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.

9. Chapter 9

Once again, Many, Many Thanks to each of you who has taken your time and effort to post reviews of my work. I am learning a tremendous amount from each review - including those which identify those portions of the story that have proven enjoyable as well as those which point out the unsatisfying portions of my tale.

Speaking of which… I hope I haven't lost those of you who have taken exception to some elements of this work. I believe that there is sufficient entertainment included in the entire effort to keep all of you reading, and to make up for those aspects which may have proven unappealing .

But – if you find some element dissatisfying enough to make you decide not to check back for further chapters, could you post a quick comment outlining your views? I know - requesting a review of a story that you decided is not worth following is a lot to ask. But I'm seriously trying to improve by posting this story where it may garner comments from people with many different viewpoints.

The best part about participating in Fan Fiction is that, through your reviews, I feel as though I am taking part in a rich conversation regarding these characters we all enjoy, as well as the art and craft of writing.

Thank you.

Chapter 9

For Harry, Sunday was another grueling day of hard, frustrating work. There was more testing of his knowledge regarding the previous days' notes, which he failed miserably, since he had not had any time to review. There was more note taking, and he wrote more than he had ever written for any full day of classes, as Professor Sprout continually admonished him to write faster, since there was so much to cover in so little time. There was more carrying: of soil, of pots and of water, none of which could be levitated, due to the extreme sensitivity to magic of the plants that were to come into contact with the materials. There was sweeping up and throwing away of dead leaves and other fallen bits of vegetation, sweeping up and saving of spilled soil, and careful gathering, cataloging and preservation of ripe fruit and seeds. Harry was not trusted to handle this last job on his own, but was shown how to recognize the desired items, left to gather them from the appropriate plants, then instructed to bring them all carefully to the Professor, who would label and store them. As he completed his first gathering job, and proudly presented the fruits of his labors to Professor Sprout, she scolded him for harvesting three pods that were not yet ripe and spent quite some time pointing out the differences between the ripe and the unripe pods that he should have noticed in the first place. The delay put him behind schedule, and he was urged back to work by an exasperated Herbology professor.

Neville showed up sometime around mid-morning, and spent a lot of time wandering around the greenhouse, presumably collecting cuttings. He chatted easily with Professor Sprout, and Harry was annoyed to find that, even though they spoke very openly right in front of him, he could understand very little of their conversation.

Neville and Professor Sprout enjoyed their lunch in her office, while Harry was sent back to the castle to eat in the deserted dining hall. Remus joined him, so it wasn't quite as lonely as it could have been, but Harry was tired, and sleepy and sore, and kept losing the thread of his own conversation. He jerked himself back to awareness after losing his train of thought to a dreamy musing to find Remus staring at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Harry? I seem to have lost you there for a bit."

"Oh. Um. Yeah. Yeah, all right," Harry mumbled tiredly. "Just... hard day down at work. Haven't had time to go over my notes, so..." he shrugged, unable to form the words to explain any further.

"Do you feel up to going out, tonight? I get the impression that Severus would appreciate undertaking our search alone, for a change, if you'd rather rest."

Harry thought about missing a day of magic practice, and decided that learning more about his own abilities - especially regarding combat magic - was more important than reviewing his notes and getting some extra sleep. If there was some sort of reservoir of magical power that he could call on to overcome a powerful, experienced wizard like Voldemort, he needed to learn about it as quickly as he could. His very life may depend on it. There had been so many times that he had been surprised by attacks, during which he could have used more power, that he had nearly lost count of them. Voldemort leaping at him from the pool of unicorn blood on the ground of the forbidden forest. Professor Quirrel turning on him near the Mirror of Erised. Deep in the Chamber of Secrets. After the portkey transport, when Voldemort had said, 'kill the spare.'

"Harry. Harry, are you there?" The boy felt himself snap back to wakefulness, once again looking Remus directly in the eye.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Tired. I... could you do me a favor?"

"I hope so," Remus smiled with just enough mischief to warn Harry not to ask for too much.

"Rest of lunch. I'd like to nap. Could you wake me to go back to work? Then I'll be ready to go out tonight. Really.

Remus nodded his understanding and agreement. "Going up to your room?"

"No," Harry yawned. "Save time. Rest right here."

To the grownup's astonishment, Harry lay under the dining table. There was no time to argue with his decision. He was asleep before Remus could say a word. The werewolf sighed and counted to one hundred. Just before he completed his count, he heard the sound of a soft snore, and knew that it was time. He gently levitated Harry, who was so soundly asleep that he didn't stir when he was lifted from the ground. Moving carefully, so as not to disturb the boy, Remus carried him upstairs to bed.

When Remus woke him, Harry splashed water on his face and ran down the stairs, ignoring the safety admonishments from the Fat Lady. He rushed toward the greenhouses, not sure whether he was late or not, but feeling as though he had slept for hours. To his dismay, he saw Professor Sprout glaring out of the glass toward him. He put on a burst of speed to try to get back to work as quickly as possible, but as he approached, he could tell that the professor was not glaring at him at all. He turned to see a mature man with greying hair, wearing a neat, new robe and carrying a large, string-tied file folder under one arm. The man was walking out of the castle entrance and heading toward the Hogsmeade path. Harry let himself in to the greenhouse, only to see the professor turn away from the transparent wall with a snort. "Who was that?" Harry asked innocently.

"Goes by the name of Sepal," Professor Sprout said sourly. "Means to have my job."

Harry was nearly thoughtless enough to remind the professor that she had quit, leaving 'her job' up for grabs, but he bit his tongue before the words could escape. "What's next?" he asked instead.

Unfortunately for Harry's tired brain, the next job was pruning - an art and science that Professor Sprout took very seriously, indeed. Harry thought that he would have rather had something mindless to occupy his afternoon, like carrying dirt again, rather than having to watch as the professor snipped pieces from a variety of plants, explaining how and why she made each cut. His head was swimming within minutes, but he made notes, along with drawings to illustrate the principles he was being taught. Neville left in mid-afternoon, and Harry merely waved a vague goodbye to the boy, so caught up in his work was he. By the end of the day, Harry was truly exhausted, and wished he could lie down right where he was and sleep until the next morning. Instead, he knew, there would be more to do tonight, and - as Professor Sprout reminded him as he left - he would be back in the greenhouse at seven o'clock the next morning. With a groan, he trudged up the hill toward the castle, trying to figure out whether he had any clean clothes to wear that night.

--- --- ---

Family dinners at the Weasleys' home were always loud, chaotic affairs, but there was always plenty of laughter and love and good food to make them seem invigorating rather than tiresome. Mrs. Weasley had begun to complain of 'empty nest syndrome' once Bill and Charlie had moved away, but when Percy had taken an apartment, and the twins got their own home, she had put her foot down. "You will be here for Sunday dinner every chance you get," she had ordered the twins. "And if you must be absent, you will explain to me - to my satisfaction - your reasons. Then you will apologize, and make your best effort to join us for a weekday dinner before the next Sunday." Fred and George had laughed and joked about their mother's proclamation, but they knew better than to ignore it, or even take it lightly. They had been present for every Sunday dinner of the past year. This Sunday would be no exception. It was easy to let Charlotte lock up the shop. The business had taken in less than one hundred sickles for the entire day, and most of that had been due to a generous father's purchase of a fireworks display for his son's birthday party. The twins had left early, with no customers in the store, and no one even window shopping outside.

"Hey, Mom!" George shouted as he walked through the front door. He could hear his mother's distant-sounding 'Hello, George,' drifting out of the kitchen, in which the clanging of a magically driven masher indicated mashed potatoes on the menu for tonight.

"Where's Percy?" Fred called as he saw Ron and Ginny descending the stairs toward the dining room.

Molly's voice was stern as she answered. "He had to work. He works very hard. Now, not another word about that." Fred grimaced. His mother had always defended Percy, even when he was at his most insufferable. But the ban on making fun of his brother's absence had been issued, and Fred was not about to violate it.

As the Weasley clan gathered around the table for this Sunday's dinner, Arthur walked slowly in to the dining room, sighed and settled gingerly into his chair.

George pounced immediately. Never afraid to make fun of the paterfamilias, he asked, "What's wrong Dad? Did you have to go to work today? You look beat."

"Thank you, Son," Arthur replied wryly. "In a manner of speaking, I did have to go to work today. Albus Dumbledore needed to see me. He said it was urgent. I've been up to your old school."

Ron and Ginny both looked up sharply at the same time. "Did you see Harry, Dad?" Ron asked.

"No, I did not see Harry..." Arthur began, but was interrupted by his daughter.

"You could have taken me," Ginny pouted, looking highly offended at being left behind. "I would have liked very much to see Harry, and I'll bet he would have enjoyed a Sunday visit."

"Harry was at work, young lady," Arthur said with enough irritation that Ginny sank back in her chair, making herself small and looking worried. "In fact," Arthur informed them all, "Harry's job is a seven day per week, no holidays, no time off, dawn till dusk sort of employment. Plus, if I understood Dumbledore correctly, once the sun goes down, and Harry gets off his all-day day job, he goes to work on some other project with Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Ron wailed. "That's disgusting."

"Oh?" Arthur replied, pinning his youngest son with a piercing stare. "I daresay the boy will have quite a bit of extra credit to apply to his Herbology and Potions efforts for next year. I can think of some Hogwarts students that could use such credit."

Ron gulped and stared wide-eyed at his father. The normally easygoing Arthur Weasley seemed very annoyed this evening, and on the edge of handing out punishments. Ron chose to remain silent, hoping someone else would take his father's attention off of him.

"What did Dumbledore want?" Fred asked, and as Arthur turned to answer, Ron mouthed a silent 'Thank you.' At the same time, Molly Weasley corrected her older son sharply.

"Professor Dumbledore, Fred. Show respect."

"Sorry, Mom,"

"It's all about the case of the Missing Malfoys," Arthur began, spooning food onto his plate and preparing to tell the story. "It seems as though Narcissa and Draco Malfoy have left their home. There's little mystery there, since they are set to lose the property in the upcoming legal proceeding against Lucius. They will need to find someplace else to live soon, so why not now? That makes sense, and in fact, no one has argued that part of the situation. What's odd is that neither Narcissa nor Draco show up when locator spells are cast to find them."

"Why would anyone cast locator spells on those two?" Fred wondered.

"I can think of several reasons why the aurors might," Arthur admitted. "Narcissa might be called as a witness in her husband's trial, Draco might appropriate property that is legally Lucius' and thereby subject to seizure in the event of his father's conviction... but it's not the aurors who are casting the spells. It's Albus Dumbledore."

The children watched their father in fascination. Molly kept her eyes on her food, lips pressed tightly together. Fred, realizing that another prompt was called for to keep the story going, modified his earlier question. "Alright, why would Du... Professor Dumbledore cast a locator spell on those two?"

"Two things," Arthur explained, holding fingers up to count off the points. "First, unlike the entire Order - and the whole Ministry - and everyone who knows anything about the Malfoys, for that matter, Dumbledore believes that neither Narcissa nor Draco has left the country. Second, Albus is convinced that Draco is planning to take Lucius' place as You-Know-Who's right hand man."

The twins met each other's eyes, both wearing comical expressions of disbelief. "Draco?" they exclaimed in unison.

"Dad," George said with his hand over his heart to emphasize his sincerity, "Lucius Malfoy frightens me, and I don't care who knows it. The man is evil, and underhanded, and just plain mean, and sneaky..."

"And if we can say he's sneaky, that's saying something," Fred butted in.

"...Not to mention that he's a powerful wizard, and up to his eyeballs in nasty doings with Vo... uh... You-Know-Who. Lucius is bad. But Draco?"

"He's a lamb."

"He's a pup."

"He's the patron saint of the idle rich nobodies."

"He's not his father." The twins sat back with identical short, sharp nods to indicate that their point had been made.

"I maintained something of the sort myself," Arthur said with a shrug. "Albus overruled me. So, since our first conversation on the subject, the entire Order has been - supposedly - searching the country night and day for the missing Malfoys. However, since it is most likely that those people are in Australia, or Canada, or somewhere else in the world completely apart from the Commonwealth, we have had no success. Until today."

The twins met each other's eyes quickly, then just as quickly turned back to their father. "What happened?"

"Albus set an automatic detector to search for Draco. Today, it seemed to indicate that he was present somewhere near London. Then, suddenly, it lost the signal. Now, what do you think might have caused such a thing?"

"Detector malfunction," George suggested.

"Or Draco apparated into the country - or took the Knight Bus or something - and then went into someplace with anti-spying wards," Fred added.

"And what sort of place do you think Albus suspects has that kind of anti-spying capability?"

"Umm... Can't imagine."

"Ahhh... No idea," the twins mumbled nearly incoherently.

"He's Albus Dumbledore, boys. Doesn't that suggest anything?" Fred and George squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, until their father said, "He believes that Draco was apparated out of hiding by a senior Deatheater, and then he disappeared into Vol... uh... You-Know-Who's headquarters."

