Harry Potter and the Butcher of Hogsmeade

by Yagr of Nar

Harry's schooling gets derailed. Dumbledore's manipulations cause great dissatisfaction among his allies. Lucius Malfoy goes on trial. And Snape is forced to act as a babysitter.

3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to those who took their valuable time to post reviews of this work.

Feedback makes the effort of writing much more rewarding.

Chapter three

Contrary to Albus Dumbledore's suggestion, Severus Snape had not gone to get 'some rest' the previous night when he had left the Headmaster's office. Instead, he had gone to his own office and had begun the massive task of filing away the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk during the past term. He had taken a short nap once the largest piles had been put away, but after less than two hours of slumber, he had returned to the work, knowing that the more he got done immediately, the less he would have to deal with while babysitting Potter. He worked until he could no longer focus properly on the parchments before him, and realized that to avoid mistakes, he needed to do something different. Some of the burners in the Potions Class' brewing chamber needed major repairs, but a few simply needed adjustment. Those would provide a suitably unchallenging activity which would provide his brain some rest without wasting any of his valuable time. He opened the door that led from his office into the lecture area, behind which were the brewing stations. He stopped in the doorway, shocked. He reached into one of the cleverly concealed pockets in his robe and gripped his wand. Snape could not understand how it was possible, but right before his eyes, standing casually, reading ingredient lists on the crocks in the Potions laboratory shelves, was a muggle.

How the man had gotten there without triggering numerous wards... worse, how he could have opened the door to Severus' own classroom without Snape hearing him was a complete mystery. The man gave no indication that he was aware of Severus' presence. He seemed focused on crocks filled with herbs. Could this be merely an attempt to steal something? And if so, what could the man wish to steal?

Severus immediately began to catalog what he could see of the man's characteristics in case the seeming muggle really was a wizard and managed to disappear before he could be identified. The man was of medium height, thin, with a wiry build, and sandy, light hair. He wore a leather jacket, denim pants and heavy motorcycle boots. The man's posture was relaxed to the point of arrogance.

The apparent muggle turned to face the Potions professor. As his weight shifted, Severus could see the animal grace with which the man moved. Subtle sliding of hip and shoulder were dancelike in their fluidity. Was the man an acrobat? Or an assassin? The man met Severus' eyes with a steady, confident gaze. Focusing on those eyes, Severus' first impression was of their striking amber color.

Amber?

The man had no obvious scars, birthmarks or tattoos. A handsome face, really, though the man needed a shave and could have used a haircut. Although his fluid movement reminded Snape of some Death Eater- trained assassins, this man was no stranger. The broad grin that lighted his features was completely unfamiliar there, but other than that expression, that confidence, and that grace, this was someone he knew.

As a young teen, Snape had delighted in visual puzzles, where the subject of the artwork would suddenly be revealed when the viewer shifted his focus. Severus had thought that he had learned the important lesson from those exercises, which was, so far as he could tell, 'don't let your preconceived notions blind you to what is in front of your eyes.' The man before him fell into focus like one of those puzzles from long ago. The evidence was right before him - only it was impossible. "What?" Snape blurted, taking an involuntary step backward.

The Remus Lupin before him - who could not possibly be the same Remus Severus had known for years - laughed, an easy, carefree sound that Snape could not reconcile with the nervous toady that had followed James Potter and Sirius Black through school, nor with the shabby, insecure man who had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts for a time.

"Hello, Severus," the oddly different Lupin said, deliberately challenging the Potions master with the overly familiar use of his first name. His voice carried the absolute assurance of one born to authority. A king might speak like that - not with the pompous bombast actors gave to monarchs, but with such certainty in his subjects' absolute compliance with his commands that questioning their obedience never occurred to him.

"I have no time to spend with you, Wolf," Severus sneered, trying to regain some of his composure. "Anything you have to say to me will have to wait until later. I am meeting with Harry Potter..."

"Yes, I know," Remus grinned. "We're going to be taking care of him this summer. Together."

"Yes, well, good that you've been informed," Snape murmured uncertainly. The other man's smile was starting to bother him. It was more than confident. It seemed almost... possessive. "But since I have been designated the primary caregiver..."

"You would like to meet the boy in private, first," Remus agreed cheerfully. "Fine. I'll be in the castle. You have your meeting, and... maybe the two of us could have lunch together today. Or the three of us, if you're still with the boy. We'll have to get the three of us together some time."

"I have no time for lunch today. I doubt that I will have a free minute all summer, now that my work as been interrupted by this... babysitting." Snape used his most insufferably superior tone, but he noticed that his normally threatening manner had no effect on the strangely transformed Lupin.

"We'll see. Taking care of Harry ought to be a lot easier than you think. I'll be around, and I'll probably see you before I run into Harry." Receiving no response, he gave a very slight shrug, turned, and was gone.

Snape stared at the open door for a long time. He had schooled himself over the course of years to expect the unexpected. That meeting had taken him completely by surprise.

--- --- ---

Harry entered the open Potions class door cautiously, looking toward the office behind the lectern. He crept slowly into the room, listening for any sound of movement, and waiting for the office door to crash open and reveal the irascible Potions professor. To his surprise, the office door was already standing open. Harry walked as quietly as he could between the desks at which he and his classmates had sat, taking notes over the past five years. Once he had crossed half the room and could see through the office door, it became apparent that Snape was not at his desk, and not likely in his office at all. "Professor..." he called softly. A shadow fell over him.

"Mister Potter," Snape sneered, looming over the boy, having approached from the direction opposite to the one Harry had expected. Harry started, spun and looked up at the cold eyes staring at him.

"Ye....Yes, Sir," he said, trembling with nervousness.

"Do you have any idea of how much work I have to do between terms?" Snape demanded.

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied meekly.

Snape allowed an indulgent smile to touch his lips. "Oh, do go on, Mister Potter. Please, tell me what you imagine I get up to in the summer months while you students are all at play."

"Well sir," Harry said, glancing around the room to remind himself of what he had observed. "You have to repair all the damage the students have done to the brewing section, you have to restock all the ingredients, and re-order them on their shelves. You have to remove the marks anyone has made at his desk.... um... for starters."

Snape lost his smile. "And how is it that you come to know any of that?"

"Well, Sir," Harry said, forcing his eyes to meet Snape's. "Every year when we come in, it's like the classroom is brand new. I mean, the room is ancient... but... fresh. Ready for a new class. All the burns are repaired. I know I've left some scorches on the workbenches. And Neville... well... The ingredients jars are all full, too. And they're all in order. And none of the lids are crooked. And... I mean, a lot of students write on their desks. And there's never a mark on the first day of class."

Snape was impressed despite himself. The spoiled brat had actually used his eyes, and connected the images thus collected to his brain. Astounding. "As you say, the list of obligations you have mentioned is merely the beginning of my summer's labors. And yet, you seem to be able to appreciate the enormity of even those tasks. Now. Please imagine what burdens looking after you will have added to my workload."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry said, already sick of apologizing to everyone for what was, after all, Dumbledore's decision. "I never intended to be a burden to..."

"I am certain," Snape interrupted, "that you did not consider the impact your presence would have on others. Nevertheless, you are here, and I must..." Snape paused and his slight smile returned momentarily. "... keep an eye on you. Which is why I wonder if you would consent to carry one of these." He held out a small sphere, mostly white with a thin marbling of red. He shifted his palm, and a large hazel iris rolled to stare at Harry. "It is a magic eye."

"Like Mad-Eye Moody's?" Harry asked immediately, not thinking of the disrespect implied by his use of the nickname.

