thoughts. "He will take his place in Slytherin as a sixth year, and I hope that each of you will make him feel welcome within our walls."

Harry waited for a student to stand and reveal his identity, but the Slytherin table remained seated. It seemed strange to him that a student would be allowed to enter as a sixth year, but it didn't seem very important at the moment. McGonagall paused, seemed to contemplate saying something more, but then simply raised her hand and said, "Let the feast begin."

Food appeared, and suddenly Harry realized he was starving. His friends resumed conversation again as Harry picked up bits of roast chicken and shoveled them into his mouth.

"So see, Hermione, McGonagall told everybody, anyway. You didn't have to shout at me on the train."

"Yes, but if you notice, Neville, she didn't say anything about Durmstrang!"

Harry's fork slipped from his fingers and landed with a clatter on his plate. "Durmstrang?" he asked. "The new student is from Durmstrang?"

Hermione looked utterly ashamed of herself as Neville laughed beside her. "Becoming a bit of a hypocrite, aren't we?" he asked.

"My slip was inadvertent, might I remind you," she said, "while yours was blatantly—"

"Wait, you knew about this?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, as prefects we were bound to secrecy," said Hermione. "We couldn't say anything to anyone."

"Yeah, but obviously you have, otherwise you wouldn't have—"

"All right, Harry, all right," exclaimed Hermione, trying to keep him from shouting. "Neville told Jonas and Elizabeth because it slipped out. We weren't keeping secrets; we weren't supposed to tell anyone . . ."

Harry pushed his food around with his fork. This made him highly suspicious. A new sixth year student, entering during a N.E.W.T. year, from Durmstrang when Europe's wizarding schools didn't have exchange programs, in the middle of a war. Harry found it amazing that anyone let him in at all.

"You aren't angry with us, are you?" Hermione looked between him and Ginny and Ron. Ginny shook her head.

"Just wish you would have shared with your best friend," Harry said pointedly at Neville. "But how much do you actually know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No more than that. They wouldn't tell us anything because they were afraid we'd share. Which, obviously, we did. But wouldn't have, if someone could have kept his mouth shut instead of tormenting his brother."

"I don't torment, I tease. It's good for him. Gives him thick skin."

Harry continued spearing his chicken with his fork. First the rumors of Dumbledore's return, then his parents' strange whispers behind closed doors, and now a suspicious student from a school renowned for its focus on the Dark Arts. All strange coincidence, as Sirius would have him believe, or was something else at work here . . . ?

Harry finished eating in silence, half-listening to the conversations springing up around him. Every once in a while his eyes would dart toward the Slytherin table, trying to pick out a student he hadn't seen before. For a moment he thought he saw someone, but then a gaggle of Ravenclaw girls obscured his view and by the time they had left, whoever it was had disappeared.

The main course vanished and they tore through the desert, and by the time they finished they were all utterly exhausted. The meal ended not a moment too soon when McGonagall stood again, raised a hand, and all the plates cleared.

"If the prefects would please lead the first years to their dormitories," she said. "Everyone get a good night's sleep and be prepared for your classes in the morning."

Hermione and Neville stood together and began directing the terrified little first years toward Gryffindor Tower. Carolyn walked by, flanked by two other girls and a boy followed not too far behind. She stole a glance and gave him a thumbs-up before moving into the throng and out of the Hall.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron made their way up to Gryffindor Tower well behind the first years. Harry was vaguely aware of Ginny's hand in his, and he hoped she wouldn't be angry at him for not reciprocating. They stumbled into the common room through the portrait hole to find it bustling with the normal activity. Hermione and Neville were sitting on a corner of the sofa talking intimately, and Ginny gave his hand a squeeze.

"Fancy a game of chess?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, I think I'll just go to bed." He bent down and chastely kissed her good-night before letting go of her hand and climbing up the stairs.

Back in the dormitory, Harry found the curtains around Ron's bed were the only ones already closed. Harry kicked off his trainers, snuggled into his striped pajamas and slid into bed. The view from the window beside his bed showed the moonlight glinting off the lake and a breeze rustling the trees. Despite the unease that had planted itself in his stomach, he was very happy to be back at Hogwarts.

-

The next day at breakfast the whole of the Great Hall was abuzz with whispers and rumors about "the new boy". Hogwarts' community was loose-knit but small, and any news of any sort flew through the students faster than an express owl. Harry found Ron, Neville, and Hermione already seated in the middle of the Gryffindor table, their heads bent together, faces serious, conveying a clear message that they, too, were deep in conversation. Personally, he didn't believe half of the rumors himself, but still, a student from Durmstrang didn't exactly come with the best impression.

Ginny sidled up next to him as he approached the table, catching him off guard. "Good morning," she announced, falling into step with him.

"Interesting morning, more like," said Harry. The two of them came upon the other three, and at their arrival Neville, who had been speaking last, broke off and they all glanced up to see who might have heard them.

"Oh, Harry, it's just you," said Hermione in relief as Harry and Ginny sat across from her.