"He would, the daft git," Ron snarled angrily.

Arthur rounded on the boy, glaring. "You're calling your Headmaster a daft git?" he demanded.

Ron flushed scarlet. "No. No. I meant Draco. Draco would go to... to... You-Know-Who. To his headquarters. Wouldn't he?"

"Really?" Arthur said, looking around the table at his gathered family. "No, I don't think so. Draco Malfoy is not the problem. The active, adult Death Eaters are. Convicting Lucius won't break the organization. Rather, it will give them one more martyr. In fact, if they are going to recruit new members, the treatment of Lucius Malfoy - tried under centuries-old treason laws that put his widow and son out of their home - will be an effective rallying point. Actually, I believe that if we were to be searching for anyone, we should search for old Vo... You-Know-Who, and once we find him, hit him with everything we've got. His followers would be disorganized after that, and they would be fairly easy to round up if they tried to continue to commit crimes. And if they simply quit...? There's more than one way to win a victory. I'd be happy to eliminate the big guy and let the rest of the bunch just give up and do something else with their lives. Could you pass those potatoes, George?"

When the dinner was finished, the twins left immediately, citing work to do at their warehouse. "See, Mom," Fred taunted. "It's not just Percy who works a lot."

"Yes, Fred," she countered sweetly. "But when he's done, it's not a mere pile of jokes and foolery that he's accomplished."

"Matter of opinion," George mused, looking the opposite direction as though commenting on some totally different conversation. He turned to find his mother glaring steadfastly at him. "Your opinion being the one that counts the most," he added, leaving Molly Weasley to shake her head in exasperation with her mischievous sons.

"Ahh, be off with the both of you," she said, shooing them away as if they had been chickens. "If you can make a living out of that foolishness you call a business, more power to you. It just shows how little people value their own hard-earned money."

"Love you, too, Mom," The twins called in unison as they walked away from the house, planning to apparate from beyond the yard to reduce the impact of the loud report of their magical transportation.

Fred and George re-appeared a few feet outside of their warehouse's front door. They had prepared several places within the building to which they could apparate directly, but there was still a rush of pride for both of them when they saw the extent of their real working area from outside. The shop was fun, and it served as the most common point at which customers traded their galleons for Weasley merchandise. But here was the place where the tricks and jokes were all developed. Here was the testing area - the proving grounds for all the Weasley's new products. And, of course, here was where the bulk of their actual inventory was stored. They walked proudly to the entrance and cast the spells to unlock the front door.

"Do you think he really could go to Voldemort's headquarters?" Fred asked as the twins began casting lumos spells to light up the interior of the building.

"Who, Draco? Nah," George scoffed. "If he ever did, he'd probably wet himself."

"No, I'm serious. I don't think he's the old man's top dog like his father was. I just mean, could he get in? As an honorary visitor? On a family pass? Hell, I don't know how What's-His-Face runs his appointment book. But Lucius' son? Wouldn't Voldy want the pup to come check out the business his father had been in?"

"From what we've heard, the old bastard is so paranoid, he'd probably be as afraid of Draco as Draco would be of him. I don't imagine someone that fearful being particularly welcoming."

"How did the little detective do on his visit here, today?"

George laughed out loud. "He got all huffy at first. Seems he figured out that this was our warehouse straight away. Maybe the signs gave us away. Then again, we told him where I was taking him before we apparated. It didn't take much brain power to determine that we were actually where we'd said we'd be. Beyond that, he walked around for a while like a first year playing Sherlock Holmes. Then he tried to get me to give him clues, then he got all pouty and whined that we were having him on."

"And?"

"I told him. 'Why would we bother? We're professional jokers. Having you on would be so obvious, it wouldn't be funny.' So he agreed to go home and think about what he had seen, come back some other time and make his guess."

"Which will be miles off."

"Couldn't be anything but. He was totally baffled by the whole experience."

"So he'll owe us a favor."

"Or stop playing altogether. Or not even try to guess at all, which is my bet."

"But if he could get into Voldy's inner sanctum..."

"Firebomb?"

"More like... Extensible Ear."

"Crafty."

"Sublime. It's a gift."

A loud bang announced the arrival of Remus Lupin, with Harry Potter wrapped in his arms.

"Where's Snape?" George called.

"The professor is bringing our guest of honor," Remus explained.

"Oh, yes," George said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Guest of honor. There's some work ahead for you tonight, Harry."

"Right," Harry replied dully. "Good."

Without waiting for Snape to arrive with the mysterious guest, the four got straight to work, putting Harry through a number of previously planned paces. The twins thought they had a winner with some of the items from their 'Haunted House' collection of gags. The centerpiece of the 'Haunted House' set was known as the Monster Box. When the Monster Box was set off (out of view of the unsuspecting Harry) huge hallucinatory monsters were released. They were realistic looking, realistic sounding - and, in the case of the ogre, realistic smelling. But Harry's wild magic was only unleashed when he was either taken completely by surprise or when he was truly frightened. The first monster from the Monster Box elicited a gratifying response of a wandlessly cast magic shield. But once Harry caught on to the trick - that is, after the first monster - his magic was limited to those spells he had learned to cast at Hogwarts. The twins were also bitterly disappointed at the poor response their Whiz-Bang Frighteners received. Normally one of the most startling pranks offered by the Weasley company, the Whiz-Bangs could drift silently and nearly invisibly to within a hand's breadth of the victim before going off with a lot of noise and an impressive light show. Later, George was heard to complain that, in different circumstances, the Whiz-Bangs would have been more effective, but at the time, Harry was simply too tired to be properly startled.

Three long, frustrating hours after the exercises had begun, the twins were ready to quit, Lupin was discouraged, and Harry was too tired to even voice his agreement with everyone else. The loud report of an arriving apparator shocked Harry back to wakefulness, but all he could concentrate on was how much he wished he could go back to his room and go to bed. He looked toward the place from which the sound had issued, and was unsurprised to see Snape striding purposefully into view from behind a stack of crates. Harry was completely surprised, however, to see who was following the potions professor. She was tall, pale and blonde, dressed, not in robes, but in a slinky black evening gown that reached from her shoulders to her ankles, while offering many tantalizing glimpses of quite a lot of the flesh in between. The shoulder straps were thin, the neckline low, and the sides of the skirt were slit from hem nearly to her waist. She walked proudly, with an elegant grace. She looked astoundingly beautiful to the exhausted boy she was approaching so deliberately. Harry was so busy staring at her cleavage that he did not recognize the woman until she was close enough to extend her hand to him. He took it in his own just as the shock of recognition hit him.

Professor Snape's voice shocked him further at the very same moment, making him jump. Harry had paid no attention to the man, and Snape was standing mere inches away from Harry's side. "Mister Potter, please meet your instructor for all aspects of public relations. She will be assisting you in making your appearance, your speech, and your public persona appropriate for a national champion and a world leader. I am sure you know of her, but I am pleased to present Ms. Narcissa Black. Ms. Black, Harry Potter."

Harry scowled in confusion. "Black?" he asked weakly, still holding on to the woman's hand.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Now that you are finished shaking my hand in polite greeting, you may release it," she instructed carefully, as though speaking to a profoundly retarded individual.

"Oh... sorry," Harry apologized quickly, giving Narcissa's hand one more firm shake and letting go, already embarrassed. "But pardon me... Black?"

Snape glared, clearly displeased, but Narcissa glanced at him, giving him a look to discourage interruption. "Yes, Harry. I am using my maiden name once again. I will have to get used to that very soon, and I have begun the process already. I can see from this first meeting that you are very direct. We will have to work to turn that into an asset."

"Um... thank you," Harry said uncertainly. "But... I wasn't expecting..."

"You weren't expecting an image maker nor a vocal coach. You did not think you needed training to rise to the top of the highly competitive political arena. You believed that power was enough. It is not. You need to be aware of how you appear to others. In order to do so, you have to have some idea of what to look for and listen for. And once you have some idea of how you are being perceived by others, you have to learn to look for the subtle signals that others are sending you. In the world of politics, more is communicated by subtle nuance than by direct statement." She turned away from Harry for a moment. "Could you all give us a moment, please?" There was a general mumbling of assent, and the four men walked away, heading toward the office area. Narcissa turned back to Harry and studied him for a while, even as he was studying her, dazedly staring. "Harry? Harry. Ah, there you are," she said as he raised his eyes back to her face. "I need some information about you so I will know where to begin. First of all... Harry?" The boy blinked and dragged his gaze away from the curve of her breasts. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Harry tried to concentrate. Hadn't he just had this conversation? No, that was with Remus. What had he said? Oh, yes. He had told the truth. Should he do that again? He felt he was becoming lost again. "Sorry, I haven't slept much in the past few days. Work all day, this all night. Pardon me, please. Um. Girlfriend. No. No, I haven't. Ever. Had one. Girlfriend, I mean."

"We will have to change that," Narcissa said simply, as though finding a girlfriend were the easiest thing in the world. "If you are starving, you can be distracted far too easily."

Fuzzily, forcing his words through his fatigue, Harry protested. "I wouldn't say I was starving."

"Oh," Narcissa purred, and twisted slightly, sending a ripple down through the entire length of her gown, showing off brief flashes of her thighs. Harry's pupils dilated, and his breathing accelerated sharply. "Yes. Distracted far, far too easily. You don't have to be a prude, Harry. But people expect their world leaders to be stable, sexually. That is why most prime ministers have been married. People accepted that as a sign of sexual stability."

"Oh. Uh... yes, Ma'm," Harry agreed, confused by the entire discussion.

"That means I expect you to be able to go for over a minute without staring at my tits," Narcissa said sharply.

"Oh! Uh... right." Harry fixed his gaze deliberately on a point directly between her eyebrows and concentrated on keeping it there.

Narcissa shook her head in disappointment. "They are really working you hard, aren't they? Harry, you need your wits about you if you are going to be able to learn anything I have to teach. You will have to concentrate, and - not just remember - but understand why we do the things we do. If you are going to lead people, you have to appeal to their very deepest drives, their most basic motivations. A perfect example: why do so many successful politicians have clean, straight teeth?" Harry stared at her, baffled by the sudden change of subject. Teeth? Did he have something stuck in his own? He ran his tongue over his incisors, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He shook his head cluelessly. Narcissa pursed her lips in disapproval and answered her own question. "Because people trust someone with clean, straight teeth. A substantial majority see that feature as a sign of good health, a balanced mind and acceptable personal hygiene. They don't think those things out, they feel them deep in their guts. That is a very simple example, but the principle applies to everything from speech to dress. You need quite a lot of work to make you into world-leader material, young man. I intend to help you accomplish a lot of that work. But we can't do it while you are so tired that you are stupid. Come on, let's go talk to the rest of the boys. Let's see if we can't arrange for you to have a little time to get some sleep, shall we?"

Harry nodded happily. Sleep. It sounded so good.

--- --- ---

As Severus apparated Narcissa back home, he sarcastically commented, "Thank you so much for your generous suggestion this evening."

Narcissa gave him back an equal measure of ire. "You're so welcome. And I so appreciated your brilliantly efficient use of my time. I can't imagine what you thought I would be able to accomplish with a subject who has been the victim of sleep deprivation."

"There is a perfectly valid reason that we are putting Mister Potter through that particular hardship. He has to be able to reach the vast reservoirs of power that have, to date, only been available to him while he is under duress."

"So you 'duress' him to the point he can't speak coherently, then expect me to teach him polite conversation?" Narcissa flicked her wand at the ceiling, casting a lumos spell to light the room, then suddenly turned and extended her wand toward the doorway that led to the bedrooms. She was speaking the initial words of her first curse when she realized who was standing there. "Draco? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." Slowly, she relaxed and straightened, lowering her wand.

"Hello, Mother. Welcome to our home, Professor Snape."

"Thank you," Snape said coldly, looking down his substantial nose at the boy. "How was England?"

"Sir?"

"England. Little country on an island. Place where you were born and raised. I am sure you are familiar with it. You were there this weekend."

Draco saw his mother's face set like stone and knew that he could no longer bluff. With a show of humble contrition, he said, "It was dull, Sir."

"Was it? If your country visit was dull for you, it was hardly dull for anyone else. When Albus Dumbledore detected your presence, he immediately called all of his friends. And they did not keep the secret to themselves. Arthur Weasley even told his idiot twin sons of your visit."

Draco swiftly searched for a strategy that could save him. Desperately, he turned to the offensive. "Speaking of this weekend - and of the idiot twins, Professor... what were you plotting so seriously with them, and the werewolf, and Harry Potter?"

Snape smiled with wicked glee. "You will find out, young Mister Black, when Harry Potter comes to your home to take speech lessons from your mother. Speaking of whom... I believe she wants a word with you in private. Please pardon me. Good evening, Narcissa. He took two steps backward, and with a mighty bang, was gone.