"Not at all," Snape snapped. "First of all, you needn't wear it, which is good news for your existing eyes, since both of those may remain in your head rather than being displaced by the magical one. Second, it has nowhere near the power and special abilities of the Moody model. This is, essentially, a lens through which I might observe you and your immediate surroundings."

Harry stared at the odd ball, thinking that it looked rather sick rolling around in Snape's palm as it was. "How do you... I... carry it?"

"It is imbued with a charm, not unlike that which is placed on quiddich's Golden Snitch," Snape lectured, sounding much less threatening while explaining magical workings than while scolding Harry for ruining his summer. "I simply touch the eye to your skin, and it will hover about you, allowing me to keep watch without having to dog your steps for the next three months."

"That's... kind of creepy," Harry said, knowing that if he were going to protest such a constant invasion of his privacy, he had better do it now, before the thing was stuck hovering around him. "I mean... uh... there's a reason bathrooms have doors." His face burned bright red.

"And there's a reason that large, public places such as Hogwarts have large, public restrooms," Snape scoffed. "It's a matter of practical usage. Just as watching over you is a matter of impractical usage of my time."

"But when I go to bed at night," Harry persisted, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "I'll be in a dorm room... I'll be all alone... that is, I'll be going to bed without anyone around, and...."

Snape's face adopted an expression that was a grotesque parody of concern. "Do you play with yourself, Mister Potter?" he inquired with a mockery of gentle kindness.

"Don't you?" Harry shot back.

"Hmmm..." Snape considered for a moment, then said, as though dictating to an unseen secretary, "Interested in his Professor's auto-erotic habits. I believe I will have to put that in my report on this summer's progress. Which report will, I believe, be included in your permanent record."

"You started it," Harry grumbled.

"Belligerent and argumentative. Not a promising start for our first day of working together, is it, Mister Potter? That shall have to be noted as well."

"Note whatever you want," Harry pouted. "Someone will notice that all the derogatory comments come from one professor."

"Oh, dear boy," Snape said in mock sympathy. "My notations are simply observances. For truly derogatory comments regarding this summer, I think you would have to review the report that will be submitted by Professor Sprout."

Harry wished he could simply melt into the floor. He was doomed before he started. Snape had always hated him, but now he had made a new enemy in Professor Sprout. Neville would bear a grudge over this summer's job fiasco for a long time, and Dumbledore... What had Dumbledore been thinking?

"You won't get far if you run, boy," Snape scolded. Harry gave a startled 'Hurmpf?,' and Snape sneered. "Escape is writ large over your face, Mister Potter. You look like a rabbit that has spotted the approach of the wolf. An observant rabbit gives itself a chance to survive by keeping a wary eye out. For you, it is far too late. Neither Professor Sprout nor myself can allow you to go missing. You are here for the summer, you are working for her, and you are answerable to me. Now. Eye?" He held the hazel-irised orb out toward Harry.

"I'd rather not," Harry said, shrinking away from the spy device.

Snape closed his hand around the magic eye and returned it to some hidden pocket of his robes. His scowl was very menacing. "In order for the charm to function properly, the subject of the observation must cooperate, at least to the extent of giving consent. If you are going to force me to follow you about, Mister Potter, you are going to build up a veritable storehouse of ill will on my part. I will allow you to speak with Mister Lupin before I bring up the subject again. I would hope that he will be able to instill some confidence in you regarding this plan. Until then: what is your schedule in the Herbology department this season?"

Harry felt very stupid having to reply, "I don't know. I met with Professor Sprout this morning, and all she did was send me here. And tell me to go back at seven o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. And to be prepared to work all day. Beyond that... I don't know."

Snape stared. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but could say nothing. He scowled and stared. Finally, with disbelief, he managed, "That is the best you can do? You don't know. Well. As I have already said, not a promising start. For tomorrow, once Professor Sprout dismisses you, please report back to this office. Good day, Mister Potter." Without waiting for a reply, Snape turned and walked away.

--- --- ---

Vincent Crabbe grabbed the tin of Floo Powder from the shelf and stalked over to his family's fireplace with great impatience. He had sat on his big news for over two days, and was anxious to tell someone. Meeting the most feared dark wizard on earth was not something you could just bring up at the local ball court, though. Since withholding knowledge of 'you-know-who's' whereabouts and activities was illegal (technically, it was treason, and if the Ministry wanted to push it hard enough, a capital crime) Vincent had to be somewhat careful about who he told.

Vincent had tried to call Draco, but Malfoy was gone somewhere. The rich bastard was probably taking a summer tour of the world, even with his old Dad in jail. Crabbe had tried to raise any of the numerous hearths in Malfoy Manor via the Floo Network, but even the flames that had never before gone out - like the constant-warmers in the kitchens - had, surprisingly, all been allowed to lie cold.

There were a few sons of Death Eaters he could have contacted, but none that knew him well enough to be able to recognize when he was telling the truth. In those cases, it would be impossible to have a serious discussion about what had actually happened. He could all-too-easily imagine the ensuing conversations. "I saw the Dark Lord." "No, you didn't." "Yes, I did." "No, you didn't." "Yes, I did." "No, you didn't." "Yes, I did." No, with all things considered, Gregory Goyle was the one person he really wanted to tell. For one thing, Greg would know he was serious. More importantly, Vince would be able to lord his accomplishment over Goyle at least until the other boy got his first chance to meet Voldemort.

If Greg had a fireplace in his own room, Vincent would have checked in regularly until he found the other boy at home. Instead, he found that he needed to plan his calls more cleverly. Last time he had Flooed, Vincent had been greeted by Goyle's mother, who smiled, called him 'dear,' and spoke to him in the tone of voice Vincent thought might have been appropriate for soothing a tiny dog. It certainly did not fit his assessment of how to speak to a young man who had just met the most feared dark wizard in the entire world. As he had broken the connection, he had nearly gagged as Mrs. Goyle had charged him with conveying her wishes for 'Lots of Love' to his mother. Vincent was determined to get in touch with Gregory, but he did not want to repeat that kind of conversation for anything.

Vincent grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder and flicked it into the hearth, staring blankly as the result was... nothing. 'Oh, right. Need fire,' he recalled, and knelt down to toss in a few sticks of kindling and a larger piece of cut wood. "Incendio," he said with a snap of his wand, igniting the kindling. The Floo Powder, lying inert on the hearth floor, caught fire suddenly, consuming its entire volume at once. The resultant explosion made Vincent's ears ring, blew his hair back and covered his face in ashes, but did not open the Floo Network for communication. Looking about, Crabbe also noticed that the tiny blast had blown flaming bits of kindling out into the living room. Cursing, Vincent gathered them by grabbing at each one and tossing it toward the hearth as soon as he felt the slightest bit of purchase in his grip on the flaming wood. Most of the burning chips flew safely onto the bricks, but a few went wide, one leaving a singe mark at the bottom corner of the front window's curtain, and another leaving a sooty streak down one of the lampshades. Crabbe knew he could hide the first and cast a cleaning charm on the second, but the frustration of the exploding floo made him more determined than ever to make that call before attempting any cleaning or repairs. He grabbed his shirt tail, wiped ashes from his face, dragged his fingers through his hair, blew on the kindling to encourage the flames, then flicked another fingerfull of Floo Powder. Within moments, he was looking through the grate into the Goyle home.

"Oi!," he shouted into the empty room. "Oi, Greg!"

This time, Gregory Goyle was home. He swaggered toward the fireplace grinning. "What, want your ball back, little boy? Sorry, I fed it to my..."

Vincent was too anxious to let Gregory finish his taunt, "Can you talk?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Gregory let his face go blank. "Uhh... let's see. Testing, one, two... Yeah, mate, I think I can."