"Now what could you possibly be talking about that you wouldn't want to be overheard?" joked Harry, helping himself to toast and marmalade. "And I'm surprised at you, Hermione, abusing your prefect privileges . . ."

Hermione flushed, compulsively polishing the badge on her chest. Harry and Neville laughed.

"You know we're teasing, Hermione," said Harry. His curiosity got the better of him. "So . . . what do you know?"

"I only told them that he is an English student from Durmstrang. He moved back to England after living most of his life in Bulgaria. No one knows much else."

At that moment Professor Levinsky, Head of Gryffindor House and ex-Russian military, approached them all to hand out their timetables. The sixth years' had to be approved before they could go. Harry had gotten at least an E on all of his requested subjects, so his schedule was easy enough. Ron had managed the required grades on the classes he'd put in for, although Harry had no idea why he wanted to remain in Muggle Studies. Hermione and Neville ended up in all the same classes, which was a reason, Harry supposed, that the two of them had gotten so close in the first place. Proximity breeds familiarity, Dad would say, typically with a wink in Ginny's direction. They waited until Levinsky passed further down the table before they started speaking again.

"Does anybody know who he is yet?" asked Harry.

"Well, maybe he'll be in some of our classes and we can find out then," said Ron, perusing his class timetable.

"How on Earth did Slughorn ever let you in his N.E.W.T. class?" prodded Ginny, poking her brother's schedule. Ron shrugged.

"Just lucky, I guess," he said sarcastically.

Harry bit into another piece of toast and looked at his own timetable. It would be Arithmancy and Runes this morning, followed by Transfiguration and double Potions after lunch. The rest of the week didn't look promising, either – he had three double classes on Fridays – but a note at the bottom brightened his spirits.

"It says Levinsky's class starts a week from Tuesday," he announced to the table. Everyone leaned over their timetables simultaneously.

"It's in the evening!" exclaimed Neville. "How are we going to work around –" Hermione gave him a swift elbow in the stomach and he wheezed: "Quidditch training! I meant Quidditch training!"

"I suppose that's up to the teachers, isn't it?" said Elizabeth, who had gone unnoticed near them, having been very quiet making notes on her class schedule. She always marked it up at the beginning of the term with scrawling notes that meant nothing to anyone but her. Harry tucked his away in his pocket.

"Arithmancy first thing," he said. "I've got to go upstairs and grab my books."

Harry left the table and rushed up toward Gryffindor Tower. The morning dawned cloudy and still horribly wet. He thought it would be wonderful to spend the day indoors, and perhaps he could meet that new student . . . The sound of many voices in the previously empty corridor stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello, cousin." That bizarre, hot feeling that grabbed hold of his heart every time he was near Marius Lestrange suddenly stole his breath for a moment. The thin, porcelain-skinned boy standing just a few meters before him flanked by his usual throng of Slytherin admirers struck him more like a vampire than ever. In fact, he looked so like the undead creatures that Harry was surprised he didn't burst into flame when the shaft of light from a nearby window fell across his face. Marius smiled toothily at him.

"No matter what our bloodlines, Marius, I am not your cousin." Marius' smile didn't falter. It never did. The Slytherin stared down at him with dark cobalt eyes set too deep in their sockets. He was heavy-lidded, like his mother, so he had a very twisted, striking stare. Harry met his gaze levelly. Marius laughed a little, his long, silky, black hair reflecting the sunlight as it fell back into place nearly perfectly.

"Really, Harry, I would have thought we could put all this enmity behind us," he said. "After all, we do come of age this year, and I would hate to think that we could be any sort of threat to each other."

"I'm not threatened by you."

The crowd around Marius laughed derisively. His wide smile melted only slightly into a grimace. "Perhaps you should be."

"What, Harry, not getting your things? We'll be late to class if you're not careful."

Harry didn't have to look behind him to feel all of his friends file in. He felt both slightly annoyed by their presence and also comforted. He unclenched his hands and the feeling around his heart faded a little. The smile disappeared from Marius' face. Harry turned a bit to follow his gaze. His eyes had fallen on Hermione, who stood near Neville.

"I'd forgotten you need your army of Mudbloods and blood traitors to back you up," he spat. Harry clenched his fist around his wand.

"Marius, did you sign up for Professor Levinsky's Practical Defense class?" asked Neville. Marius snorted.

"Do you really think I need it, Longbottom?" Neville shrugged.

"Well, I just thought you could use a little brushing up. Because from what I hear you're not up to scratch with your . . . peers." Marius' eyebrow twitched.

"You'll want to watch what you say, Longbottom."

"Aww, Marius, have we hit a nerve?" asked Ron, his long-seated hatred seething through his taught tone. "I mean, you look as though you're getting a little green around the gills."

"Too close to the mark, Marius?" added Harry, laying particular emphasis on the word. Marius looked close to exploding and Harry readied himself for the battle he knew would come. It wouldn't be the first time he had gone to wands with Marius, typically with Ron by his side. Their very first year Harry had nearly lost an eye to an exceptionally well-thrown Shattering Charm aimed at his glasses. Of course, Harry hadn't let it go until they'd had another round, this time with Harry sending Marius up to the hospital wing in fourth year with a broken, bloody nose. He felt quite satisfied that there remained a bump on the bridge of his adversary's alabaster nose as a reminder of that incident.