--- --- ---

Remus returned Harry to the Hogsmeade path just outside of the Hogwarts grounds, and as expected, he made no mention of the evening's exercises. That made perfect sense to Harry. He could no longer expect to be able to tell when his conversations might be overheard. But what was surprising - and irritating - was that Remus chose to talk about Herbology.

"Did you get to the preparation for stoatradish root, yet?" he asked cheerfully. "I seem to recall that one as having a very tricky process involved."

"I don't know," Harry replied blearily. "I don't think so."

"That's odd... I would have thought you would have reached that part of the greenhouse by now. What did you go over today?"

Harry tried, but couldn't remember any part of the day's work. Neville had shown up... had he gotten his cuttings? Harry hadn't seen him do so. There was carrying. There was always something to carry, Harry thought resentfully. There was sweeping up, and putting away, and... what? Something about seeds? "I can't remember," he admitted.

"That won't go over well tomorrow," Remus said sympathetically. "Hey, why don't we go over your notes? We'll zip up to the common room and pull out what you've written. It'll be like old school days for me - and you're going to need to remember what you've been told if you're going in to Professor Sprout's last week here."

Harry rubbed his eyes and stared at the castle, so far away, and all uphill. Seconds ago, he had merely been hoping to be able to reach the entrance before collapsing, and now Remus wanted to review notes? "I don't think I can. I'm beat."

"And haven't you felt that way all through finals every term? I know I always did. Listen, Harry, Pomona will be furious if you go back to work tomorrow unable to remember anything you did today. And you really do want to be able to serve out the next six weeks in your job without creating a massive disaster, don't you?"

Harry could visualize the disaster all too easily. Then he recalled that the disaster he was visualizing was the one he and Neville had planned together. So... he DID want to create a massive disaster. And have Neville save the day. Did Remus know about that? No. Should he be informed? It seemed like a bad idea. So Harry couldn't reassure the man that disaster was really the order of the day, and that it was really all right, and there was a plan for recovering from the disaster. That was too bad. Remus was obviously worried, and only meant to make Harry's life a little easier by helping him go over his notes. But Harry was so tired he could barely think. So going over notes right then and there was a bad idea. Then again, going back to work tomorrow as totally clueless as he was tonight would make his plot with Neville too obvious. If he looked as though he were deliberately acting more stupid than he was, it would begin to appear as if he were planning a disaster. Or that he didn't care whether or not a disaster occurred. And that would only make Professor Sprout angrier than she already was, and that would be uncomfortable for everyone. Harry looked up at the castle again. Thankfully, he saw that it was several steps closer than the last time he had looked. He must have been moving toward it while he tried to think. He concentrated on his legs. Yes. They were moving. If he kept walking, he would certainly reach the castle before long. And then bed. Wonderful, comfortable bed. But no. Remus wanted to review notes. And Harry had just decided that was a good idea. Right. He would do it. "Um... Remus? Let's do that. The notes. Let's review."

"Good lad," Lupin praised with hearty enthusiasm. "Glad you spoke up. I thought I had lost you, there for a moment." He looked pityingly at the boy trudging next to him. 'I hope this works, Severus,' he thought. 'I don't know how much longer I can do this to the boy.'

Once in the comfort of the common room, Remus' energy and encouragement helped Harry focus on the work he had to do. He ran up the stairs, and pelted back down, carrying his notes, proud that he had resisted the temptation to fall onto his bed and surrender to sleep. He spread his notes out over the same table at which the two of them had shared dinner the previous night, and selected the same chair he had used then, grateful for its upright firmness. A softer chair would have let him fall asleep far too easily. He triumphantly stabbed his finger down on one of his illustrations as the drawing triggered the memory of that afternoon's labors in the greenhouse. "Pruning!" he declared confidently. "All afternoon. Pruning. And we did seeds in the morning."

"Excellent," Remus encouraged, reaching out to cover part of the writing with his hand. "And how do you prune the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"You begin in early to mid- summer, when the leaves have changed from dull green to their signature color," Harry said, surprised and pleased at how much he could remember if he simply got started properly. He described pruning several specific plants, and some general guidelines for pruning any plants, then moved on to the methods of telling when certain seed pods had become mature and ready to be harvested. To his amazement, Harry was really enjoying himself. He was remembering a lot on his own, and recalling more when given a prompt from his notes by Remus.

The session continued until Lupin pronounced himself too tired to continue it. By that time, it was quite late, and Harry had less than two hours before he would have to wake up for work.

"I'll come in and make sure you're awake," Remus assured the boy. "See you in the morning."

"It is the morning," Harry said worriedly, and went up to bed.

--- --- ---

Two hours later, Harry awoke under the vigorous shaking being administered by Remus Lupin. "Hhrmphm?" he inquired, puzzled by the fact that the man did not seem to understand his question in the least. "Hrumrumpmphm," he tried again, only to face an equally uncomprehending expression on Remus.

"Do you want a shower, or are you going to throw on robes and run down direct?" Remus seemed to think the question was urgent. Harry could make no sense of it. Shower? He took baths. He could easily imagine a deep, hot bath, with aromatic bubbles at the surface, and soothing salts dissolved throughout. He was buoyant, floating, then flying, surrounded by a perfect cube of hot bathwater, flying across the countryside to the quiddich pitch, where the World Cup was to be decided. It was the current World Champion team against him. Voldemort and Fudge as beaters, each with a huge bag of bludgers slung over their brooms. Dumbledore was playing keeper, riding a broomstick with twigs so broad they covered all of the goals. There would be no way to score through that defense unless he knocked the headmaster's broom to pieces. His own team were in the stands, cheering him on, but unable to help. The Weasleys, who really would have been a great advantage against the World Champion side, were waving banners next to Snape and Narcissa Malfoy. Remus had a broom, but a dementor referee was disqualifying him from play. Harry knew his only hope was to find the snitch before the other team could score. And flying right next to him, keeping his every move in sight, was Rita Skeeter, who was playing seeker for the opposing team. His bath water began to evaporate, and he realized that he would be flying naked in front of the crowded stands...

"Harry! Get out of bed!" Remus looked worried, and shook him repeatedly.

"Sure. Just... no showers," Harry insisted. But Remus would not relent from his calling and shaking until Harry was standing on his own two feet. "Pruning the Scarlet Pimpernell," Harry recited from memory. "Begin in early to mid summer when the signature color is on the leaves... See, Remus? Our review worked. I'll be able to answer her questions, now." Harry grinned absently into empty space, and Remus pushed robes into his hands.

"Dress," Lupin commanded. "You'll be late otherwise."

"Dress?" Harry said out loud, unaware he was actually speaking. "I don't wear them."

"Here. Put this on," Remus said firmly, pressing the fabric of a robe into Harry's hands. "Now."

Remus escorted Harry down to the greenhouses that morning, at least in part to make sure the boy did not collapse on his way. 'This will have to be it,' he resolved. 'If Harry doesn't respond by tonight, I'm letting him sleep. There's no point in driving the lad insane just to see if we can force him to cast magic that we know he is capable of in the correct circumstances.'

--- --- ---

Harry presented himself for work that morning wearing a silly grin and carrying himself with pride. "I reviewed my notes with Mister Lupin last night," he boasted. "I'm ready for our review."

"That would indeed be marvellous," Professor Sprout said, "if we were in fact going to review. As it is, I have no time. Today, we are going to move on to the plants that need to have their special atmospheric conditions created for them. The most obvious cases are the jungle plants that require us to provide a humid, warm, and remarkably constant environment in order that they may thrive. I hope you are ready..."

But neither of them were ready for what happened next. The greenhouse door banged open, admitting Headmaster Dumbledore and a grey-haired man who swiftly closed the door behind them to prevent the ever-opportunistic charlies from creeping outside.

"Ah. Pomona. I am glad you are here," Dumbledore murmured. "I have brought an... ahhh... applicant. Along for a preview of our... mmmm... facilities. Aaron Sepal, I am pleased to present our own outstanding Professor Pomona Sprout. Professor, this is herbology specialist Aaron Sepal."

Professor Sprout nodded, her skepticism clear on her face.

"Oh, yes, and here is our summer's... hrmmm... student... ahh... assistant. Mister Sepal, please say hello to Harry Potter."

Sepal extended his hand. Harry looked at it for a moment before realizing with a start that he was being offered a handshake. He reached out and pumped the man's hand over-vigorously, then belatedly said, "Hello."

"Harry?" Dumbledore inquired gently. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Tired," Harry confided. "Have to work all night with Professor Snape. Searching for... Missing Persons. Strict orders from the Headmaster." He nodded as though his explanation were perfectly understandable, and covered everything.

"Is he drunk?" Aaron Sepal asked quietly behind Dumbledore's ear.

"Tired," Harry insisted. "This is drunk." He waved his hand absently toward the visiting herbology expert, who promptly grabbed a table edge, turning greenish and looking seasick.

"Harry, what did you do?" Dumbledore demanded, quietly but insistently.

"About a fifth of gin," Harry said with a casual wave to dismiss the headmaster's concern. "You know, like the song. 'He buys a six-pack, and he buys a fifth of gin.' Would you like me to add the six-pack? I'd have to guess."

"Harry," Dumbledore's gaze was fixed intently on the boy's eyes. "Have you ever drunk a fifth of gin?"

"Nope," Harry shrugged. "I guess I guessed about that too... I guess."

Sepal collapsed across the table he had been holding, dislodging some pots in the process of falling across the work surface. He lay belly down on the table, with his feet still on the floor, groaning.

"I think you have overdone it," Dumbledore warned. "The man is clearly being poisoned. Can you reverse your spell?"

"Nope. One way trip," Harry said dismissively. "Too bad for him. He said I was drunk. Liar. I work here all day, then hunt Malfoys all night... what does he expect?"

"I will take him to Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore declared, then stopped and listened as the visitor began to mumble.

"Good sweet blessed God in Heaven," Sepal said weepily. "Voldemort's going to kill me. S'pposed to get youth recruits. Can't even stay..." He convulsed as though trying to be ill, but since he had not actually drunk any of the alcohol Harry had created in his bloodstream, the attempt was fruitless.

"I'll have to hurry," Dumbledore said, levitating the man's body and rushing toward the door.

Professor Sprout was not about to let him get away so easily. "You listen here, Albus," she scolded, following the Headmaster step for step. "If you are deliberately trying to destroy the Herbology Department at Hogwarts, you are doing a fine job of it. First, you take away my good summer worker, then you try to keep the replacement from learning anything by fatiguing him half to death. I wondered why he was so slow, well no wonder, now! Hunting Malfoys indeed. Getting no sleep and trying to come to work where I expect him to be alert, why, he might as well be on drugs! And you bring a Deatheater into my greenhouse to try to replace me? I ought to keep him here until he does die, it would serve him right. And you!"

"Think of Harry, Pomona," Dumbledore said, calmly but firmly. "You don't want to let the boy commit murder, do you?"

The greenhouse door slammed, and Harry stared at it for a long, long time before lying down right where he was, on the floor between the workbenches, and falling asleep.

--- --- ---

Aaron Sepal, once touted at Britain's most promising botanical researcher, slowly regained consciousness in a brightly lit space. He thought the room in which he was recovering was curiously devoid of furnishing until he realized that he was staring at the ceiling. With an effort, he attempted to look around. It was difficult to move his eyes, almost impossible to move his head. But someone had noticed his attempts; someone dressed in extremely light-colored clothing, as Aaron could tell by the pattern of reflected light at the edge of his vision. He strained to keep his eyes open, and was rewarded by the sight of Albus Dumbledore leaning over him, a look of mild concern on his face. Dumbledore did not speak, but seemed to be waiting for Aaron to offer some comment. Aaron could think of many, but he chose one of the few that occurred to him that did not begin with a string of obscenities.

"What kind of madhouse are you running here? Your gardener cursed me!"

"Mmmm," the Headmaster hummed agreeably. "And you made a rather shocking statement when he did."

"Something shocking would have been exactly what was called for," Aaron responded huffily. "Whatever the lad did to me really hurt... although I don't recall saying anything at all."

"What he did to you was to render you intoxicated by creating a surfeit of alcohol in your bloodstream. It was, in a sense, the most effective 'drunk' anyone could ever achieve."

"Oh. Well, I must have given him quite a piece of my mind, then," Aaron said with a sigh of relief. "But you can't hold it against a man for venting anger when he's drunk - especially if your own employee cursed the drunkenness upon me."

"In this particular case," Dumbledore said sadly, "I am afraid I have to make an exception to that general rule. You see, as the alcohol began to take effect, you said, 'Voldemort is going to kill me.' You continued with a brief explanation of why that would be."

"The Dark Wizard frightens a lot of people. Now that the Ministry says he's back again, being afraid of... You-Know-Who... seems to me to be perfectly reasonable."

"Yes..." Dumbledore mused. "Especially if you fail to carry out his youth-recruitment program."