"No, you git," Vincent spat. "I mean..."

"Dad's pissed off someplace, Mum's out doing shopping. I'm a free man, Vince. Tell me your tale."

"Well, all right, then," Vincent said settling in for some serious boasting. "Guess what I've been about."

"You're not scarred up," Greg noted, staring through the flames at his friend's face. "And you seem rather pleased with yourself. So I'm going to guess that you finally got your hands down that skinny Elizabeth's pants."

"Blind me, Greg," Vincent said with exasperation. "I haven't seen Liz since she started working 'cross town. She stays with her real dad now. And from what I understand, she has a fancy man of her own already." In a sing-song lilt, Vincent recited, "Heeee has an Au-To-Mo-Beel. Well, fuck her."

"Right, Vin. Be glad to. Since you couldn't manage it," Greg barked with laughter.

"Yeah, so what have you been doing that's so great, then?" As soon as he had said it, Vincent knew it was a mistake to leave such a perfect opening for Gregory. Now, he would have to listen to the other boy's stories first. Damn.

"Taking Eileen up to the Nature Preserve," Greg said proudly. "We've found three new places to do it in the last week alone. One has a waterfall. The splash off of it cools your ass while you're getting all heated."

VIncent looked skeptical. "What? You get naked in the bloody park?"

"Depends," Gregory shrugged. "Sometimes its a matter of her skirt up and no panties. And what I've got's long enough to just open my fly and let 'im out. But some places - like top of that big hill, where you can see for miles, and nobody else is gonna climb up there, anyway... its bloody starkers every time, mate. Let the wind blow on my Willie... then let Eileen do the same."

"Yeah," Vincent said absently, envious in spite of himself, but really only waiting to get back to his own big news. "So guess what I've been about."

"No Elizabeth, no 'auto-mo-bile'... I know you've got no money to splurge with. So tell me."

"I met with the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"Bull!" Goyle exploded as though trying to scare Crabbe into admitting a lie.

"Nope. Straight up. The most feared dark wizard in the..." Crabbe was so chuffed with his boast that he was completely shocked when his friend hissed and drew a hand across his throat.

"Shut UP!" Goyle commanded. "Are you daft? Should you even be saying anything like that over the bleeding floo?"

"Aw, think a bit, Greg," Vincent whined. Then, fluttering his fingers and speaking in a high, squeaky voice, "May-be if one of us was a pret-ty gir-ul..." He dropped the pose and sneered, "Then some old perv might tune in... might be interested in what a couple of teen blokes are talking of through their home fires, eh? But we're not, so who's going to pay either one of us any mind?"

Gregory contemplated his friend in a new light. Sometimes, being very stupid allowed someone like Vince to see the simplest things more clearly - the sorts of things that smarter blokes passed over. Who would be interested in a pair of almost-sixth-year schoolboys on the floo to one another? Probably no one. "All right, then, mate. You saw the... the big man. No need for names, we've got the main story line laid out, right? So did your old dad take you in?"

"Nah. It was Snape."

Gregory finally began to believe that Vincent was telling the truth, simply because he could not imagine Crabbe making up such a story featuring Snape. His dad, sure, the old man had been wearing the mask for years. Greg expected his own father to bring him to a meeting and get him signed up sooner or later. But their Potions professor? If Vince had made that up, he must have been taking imagination pills. "What, Head o' House Snape?"

"Head o' House is the least of it," Vincent related with excitement. "Vol... uhhh... the big man was, like, his chum. They didn't talk a lot. It was more like, 'Oh, yeah, you're here again.' Like they were used to hanging together, so there wasn't a lot of bullshite to talk about. Which meant that the Dark... umm... the man talked to me, mostly."

"And he said...?" Gregory prompted impatiently.

"He wants converts. People whose parents fought against him, especially. Like, if we bring him recruits, we'll be in charge. Bring 'em in and put 'em under our supervision."

"Babies who don't know anything," Goyle scoffed. "Look, if you want to babysit newbies, have at it. I don't believe it will be anywhere near as fun as you think it will be."

Vincent saw his audience losing the surprised admiration Crabbe had intended him to keep. It was time for a stronger play. "He wants someone in particular," he teased.

"Who?" Goyle said with annoyance. Sometimes (actually, most times) getting anything coherent out of Crabbe was like getting hard to get things from a place out of which it was hard to get them. It could be very irritating, and right now it was especially so.

"Harry Potter," Vincent said with a superior smirk.

"Oh... bloody Hell!" Barked Goyle. "Mordred on a bicycle, Vince. He wants the most conceited, self-important fathead of all the big-headed Gryffs? Why didn't he just tell you to go get him Albus Dumbledore?"

Vincent peered at his friend through the flames as though Gregory had just gone mad. Gently, so as to convey the facts, in case Goyle had missed something in their conversation, he explained, "Dumbledore's not a student, is he? The big man couldn't expect me to go up and give the old Headmaster a recruitment speech, now, could he?"

Gregory Goyle's mind reeled. Vincent had been taken in to see the Dark Lord? Crabbe the blockhead? Crabbe the slow? Taken in by Snape, who must realize how stupid the young thug was? All while Greg remained sitting on his ass, waiting for his dad to invite him to a bleeding Death Eater meeting? This was outrageous! He carefully schooled his expression to keep from frightening the boy on the other side of the flames, and lightly asked, "So... what did you say?"

"I told him I'd get him his recruit!"

"You told him you'd get Potter for him?"

"Bloody well right!"

"And he believed you?"

"He was happy about it!"

"He said that?" Goyle demanded disbelievingly.

"We discussed it," Crabbe corrected with a smirk.

"Right, then," Goyle said absently, a sinking feeling in his chest. "So it's not Dumbledore. So what? How are you going to get Harry bleeding Potter, then?"

"Human nature," Crabbe stated with confidence. "Look. What do normal people want? I don't mean people in dire straights, like. I mean... if you're hungry, you want food. If you're sleepy, you want a home to go rest in. If you're horny, well, you know. But I mean normal people. People who have a little bit of all the regular stuff. Food to eat, bed to sleep in... what do normal people want?"

Goyle shrugged. "They want to be rich."

"Close," Crabbe said, lifting a finger like an enthusiastic lecturer. "They want to be famous. Look when the Prophet comes out every day. You see people tearing through it, flipping pages real fast? They're not reading. They're looking for themselves. They want to be mentioned, even if they hate what the bleeding Prophet says about them, they want to be pictured, written about, covered... famous. Well, Potter is already famous!"

Goyle gaped at his friend incredulously. "Well, then, mate - you're working yourself backward into a corner. Potter is already famous. So that's one less thing you can offer him. Great. Now he hates you, AND you can't offer to get him in the newspaper. Great work, Vince."

"No, no, no... That's the beauty part," Crabbe insisted. "What do FAMOUS people want?"

Now Goyle was lost. Vince had obviously worked his knickers into knots over this, and had come out mental. "Vince... Famous people - like normal people - want to be rich."

"Close," Vincent declaimed again. "But nobody wants to collect galleons just to have 'em to rub together, do they? When people say 'rich' they mean that they want to be treated like they were rich. What they really want... and what famous people want most of all... is power."

Gregory was stunned. When Vincent Crabbe started making sense, it was time to check outside the windows for flying pigs and book your ski trips to Hell. But Vince had made sense, in a weird way. Potter was probably sick and tired of all the 'famous' he already had. So power would seem pretty sweet to the Boy Who Lived. But to Gregory's amazement, Crabbe was not yet finished.

"Look, say you're Harry Potter," Vince suggested.

"Bleaugh!" Greg blurted. "I'm soiled. Let me go wash."