But it wasn't going that far today. Marius seemed to collect himself and he gave another laugh.

"You'll want to hurry to your class, Harry," he said. "Wouldn't do to be late the first day."

The crowd of Slytherins pushed their way through Harry's group. Marius passed between Harry and Hermione, giving Harry quite a hard knock with his shoulder on the way. They watched them walk around the corner.

"Who does he think he is?" said Harry, storming back up to the dormitory. "He thinks just because his bloodline is a generation longer than mine that he can lord it over me. As if I care."

"That's sort of the point of his kind, isn't it?" said Hermione. "Blood worth . . ."

"Scum like him doesn't deserve to be at Hogwarts," said Ron. "His dad's always messing with mine at work. It's because of Rodolphus Lestrange that Dad's never been promoted. He's got the whole Ministry in his pocket, and he's the worst Death Eater fanatic, everybody knows it. I just wish there was a way of keeping those—" Hermione growled "—out of here."

"McGonagall can't turn them away, it would be against everything Hogwarts stands for," said Ginny, though her bitter tone said she shared her brother's opinion.

"That was great though, Harry," said Neville, mercifully ending the subject. "That whole bit about 'close to the mark'."

They reached Gryffindor Tower, and Harry jogged through the portrait hole and up the stairs while his friends waited. Ginny parted ways with them at the Charms corridor, then Ron left them at the next staircase to continue down to Muggle Studies. Class had nearly started when they finally walked into Professor Vector's room and slid into their seats.

The N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy class was so small that the number of desks required for the students was half the number that occupied the room. Hermione made a beeline for the front row while Neville and Harry slid into seats at the very back.

"Welcome back," said Professor Vector, smiling down at them all. The fuzzy-haired, skinny, blonde witch had a very academic air, more so than the other professors. She sat in her chair behind her desk and surveyed them through her horn-rimmed glasses. Harry traced letters onto his desk to spell out Here we go, and a second later they disappeared. Neville moved his right arm, which lay haphazardly across his desk and stared at the surface a moment. Subsequently, letters reappeared in Neville's lazy scrawl Yes, indeed. Professor Vector began to speak.

"I want to congratulate you all on having paid strict enough attention during the past three years' classes that you managed to pass your Ordinary Wizarding Level in Arithmancy. Now, this year, students, I think we will apply what we have learned in a more practical sense. You have been taught, and whether or not you actually learned it aside, the basic principles of magic: simply put, how and why certain words and wand movements produce effects while others . . . don't. If I could see a show of hands, please, how many of you can manipulate magic through your hands. I don't mean wandless magic," she added. "I mean hand magic. How many of you possess it?"

Harry raised his hand halfway in the air, along with Neville and a few other students. Professor Vector nodded.

"Good, good. I'm glad to see that most of you have decided to continue taking this class. You may lower your hands. The next two years will be very useful to those of you who had your hands in the air. Not to say that others of you will not benefit from the knowledge. Some of you quite especially." She gave a pointed smile at Hermione, who shifted in her seat with pride. Harry paid no attention. "Now, if you could all turn to page six, we'll begin a quick review of simple spell patterns and the properties of the number seven . . ."

Harry's mind immediately began to drift. He couldn't wait to get the first taste of air when he kicked off the Quidditch pitch ground. Then there would be the first game of the season, with the crowd cheering, chanting for Gryffindor as he swooped and dove, and winning the game in mere minutes. Ginny would meet him as they left the pitch, leading their victorious Gryffindors back to the common room to celebrate, and they would skip the party to sneak off somewhere for a secret snog-session . . .

"Harry!"

Harry snapped back to reality. The rest of his class drifted out of the door, and Professor Vector directed erasers over the blackboard. Hermione and Neville both stood over him and a mass of black writing remained across his desk. He waved a hand to erase it then looked back up to his friends.

"Class over already?" he asked. Hermione looked peeved while Neville bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I don't know how you passed your O.W.L." said Hermione, turning on her heel and leaving. Harry exchanged a look with Neville and the two of them followed her out of the door.

They walked in silence to the Ancient Runes classroom. Hermione had gone a long way in front of them and Neville made no effort to catch up. Harry had a sudden thought and began to chuckle. Neville gave him a sideways look.

"Have you kissed her yet?" Harry asked abruptly. Neville turned white and hastily looked away, quickening his pace.

"What?"

Harry smirked. "You heard me." Neville caught a sudden speech impediment.

"Well . . . I . . .we . . . ha-ha-haven't . . . I mean to say . . . I wouldn't kiss and tell."

Harry laughed a little. "I can't believe you haven't kissed her. After years of liking her, you finally are at liberty to do something like that, and you haven't?"

Neville's ears were pink. "So, Quidditch, Harry," he said quickly. "What d'you think for this season, Captain?"