Aaron's eyes narrowed in anger. "Is that your clumsy attempt to avoid a lawsuit?" he demanded. "Because I am not going to forget that I was attacked by a Hogwarts employee who used a curse on me without provocation. I was trying to be reasonable. But if you are going to stoop to cheap threats and baseless accusations..." He stopped speaking as Dumbledore held up a tiny vial for his inspection.

"If the accusations are baseless, you will never have a better chance to prove it than while under the influence of veritaserum."

"That's illegal," Sepal said with assurance. "And improperly administered, it can be very dangerous. Not only that, but an improperly conducted interrogation of a subject under the influence of veritaserum can be interpreted incorrectly. When that happens, you do not get 'truth' from the so-called truth serum. You get garbage. And I have suffered enough garbage since arriving at this campus today. If you have accusations, go ahead. Call the Ministry. I want legal representation."

"If the Ministry were to be called, you would have it," Dumbledore said gently. "As it is, you have veritaserum. And, to your good fortune, you have me. I am highly experienced at administering both the serum itself and the interrogations that go along with it."

"I won't take it," Sepal snarled.

"Aaron." Dumbledore's voice was nearly a whisper. "You are in a medical facility. I could inject it directly into your veins." Sepal's eyes grew wide as he took in the implications of that. Playing with veritaserum could be dangerous, but injecting it could prove fatal. "Ah. Good. I see you understand the consequences. And what if you should expire during the interrogation? One might think that Hogwarts and her Headmaster would have quite a lot to explain, wouldn't you?" Sepal strained to turn his eyes far enough to see Dumbledore. Whatever he had expected from the famous wizard, it had certainly not been the casual discussion of the high likelihood of his own death. "Consider this," the Headmaster lectured unhurriedly. "Several minutes ago, you nearly died of alcohol poisoning. It would be a simple matter to return the alcohol to your bloodstream and tell the world that Aaron Sepal showed up at Hogwarts for a job interview so drunk that we could not act in time to save his life."

"So you keep me here..." Sepal struggled to pull his arms and legs away from where they lay on the mattress without success. "Bound to the bed. You force veritaserum into me, and you try to pretend that your experience in interrogation a generation ago will be sufficient to overcome the training that any serious dark wizard would get if he were to come here trying to insinuate himself into your institution."

"Yes, and no," Dumbledore corrected gently. "What I am actually counting on is my experience, the threat of your death, and the fact that my subject has already babbled rather uncontrollably during his alcohol delirium." The Headmaster made a lazy gesture with his wand and the contents of the vial rose obediently to hover in midair just above Aaron's face. "Open wide."

Aaron thought of his training, his practice in overcoming interrogation techniques, his hatred of the muggle-loving, mediocrity-embracing culture that had grown to take over the society of wizards. He quickly reviewed the many ways in which he could honestly refer to his political affiliations without saying anything illuminating. "Fine," he spat contemptuously. "I hope you know that, once you have learned that I am not what you think I am, that I am not going to forgive and forget this."

"Oh, yes, I am well aware of that," Dumbledore said, distracted by the delicate process of directing the serum into his patient's mouth. "In fact, one might be hard pressed to find a good reason for allowing you to survive this very session.

Sepal tried to spit the serum out as he heard that, but Dumbledore had already, effortlessly, locked his lips shut. Even though the herbologist refused to swallow the potion, the powerful magic of the veritaserum was already beginning its work. Aaron felt the comfortably agreeable attitude, characteristic of truth serum, settle over him. In his last moments of truly independent thought, he reviewed the statements that would certainly be necessary in the upcoming interrogation. First: He was loyal to the opposition party. There was no need to elaborate on that, and it would hardly be considered a liability at Hogwarts to support any candidate that ran against Fudge. Second: His intent in coming to Hogwarts was to obtain a job. He was a professional as well as a scholar, and he had gone as far as possible in the world of commercial botany. Third: He never intended to cause harm to any Hogwarts student; in fact, he intended to enrich their lives. Which was true. Any organization, movement or activity whose aim was the reform of current wizard society would enrich a Hogwarts student's life. He gave himself the long-ago imbedded auto-suggestion that made those three statements repeat in a cyclical litany. I support the opposition party. I came here to obtain a job. I mean no harm, and wish to enrich students' lives. Such a safety mechanism was designed to provide security against the most aggressive of interrogation techniques.

"Aaron Sepal," Dumbledore began, speaking slowly and extremely clearly. "When you were cursed this morning in the Hogwarts greenhouse, did you see the person who cast the spell upon you?"

Aaron's tried to think ahead, to anticipate where this line of questioning could lead, but it was too difficult. He had to answer, the serum demanded it. He swallowed, and felt the locking spell being lifted from his lips. "Yes."

"How did he present himself to you?"

This question was more open than most that were usually asked during a veritaserum interrogation. There was some freedom to answer in any of several different ways. Sepal chose to try to sound as insulting as possible. "He looked drunk."

"In what posture did he face you?"

The questions were strange enough that Sepal was able to delay answering for a moment. Why was the old man so concerned about his gardener? "Slouching," Aaron mumbled, unable to force sarcasm into his voice.

"Where was his wand?"

That question was specific, and limited enough to demand an immediate, precise answer. "In his pocket."

"Do you mean that he pointed his wand at you through the fabric of his robe?"

"No." Give no extra information, Aaron recited silently. Short answers are the best.

"Was he touching his wand?"

"I don't know." Admit your ignorance, Aaron reminded himself. The boy's wand could have been resting on bare skin if there had been a hole on the inside surface of the pocket. There was no way Sepal could have known in what condition the boy's robes were. Admitting ignorance frustrates your interrogators and makes them waste time.

"Were either of his hands touching his wand when he cast the curse at you?"

"No." Still the gardener questions continued. Why didn't the Headmaster simply fire the boy and be done with it?

"What do you think I should do with you?"

"Hire me."

"To best serve my own best interests, what should I do with you?"

"Hire me."

"Please explain your last answer."

Aaron felt as though a clamp had been removed from his brain. Not only had the last statement not been a question, it had included a demand for him to expound upon a very open-ended subject. The herbologist knew that he had to be cautious - if he were to begin to babble, he may give away many things he would rather not divulge. He concentrated on organizing his thoughts. "You have lost the services of Pomona Sprout. You have no idea how good she is. The company for which I am currently acting in the capacity of consultant is in a bidding war with at least two others in an attempt to hire her as a permanent, full-time botanist. You need a replacement for her who is capable, and - more importantly - willing to continue her work. Most, if not all, applicants in this country who are qualified to apply for the position of Herbology professor at Hogwarts will not work with Mandrake. The no-Mandrake clause is common in many commercial contracts with herbologists nationwide. And many, if not most, professional herbologists routinely kill Devil's Snare wherever it is encountered. At several of the largest magiceutical companies here and on the Continent, Devil's Snare is not only killed on sight, but the area surrounding the plant is razed, and in many cases, the soil itself sterilized to make sure the entire plant and all of its seeds are dead. Contrast this with the healthy specimens of Devil's Snare in the Hogwarts collection, and the Hogwarts classes in which children are taught to transplant Mandrake, and you will see how difficult it will be for you to recruit a professor who will be both able and willing to continue Professor Sprout's work. I am the one qualified herbologist that can do what you need to have done. Also, this is not a commercial training center; it is a school. You need someone who understands academic requirements and who can advise those students who wish to continue their education beyond seventh year. I have done serious - and successful - academic research. I am familiar with the staffs of universities in fourteen different countries. And, of the seven papers on Herbology published last year in the Thistle Tube, I am the author of four, and co-author of one more. With four exceptions, I am the only Herbologist in the British Isles doing serious academic research. And the four individuals I have mentioned are so specialized that their work produces a paper per year at most. None of them have the general knowledge - nor the particular desire - to teach adolescents about plants. I do. I have been a successful tutor - you have my references. I have been a successful student teacher. Again, references are in your possession. I have been a successful professors' assistant, a highly-commended museum docent, and my appearances as the Demystifying Man on Garden Chat were the most successful guest-spots the programme has ever enjoyed. I can teach, I can explain things clearly to the non-expert, I can publish articles to be read by the professional wizard, I am not afraid to handle the dangerous plants in your collection, I know how to keep students safe while they learn about those specimens, I am a tireless worker, and a superb organizer. Perhaps most importantly, you are already suspicious of me. I will never be able to take you by surprise."

"Excellent," Dumbledore praised quietly. "That is a very good answer, Mister Sepal. Now, with the same enthusiasm and volubility, tell me about Voldemort."

When Dumbledore unlocked the hospital room and emerged, he faced a seething Madame Pomfrey. Arms crossed, her foot tapping in impatience, she demanded, "Well? Did you kill him?"

Dumbledore sighed, and looked sorrowfully into the mediwitch's eyes. "No, Poppy, I did not. You did not save the man in vain, he remains fully recovered from his alcohol poisoning, and I believe that, within a few hours, he will be recovered from his experience with veritaserum, as well."

"But he is still bound."

"I believed that was the safest course, for you and everyone concerned. He fears that Voldemort may kill him, and worries that the death he would suffer in that circumstance would be unduly painful. I would not want to have gone to such lengths to preserve his life, only to lose him to suicide."

Madame Pomfrey stared at the Headmaster with suspicion. "What are you playing at, Albus?"

"Oh, there is far too much work to be done to allow me to play," he replied, eyes twinkling. "However, one job at least may have been put to rest. I believe I may have found our new Herbology professor.

Ignoring Madame Pomfrey's look of angry disbelief, the Headmaster swept away, through the hospital wing and into the hallway beyond, his long hair and robes swirling behind him.

--- --- ---

Severus Snape pursed his lips and tensed his shoulders as the door to his Potions classroom was pulled open. He straightened from the workbench at which he had been grinding noxious weaselblossom pollen and faced the intruder. "Good morning, Headmaster. It is so good to see you. Tell me; Do you ever knock?"

"Hmmm? Oh... gracious, no. Not during summer, especially. Perhaps I should take it up. People seem to appreciate it. But, as it is... ahh... where was I? Oh, yes. The Potter Project proceeds apace. Your assistance has been greatly appreciated, and I daresay it will continue to be so."

Snape stared blankly at the Headmaster, genuinely confused. Was Dumbledore trying to tell him that he was aware of the secret magical tests and practices Snape had been putting Harry through? It certainly didn't seem so. Then, what could the Potter Project be? Knowing he could always count on his signature sarcasm, he sneered, "Are you trying to make the boy more irritating than he already is? I acknowledge the power of your magic, but it would take a miracle to increase such a nearly infinite quantity as the amount of irritation Potter can engender in the reasonable."

Dumbledore smiled tolerantly. Snape's jibe had been rather strained, but that was to be expected. The Potions professor had been put through quite a lot over the past few days. "You should be glad of this then," the Headmaster said with a gentle chuckle. "The Malfoy hunts will be curtailed. No more roaming the country, searching for the Bride of Lucius and their son."

"Why," Snape asked suspiciously. "And what does that have to do with Potter?"

"Oh... well, as for the boy, you won't have to be dragging him around after you at all hours of the night. That should decrease his irritant value quite a bit. And as for why... I detected young Draco Malfoy in England. The detector very suddenly lost contact with the boy."

"As if he had been apparated away from the point at which you detected him," Snape prompted.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I am afraid that if Draco had been apparated, he would have shown up once again on the detector, once he had reappeared at his new location. No, I believe the only explanation for his sudden disappearance is that he entered the headquarters of Voldemort."

"The only explanation?" Snape scoffed.

"The only one that fits the evidence, and takes into account the rather... ahmm... powerful detectors I have set to watch for the appearance of either of the Malfoys. It would take equally powerful wards to protect those subjects from being detected. The only warding of that strength is that used by the Dark Lord."

Snape, who was perfectly aware that the warding on the Weasley twins' warehouse had protected Narcissa from being detected, struggled to keep his face blank, and to make no protest against the Headmaster's specious claims. He could easily see how an abandonment of the Malfoy hunt would cause him serious inconvenience, however, so instead, he asked, "Now that Draco is presumed to be within the sanctum of your enemy, wouldn't it make sense to have us search harder now than ever before? We had no clue as to where to begin before your detector gave us a suggestion as to a possible starting point. Now we know at least where Draco was before he disappeared. Shouldn't we surround the place and remain vigilant?"

"We would surely be wasting our time," Dumbledore said with a mournful expression. Snape felt like punching him for not realizing that the previous Malfoy hunt had been a waste of time as well, but he maintained his calm demeanor. "Now that Voldemort has the heir of his most trusted servant with him, he will be able to accomplish whatever it was that he had planned for him - whatever it was that motivated Draco to run from his ancestral home in the first place. I fear we shall simply have to watch him closely when he returns to school next term. He may have been put up to some great villainy by Tom Riddle."

Snape was still concerned about what the Headmaster had said earlier. "If Mister Potter has not found the Malfoys you seek, how is it you can say the Potter Project is going well?"