"All right, just consider Harry Potter," Vince said with hands up in a stopping motion, to keep Greg from breaking the connection. "How is he going to get any real power by graduating school, getting a job, following along behind Dumbledore, blah, blah, blah...yawn? Whereas if he were to join up with... the big man... Think about it. The big man asked for him. By name. He wants him. He has plans for him. So, little Harry Potter goes in to meet with... the big man... and he comes out Duke of Dorchester or something like that. I mean, what's not to like?"

"Right. Good plan," Gregory said distractedly, then turned to look over his shoulder and whipped his head back around to face the fire once more. "Bloody hell. It's my mum. Piss off, then. We'll talk later, right?"

Vincent barely had time to nod before the connection was broken.

Gregory sat on his living room floor, thinking. Vince had fallen for the lie about Greg's mother returning home, and it was a good thing, too. Greg could hardly have stood speaking with Crabbe any more without taking a break for some serious thought. This situation was all totally fucked. Vince had met with Voldemort. Vince had actually made some sense over the floo. Vince might god-damned well bring the Dark Lord the recruit of his choice... and what would happen then? What about Vince Crabbe becoming boss of all the new-generation Death Eaters? Especially after all that rot about 'new recruits' and 'being in charge' of all the newbies. Gregory himself was not yet a Deatheater. Would Vincent be 'in charge' of him, too? This was not to be borne. Something would have to be done. And to do it right, he would need help. He grabbed the tin of Floo Powder and thought of a list of those who would be likely to help him. Chaz Thrasher, first. Chaz was big, and had a few really nasty curses under his belt. Boyd Reimuth, next. Reimuth knew some German spells that really hurt - but left no visible traces. By the time he had fed some more sticks into the fire, Gregory had a list of the young wizards who would make up his posse. Crabbe would not be getting the Boy Who Lived to join the Death Eaters this summer, if Gregory Goyle had anything to say about it.

--- --- ---

The Hogwarts castle had always been a place designed to insure the cardiovascular health of its residents. No two rooms in the entire building were on exactly the same level, so even going between two classes on the same floor involved at least a few low stairs, and a few classrooms required a step or two up or down simply to cross their entire length. The seemingly endless (and frequently shifting) staircases guaranteed that there would be plenty of climbing to do for anyone who had several different places to visit within the castle, and Harry had often felt that his class schedule in particular had been specially arranged to make certain that he would have the farthest possible vertical distance to travel between classrooms. And now that he had experienced the trek from Gryffindor Tower to the greenhouses to the dungeons all in one nearly uninterrupted rush, he could tell that he would be thoroughly sick of climbing by the end of the summer.

Now that the meeting with Snape was over, Harry found himself climbing again. This time, it was back to his room in the Gryffindor Tower for what might prove to be his last free day of summer. He reckoned he had better get some rest, since it sounded like Professor Sprout was going to set him a heavy workload starting tomorrow. He reached one of the wide, square landings between flights of stairs and took a moment to admire the seemingly empty castle spread out below him. To Harry, every facet of Hogwarts seemed to sparkle with magic, even when it wasn't doing anything particularly magical. A structural engineer might have said that the old pile of stones was doing some pretty impressive magic just to remain standing. But to Harry's eyes, even though it was very old, there was something inspiring about the very fact of Hogwarts' existence. A school of magic, a home away from his hated family, a place where the statues moved, pictures talked, and ghosts taught classes... his love for the place asserted itself once again in a rush of emotion that left his eyes moist and his heart feeling quite a bit too large for his chest. Smiling broadly, he turned toward the upward flight of stairs, and practically ran straight into a muggle.

His first impression was that a movie star was visiting the school. He struggled to find some explanation for that, and failed. His confusion only lasted a second, though. He blinked, and nearly slapped himself for not recognizing the man immediately. "Professor Lupin!"

Remus' leather jacket creaked slightly as he shifted his weight. He cocked his head and studied the boy before him carefully. "Harry? Are you regressing? Or do you have amnesia? I'm no Professor any more." His teasing sounded kindly enough that it did nothing to wipe the smile from Harry's face.

"You were the best..." Harry began, but a slight, nearly silent intake of breath from Remus was enough to stop him from finishing his statement. He stood there, uncertain of how much he had offended the man.

"And," Lupin admonished him. "I had thought we were better friends than that. Call me Remus and we'll both be happier."

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied immediately.

"Yes... What?" Lupin challenged.

Harry's face lit with a smile even broader than his last. "Remus!" he agreed happily.

With an air of studied nonchalance, Remus leaned back against the stair rail and looked carefully all around them. "Harry... What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Harry looked a bit embarrassed. "Go sit in my room, I guess. Professor Sprout doesn't want me back until tomorrow morning... really early tomorrow morning. And Professor Snape said to report back to him when Professor Sprout is finished with me. So, for today..." he shrugged.

"Have you been expressly forbidden to leave the school grounds?"

Harry thought about it. He had no desire to get into any trouble. Or, he thought sourly, any more trouble, since it felt like he was in trouble already, what with Professor Sprout angry that he was here in place of Neville and Professor Snape as contemptuous of him as ever. But although no one had actually put it that way, he really did have a free day and evening that he reckoned he could spend however he liked. Cautiously, he said, "No... no one actually said I couldn't leave the grounds..."

"I thought you might like to take a stroll toward Hogsmeade with me," Lupin suggested.

"That'd be great!" Harry enthused. "Can we go now?"

Lupin considered for a moment, then suggested, "Do us a favor and toss that robe back into your room. Take off the Gryffindor house livery as well - your tie or anything with a crest."

"For Hogsmeade? But they're all-wizard down there."

"Harry..." Lupin corrected gently. "Listen carefully when you accept an invitation. I said: 'toward Hogsmeade.'

Harry was more confused than before. "OK... Is now a good time to go?"

"It may be the only time we will be able to go," Remus said seriously. "Snape wants to keep an eye on you..." To Lupin's surprise, Harry laughed out loud. The boy wanted to explain, but Remus held up a hand to forestall him, and said, "Later. Once we're on our way. You ditch the robe and the tie, and meet me by the front entrance."

With a sudden pang of guilty conscience, Harry asked, "Should we... you know... check in with someone first?"

Remus grinned mischievously at that. "We'll pass Hagrid's hut on the way out. We'll give him a wave. That should count as checking in - or, rather, checking out - if anyone cares to ask about it later. Now up you go. See you at the front!"

When Harry descended the stairs again, he did not quite look like he did when living at his aunt and uncle's home. For one thing, his under-robe school clothes fit him a lot better than the Dudley hand-me-downs he got at the Dursleys. But without the robe and House tie over those clothes, Harry hardly looked like a proper magic student, either. He wondered if he looked completely foolish. But Remus nodded in approval as he saw him approaching, and waved for Harry to follow him along the path that led away from the castle and down toward the only entirely-wizard settlement in all of Great Britain, and perhaps in the world: Hogsmeade.

As Remus had predicted, Hagrid was outside of his hut, preparing the midday meal for some of the larger creatures he kept in paddocks that were arranged, in Harry's opinion, far too close to the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid saw the pair of walkers and waved, Harry and Remus returned the greeting, and the half-giant returned to mixing ingredients in a large wooden tub. Harry thought the things Hagrid was tossing in looked revolting, and he fancied that he could smell the concoction, even at this distance. Lupin smiled and picked up the pace. "You see, Harry? We have very properly let a staff member know that we are out for a stroll. No one can accuse you of sneaking, can they? Anyone who bothered to look out of a castle window could see us, and we're certainly not making any secret of our departure."