Harry laughed to himself, but put the Hermione subject in the back of his mind. Suddenly his stomach twisted into knots. He'd been made Quidditch Captain . . . and somehow managed to not think about it until now. He would have to hold trials soon for two Chasers and Beaters, considering all the girls but Katie Bell and the Weasley twins had left the year before. That meant going to Levinsky with a request for pitch time beyond regularly scheduled training sessions. It was a necessary thing, of course, but even as impressive as Levinsky was during classes, knocking on his office door could either give you laughing, jovial Professor Alexei Levinsky or grumbling, moody Lieutenant Levinsky of the Russian Guard. Harry had had his experiences with the Lieutenant. He really didn't want to spin the roulette wheel his first week back.

"Well, we'll have to have trials sometime soon," he said. "If we want any chance of beating Slytherin this year. Macnair has been made Captain, and he's going to replace Maye with Avery, and he's a much better match for us. Then there's the Chasers to worry about. Macnair and Nott had a falling-out last year, so Nott's probably off the team, which means their whole lineup will change based on who works best with the replacement Chaser. So our Chasers will have to be a good match for anybody, not just what we think they might do. Ginny's trying out, I know."

"Yeah, so's Jonas."

He gave a noise of surprise. "Really? Can he fly?" Neville shrugged.

"He's been practicing all summer. Bit annoying, really, can't concentrate with him swooping past my bedroom window all hours of the night and day. He should be fairly adequate, with all the nights he kept me up."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Good . . . it was good to keep his options open. He knew Carolyn would want a spot, but she always played Keeper, and Harry already had Neville and Ron for that. Still, wouldn't be fair to turn anyone down without a trial.

They made it to their Runes class just before the bell signaled tardiness. Professor Hammond gave them a very irritated look as they headed for their seats at the back. Hermione simply turned up her nose and stared straight ahead. Harry and Neville bent their heads in a mock-studious pose, writing back and forth to each other on their desks.

. . . Are you going out for Keeper again? asked Harry.

Dunno . . . suppose I should. Why? Afraid Ron will?

Yeah, actually. I don't want to put him in a spot he doesn't really want again this year.

But he was good on reserve, wasn't he? Didn't seem to mind too much, all that free time he got to spend and didn't get clobbered. He certainly didn't look envious when Goyle cracked my head with his bat last year.

But the problem remained that Ron was envious. He'd spent the nights Neville lay in the hospital wing pacing the common room, either getting up the nerve to ask Angelina to be put in his spot, or resisting the urge to kick something nearby, which very often happened to be a first year. The honest fact persisted that both Ron and Neville were equally talented Keepers, but Neville had the confidence. Ron flaked under pressure, whereas Neville stopped nearly everything in his path.

"And if the boys in the back wouldn't mind taking out their textbooks as well . . ."

Professor Hammond's voice interrupted their steady stream of scribbles. Harry looked up sharply, waving a hand discreetly to erase the conversation. Sheepishly, he reached into his bag and pulled out Runes and You: The Modern Wizard's Guide to Utilizing the Ancient Magic of Runes, while beside him Neville did the same. When Professor Hammond had turned back to the blackboard, they looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Runes was usually the slowest passing period of their schedule, and with great relief Neville and Harry stumbled out into the hallway after it ended. Hermione brushed past them with her nose still in the air. Harry gave Neville a sympathetic glance as his friend rushed off after her. Harry took a deep breath and sighed, enjoying a leisurely pace back to the common room for a workless free period before each one would be filled with homework. Vaguely he wondered whether Ginny had a free period as well.

He wondered just what classes this new student took. So far, he hadn't noticed him, and he thought that since the classes were so small, he would have detected a new presence. Well, if he was really a sixth year, he had to be in at least one class with Harry. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and relaxed.

He climbed through the portrait hole to find the common room crowded with people. From the looks of it the fourth, fifth, and sixth years all had this period free. His heart fell a little; he had been hoping for some secret alone time with Ginny.

She sat on the couch, nose buried in Unfogging the Future. He slipped beside her and pulled out his Transfiguration text, only he held it upside-down and glared at it in a very McGonagall-like manner.

"According to the signs," he said, affecting Professor Trelawney's misty tone, "on the eve of the full moon next, a beautiful redhead will come to the bed of a young, charming, intelligent, Quidditch-honed—"

"Four-eyed git," finished Ginny, not even looking away from her book. "Harry, don't you have some homework to do? I have to finish this vocabulary list before Trelawney's class tomorrow, and I haven't even started on my Potions essay."

"You won't finish it," he said knowingly. Ginny looked up from her book, leaned forward, and scribbled some writing on the parchment in front of her.

"What makes you say that?" she asked blandly, raising her book back up to her face.

"My Inner Eye told me so," he replied.

"Really now?"

"Oh yes. I'm very intuitive that way."

Ginny made another scribble. "So what else does your Inner Eye say? Why won't I finish it?"

Harry leaned forward so his face was hidden behind her textbook, too. "Because you'll be too busy making out with that four-eyed git."