"Ah. Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes focused far away. "I said that it was about time to remove the restraints from Harry, to take the safety mechanisms off, to allow the... chain reaction to build. The restraints to which I referred were the magical and psychological restraints that have been kept firmly in place by the very blood magic that protected him while he lived with his muggle relatives. And we have begun the process of freeing the tremendous power Harry holds deep within himself, by keeping the boy here at Hogwarts this summer instead of in the muggle town of Little Whinging; and by allowing him to associate with wizards and witches rather than his vehemently anti-magic relatives. Especially important was his association with you and Mister Lupin. Both of you seem to... inspire the boy to strive to reach his potential. The results have been phenomenal. Do you recall the conflict Harry had with four assailants, just after he began his summer employment with us?"

"Did you arrange for that attack to take place?" Snape demanded.

"No, of course not, Severus. But I did take great interest in how Harry chose to fight back against his attackers. He cast multiple spells at once, he cast spells I did not recognize, and... I thought... he cast spells without using his wand."

"Nonsense," Severus snorted. "He had his wand when Lupin and I arrived."

"Yes. But today, in the greenhouse, he performed wandless magic once again. An applicant for the Herbology professorship insulted the boy. Harry waved his hand - his... bare... hand - at the man, and thereby transfigured enough of that adult's blood into alcohol that the man nearly died of poisoning before Madame Pomfrey could save him." Dumbledore seemed lost in thought, then with a start, added, "Which she did, of course."

"It seems as though some action is called for," Snape sneered, as his mind raced. "I could contact the Committee for the Removal of Dangerous Creatures, if you would like."

Dumbledore's smile was that of an adult trying to encourage a child to develop his sense of humor. "You are correct in one respect. Harry is a dangerous creature, although - as I have said previously - I believe it will be Voldemort who removes the boy from this world."

Snape surprised the Headmaster with his next question. "Do you - still - really believe he can?"

"Severus, think of what you are suggesting," Albus admonished. "The Dark Lord has been crippled, sick and weak for decades - and has still possessed enough magical power to hold the entire cadre of Death Eaters in thrall. When he was at his full power, he was able to challenge me! I hardly believe that a more experienced, more practiced Voldemort can possibly be less dangerous."

"You used to be a good measure against which to compare powerful wizards. If Tom Riddle could survive an exchange of curses with you, he had to be considered one of the world's best. But from what you have just described Potter doing... Do you really think you could stand against him if it came to your magic against his?"

"I had better hope to all that is good and right in this world that I am able to do so," Albus said sincerely. "I believe in the prophesy that we unearthed below the Ministry of Magic. My interpretation of that prophesy is that Harry Potter and Tom Riddle will fight... and they will both die. If Voldemort kills Harry and lives, I will have to attack with Neville Longbottom. One of them will destroy the Dark Lord, I am certain of it. But if Harry kills Voldemort and lives... it will be up to me, for the good of the entire world, wizards and muggles alike, to destroy the Boy Who Lived. Power such as his cannot be allowed the freedom of the world without a counterforce as powerful as Voldemort himself to restrain it."

Snape stared into Dumbledore's eyes, deadly serious. "Hope aside, I don't think you are up to the task."

"Then I fear we face a reign of tyranny unrivaled in the history of the world," Dumbledore stated with absolute assurance. "God help us if I cannot deliver the coup de grace."

Snape turned away as though unconcerned. "So what do we do with our evenings now that we will no longer be searching for Narcissa and Draco?"

"Young Harry needs sleep," Dumbledore urged. "He may study a bit after work, but he needs to catch up on the rest we have been denying him."

"That means Lupin and I will be standing guard over Sleeping Beauty," Snape snarled. "I had presumed as much. My question involves the rest of the Order." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and Snape sighed with exasperation at how dense the man could be at times. "You have a resourceful group of people who have made a special effort to keep their schedules open over the next few days, at least. They have accepted the fact that they will be working on Order business. So if one effort is to be abandoned... why not use the assembled talents of the Order to take care of something more important?"

"More important, Severus?" Dumbledore asked with warning in his voice. "What could be more important than preventing Voldemort from being reunited with his servants?"

"Do you really believe, Headmaster, that after the debacle of last term, Cornelius Fudge will abandon his attempts to control this school? Do you think he has been sent whining away with his tail between his legs? This is a man who has stayed in power for years at the very top of the government structure. He does not fear you. What he does fear - what he is quite vulnerable to - is negative public opinion. It is imperative that we gather ammunition to use against the man himself... and his entire organization, if possible. In the best case, we could discredit his supporters, and anyone in government service who has voted in concordance with Fudge's desires."

"That is a rather... political... assignment for a group of... as Arthur Weasley described them... paladins," Dumbledore said dismissively.

"Arthur Weasley? The Ministry official? Kingsley Shacklebolt? Tonks? Me, for that matter. You have a very political group, Headmaster."

"And their assignment would be... what, Severus? Are we going to spy on the man? Attempt to obtain photographs of illicit activities?"

"The effort must begin with you," Snape insisted. "You must make public the disasters of last term. And while you are at it, remind everyone of Fudge's past mistakes."

"And while I am playing at propaganda?"

"Put everyone else to work making sure that Fudge cannot impose himself on us again next term. You must have thought of something along those lines. It's your job."

Dumbledore smiled, looking a bit embarrassed, like an adult who has been overheard by a child while using foul language. "My job. I suppose it is, at that, isn't it, Severus? I will consider your advice. And - despite my distaste for public appearance - I may well begin the process of publicizing the Ministry's recent missteps. An interview with a newspaper might be a good place to begin. Goodness knows those people are after me for some comment or other almost constantly. I haven't given an actual, full interview in... hmmm... longer than I would care to think. I believe I may have someone who might listen to me if I wished to say something. And the rest... Arthur... Kingsley... You may have something, Severus. If you think of some way in which you might assist the effort, please, let me know. I will do the same. I suppose I should let you get back to your work. Noxious weaselblossom, is it? Nasty stuff. Always made me sneeze. Well, then.... Good day." He walked out of the classroom lost in thought, idly closing the door behind him with a flick of his wand.

--- --- ---

It was mere minutes after the Headmaster left the Potions classroom that Remus came rushing in. "Severus," the werewolf hissed. "Today, in the greenhouses..."

"Harry Potter performed wandless magic in front of at least two witnesses, including Pomona Sprout and Albus Dumbledore," Snape recited with exasperation. "Yes, I know. That is old news, wolf. You will have to keep up with current events more closely."

"But what are we..."

"Harry is going to rest, at least for tonight, by specific order of the Headmaster," Severus said with a calming tone. For all of the werewolf's experience as one of the famous Hogwarts Marauders, Lupin seemed very ignorant of real, adult intrigue. In serious espionage, meetings often had to be missed, drops frequently failed to occur, communications were habitually cut. One dealt with the problem as best as possible and moved on. For this particular conspiracy, moving on would have to include the awareness that every word they exchanged might be overheard. But Lupin was distraught, so a concise review of relevant news was important. Then Snape would have to find the privacy to slap some sense into the nervous lycanthrope. "From this moment forward, the hunt for the missing Malfoys is over. We were apparently too late. Dumbledore feels certain that his quarry has rejoined the enemy, and is now under the protection of powerful wards."

"Then...." Remus hunched his shoulders and spread his hands in an attempt to prompt some suggestion of a plan from the recalcitrant potions master.

"Then perhaps Mister Potter may finally be free to spend his evenings visiting his friends, as he has so often suggested as we worked during recent nights."

Lupin nodded his understanding, then finally seemed to relax. "I doubt that he will be doing any visiting tonight. I just levitated him upstairs to his room. He fell asleep on the greenhouse floor, and was so thoroughly unconscious that he didn't stir once from the time I lifted him until I settled him into bed."

--- --- ---

When Harry reached the greenhouse the next day, thoroughly refreshed by his afternoon, evening, and full night of sleep, he found Professor Sprout standing over a pot with a pile of soil next to it. The Professor was so angry, she had not even begun to work with the materials in front of her, but stood, eyes focused on a point about six feet before her, her lips working soundlessly. As Harry entered, she tried to put on her mask of professional detachment. It lasted for about two seconds.

"I suppose you have heard?" she asked.

Harry felt he was in trouble already. He had no idea what the teacher could be talking about, but he had no desire to contradict her, either. She was obviously furious and Harry felt that anything he said would inevitably lead him into further trouble. He finally decided to take the chance of being honest. "Uh... no, M'am," he said, showing embarrassment at his own ignorance.

"Well!" Professor Sprout threw down the trowel she had been holding. It penetrated the entire pile of soil on the workbench and the sharp leading edge of its digging blade stuck hard into the wood of the benchtop. Harry was glad that the Professor had one less weapon in her hand. "You may not have to stay here all alone after next Tuesday. The Headmaster has decided..." she pursed her lips hard and took several tense breaths "...to hire Mister 'Voldemort - Will - Kill - Me' whom you met - and, I must say, dealt with so properly - yesterday."

"That incident is... a little hazy for me," Harry admitted.

"Well of course it is," Sprout fumed. "I knew the Headmaster had certain people out searching for the Malfoys. A total waste of time and effort, so far as I am concerned. But to have a child involved... and with you working here... and after you had been attacked on the very grounds of the school... I never imagined that you would be under that kind of strain. You were tired and sleepy and trying to learn a great deal about a discipline for which you have no particular aptitude. I am sorry, Mister Potter," she said, her expression softening momentarily. "I do not mean that as harshly as it sounds. You have made passing grades in each of my classes in which you were involved, but to place a student in charge of the entire Hogwarts collection presupposes that the student has made a greater achievement - and has expressed a still greater potential - than mere passing grades indicate." As she returned to the main thrust of her argument, her expression recovered its full fury. "And then to exhaust you with a stupid and fruitless search night after night... I cannot forgive the Headmaster for such flagrant abrogation of his responsibilities. But then! To find that the only - the only, mind you - the only applicant to be interviewed for the post of Herbology Professor is a Death Eater... a Death Eater specifically charged by Voldemort himself with corrupting the youth of Hogwarts... and then to hire him! That is not merely negligent, that is criminal. I will be making sure the public is aware of this breach of trust, this insult to the good will of every parent who sends a student to this school, and this threat to the safety of every student who attends."

Harry wished that he understood how to speak that way. Professor Sprout's last statement was an excellent example of political rhetoric, delivered in a forceful and memorable way. But thinking of politics reminded him of a real danger to his school, quite apart from Death Eater instructors. "Wouldn't that get the Ministry involved again?" Harry asked fearfully, shuddering as he remembered the reign of Dolores Umbridge.

Professor Sprout smiled sourly. "Do you think it would? Or do you think - as I do - that Fudge and his cronies might see this as an opportunity to allow Hogwarts to come to harm? To wound her so badly that their next takeover is a permanent one?"

"Please, Professor, I don't want to see the future of Hogwarts become a choice between two evils."

"Nor do I, boy, but the choice has already been made by the Headmaster of the school. If you want to change anything regarding that, you'll have to see Albus Dumbledore."

--- --- ---

When Neville came in at midday, Harry took the first opportunity to speak privately with him. "There's going to be a new professor starting here when Professor Sprout leaves," he murmured.

"I don't care," Neville dismissed the idea, refusing to consider it at all.

"Well... I thought that... in light of any plans you may have made..." Harry said slowly, trying to get Neville to acknowledge that he was being given a warning.

"I said I don't care, Potter," Neville growled, his face set with determination. "You might be surprised to learn what that means. It means that I am not concerned about the new teacher, or when he might arrive. Whatever I have planned to do, I am going to do. I am ready. I have already been quite successful in my preparations. And today, you can observe the first part of the implementation of my plans."

"Neville," Harry whispered urgently. "If he's here next Tuesday..."

"He'll still need help," Neville interrupted. "He'll have no idea where anything is, first of all. You can't show him. You don't yet know." Turning away without waiting for a reply, Neville walked to the only pot of fireseed plants in the entire collection. "Do you know what it took to get my stand of these going?" he asked rhetorically, paying no attention to Harry, who was following him despairingly. "I had to keep them in the oven for a day. The house elves gave me no end of trouble. And I did not want my grandmother to become involved." He drew his wand and scooped the loose soil away from the base of the fireseed plant stalks.

"Neville, No," Harry urged, but he was far too late. Neville murmured his spell with his wand pointed toward the exposed stalks, then immediately cast another spell in the same location. With a satisfied smile, he pushed the soil back into place. "What did you..." Harry began, but fell silent as Neville glared at him.

"Hush." Neville dismissed the question, walking away from the plant. After he was far away from the bespelled pot, he relented and quietly explained, "The first spell you wouldn't understand. It has to do with the way the roots take up water and nourishment from the soil. The second spell is a time-release spell." He turned suddenly, and Harry, following close behind, nearly ran into him. Neville put his mouth near Harry's ear and very quietly said, "It releases the first spell on Wednesday morning." He turned and continued across the greenhouse, leaving Harry standing there flustered.