Harry nodded happily. After the tense meetings in the greenhouse and dungeon, he finally felt relaxed again. He and Remus walked off of Hogwarts' grounds, and began the winding descent toward Hogsmeade. After negotiating two rather sharp turns, Remus stopped, looked around, then sniffed the air carefully. He sniffed again, listened for a while, had another look around, and gave a small shrug. "Have you ever apparated, Harry?"

"Yes..." the boy replied hesitantly, thinking of his trips through the Floo Network, and the horrible sensation of portkey transportation.

"Good," Remus smiled, and drew Harry close to him in a tight bear hug. "Hang on, then."

Harry's senses were scrambled as he felt himself torn out of reality and thrust back into it with irresistible force. He thought he could hear the tiny thunderclap as air rushed in to fill the place his body had been an instant previously. Then he was nearly deafened by the sharp crack of air being displaced by his sudden appearance. He blinked and looked around, and was glad there was no one else nearby to see him. He was standing in a filthy city alleyway hugging a man more than twice his age. Remus did not release him at once, and Harry was grateful for that as he felt his knees buckle as all his muscles went weak.

"Not used to apparation? No surprise, that's one of the reasons there's an age restriction and licensing requirements for using the spell. A child might leave himself helpless if he were not prepared. And if someone performs the magic incorrectly," Remus shuddered. "Let's leave that discussion for another time. Can you stand?"

Harry nodded and shakily pulled himself out of the man's grip. He put a hand against a soot-covered brick wall for a moment to hold himself up, and then, with a suddenness that shocked him, the apparation sickness had passed, and he was as strong and alert as he had been all morning.

"Come on, then," Remus called over his shoulder, already walking toward the busy street at the alley's end. "There's a place I'd like to show you."

They walked several blocks through the busy streets. Harry was completely baffled by where they could have gone. It was definitely English, but completely unfamiliar. Remus laughed when Harry admitted his confusion. "You've been here, boy." Harry shook his head in disbelief. Remus pointed out a tall building. "Recognize that? No? You've seen the other side of it when you went to the station to meet the Hogwarts Express. This is London. You were within two miles of here, but I would bet money your uncle would never have driven through this neighborhood."

Harry had to agree with that assessment. He could easily imagine what Uncle Vernon would have had to say about the number of Pakistani, Indian and Oriental faces on the street. As though to underscore that thought, Remus turned into a doorway surrounded by oriental writing. He pushed aside curtains decorated with large, brightly colored paintings of carp and stepped into a room lit by hanging paper lamps.

Harry heard a cheerful cry of, "Remus! I thought you must have been dead! Where have you been?" The voice was thickly accented with unmistakable London working-class pronunciation. Harry was shocked to see that the man who had shouted was the obviously Japanese. He shook Remus' hand enthusiastically, then turned a skeptical eye on Harry. "Who's this?"

"My best friend's son. My best friend is dead. So that makes me guardian."

"Legal guardian, eh?"

"No," Remus said grimly. "The people he's supposed to go to are scum. Wellington, we need a booth. We need to discuss the will."

Wellington nodded. "We've got one. But no beer for the boy. No sake. We have enough to worry about without underage drinking. I'll see if there's a waiter to take your order."

"No need," Remus assured him. We need two maguro, a cucumber roll, tea and two root beers. And some time. Alone."

Wellington nodded his understanding. "Number eleven. You know where it is? Good. I'll get your food."

'Number eleven' was a private room with a low table and cushions right on the floor. Remus removed his shoes before stepping in and indicated that Harry should do the same. A waiter bustled in before they had quite gotten settled, and placed a hot pot of tea and some tiny cups on their table. By the time Remus had poured a cup of tea for each of them, Wellington was there with strange looking food on heavy blue china plates, and two foaming mugs of root beer. Wellington arranged the items carefully, sketched a quick salute at Remus, and closed the door as he left.

Remus settled back on the cushions and gave a slow, relaxed sigh. "Have you had sushi before?" Harry shook his head. "I would start with the roll, first, then. Just vegetables and rice, very easy on the palate. Oh, and a little hot, too. The green spice is a kind of horseradish."

Harry took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. A bit bland, he thought. Then his eyes watered and his nose began to run. He grabbed his root beer to quell the fire in his mouth.

"A little hot," Remus reminded him and popped a slice of roll into his mouth with great enjoyment. He waited for Harry to catch his breath after the surprise of the wasabi, then very casually asked, "How did you get your summer job, Harry?"

Harry had a great amount of bitterness built up over that very question. He began to answer, and couldn't seem to stop talking. Remus listened patiently, nodding and encouraging the boy to continue.

"I only wanted to avoid my aunt and uncle this summer. I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts. I wanted to study, I said. I would stay in my room, or my room and the library, or... or anywhere. I would have stayed locked up in the dungeon if that would have kept me from the Dursleys.' Dumbledore told me I'd have to take Neville's job. I said that wasn't fair, and he threatened to send me home with an escort of dementors if I didn't take the Herbology job. I said that Professor Sprout would be angry and Neville would hate me, but he said that it would all be his fault, and that no one could blame me. But everyone blamed me anyway, even though they're furious at Dumbledore as well. And now Snape wants me to have a magic eye to follow me everywhere and spy on me, and Professor Sprout doesn't think I can do the job, and I haven't seen Dumbledore at all, and Neville said he would help me by giving me advice through the floo, but... but at least I don't have to go back to the Dursleys.' I seem to have gotten what I wanted. But somehow, I feel that I lost, like this is all going to turn out bad."

Remus let Harry finish and sat silently for a while after the boy had said his piece. "It's always that way with Dumbledore, Harry. You pay for anything you get, and sometimes you don't even get what you've paid for. That's why we had to come here. Dumbledore has ways of listening in to everyone. Do you remember the Weasley Twins' invention, the Extensible Ear? I remind you, the Weasley twins are very young. And they are definitely not very serious-minded individuals. And yet they invented a listening device that can eavesdrop on whispered conversations that take place many meters from the user. By contrast, Dumbledore is very old. And he is very, very serious about everything he does, no matter how he may appear in his daily routine. And he is a very powerful wizard. And Hogwarts has been his base of operations for generations. Imagine what kind of surveillance system he must have in place by now. Which is why we need to get Professor Snape's magic eye on you."

Harry was outraged at that conclusion. He couldn't even make a coherent protest. "Wh... Is... I mea... No wa..." he babbled.

Remus was not impressed. "We cannot allow Dumbledore to be the only one who knows what you're doing. I wish I had a magic eye to give you. But since I don't, Snape's will have to do."

"Did he invent it?" Harry asked hopelessly. If the magic eye were Snape's own invention, it would be impossible to get one that was free of Snape's own particular brand of maliciousness.

"What?" Remus looked at the boy as though Harry had lost his mind. Then he reminded himself of Harry's upbringing, completely divorced from the magical world. More kindly, he explained, "Oh, no. I doubt that Severus would have even researched anything quite as... umm... mekanixal as this. Your Professor Snape is really a genius at harnessing the magic that operates on the... the smallest... the tiniest level... I mean..."

"The atomic level?" Harry supplied.

Remus thought a moment and decided that the muggle term did serve well in this case. "Yes. Severus knows how magic operates on the atomic level. When very precise quantities of very precise ingredients are combined in a precise..." Remus laughed at himself. "I sound like a broken record. But really, when all those precise things are combined in a very precise manner. That's the reason he's always so picky about the way things are cut, or so particular about when they are added to a mixture. It can make the man seem insufferable, but really, it's a mark of genius. Wizards never saw the necessity of developing an 'atomic' theory. They had magnifying glasses for the few applications that required some boost to visual acuity, but we don't really even have decent microscopes, compared to muggle instruments. Let alone atom-smashers and all those extreme-focus machines that give such detailed pictures of the very tiny. So it should really amaze you that in your potions class, you are magically manipulating parts of your ingredients that are so miniscule you will never be able to see them. That you get results at all is surprising. That some of those results are very powerful and very reliable is practically miraculous.