Ginny didn't move, but Harry thought he saw her eyes widen for a moment. "Harry, we're in a room full of people," she said. He knew that. He hadn't really intended upon kissing here on the couch . . . or, in fact, anything close to actually "making out" at all. They'd only held each others' hands and faces while they'd kissed before. Kissing with hands roaming where they wished and emotions being stirred that had never been let loose before was out of the question. For now. Of course, she'd refused, but hadn't her eyes widened at the prospect? He'd have to wonder later.

"I know," he said. "I was teasing you." He gave her an innocent peck on the cheek (though he really wanted more) and left her to her homework.

Suddenly he remembered his own Potions essay lay unfinished in his dormitory. Deciding to work on it now instead of later that night (he'd probably have to speak with Levinsky about Quidditch trials), he jogged up the stairs and fished through his trunk to find what he had already written.

He had just settled down on his bed to write the next sentence (and smooth out the wrinkled parchment) when something crashed into the dormitory door. He stared at it, waiting, but when nothing happened for several seconds, he went back to his essay. Then it happened again, this time accompanied by a rather loud giggle. What on earth . . .?

The doorknob turned and the giggling grew louder. Seamus and Lavender, attached to each other's faces and grasping at each other's shirts stumbled backward into the room, Lavender giggling into Seamus' mouth. They knocked into the end of several beds before they finally made it to Seamus'. Lavender's giggle became more high-pitched and they were quickly becoming horizontal. Harry realized he'd better say something or he would be an unwitting voyeur to a very unpleasant scene.

"Hullo, Seamus. Lavender, fancy seeing you here!"

The giggling stopped and both of their heads snapped in his direction. Harry grinned at their shocked faces. Immediately, Lavender pushed herself off Seamus and tugged her shirt straight.

"Harry, I didn't know you were up here," Seamus said. He looked only slightly embarrassed (really, he looked disappointed), but Lavender flushed pink up to her hairline. Harry tried not to laugh at the sight. After a very long, awkward pause, during which Harry looked back to his Potions homework, Seamus finally said, "Well then . . . S'pose I'll see you later," and they both left. Harry could hear Lavender start complaining as soon as the door had closed. He shook his head and laughed to himself. Suddenly he was very glad that he and Ginny weren't at that place in their relationship.

Yet, he told himself, concentrating on Potions. Yet.

---

Elizabeth trudged through the portrait hole after supper dragging her heavy bag behind her. She crossed the room, sat beside Jonas on the opposite end of a chaise in the Gryffindor common room, and started sorting through her homework from the first day. The plans for a study schedule ticked out on her timetable helped her somewhat, but she knew that she was going to have to spend an unpleasantly long time with Potions. She was fairly good at it, but the more they focused on practical potion-making and less on the theory of it, the more difficult it became.

Don't think about Potions right now, she said. Charms. Think about Charms. What did Flitwick ask us to describe . . . ?

"You don't happen to know the properties of orangewood, do you?" asked Jonas beside her.

"None," she said automatically, shuffling her papers around. "Orangewood is poor wand-making material and is used in very few potions, and even then only as a vehicle for other ingredients too volatile to mix directly."

Everyone thought that Carolyn was the Potions authority in her family, but truth be told Elizabeth had more knowledge about it. The difference between the two was like the difference between Hermione and the Weasley twins: Hermione had earned her knowledge within rules, from lessons in classes and in books, while the twins taught themselves. Elizabeth was no Hermione, but she knew her way around a Potions textbook.

Jonas continued scribbling away next to her, apparently not completely through with his summer homework. Elizabeth leafed through her papers, trying to decide which bit she wanted to start first . . .

She had just selected Charms when a huge yawn seized her. Suddenly very tired, she rolled her parchment up and put everything away in her book bag. She made her excuses to Jonas and climbed the stairs to her dormitory.

She wanted a bath then she wanted bed. The last colors of the sunset were beginning to fade, and it would only be a while until her roommates came up for bed, noisy and excited and chattering just as they had been last night. Faye McCready had spent hours speculating about the "new boy," whom Elizabeth had no interest in whatsoever . . . the poor boy ought to be left alone. Then Nora Clayborne had revealed an issue of Teen Witch with young Quidditch superstar Daniel Beckwith on the cover, his signature "mysterious grin" rising and fading on his face as he stared out at them all, the very model of masculinity, and a massive article pasted throughout with pull-outs and pin-ups of Beckwith and his fellow Montrose Magpies. The squealing had continued long into the night. Elizabeth, needless to say, got very little sleep.