"Harry!" Professor Sprout called. "Leave Neville alone and get over here. There's a lot to do."

By lunchtime, Neville was gone, and Harry left the greenhouse weighed down with worry. With a new professor on the premises, the 'plant disaster' plan would be doomed to failure. Nevertheless, Neville had bustled around the greenhouses with the light of fanaticism in his eyes, casting spells on plant after plant. Harry had to admit that Neville was right in one respect - he hadn't understood the spells, even when carefully watching Neville cast one of them - or, more properly, two of them together, since each spell was accompanied by its companion 'time-release' enchantment.

Harry was so preoccupied with those thoughts, that he nearly ran directly into Remus on the way to the castle. He pulled up short just before striding directly into the man, and immediately began apologizing.

"Whoa, Harry. Don't worry, no harm done," Remus chuckled. He immediately became concerned when he saw how upset Harry looked. "What's the matter, Harry? You look worried."

Harry was so frustrated by having to be careful over every word he uttered that he nearly screamed. His eyes darting about the grounds as though searching for spies, he said, "Oh. Nothing. Just... the new teacher coming and all. Professor Sprout leaving. Certain plans being set back. You know. The usual thing."

Remus could tell the boy was troubled, and he tried to communicate his understanding with a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, and a meaningful look into the boy's eyes. "I think I know a little of what you might be going through," he said with a slow wink. "And I think I know what might help, at least a bit. How would you like to do something fun tonight?"

Harry flinched. Remus had thought that the magical tests were fun. He had thought that practicing spells against toppling boxes and artificially generated monsters was fun. He had even thought that staying up all night to review Herbology notes was fun. What now? "I don't know," Harry said suspiciously. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought you might like to visit the Weasleys."

"Fred and George?" Harry asked, still suspicious.

"No, I thought you might like to visit the Burrow." Harry's face split with a wide grin. "I thought so," Remus said with satisfaction. "We can't floo from here, and there's no time for two way owl post. Why don't you go get Hedwig and send a note to the Burrow saying we'll floo from Hogsmeade once you get off work today?" Harry dodged past the man and began to run toward the castle. "And address the note to Mrs. Weasley!" Remus shouted after him. "We don't know when or if anyone else will be home, and I believe she will be there!"

Harry and Remus shared lunch in the dining hall, with Harry in high spirits. He couldn't stop talking about the upcoming visit. "This will be great!" he enthused. "I really like being at the Burrow. That was the first truly magical house I ever saw, and it's still more impressive than that old pile of the Malfoys' no matter how big old Lucius' library was or how many rooms you had to walk through before finding a bathroom. The Burrow is a really great place. You feel good just being there. I can see Ron, Mrs. Weasley will feed us for sure, and maybe Hermione will be visiting as well. She and Ron were pretty serious about seeing a lot of each other this summer. And Fred and George come by for dinner a lot. Maybe they'll be there tonight. They're fun when they have time to relax and enjoy themselves."

"And Ginny," Remus added casually.

"Oh. Yeah. Ginny." Harry suddenly looked as though he had been trapped.

"Harry. You can't simply avoid the girl for the next two years. If you're not interested, let her know. You don't have to be insulting or hurtful about it, and if she gets angry at you over it, then that's her problem. She'll probably feel bad about being angry once the initial flare of it is over. And then maybe you could be friends again. You should be friends. You're both Gryffindors, and you're friends with most of her family. And there's a bigger, more important lesson to learn from this: you can't go running scared every time there's an emotional crisis to face. You're very good at handling other sorts of crises. You're going to have to learn to deal with this sort, as well."

"It's not that I'm afraid, Remus," Harry said, staring down at his plate. "It's... different. If anyone could understand, I think you could." Remus' heart swelled at the trust the cub had expressed in him. Gently smiling, he nodded to encourage Harry to continue. "Ginny - obviously - likes me. She's made it clear to family and friends, and she's even given me some clue that she's interested. I like her. And that's what I haven't wanted to say to anybody, because they would misunderstand. I like her as a little girl who has been brave while a lot of bad things happened to her, and who's my best friend's sister, and who is part of my House, and my school, and... you know, those sorts of things. But I do like her. I'm just not... um... interested in her. But like you said, she's pretty. Red hair, pale skin, slender body... pretty. And, I like that she likes me. That a pretty girl likes me enough to tell people we both know that she likes me. I'd like her to keep on liking me. Not because I want to return her interest, but... because it feels good that someone pretty likes me. You know?" By this point in his explanation, Harry's face was brilliant scarlet, and his eyes were fixed firmly on what was left of his food.

"I do know what you mean," Remus said softly. "And there are a lot of boys who are rich, or famous, or popular, who keep girls - sometimes lots of girls - hanging on and waiting for some kind of response from the rich, famous, popular guys. It's very common. And understandable, because it does feel good to have someone desirable express an interest in you. The truth is, though, that avoiding the girl, or lying to her, or keeping her waiting is simply cruel. You wouldn't want a woman you were interested in to do that to you. So you don't do that to her. You do understand, don't you?"

"I don't think it matters if I do or if I don't," Harry replied dispiritedly. "If I go to the Burrow, I'll have to face Ginny, and I'll have to be honest, and she'll have to be insulted and embarrassed and furious at me because of it... so let's just go and see what happens."

"You're a good lad, Harry. It's the being honest part that's important. Remember that and you'll be fine. Say, this was supposed to be about having fun, wasn't it? You do want to go to the Burrow, don't you?"

Harry smiled shyly and said, "I had better. I've already sent Hedwig off with my note."

"I could always floo from Hogsmeade tonight and say you had to work late."

"Don't you dare! I do want to go, honestly. In fact, I can't wait. Let's leave as soon as I'm off work. I'll even take a change of clothes down to the greenhouse with me so I don't have to come back to the tower before we go."

"You had better run up to your room and grab what you need, then - lunch hour has nearly passed."

Harry dashed out of the dining hall, excited once again.

--- --- ---

The waitress at the Three Broomsticks was quite flustered that evening as she spoke with the very attractive man and his young companion. On the one hand, she would very much like to make this particular gentleman's experience with the public house a pleasant one, in order to encourage his continued patronage, and - hopefully - convince him to be a regular customer. On the other hand, she had her instructions, directly from Madam Rosmerta, and she wasn't sure how much latitude she really had in carrying them out. She had been serving here for less than a month, and envied the rest of the staff's secure comfort in knowing exactly how the place was run. "We really can't allow people to get the idea that our floo is a... public communication device," she said apologetically. "We'd have people chatting on our hearth all day and all night. It wouldn't be seemly."

"I understand, Miss... Pardon me, what is your name?" Remus was almost comical in his exaggerated courtliness, but to Harry's amazement, the waitress seemed very flattered.

"Call me Tara, Mister...?"

"Lupin. Remus Lupin. Glad to meet you. And this is Harry Potter."

Harry saw the recognition in the waitresses widened eyes, her mouth forming a tiny 'O' and her half-step backward to be able to see him from head to toe. He wanted to cringe away from the all-too-familiar ritual, but he knew that Remus must have introduced him on purpose, so he mechanically droned out, "Pleased to meet you," and waited for whatever Remus had planned.

"Come right this way, Mister Lupin... Mister Potter," Tara said smoothly. "I'll see if one of our private floos... Oh, here... wait a moment! Madame Rosmerta? May I ask a favor of you?

Seconds later, they were in Madame Rosmerta's office, with a tin of floo powder in Remus' hand and a tiny flame flickering in the exact center of the hearth. "You two are lucky I practically live here," Rosmerta chuckled huskily. "The staff knows I would skin them alive if they started letting customers use the main floo." Her voice was deep and throaty, with the hint of a whiskey rasp overlaying the smooth tones. She addressed both of them, but her eyes never left Remus. To Harry, it seemed as though she were particularly interested in the man's hips. He wondered if she were trying to estimate the size of his wallet.

Remus turned back to look over his shoulder as he leaned far over into the hearth with a pinch of floo power between his finger and thumb. "Believe me, Rosmerta, we are very, very glad you were here tonight." He tossed the powder onto the tiny flame and spoke very crisply, "Weasley residence: the Burrow."

Mrs. Weasley answered, and immediately urged Remus to step through. Instead, he ushered Harry forward and sent the boy into the floo network and out into the Weasleys' home before him. Harry stumbled out of the floo, disoriented as always after a trip through the network. He took a moment to regain his balance and catch his breath, then dusted himself off. The dusting was a reflex. He had never come through a floo covered in ashes, but it always felt as though he was sooty when he completed his journey. He forced himself to stop the motion, thinking that it was a good thing for him that he was clean, since Mrs. Weasley would certainly not appreciate him brushing soot all over her house. Then he turned back to the floo, puzzled, waiting for Remus to appear.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, spinning him around and wrapping him in a strong embrace. "We will have a full house tonight!"

"Uh... full house?" Harry gasped, all of the air crushed out of his lungs by the powerful hug.

"Oh, heavens, yes. Ron is here... and Ginny," Mrs. Weasley beamed up at him as she said this, as though waiting for some special response.

"Oh... good," Harry offered weakly, backing away as soon as the strength of the embrace ebbed a bit. "But they must be home most of the time. What makes tonight such a full house?"

"We have you," Mrs. Weasley cooed, leaning forward to pinch his cheek. "And Remus Lupin, if he ever makes it through the floo. And Hermione is here. And Fred and George have suggested that they might just grace us with their presence."

"That sounds great..." Harry said with a beaming smile. He had no chance to say anything further. A double shout of 'Harry!' drowned him out as Ron and Hermione ran into the room. Ron dashed up to him and grabbed his hand, pumping it madly in a crushing grip. Then Hermione took him by both shoulders, turned him to face her and wrapped him in a gentle hug. Harry wasn't quite sure where to put his hands. Every part of Hermione that he touched was soft and curvaceous and very inviting. He felt as though every touch was improperly forward. So he moved his hands quickly, searching for some neutral, friendly but not intimate way to return a hug. He realized within instants that it must look to Ron as though Harry were trying to map Hermione's entire body. He settled on leaving one hand just above her waist, and letting one trail over her hip. He sighed and relaxed and felt he could have stayed right there for hours. Hermione's hair smelled wonderful. She felt wonderful. And her hug communicated a warm, comforting friendship that Harry had missed desperately since school had been dismissed at end of term. As Hermione released him and stepped back, smiling, Harry noticed one other thing right away. Her hair - still chaotic and madly tangled when seen in extreme closeup - now floated about her head like a cloud. Hermione's wild, messy hair had finally fallen into its own unique style, framing her face with a gentle softness that a more orderly or severe style could never accomplish. They gazed into each other's eyes, smiling. Harry realized that he loved her deeply, but he wasn't jealous of Ron in the least. This was Hermione. A romance between the two of them would have made no sense. Their love was solid, abiding and reliable. And if Harry had any luck in this world, that love would survive through many romances on both of their parts. 'Poor Ron,' Harry thought absently. Ron would be Hermione's first 'romance' ... maybe even her first love. But she would certainly move on. Harry was surprised to find that he wasn't anywhere near as sure of what Ron would do as he was in Hermione's case. Would Ron pine, mope, or become depressed when their relationship broke up? Would he shrug it off? Party and fool around? Find someone new? 'Odd,' Harry thought. 'The bloke's my best friend.' Harry and Hermione's long eye contact, which had seemed to freeze the world around them, finally broke as Hermione turned to Ron, and Mrs. Weasley checked the floo for the tardy Remus. Harry was watching his friends happily when he was shocked at a voice right behind his right ear.

"It's about time." The sound was sultry, the pronunciation a slow drawl. It was as though someone barely a teenager were trying to imitate the smoke and whiskey sound of Madame Rosmerta's voice. Harry turned toward the speaker, which was exactly what she had intended him to do. Slender arms snaked around his neck, and Ginny pressed herself to him, her thighs meeting his thighs, her shoulders pressed into his chest, and every part of her in between making a sort of grinding motion. Harry gasped in shock as Ginny's slender arms pulled hard on his neck, turning his face toward hers. She kissed him full on the mouth. Her lips remained closed, and the contact lasted for only an instant - Harry suspected that Ginny had chosen that particular moment for the kiss to coincide with her mother checking the floo once again - but the effect on Harry was instantaneous. To keep his hands from flailing about stupidly, he gripped Ginny tightly around the waist. To hide the embarrassingly prominent evidence of his own arousal, he pressed her hips tightly to his own. She squirmed, and he felt his own pulse pounding. "Wow," he said, barely aware that he had made any sound at all.

"Yes," Ginny replied primly, still wiggling against him. "Wow. Thanks for all the letters this summer." As her mother glared at her, Ginny prudently stepped back from Harry. To his relief, Remus stepped through the floo just then, drawing everyone's attention. Harry quickly adjusted his clothes.

"Well, finally," Mrs. Weasley huffed. "Remus Lupin, we've been worried about you. What happened?"