Remus chuckled lightly and returned to the discussion at hand. "Sorry. Got a bit carried away. I was never very good with potions, myself. Much to my own sorrow. Anyway. Professor Snape works with potions very well, and I believe that no one knowledgeable of the subject could argue with that. But he is so focused on that discipline, that he has never explored any of the closely related applications of magical research. Mekanix, for example."

"Mechanics?" Harry asked. "Like fixing machines? Is that really close to potion making?"

"No, you're thinking of muggle pursuits," Remus corrected. "Mekanix are... Do you recall the planetarium, near my old 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' office?"

"Where the planets and moons all swing 'round the sun? That's great. I've sat and watched it several times. Well, mostly when you were... still teaching, you know." Harry flushed scarlet, certain that he had once again stirred unpleasant memories.

Remus covered Harry's hand with his own. He caught Harry's eye and waited until the boy met his gaze directly. "Harry. I was glad to have the opportunity to teach. I was glad to use that opportunity to be reunited with all the wizards and witches I thought I had been separated from forever. I quit on my own, you remember. And since quitting, I have done some work for Dumbledore all on my own initiative. So I'm not bitter about Hogwarts, or my classes I taught there, or even the way that I left. Most of all, I'm glad that I met you. At first, I was glad because you were James' son. Then, I was glad because you're Harry. And I am genuinely glad to know you." He smiled warmly at the cub of his pack, pleased at how well the boy had turned out. "So don't feel bad about referring to my time as a teacher. Just don't call me Professor, O.K.?"

Harry grinned and nodded, glad he didn't have to be embarrassed about speaking of the time he had met Remus.

"Well," Remus said, giving Harry's hand a pat and sitting back to take a sip of tea. "The planetarium - near my old office," he added with a wink. "Is a perfect example of mekanix. Magical machines, if you will. That's really a poor explanation, since wizards have followed a very different path of development from muggles, especially over the past thousand years - the very time period during which muggles developed machinery to such a high degree, while wizards essentially ignored it. So mekanix are, really... let's see if I can recall it... 'Inanimate objects bespelled to perform certain repetitive tasks in a manner....' uhhh. Oh, fu... that is, blast. I can't remember the correct description. It's been years since I last heard it recited. Anyway. Magical machines, for want of a better word."

Harry returned to his central worry. "So Snape didn't invent the magical eye."

"Oh!" Remus remembered what he was supposed to be explaining. "No. The Eye has an interesting story all its own. It was supposed to make the fortune of a Hungarian wizard, a wild young rebel who left his family's tradition of specializing in Dragon research to strike out on his own as an inventor. He specialized in mekanix, and a few of his minor inventions showed incredible promise for such a young wizard. I believe that one of his bearings is now commonly used in most Sneakoscopes. He worked on practical things, small improvements to existing products, that kind of work. But when he announced the invention of the Eye - along with a wizard patent covering almost every facet of the device, and a marketing company to sell it - he started receiving advance orders that very day. People who were parents of small children when that announcement was made still remember the name of Otto Tadminder and his invention that was going to make their lives so much easier - the AutoMinder Eye.

"Otto sold thousands of Eyes the very first day they were available for delivery. And hundreds every day after that... for about a week. Then things started to turn sour for Tadminder Manufacturing. The sad part was that it wasn't Otto's faults that made his business fail - it was his best qualities.

"Many people - I am one of them - believe that Otto was a very good man. He wanted to make very sure that his invention, intended to benefit parents and their young children, would not be abused by government, journalists, or voyeurs."

"Voieoo...?" Harry interrupted.

"Those who are excited by observing others at private moments. There are degrees of meaning, but that's a discussion for another time."

Harry could imagine that it was. He had been thinking a lot of the last time he had seen Hermione, walking down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower. He would have liked to observe her in a private moment. Then he recalled that she would be spending a lot of the summer with Ron. He decided that they could have their private moments all to themselves.

"The point is," Remus said sharply, pulling Harry back to the present, "that most people believe the reason Otto took so long to apply for his patents and market the Eye was that he made very sure that the 'consent factor' was built very deeply into the workings of the thing. Now, when people with very tiny babies received their Eyes, they had no problem getting them to work. They would hold their babies, talk pleasant baby talk to them, and stroke their skin with the Eye. As soon as the baby accepted the device as part of this good treatment, bang!, the thing was working. Parent puts baby down and goes off to another part of the house, able to check in on the youngster at any time.

"Two problems arose immediately.

"All one needs to do in order to check on the Eye is to think about the subject to which the Eye is attached. Parents of very small babies are thinking about their babies nearly all the time. So, a large number of parents found themselves effectively blind, since their visual input was entirely taken over by the Eye. They could see their babies, and their babies' surroundings, perfectly well. But they couldn't see anything that was right in front of their faces. Then, there were the babies themselves. I suppose you have seen a baby with a mobile hanging over its crib?"

"Well, uh, no," Harry admitted. "I haven't seen much of babies at all, actually."

"People put hanging toys over a baby's bed so that the infant will learn depth perception, interacting with its environment, cause and effect - profound lessons from such a simple thing as swatting at a hanging toy with one's hand. The eyes did the babies the service of hovering right within their swatting range. And so the babies slapped the devices into the walls.

"You know, the promotional material for the Eye emphasized how very like a golden snitch the orbs were. I know you are familiar with a golden snitch, young seeker, and you know very well how elusive the little things can be. That was a good image to give young parents. It seemed very safe. Plus, there was the association of winning that came with comparing an Eye to a Snitch.

"In fact, the Eye flies much more like a bludger."

Harry winced with remembered pain. Being hit with a bludger hurt at the least, and if the thing had been given a whack by a skilled beater, one could knock a rider off his broom and cause very serious injury.

"Exactly," Remus nodded as he saw Harry's reaction. "Not the best thing to tell parents of young babies. But the Eye is essentially bludgery, wingless and relentless in its purpose. Fortunately, this mekanix's purpose was not to smash into anyone, but to hover around, sending signals. So when a baby smacked the Eye into the wall, the Eye returned. And got another smack. And returned again.

"Now imagine you are a parent in the room farthest away from the baby's room, and you can't see what's around you because all you can see is what you get from the Eye. And the Eye is being slammed repeatedly into the wall. Which is what you are seeing - wall smashing into your face, baby coming closer and closer, whack from the hand, back to the wall in your face, repeat. Closing your eyes didn't help, because the images from the Eye were coming to you directly from the device. People became completely lost in their own homes. They fell and were injured. They walked into their stoves or fireplaces. They smacked their noses on closed doors. And then frequently, they would see themselves, finally entering the baby's room, bruised, burnt and bloody. And some would then panic. Others became furious.

"Sometimes, things would not get that far because the Eyes would break after being batted around and smashed into solid surfaces too many times. Either way, people were - to say the least - dissatisfied with the product.

"Since you say you have little experience with babies, I will tell you this fact for free. One of the first words any person learns to say is: 'No." You probably learned to say it right after 'Mama.' I believe I did as well. Most people do. So those people whose children were a little older than infants would put the eye against their kid's skin, and the child would laugh and say 'No.' Then the parent would become angry, insist that they were going to use the Eye, and the child would cry and say 'No.' Either way, the device would not function, and the parent was stuck with what appeared to be a completely useless purchase. They, too, were dissatisfied.