Hoping she would be far gone by the time her roommates joined her, she stole into her room and took her pajamas and a fuzzy blue bathrobe with her down the hall to the lavatory. As she reached the end of the hallway, she passed the room that had the past year been labeled "7th Years", now rechristened for the new students. She wondered how long it had taken Carolyn to completely trash it with her useless potion inventions. She also wondered if her roommates despised her; perhaps they found her as annoying as Elizabeth did. That gave her a bit of satisfaction, thinking of Carolyn's peers ostracizing her for her queer sleeping habits and smelly fascination with potions. Perhaps it would be the tempering she needed and Elizabeth would find fewer pests in her belongings from now on. She was tempted to sneak a glance into the room, since everyone sat downstairs enjoying their last technically homework-free night. No one would know, and she could see if her guess was right about Carolyn's potions. Cautiously, she turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

The room was spotless. Each girl's bed had been neatly made and the covers turned down, their clothing organized and laundry sorted. No potions in sight. Blasted elves, she thought bitterly. Disappointed, she turned to continue on her trek to the bathroom when she heard an odd sound. A sniffle, from somewhere on the space of the circular room without a window, had reached her ears. Someone was in there, and sounded quite upset. Elizabeth opened the door a little wider and stepped in.

"Hello?" she asked. The sniffling ceased. "Are you all right?" she asked. Nothing came. "I . . . I heard a noise and I thought, maybe . . ." She had stepped closer to the area the sniffing came from. She held her breath for a moment, listening. Then she heard it again, from the bed just on her left. She turned to it and walked around so she had a better view.

She saw the hair first, orange as early autumn leaves and bobbed short just below her ears. Her knees were tucked up under her chin, exposing the knobbly white things as they jutted out of long grey socks. She wore the same shoes she had worn to visit the Dursleys, though they weren't nearly as shiny as they had been then. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she had buried her nose between her uncovered knees. Suddenly Elizabeth felt badly for thinking all the things she had.

"What do you want?" Carolyn asked miserably. "Come to yell at me?"

"No," Elizabeth said slowly, walking around the bed. "I heard sniffing, and I thought someone was in here . . ."

"And they probably wanted to be alone." Elizabeth reached out a hand to her sister, but she pulled her shoulder away. So instead she sat on the foot of the bed, far enough away from her to give her space, but close enough to comfort her.

"It's okay to miss Mum and Dad," ventured Elizabeth. "I missed them horribly my first year. It's difficult coming to Hogwarts your first time, especially if your roommates are prats to you . . ."

"My roommates are good. This isn't exactly the definition of being left alone."

She tried a different tack. "Well . . . I guess I should leave you alone, then. But as long as you're up here, you should try and study. The further you are ahead, the easier your classes will be."

She was nearly to the door when a small voice whispered, "I miss Mum." She smiled a little, then turned back to her younger sibling. "I know, I do, too. You could write her a letter, you know. If you really miss her all that much."

Carolyn nodded, then let out a huge sniff. "I'm going to fail out of Hogwarts," she said. "I'm miserable at my classes, I'm never going to get any better; I'm completely useless. Professor McGonagall put me on the far side of the room from all of my friends because she said we were 'infuriating chatterboxes'. There's just too much work, and I've got double classes the last three days of the week . . ."

Elizabeth sat back down on the bed. "First of all, you will not fail out of Hogwarts. Rarely ever does someone fail out of Hogwarts. Second, of course you're miserable at your classes! It was your first day as a first year! No one is good on their first day! You're not useless. And you'll learn more in McGonagall's class if you're sitting away from your friends . . . Imagine all the horrible, nasty things you can do to my possessions when you've finished this term." Carolyn laughed. "As for the work and the classes, just take everything one assignment at a time and finish it promptly. That's the most important thing, and if you get it done early, maybe you'll have extra time to practice Quidditch or something with that illegal broom of yours."

She seemed to brighten at this prospect, and Elizabeth stood to go. "See, it won't be so bad. Just give it some time."

Again she had nearly reached at the door when Carolyn said, albeit more loudly this time, "Thanks, Lizzie. I love you." Elizabeth smiled and crossed the room to give Carolyn a hug.

"I love you, too." After a few seconds Carolyn pushed away.

"Now get out of here before my mates come in and think I've gone all soft."

Elizabeth laughed, but left to take her bath. She'd taken rather longer than she'd hoped, and she returned to her dormitory to find it filled with her roommates. They barely glanced at her as she came in, swooning over Nora's most recent issue of Teen Witch (this time with wizarding socialite Rhianna Fletcher on the cover, flipping her long blonde hair and winking periodically). Elizabeth rolled her eyes, then climbed into bed with her novel and tried to read herself to sleep.

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Remus tugged his cloak around him and reached up to place his palm on the door. The Order of the Phoenix headquarters was hidden, Unplottable and concealed from Muggle eyes, on a windswept moor somewhere in Yorkshire, and while it was all right during the day, it turned horribly cold at night. As soon as the heel of his palm lay flat against the door, he heard a crack, as if several latches were being undone at once, and the door swung open. Remus blinked against the bright light emanating from it and slid inside.

It wasn't much warmer indoors than out, he noted, keeping his cloak wrapped around him. He passed by dark rooms set up like offices, some with nameplates on the door, others bare except for their desk and chair. The only light shone here in the hallway, but Remus knew where to go.