With his exaggerated courtliness that had served so well at the Three Broomsticks still in place, Remus replied, "I had to assure Madame Rosmerta that we were truly grateful for the use of her floo. She in turn had to exact a promise that, in return, I would patronize her establishment more often."

The sound of the door interrupted the conversation. "Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley called.

"No, Mom," Fred shouted back. "It's only us."

The twins joined everyone else with friendly greetings all around - and an especial grilling for Harry. "What kept you away?" George taunted.

"All summer long," Fred added in mock mournfulness.

"Work," Harry insisted. "And it's not all summer, it's only been a week."

"A week, two weekends and most of today," George corrected.

"And that's all the summer that there has been. So you've been absent all of it - so far."

"Boys, let Harry tell us about his job," Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Are you making a lot of money, dear?"

Harry had no idea how to reply to that. He could tell that Fred and George were waiting to make fun of him if he said anything stupid. But his situation was stupid. He had been so focused on begging for a place to stay this summer that he had forgotten to ask for any pay at all. His face flushed bright red. 'I could rent myself out as a traffic signal,' he thought, irritated at himself for being so easily embarrassed. But it certainly seemed as though there had been a great deal of cause for being embarrassed over the past few days. "No, not really. I mean, I'm staying at the castle. They feed me. And I had to be trained. I still don't know the job all that well..." he trailed off, hoping the subject would simply drop. But Fred and George jumped on his admission like terriers onto a rat.

"Room and board?"

"No pay at all, from the sound of it."

"And with all that room in the castle..."

"And the house elves practically demanding to have someone to cook for..."

"You're as close to being free labor as they could have found!"

Harry stood stiffly, waiting for the bombardment of ridicule to be over. To his shock, the next salvo was fired by Ron, who very innocently reported, "They were going to give Neville a Professor's stipend. Professor Sprout thought he might be interested in teaching some day, and she said that Neville should learn what a teacher's salary amounted to."

"She said?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Well... Neville said she said. He wasn't bragging. More like whining, if anything. Apparently teachers don't make very much."

"And Harry does 'em one better by not making anything at all!" Fred crowed.

"Way to underbid the competition, Harry," George saluted in mock congratulation. "When you really want to win the bid, there's no offer lower than zero."

"Boys!" Molly Weasley said angrily. "You sound like... like Malfoys, going on and on about money. If Harry had an opportunity to learn Herbology over the summer without paying tuition, then good for him for putting in the work. However," she said soothingly, turning to Harry and brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes, "I do have the occasional opportunity to speak with the Headmaster. Next time I do, I will be sure to mention that I do not find it appropriate for Hogwarts to hire a student without giving him some compensation." Her jaw was set, and Harry thought he could see the signs of a serious tongue-lashing for Dumbledore on its way.

The door opened once again, and Molly called out "Arthur?" His faint 'Yes, Dear," sounded through the house, and Molly herded everyone toward the dining room. "What are we doing standing around like this? Come on, everyone find a seat. Ron, get the extra chairs from the living room, please."

Dinner was wonderful. Loud and confusing, with bowls of food being passed back and forth in a complex weaving pattern that was fascinating and even a bit hypnotic to watch, and very comforting to be a part of.

As dinner progressed, with multiple conversations to compliment the food, Fred called everyone's attention to himself. "I have an admission to make," he announced, provoking a stern look from his mother. "George and I have an ulterior motive for being here tonight."

Harry was worried. Would they bring up the magical tests, or the practices? Would they talk about how he had performed against the various hazards he had been presented with in their warehouse? Suddenly, he was very aware of how dangerous it was to have even one other person aware of a secret you wished to keep - and how much more dangerous it was to have a pair of jokers like the Weasley twins privy to your secret plans.

"We actually came to ask Ginny if she would care to have a bit of a summer job," George explained.

"Not in the store," Fred hastened to add. "That place is a zoo, and I know Mom wouldn't approve of Ginny's first job being behind that particular counter."

"But our warehouse is no different from any good, solid retail business' warehouse."

"You could learn a lot by working there, little sister."

"And - unlike Hogwarts - the Weasley warehouse pays wages."

"Real money - in galleons."

"On a trial basis, naturally."

"On both parties' parts."

"If you hate it, you leave with no hard feelings."

"If you don't work out, we sack you."

"And Mom beats us mercilessly."

"What do you say?"

Ginny regarded her brothers shrewdly. She was about to ask a question when her mother interrupted. "Boys. What have I said about discussing business at the dinner table? This is even worse. You put your sister on the spot, right in front of everyone, and you haven't even had time to discuss any of the details of what you're offering. No. If she accepts, this will be Ginny's first job, and I want her to learn the correct way to go about accepting employment. You will discuss this after dinner. No more about it now." Fred held up a hand as though to ask for permission to speak, and Molly stopped him cold. "No more. Let the girl think about it, and then we'll go over your proposal together. I mean it, George!" She snapped as the other twin opened his mouth. "Now, Remus, you were talking about your time in London."

The conversation took up where Fred had interrupted it, and Harry was left to wonder: what were the twins thinking of? If Ginny were employed at the warehouse, he was certain to run into her sooner or later. How was he to explain his arrival? 'Oh, nothing much - just because this is the most heavily warded business space in Britain, I'll be practicing wandless magic as preparation for taking over the world...' It sounded ridiculous even to him. He was brooding so heavily that he didn't realize Ron was speaking to him until he felt the punch hit his shoulder.

"Hey, mate - you deaf? I said, did you really get attacked at school?"

"Huh? Oh... oh, yeah. Four boys. Dressed as Slytherins. They... uh... flew at me on brooms."

Hermione looked concerned. Ginny looked very impressed. Ron scoffed at Harry's cautious description. "What do you mean, 'dressed as' Slytherins? Who else would attack you?"

"I don't really know," Harry said carefully. "But it makes more sense that whoever it was would have worn some kind of disguise than that four Slytherins would wear their school robes to come after me. Especially if they were disguised as... you know... someone I would suspect anyway. I mean, one of them looked just like Gregory Goyle. But there was no Malfoy. Now, when has Goyle ever done anything on his own? Especially anything that involved getting three other people organized enough to come to Hogwarts, on brooms, and fire curses at me? How did they even know I was there?"

"Did they say anything?" Hermione asked, already trying to work out who might have been clever enough to pretend to be Goyle.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to dismiss the whole matter, and unwilling to meet Hermione's eyes. "One said some things about a contest. The winner supposedly gets a prize from Vol... uh... You Know Who. It sounded like a lot of rot. It sure didn't make much sense."

"What was the prize?" Ron wanted to know.

"Um... if you can believe any of it... I mean, it was pretty stupid. But, if Vo... You Know Who takes over Britain, the winner would get to be Duke of Dorchester."

Ron's look of surprised, disgusted disbelief was so comical that Harry laughed out loud.

"How did you get rid of them?" Ginny purred, eyes sparkling.

"Set their brooms on fire," Harry replied with a shrug, then quickly added, "Just a regular Incendio spell. Nothing special."

"He's so modest," George taunted.

"Just an Incendio," Fred mocked. "Nothing special."

"He sets four brooms aflame, and sends the miscreants packing."

Fred put on his best American cowboy-movie accent. "Shucks, M'am. It warn't nuthin."

Hermione saw the possible clue immediately. "What sort of brooms were they, Harry?"

"I don't know. They burned to ash. Completely destroyed."

Hermione scowled. "Then... how did the attackers get away?"

"They ran."

"Didn't you have any help? Didn't anyone come out to see what was on fire?"

"Oh, yeah. Professor Snape, and Professor Sprout, and Remus."

Hermione turned to glare at Lupin. "And they ran away." Remus raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment, Hermione angrily demanded, "They ran away? With three professors there? And their broomsticks burned to nothing, so they were unable to fly? On Hogwarts grounds, so they were unable to apparate? With no reinforcements in sight, they - ran - away? What were you thinking?"

"Hermione," Molly Weasley said warningly, "show some respect for Mister Lupin. You don't know what happened, or what the situation was, or what else they may have had to deal with."

"Pardon me, Molly, but I understand Miss Granger's reaction quite well," Remus said smoothly, hoping that a reasonable explanation would keep two fiery tempers in check. "When we arrived - Professor Snape and myself were there first, Professor Sprout actually arrived quite a bit later - we were more concerned with Harry's safety than with anything else. Then, there was the matter of the fire. It wouldn't have done to capture the attackers and have the entire Herbology department burn down. After we were satisfied that Harry was fine, and the fires were out, we had to check the area for curses. Quite a bit of very violent magic had been cast in a short time over a small area. As it happened, all three of us had to spend quite a bit of energy disenchanting the grounds."

"And Harry wasn't harmed at all?" Ginny asked.

"Apparently not," Remus said. "He handled himself quite well."

Harry glanced across the table to see Ginny grinning at him, an extremely possessive look in her eyes.

When dinner was over, Ron and Hermione volunteered to clear the table, Molly took Ginny and the twins away to discuss Ginny's possible summer employment at her bothers' warehouse, Arthur and Remus went off to the sitting room to enjoy a brandy, and Harry found himself left behind, still sitting in front of his dessert plate. He picked up some dishes and drifted into the kitchen, where Ron and Hermione were organizing the washing-up.

Ron turned a reproachful look on him as he approached. "Bloody Hell, Harry, are you trying to get us all grounded?"

Harry was baffled. "Huh?"

"Carrying on with Ginny like that, barely a foot away from our mom."

"Ron, she hugged me."

"She sure did," Ron snarled, turning away and running hot water into the sink. "You two were practically having it off right in front of the floo. I mean, fun's fun, but she's still my sister."

Harry wanted to defend himself, but there was nothing he could say that wouldn't make the situation worse. Could he tell Ron he wasn't really interested in Ginny? That would only make him seem like more of a jerk for what Ron perceived as his sexual liberties. Could he tell Ron that it was Ginny who had practically climbed onto him? He knew Ron would hear that as an attack on his sister's character. Harry had nearly resigned himself to having to ride out another of Ron's temper tantrums when Hermione said, "When I told you she was interested in you, I didn't expect you to treat her like a plaything. If that's how you feel about women, I'm sorry I said anything."

"Uh... guys?" Harry said tentatively. He felt stupid apologizing, but he could see no other options. "I'm really sorry. I hope you can understand that and forgive me for my exuberant behavior. I was just really, really glad to see you all."

"Yeah... Right..." Ron groused, thunking dishes into the sink.

Hermione, however, turned to study Harry through narrowed eyes. "Harry?" Harry only grunted. "Exuberant?"

"I'm apologizing, all right?" Harry said, exasperated.

"Yes, I got that. But... 'Exuberant?' Have you been taking speech classes?"

"Something like that," he admitted, then his annoyance was too much to contain. "I'm working, I'm studying, I'm practicing. I'm trying to make something of myself. It's a lot of work, and I don't think I'm doing all that well with it. I was really glad to see you. This is the first break I've had in over a week, and I wanted to relax and spend some time with my best friends. So I'm sorry." He found himself staring into two shocked, wide eyed faces. Calming down, he told them both sincerely. "I am really glad to see you. And I'm really sorry. So let's get these washed before I have to leave."

"Great," Ron grumbled. "Now he sounds like bloody Percy."

The dishwashing took some time, but at least none of the guests had to get their hands wet. Ron hadn't spent years as the youngest brother in a crowded house without learning some of the household charms on which Molly Weasley prided herself. With scrubbing brushes, sponges and drying towels enchanted into furious action, even a mighty pile of utensils such as was generated by a Weasley dinner went through the washing, rinsing and drying operations in a steady flow that showed appreciable progress immediately. Ron directed the putting away, and by the time the job was done, some of the tension among the three friends had dissipated.

The negotiations between Ginny, the twins and their mother were taking longer than Harry had anticipated. He, Ron and Hermione sat at the dining table and compared notes on their summers. Harry was immediately jealous. Ron and Hermione had spent several long, lazy days together already, Ron visiting the Grangers' home and getting some first hand experience with the muggle world, and Hermione spending time at the Burrow. Harry talked about his work in Herbology, and while Ron was suitably impressed with the sheer volume of labor required, Hermione was clearly dissatisfied with Harry's descriptions of his days. There was too much missing in what he was telling them - especially the 'study and practice' that he had referred to earlier.

Harry found himself becoming more and more vague and offhand about what he had been doing. He had come to the Burrow fully intending to introduce his friends to at least the basics of what he had been trying to accomplish, and - if they seemed supportive at all - to enlist their help. As the conversation progressed, he became unsure of how much it was safe to reveal. His friends sat like an old married couple, not touching, not holding hands, not even particularly close to one another, listening to his story as Ron prodded him for more information, and Hermione critically reviewed what had already been said. 'If the two of them were aurors,' Harry thought, 'I would have been arrested by now.'