"Even older children learned that they could remove the Eye from use - usually by grabbing it and saying something to the effect that they did not want this thing anywhere near them. The words weren't important. It was the intent that was, and that has led to the use of the Eye that is currently most common. It is one of the favorite objects of study of those researchers interested in the phenomenon of wandless magic. But while the principles of that phenomenon still escape our scholars, the young children - completely untrained in and inexperienced with magic - understood it immediately. They grabbed their Eyes and turned them off. Then, they would touch the devices to their own skin and say 'Yes.' That made those children the masters of their Eyes, so that the images from the Eye would not be transmitted to the parents anymore, but to the very child around which the Eye was hovering. Parents who suddenly realized that they could no longer check in on their children through the Eyes would rush to search for their offspring - only to discover the kids putting on shows for themselves, dancing or telling jokes or making silly faces, using the Eyes as a kind of camera - like a flying mirror with variable point of view. These parents, too, were ultimately dissatisfied with the product. The company went out of business, but there are still thousands of Eyes scattered throughout the wizarding world, mostly in junk drawers or boxes in attics."

"So Snape wants to put a baby monitor on me," Harry said deflatedly.

"Ummm... Have some tuna," Remus suggested, taking one of the pieces for himself.

"That's not tuna. It's red," Harry protested.

"It's not the pale stuff you get in tins," Remus smirked. "This is what tuna fishermen eat." He took about half of the first piece at a bite, and Harry worried as he noticed Remus' eyes slightly watering. If the man had not been affected by the burning heat of the cucumber roll, how hot must this thing be? "Oh... " Remus sighed. "That's perfect. That, boy, is food a true Londoner can appreciate. Try it."

Harry took a small bite, waiting to be assaulted by wasabi heat. But this was different. The rice seemed to fall away from a meaty taste that positively radiated from the small bit of tuna on his tongue. He chewed, and the food literally did melt in his mouth. Greedily, he gobbled the rest of the piece.

"Sushi meals tend to be small, and feature a few bites of intensely flavored delicacies. There is ideally a variety, so you can enjoy many different tastes. But it is not intended to be a feast like one at Hogwarts. You should never be stuffed when rising from a sushi table. The trick is to get just enough, without overdoing it." Remus finished his first piece, and nodded at the two pieces remaining. "It doesn't look like a lot. But a little of this food goes a long way."

"It's delicious, thanks," Harry said with genuine gratitude. "But... Snape wants to put a baby monitor on me."

Remus sighed. "What's more important is that I want to put a monitor on you. And the reason for that - and the reason that I brought you here - is that I do not trust Albus Dumbledore."

Harry stared. The implications of all that Remus had been saying finally sank in. "But... Dumbledore is..."

"The champion of the light?" Remus scoffed. "Voldemort's greatest enemy? The Premiere Educator of our time? Harry, some of those things - to a certain extent - may be true. But each of those ideas are things that Dumbledore has worked very hard to promote. And simple logic shows up the shortcomings in every one of those slogans. For example: Voldemort's greatest enemy. Who could that be? Who has defeated him, disembodied him, separated him from the host on which he was a parasite, destroyed his plan for the Chamber of Secrets? Who does he fear most of all? You, Harry. You are Voldemort's greatest enemy. And Dumbledore wants to make sure that you are his student, you are seen to be allied with him, you are seen as his follower, so that the good will generated by your enmity with Voldemort will rub off on him. And as far as being the Premiere Educator... Harry, with the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts... well, that and Divination, which doesn't count, because it really can't be taught... Hogwarts has the greatest lineup of teachers of any magical school in the world. So why are we turning out such mediocre wizards?"

Harry had been swelling with pride to hear his school's faculty praised. He was totally shocked to hear Remus' last question. Still too surprised to be very angry, he protested, "My entire class passed their O.W.L.s!"

Remus was very serious as he interrupted. "First of all, your entire class did not. There will be some remedial work to be done just to reach the O.W.L. level for many of your classmates. And some few are so far behind where they should be that if they are not careful, they will run out of re-test opportunities and never be O.W.L. certified. But even ignoring those who failed for the moment... O.W.L.s simply ensure that a wizard is unlikely to shoot off his foot trying to light his kitchen stove. They are a sort of 'bare minimum' measurement intended to set a point below which people should not be trusted to use magic at all. It disturbs me that passing N.E.W.T.s is considered to be such an achievement these days. When I was in school, even the poor students were expected to pass N.E.W.T.s. It was the advanced work that separated the truly gifted wizards from the average ones. And after hearing so many of my teachers bragging about how tough it had been in the 'old days,' I did some research. In fact, a generation or two before I was in classes at Hogwarts, early N.E.W.T.s were rather common. And advanced work - beyond the N.E.W.T. level - was accepted practice for most seventh years, and quite a few sixth years! In fact, far from being the paragon of educational virtue, Dumbledore has supervised the steady decline of academic standards.

"As far as his being the champion of the light, I won't even argue the point. Except to say that the very claim is hardly more than a play on words. Voldemort is the "Dark Lord" because his followers feel that title makes him - and therefore them - more frightening. What's 'Dark' about him? He doesn't attack candle shops, or go around dispelling Lumos spells. What the 'Dark' is all about is secrecy. He and his followers are a violent minority who reasonably fear the righteous wrath of the majority of us. So they operate in the 'Dark' - that is, in secret. O.K. Now tell me the salient characteristics of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix."

Automatically, Harry's hand flew to his lips. "Shhhh."

Remus sat back, letting Harry realize what he had just done. "You see, Harry. We can talk about 'You-Know-Who' all day long - by name - and you're not bothered. 'Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort,' big deal, who cares? We can say Death Eaters, Dark Lord, and Plan to Take Over the World. Ho Hum. But if I merely mention the name of Dumbledore's secret society...."

To his own embarrassment, Harry felt himself squirming at the mere referemce to a mention of the name.

"So Dumbledore is as secretive as your greatest enemy," Remus concluded. "Which can always be explained away by the necessity of fighting fire with fire, and all of that. But there's worse. What Dumbledore has done to you in just the past week is appalling. He has alienated you from your friends, and from at least one supportive Professor."

"I'll get on with Neville," Harry said defensively.

"That's just the problem," Remus replied. "You'll 'get on' with him. Under different circumstances, you and he would have most naturally become friends. Based on the simple fact of your being the two most powerful wizards of your generation."

"Neville?" Harry yelped, ashamed at the chirp in his own voice.

"I see you are not particularly surprised that one of the most powerful wizards is you," Remus observed with a sly grin. Harry blushed, but did not contradict the assertion. "Neville may well be more powerful than you are, Harry. His sheer magical ability is off any useful scale of measurement. And you are both Gryffindors, in the same year at school... you would most likely have become formidable allies - except for this 'summer job' fiasco, engineered by Dumbledore. And Neville is only part of it. This would have been a significant summer for you to have spent some time at the Burrow."

"Why," Harry said with resentment, anticipating the next comment. "Because of Ginny?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Don't you like Ginny?"

"Why is everyone always asking me that!" Harry exploded.

Remus laughed. "Because she's wild and pretty, with flaming red hair, and - to an outsider's eyes - is desperately hot for you."

"Is that what you wanted when you were in school? A skinny redhead?" Harry asked, trying to regain his composure, but still annoyed. The idea of a girl being 'desperately hot' for him was pretty appealing, but he could think of several others who would be more appropriate. Cho Chang came to mind. And wouldn't leave.

"No, my desires were always a little different from those of most of my classmates," Remus said dismissively. "But when I mentioned the Burrow, I wasn't thinking of Ginny. I was thinking of Hermione. I worry about Hermione."