At the end of the corridor a large atrium with a vaulted ceiling and lined above with the railings of the second floor balcony jutted up above him. This had once been the country house of some rich Order member's family, but had long since been converted into headquarters. It was ideal because of its remote location, and had always been Unplottable, so no one would notice its disappearance. That, and it was much pleasanter than Sirius' family home.

Remus continued through the atrium to a set of large, wooden double doors, which opened again under the presence of his palm. As soon as the doors had parted, the sound of many voices drifted through.

They were in a large room hung with a brilliant chandelier and lined with rows of benches set in semi-circles. Each row of benches represented a circle in the Order, with higher level members sitting in the front. At the front of the benches stood a long table, behind which sat his friends James Potter and Sirius Black, flanked on either side by Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall. Remus went to the front-most bench filled by Lily, Alice, and her husband. He slid wearily into his seat next to Frank Longbottom, who greeted him with a grin.

"Good news tonight?" asked Remus. Frank shrugged.

"Dunno. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

They waited for a few more minutes while other witches and wizards filed into the room and found their seats. The organized system made for much less pandemonium than would be expected from such a large group of wizards. When everyone more or less found their seats, James raised his wand and everyone fell silent.

"Official Order Meeting 214, minutes to be transcribed by Nymphadora Tonks," said James in a very official tone. Tonks, the young Auror's hair a bright shade of turquoise and combed across her forehead, scowled at either the use of her forename or her position as secretary. Remus chuckled to himself. A brief moment of silence passed before James sat again and his voice returned to normal. "I guess you've all heard the rumors that have been circulating this summer . . ." he began.

"My kid asked me about him," called a voice from the back. "I don't think there's anyone who hasn't heard the rumors."

James nodded diplomatically. "Right. Well, I just wanted to remind you all that they are, indeed, just rumors. We've heard them before, and there is no evidence that this is any different. I would also like to remind you to restrain yourselves from unauthorized contact with Death Eaters and any sort of premature celebration if, indeed, his return is fact."

A grumble rustled through the crowd. James was being very professional tonight, which meant that there was more going on than he let on. Remus watched as Sirius remained silent and still, another sign that they knew more than they were sharing. Hopefully it wasn't anything vital. Such as that Dumbledore sighting in Surrey had been legitimate. James ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, important business. We've gotten wind that Voldemort might have a new weapon. Thanks to our spy, we know that this is something he has been working on for quite a while now, and it may be ready to use sometime within the next year. We still don't know exactly what it is, but our informant is working hard to gain intelligence on that.

"If anyone has any information, please approach the table after the meeting has been adjourned. For now, I'd just like everyone to lay low, and when we have new data it will be passed to you as soon as possible." He again raised his wand, Tonks' quill stopped scribbling, and the meeting was adjourned. Everyone funneled out quickly, each rushing to get home to wives, or families, or to get to sleep for work in the morning. Lily and Alice gave their husbands quick kisses before leaving to lead a meeting of their fellow female informants that worked in the Ministry with them.

The Order met once a month, without fail, whether it had anything to share or not. It had become so big since the early days that they had to. And without Dumbledore to organize them . . .

The rumors had been so fervent lately that Remus was almost tempted to believe them, even if for nothing but wishful thinking. It had been such a short time between Dumbledore's asking them all to join the Order and his disappearance that Remus even wondered if he actually knew what it was like when he'd been there, or whether he'd idealized it in his head. The members were growing impatient, James' leadership was losing its respect, Sirius was itching for something to do, Alastor was ready to hex them all into oblivion, and Frank . . . Frank was a father, loyal to too many people for his own good.

When everyone had left, James let out a huge breath and slumped forward onto the table. Sirius patted his back and laughed cynically.

"Well, Prongs, I'd say that was a particularly successful meeting. They're not getting frustrated with you at all."

"If we knew something I'd tell them," James growled into the table. "I wish they'd understand that."

"Impatient bunch, the lot of 'em," snarled Alastor. "They'll get theirs when they go rushing off to do something foolish and end up dying because they just couldn't wait."

"Not everyone here is an Auror, Alastor," said Minerva. "They're ordinary people, with families they want to protect. It's asking a great deal of them wait."

Alastor grunted and sat back, though the expression on his marred and wizened face said he was anything but appeased. Remus could have cut the tension with a Severing Charm. Quiet drifted through the air like something tangible, seeping into and out of his pores and amplifying every tiny sound in his ears. The air hung heavy with the words no one would say.

"Well, we've known for years what we do in a situation like this," said Frank suddenly. "They'll get over it, the rumors will pass, things will start to look up for us. Just like they always have." A few more quiet moments passed as the words sank in. "Now, the question is . . . what do we do if it's true?"

There was always a problem with sitting back and waiting. Everyone on some level believed that winning this war could not happen without Dumbledore. So hope cropped up when these rumors circulated, even among the ones who claimed not to believe in them. In cases like this, even the people like James and Sirius who were trying to dissuade people from putting their faith in the rumors, no one could convince anyone to think "rationally."

No one got a chance to answer Frank's question. At that moment, the doors crashed open and a very wet, very battered man came dashing up the aisle toward them. James and Sirius stood so quickly they knocked their chairs backward.