Just when Harry's uncertainty and nervousness had built to the point where his voice was about to begin shaking, the Weasley job conference broke up, and all four participants came out to join him. Ginny looked smug, the twins were smiling, but Molly looked very dissatisfied.

"Looks like I got a summer job, too," Ginny bragged, hitching a chair close enough to Harry's to be able to drape an arm across his shoulders. This drew broad grins from the twins, a glare from Ron, a measuring look from Hermione, and a slap to Ginny's wrist from Molly.

"Don't hang on the boy," Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Or I'll not trust you out of this house again."

"Yes, M'am," Ginny said meekly, with an expression of sincere contrition. She scooted her chair a half inch away from Harry's, then grinned and reached out to give him a quick pinch. "I'll be working nearly full time until school starts again."

"That's... great. Um... A lot to do at the warehouse, then, guys?" Harry stared up at the twins as though asking them to save him. They studiously missed the point.

"Not really," Fred shrugged.

"That's the beauty of the plan," George said.

"Ginny will be able to learn the entire breadth of the operation."

"Before the really busy season starts."

"At which time we would be unable to teach her anything."

"Because we'd be running like headless chickens."

"Headless chickens!" Fred exclaimed, his face alight with inspiration.

"Ectoplasmic? Hallucinatory? Remote control?"

"Why not all three?"

"Can we have them by Christmas?"

"Too late. We'll need 'em by Halloween."

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "Stop that right now. That's disgusting. Headless chickens."

"Remote control headless chickens," George corrected sweetly.

"Ugh." Molly Weasley went to join the adults in the sitting room. Watching her mother to make sure she didn't turn back, Ginny stroked Harry's arm. Hermione scowled, nearly said something, then decided against it.

"If there's not a lot of work," Harry ventured hesitantly, "How did you two decide to hire Ginny?"

"Something one of our advisors said."

"When you're in business, you have to pay attention to the advice of your advisors."

"And when Ms. Black makes a suggestion..."

"It makes sense to look for ways to implement it."

Harry was horrified. For all his best intentions, and his determination to be honest about his own feelings, Ginny's own brothers were setting them up for liaisons that Harry himself wanted no part of. He thought of Narcissa's cold comment when Harry admitted he had no girlfriend: 'We'll have to change that.' The implication had been very sexy... but there had been no romance implied at all. Were the twins willing to facilitate that? Ron was still angry over Harry and Ginny sharing a hug. Had Fred and George actually thought about what they were doing? Before he could think of anything to say, Remus walked into the room and called to him, quietly, but with a finality that left no room for debate.

"Harry. Early day tomorrow. Say goodbye and we'll go out to apparate home. We'll still have quite a walk to the castle from the closest apparation point."

Everyone walked out into the yard to see them off. The twins were grinning, the adults conversing softly, Ron scowling, Hermione silent. Ginny pressed herself to Harry's side and slid an arm around his waist, falling immediately into step with him. Harry thought he might be able to send a subtle signal by simply letting his arm hang behind hers and not encircling her waist in turn. On their second step together, his hanging arm swung forward, clapping his palm over her arse. "Mmmm," she purred.

As Remus reached a place he felt was appropriate to use for apparation, everyone said goodbye again. Ginny hugged Harry hard, and broke away only when her mother was about to reach for her to pull her back. "I'll miss you," she whispered. "Write me." The twins clapped Harry on the shoulder and reminded him to watch for Remote Control Headless Chickens this Halloween, Arthur shook his hand and reminded him he was welcome back anytime, Molly pinched his cheeks and wished him good luck in his summer job, and Ron gave a weak wave and murmured, "See you, mate," listlessly. Hermione hugged him closely and whispered, "We have to talk."

Harry whispered back, "I'll owl you," and it was time to go. Remus wrapped his arms around the boy and with a loud report, the two were gone.

--- --- ---

Remus let Harry go as they appeared on the Hogsmeade path outside of the Hogwarts grounds. As always after apparation, Harry was a little disoriented. He envied Remus his composure and equilibrium that the werewolf maintained after every apparation.

Giving Harry a chance to regain his balance before setting off for the castle, Remus asked, "Did you have fun?"

Harry shook his head, uncertain how to explain himself. "Yes and no," he said, and saw that Remus was waiting for a more complete response. "I was really happy to see Hermione and Ron, and I think they were happy to see me. And then Ginny came running in and hugged me, and Ron got all huffy and Hermione... what?"

Remus was laughing. He had enough self-control to keep from guffawing out loud, but his eyes sparkled and behind his gentle smile, he was shaking with mirth. "She did rather want to make her feelings clear in one particular respect, didn't she?"

"I never got a chance to talk to her without a crowd around. So when she said goodbye, it was more of the same, and she said she would miss me, and to write to her and... what?"

Remus had raised a finger in a 'eureka' gesture the moment Harry had mentioned writing. "Then that's what you should do," he suggested. "Write about very general, non-romantic things. Or write down exactly what you would have told her if you had been allowed the opportunity. Letters are a very important form of communication - more so for wizards than for muggles, I believe. You will need to learn to use that form of communication, and here's a perfect opportunity."

Harry scowled. "It seems kind of cowardly," he said. "Writing what I didn't have the courage to say to her face. I don't think I like the idea very much."

"Ah, well. Up to you," Remus said, starting to stroll toward Hogwarts, and motioning for Harry to get moving as well. The two of them walked in companionable silence toward the massive front entrance, which stood wide open, light streaming out into the night. As they mounted the stairs leading to that opening, part of the light was eclipsed by an imposing figure, who stood blocking their way.

Albus Dumbledore stood regarding the two of them with frosty disapproval. "Mister Lupin. And here is Mister Potter as well. Tell me, if you will: Exactly Where Have You Been?"

Remus cocked his head slightly, as though regarding Dumbledore from a different angle might help him make sense of the Headmaster's question. "We have been with Arthur and Molly Weasley, at their home." It was obvious that Dumbledore was not about to move, so rather than trying to push past, Remus stood on one of the steps, leaving him on a level somewhat lower than the one the Headmaster occupied.

"Mister Lupin. Do you think that is at all wise?"

Remus chuckled slightly. Still smiling, he said, "I think it's a damn sight wiser than having Harry tagging along with Professor Snape and myself as we sought Malfoys throughout Britain."

"Harry was away from Hogwarts," Dumbledore persisted. "Without the protections afforded by her grounds and walls, and without the blood magic that has kept him safe with his relatives."

"At the Burrow?!" Remus nearly shouted. "When I flooed into that place, I could feel the wards all over my skin. And those wards were set last year particularly with Harry in mind! Once the house accepted me - I know, that's an odd way to put it - but once the house recognized that I was a welcome visitor, it was rather comforting, as though I were being coddled by protective spells throughout my visit. But with Arthur, and Molly, and myself there... Yes, I think it was wise. In fact, I think it was the wisest thing we have done as regards this young man in the days since last term ended."

"Mister Lupin. If you cannot be counted upon to behave in a trustworthy manner, I shall have no choice but to..." Dumbledore's pronouncement was cut short by one soft but insistent word.

"Headmaster?" Harry interrupted.

"Ah... Harry? I am in the midst of..."

"Why am I not being paid?"

"What? Oh, no... no. My dear boy, you are being paid in exactly the coin for which you bargained."

"It seems that if I perform my duties without receiving any compensation, and I am forbidden to leave the grounds, that I am nothing more than a slave. I work hard in Herbology. I also worked hard for the Order, on those nights that Remus, Professor Snape and I were sent out on your instructions. I have asked for no wages. If you are going to imprison me as well, I will have to take exception to your decision."

"Ah. Will you?" Dumbledore drew himself to his full height. With his hair and beard backlit by the illumination from the castle, he looked like more than a mere wizard. He appeared the embodiment of a force of nature, terrible in his fury. "And what form will your exception take?"

Harry spread his hands, demonstrating that both were empty. He stared directly into Dumbledore's eyes. He took a step forward and up one stair. "You. Don't. Want. To. Know."

The Headmaster made as if to speak. His eyes widened in shock as his jaw refused to move. Involuntarily, he took a step backward. Then another.

Harry's voice remained low. His eyes remained fixed on Dumbledore's. "I have an early day tomorrow. I am going to bed." He walked into the castle entrance and casually past the Headmaster. He turned to face him at close range. "Don't. Blame. Remus. I needed a night off. I got it. Thank you for your consideration." He turned and slowly climbed the stairs, leaving two adults gaping up at his retreating form.

As Harry mounted the steps to Gryffindor Tower he could see a tall, dark figure in swirling robes approaching the portrait of the Fat Lady along the corridor. He felt a momentary stab of panic, thinking a dementor had invaded the castle. Instead, as he forced himself to focus on what he was actually seeing, rather than what he feared would happen as a result of his confrontation with Dumbledore, he realized that the figure was that of Professor Snape, carrying a stack of books.

Snape glared down at the boy, watching him climb. Once Harry was within range of quiet conversation, Snape told him, "It was not wise to challenge the Headmaster in that way."

Harry felt an immediate rush of anger. "He..."

Snape cut off the protest with a hiss. "Ssst. I did not say that he did not deserve such treatment, nor that it was without its immediate emotional reward. I did... and still do... say that it was unwise. Professor Dumbledore is very perceptive. You have revealed much to him in two small demonstrations. Three, if we count your defense against the broom-mounted attackers of last week. Often, it is much more prudent to develop a skill fully rather than display it prematurely. Here." As Harry stood before him, Snape pushed the stack of books into the boy's arms. The weight of the stack nearly sent Harry toppling back down the stairs. "Read these. All of them. Pick one and start. Read it through. Be prepared to discuss your findings with me. After tonight's unexcused leave of absence from the campus, it will be difficult to organize your education in the fine points of wizard society. You cannot learn it all from books. But you can certainly get a good idea of what you don't know by reading. Have the first one finished no later than Wednesday night. I will be interested to hear your impressions after work Thursday. We are out of time." Snape stepped past Harry and swept down the staircase, his robe trailing in his wake. Harry gawked at his retreating form for a moment, then gave the password to the Fat Lady and entered the common room.

He put the heavy stack down onto the table he had last used for Herbology notes. He took a moment to appreciate the freedom that he enjoyed by having all of the other students gone for the summer. The common room was his, to serve him as dining room, study hall, or private refuge, and he was assured of being uninterrupted unless he specifically invited company, as he had in the case of Remus. He realized that he would feel a miserly reluctance to share 'his' common room when school reconvened. Taking one more proprietary look around, he sighed and turned to the books Snape had given him to study.

'Your Personal Hair Story: Using Your Head to tell Wizarding Society Who You Are' was the first tome at the top of the stack. Harry would have guessed that such a frivolous sounding work might have been thin; no more than a pamphlet. But this heavily-bound tome was a full two inches in depth, and filled with illustrations - both photographs and drawings - along with footnotes and a massive bibliography. It also contained, in cleverly sewn-in pockets in both covers, metal tools that gleamed with a silvery shimmer. It could probably be safely presumed that they were tools for curling, cutting and braiding hair, but since Harry had never seen anything like them previously, he had no idea how they might be put to use. In elementary school, Harry had thought shield markings, family crests and coats of arms were interesting. He had looked at one book on Heraldry, however, and had given up trying to learn the meticulously detailed rules regarding colors, symbols and rights of inheritance. This was similar, but even worse. It would certainly take longer than two nights to plow through even a superficial review of that one. He put it aside.

He also passed on trying to learn 'Robertson's Rules' for holding formal meetings among wizards, including special chapters covering circumstances such as those in which some participants were contributing via floo, or when ghosts were included in the panel. He put aside 'Diplomatic Presentations,' which contained complete descriptions of the proper ceremony for bestowing the Orders of Merlin, broken down by class, and included the oaths of office taken by various elected officials. One of the heaviest volumes was entitled 'Pan-British Heritage,' and contained a number of extremely detailed family trees. Harry stared at one of them, trying to make sense of it. But since wizards tend to live very long lives, almost every wizard had married several times, and all of the witches they had been married to had been married several times, and the trees became very confusing. There were also lines similar to marriage lines that connected women to women and men to men. Harry wasn't sure what these were, but they seemed to have as much importance as the marriages. Harry closed the book and started a separate stack with it. The books that would join that stack would be the 'left for last' volumes.

About halfway through the pile, Harry came to a thin volume which looked small enough to finish in the required time, and interesting besides. 'Social Semaphore, Sending Signals Through Wand Position in Peaceful Society' hinted at information that might have saved him some recent embarrassment. He puzzled for a while over the 'Peaceful Society' part of the title, but when he recalled what Remus had said about wizards needing to trust one another in order to use their wands for such communication, it seemed to make more sense. Leaving the rest of the books on the common room table, he took the thin volume up to his room with him. Reviewing his Herbology notes wouldn't really do him much good, since Neville was going to wipe out every plant in the collection that he had taken cuttings from. So Harry thought he had better get busy with the reading Snape had assigned. 'Homework again,' he sighed. There would apparently be no rest for him this summer.