"You must be confused," Harry said. "It's the Weasleys that live in the Burrow."

"And it's Ronald Weasley that Hermione has been spending a lot of time with," Remus said sadly.

"So why worry about Hermione? She's the smartest one of us."

"Which is something that Ron Weasley is not," Remus said. "I know you're his friend, Harry, but I think you'd have to agree. Ron is not particularly clever."

"No, Sir," Harry said earnestly. "I do not agree. Ron is emotional. He gets angry easily. And when he's angry, he can't think. But he knows it! When he calms down, when he gets over being angry, he'll come back and say, like, 'I'm sorry, Mate. I wasn't thinking.' And it's not that he doesn't understand what he sees, he just gets all worked up. He's not as dumb as people make him out to be."

"But he is just as prejudiced, just as opinionated, and just as bullheaded. He'd probably get angry and punch me for saying it, but in that respect, he is much more like his mother than he is like his father." Remus took a sip of tea and shook his head sadly. "And I worry that, without you visiting the Burrow, Ron will have fewer opportunities to show off his most bigoted side. And Hermione will be there, visiting, and she will miss something that otherwise might have repelled her. Or maybe I'm reaching too far. But in any case, if your two best friends are involved in a romance together, they will have significantly less time for you over the next two years."

Harry grinned. "If it lasts two years. Who's to say they won't get bored with each other."

Remus did not return Harry's smile. "Hermione is a very serious-minded young woman. I'm sure she knows the difference between casual dating and a lifelong commitment, but I would bet that she would not even accept a casual date if she did not think there was some potential for a long-term relationship. With Hermione, I would guess two years might be a minimum term for dating. And Dumbledore knows this."

Harry scowled. "Where do you get all this stuff about Dumbledore, anyway?"

"A good question, Harry. A very good question, and one that you should ask of anyone making statements such as these. In my case, I have been watching Dumbledore for many years. And I have worked for him off and on for three of those years. His plans are deep, and they are subtle. The things he has the Order do reflect that very clearly." Remus thought a while, then looked Harry in the eye, as though judging whether the boy could accept what Lupin had to say. "Harry, Dumbledore's leadership of the Order proves one thing to me. Albus is as much a megalomaniac as old Tom Riddle. He doesn't want people bowing to him, or slaving to build his monuments. In that respect, he can always claim to be on the side of 'good.' But he doesn't believe in real freedom, either. I am certain that's what the lowering of academic standards is all about. What Dumbledore believes in more than anything else is this: Social Order. He believes in people behaving properly, getting on with life, cooperating and following the rules. Not just any rules, mind you. He had no compunction about freeing Sirius Black and Buckbeak the hippogriff when the Ministry wanted them executed. It's Dumbledore's rules that he wants followed. And he campaigns consistently toward that goal. He gives people opportunities they otherwise would not have. Filch is a squib. Hagrid is a half-giant..."

"And you are a werewolf," Harry challenged.

"Exactly," Remus agreed. "So when Filch talks to squibs, when Hagrid talks to half-breeds of any stripe, or when I talk to people like me, we all say 'Dumbledore is a great man.' That has served him in good stead for a long time. The word has gotten out over a period of years. People - especially people who have been marginalized because of race or magical ability - believe that Dumbledore's rules are good rules. And more, they believe that if there's a choice between Dumbledore's rules and the actual law, that Dumbledore probably has it right more often than the law does."

"So?" Harry argued fiercely. "Who would be a better choice to care for the animals than Hagrid? And I've already said you were the best Defense teacher we ever had! Dumbledore was right about those things. He gave you the chance. You're the one being racist about it! You're the one saying Dumbledore did it for himself. You didn't even wait to be fired! You quit!"

"And he offered you a dementor escort back to Privet Drive." Lupin's voice was quiet, but determined. "I'm not saying he makes bad rules. Just that he wants them followed without deviation. And preferably without question or protest. Which is the mark of a dictator."

Remus and Harry sat silently for a while, Harry resenting the attack on his Headmaster even as he was forced to admit to himself that Remus had a few good points... along with a few more really far-fetched ones. To keep from having to converse, Harry enjoyed the last of his sushi, clearing his palate with a sip of tea before taking a long drink of root beer. He sat quietly, enjoying the calm atmosphere of the tiny room before returning to a sore subject. "So, why a baby monitor?"

Remus laughed again, a sound so contagious that Harry lost his scowl and started to smile once more. "I should have told you about how the Eye was supposed to be used to watch very sick patients in hospital," he said. "There was a problem with that, too, of course. The sickest patients were unable to give their consent, and those who were well enough to agree to them usually didn't need them. So the Eyes were useless there, too."

"So why a deathbed monitor?" Harry persisted, but this time he had mischief in his voice.

"Simple. I believe Dumbledore will be aware of every move you make at Hogwarts. I believe he's aware that we're gone now, though I doubt that he could really trace us to London. If he could, I would just give up and let him be king. He'd be unstoppable, anyway, if he had that kind of omniscience. But even though he will have you under observation at Hogwarts, I am not convinced that the Headmaster will really have your best interests at heart. He wants to use you against Voldemort, I know that. I doubt that he would allow you to be killed, unless it were in a fight with the Dark Lord. But I want someone else to be able to keep watch. Someone who does care about you, personally. Here's my plan. Professor Snape puts the Eye on you, watches you for a day and finds it too distracting. Then I offer to take a shift watching through the Eye. Professor Snape gets his work done, I'm there primarily to watch you, anyway, so I have no problem with the distraction, and I keep the connection with the Eye. I do have your best interest at heart. So you are a lot safer. Any questions?"

"Yes," Harry said, his expression deadly serious. "I do have a question. A very important one. If it wasn't skinny redheads, who did you want when you were in school?" His control slipped, and though he kept himself from laughing, he could not stop the grin from taking over his face.

"That was a long time ago," Remus said with melancholy. "And as I am still single..." He shrugged eloquently. "Finish your root beer, lad, it's time we got back to the campus. Listen to me, Harry. I am quite serious. Will you accept the Magic Eye? Will you consent to be monitored while you are at Hogwarts?"

"There are a lot of things I would rather not have... uh... monitored," Harry said, wiping root beer foam off of his upper lip. "I mean, when I'm in the bathroom, or going to bed."

"When you have your pants down is when you're most likely to be attacked," Remus admonished. Then he saw the determination on Harry's face and relented a bit. "I think I know what you're talking about. I'll make you a deal. When you walk into the bathroom, you let the Eye look around. Then, you put a hood over it. A hood is a simple arrangement of black cloth. When you put it into place, the Eye will send an alarm to whoever is monitoring you, because the information it is supposed to collect is being blocked. But the hood keeps the Eye very effectively blind. When you're decent once again, pull off the hood. Same thing when you go to bed. The Eye checks your room. Then, while you're changing clothes... or whatever else you'd care to do... you hood the Eye. That sets off the alarm, but the Eye remains blind until you pull the hood back off. By which time, you'll be ready to go to sleep. Deal?"

Harry couldn't think of any good objections, and he guessed that he could always grab the Eye and turn it off the way the kids had. "O.K.," he agreed halfheartedly.

"Good," Remus said. "I think we should go visit Professor Snape right away."

"But he said not to come back until tomorrow," Harry warned.

"Even better," Remus laughed. "This'll piss him off even more, then. He might give me the Eye-monitoring duty right away, if we irritate him enough."

The idea of irritating Snape was enough to goad Harry into immediate action. He and Remus left the restaurant and headed back to the alley, looking for a spot out of muggle view from which to apparate back to Hogwarts.