"Identify yourself!" cried James, wand out.

"Dashwood . . ." gasped the man, limping the last few meters to the table. "Nigel . . . Dashwood . . . third circle . . ."

"Check the log!" yelled Sirius to no one in particular, rushing down to help Dashwood. Remus jogged over to Tonks' left notes, where each attending member of each meeting was automatically recorded. Using an enchantment similar to that of the Marauder's Map, only those who knew the correct pass phrase could read what was written.

"I solemnly swear that I will help bring down Voldemort," he said, tapping the parchment with his wand. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. They must have changed the phrase. "Padfoot, what's the pass phrase?"

"I solemnly swear that Snape is an ugly git," said Sirius, quite truthfully, helping the injured Dashwood to a bench. Remus rolled his eyes, but tried it. The list of attending Order members appeared before his eyes. Sure enough, Dashwood's name did not appear.

"No, he's not here," he said, wiping the list clean. Sirius tried to get the man to catch his breath. There was very little danger of an impostor passing through the doors into headquarters, because the doors had been enchanted to recognize not fingerprints but the very imprint of a person. The locks would come undone only to a true member of the Order. A traitor could not even pass through.

Dashwood had caught his breath enough to speak by the time Remus reached him. Sirius had knelt down in front, while James stood behind him. Minerva hung back a bit and watched carefully, Alastor stood directly behind Dashwood, and Remus took his place back a bit and behind Sirius' other shoulder. The subject of their attention grasped at his knees and didn't meet their gaze.

"There's been an attack," he said in a rush. "The Hewitts, in Lancashire, near Downham. I don't know how many, but . . ." He choked on a sob. "I think they're dead."

Remus couldn't help but be affected. The Hewitts had just become members of the Order recently. They had three small children, all under Hogwarts age, so the whole family would have been at home. No one said anything for a moment as Remus somberly walked back over to the log.

"I solemnly swear that Snape is an ugly git," he said.

"You've got to change that back," said James quietly.

"I know," replied Sirius.

Remus scanned the list. No Hewitt came up. Slowly, he raised his gaze and made a negative sign. Dashwood let out an odd noise, and everyone around him hung their heads. Sirius fingered his wand intensely, looking ready to do battle. Remus knew what he thought: if the Death Eaters were still in the area, they would have to be dealt with. Lancashire was too close to headquarters to let them go without some sort of action, although still far away enough to be a coincidence.

"Sirius, Alastor, and Frank, come with me," said James suddenly. He'd apparently read his friend's body language as well and decided to act. "Minerva, Remus, stay here with Dashwood." Then the four of them left, without as much as another word.

Minerva began to immediately tend to Dashwood's wet clothes, her lips pursed into a very thin line. If Remus was correct, Adam Hewitt had been at Hogwarts just a few short years ago. A prefect from Hufflepuff, if he remembered how Minerva had described him. "He should have gone in my House," she'd said once. Not that it was her House since Dumbledore had gone, but it didn't matter. And if he could still recall correctly, Adam and his wife would be about twenty-three and twenty-four. And their oldest child would be five.

This was the worst attack to happen in nearly twelve years. Remus knew why Sirius had looked so angry and James had been so quick to act. Voldemort's attacks had been intensifying ever since the Dumbledore rumors had resurfaced. It meant that he believed them this time. And it meant, more significantly, that he would be reviving his campaign with greater fervor.

Remus reached down to help Minerva get Dashwood back on his feet. He seemed to have twisted his ankle pretty badly, but they wouldn't know for certain until they could get him to a proper infirmary bed. Headquarters had its own Healer and hospital because too many injuries from the same people would draw suspicion at St. Mungo's, and while the Order kept casual secrecy, it was still vital to keep it an unspoken truth. The last thing the Order of the Phoenix wanted to become was the Ministry's private army.

Dashwood moaned as his supporters lowered him onto a bed. On further inspection, his ankle protruded at a very odd angle, jutting out unnaturally between his calf and his foot. Remus was amazed he'd been able to use it at all. He'd clearly seen some action, judging by the scorch marks on his robes and the deep gashes on his arms and face. He relaxed a little as he could put his full weight on the bed, and Minerva set about calling the Healer. Remus gave the man a small smile as he nodded off to sleep.

God, if You're listening, he thought, we could make good use of a miracle sometime soon.

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Author's Notes: Okay, everyone, please remember this is a rough test-draft of this story . . . all constructive criticism welcomed, encouraged, etc, but please keep the pitchforks at home! Thank you all so much for reading, and I can only hope I haven't alienated all of you completely. Your suggestions, compliments, criticisms all mean so much to me . . . keep them coming! Flames are less likely to be paid attention to than legitimate critiquing, so if you really have awful things to say, present them to me intelligently, and I'll take them to heart. I love you all!

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Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, and, of course, J.K. Rowling. Marius Lestrange, Jonas Longbottom, Elizabeth and Carolyn Potter, and a few other things belong to my overactive imagination.