"Pay attention, Boy! The Mind Arts are the basis for everything!"

Clad in jeans and a Radiohead shirt, one of many printed shirts that Tonks had bought him, Harry stood. "Five hours is long enough for a Saturday, Gramps. I need to go eat dinner and then write my assignment, or Snape will be less bearable than ever."

The icon's eyes bulged in outrage. "What did you just call me? I am Ignotius Cunobelinus Peverell, of the god-born! I carry the blood of mage-kings! "

Harry laughed. "You are an amazing enchantment, Gramps, with lots more personality and memory than a Hogwarts portrait, but I made sure that you aren't Ignotius Cunobelinus Peverell before letting my blood touch that icon. I've enough trouble with things trying to come to life."

"Animus revealio?" The icon was mollified by this sign that the Peverell heir was not without a bare modicum of intelligence. "I still say that we should have just continued along in parseltongue."

"I don't want us, the family I mean, to get a creepy reputation like Slytherin did." Harry rolled up his mat and placed it in a cabinet against the wall. "And what if I only have daughters? I'm just glad that we found the spells to update you. Might even have to try my hand at daubing to improve our odds a bit. I want to get you into a modern portrait frame, so that you can move about and escape if something happens to the icon." He moved the table over so that it was also against the wall and then put on his robe.

The icon frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose that it won't hurt to try, but you can't learn that sort of thing out of a book. I had this icon made in Constantinople, the home of the arts! It required my blood, which is long gone to dust."

Harry smiled. "I have some ideas about that." He had seen the trailers for Jurassic Park after having been dragged into 'Benny and Joon' by Tonks, and the idea of reconstituting fossil blood had piqued his interest. He rather thought that a steady bloke with a microscope, a bit of reagent and some blood replenisher might be able to do it.

As for the art lessons, there was a portrait of a famous artist in the abandoned art classroom on the fifth floor, someone called Thomas Barker. A quick sticking charm and a silencer had rendered the chap very cooperative after a few days when Harry had come in and 'discovered' its plight. It had been anxious to advise him in his artistic endeavors and had talked him through the process of loading the old icon's enchantment with a memory print to enable it to speak modern English and understand something of the modern world.

"Make them small. Then disillusion them and leave them about so that I can spy." Portraits hadn't really existed in its world.

"Eh. I'll have to do more reading for that." Harry wasn't keen to let anyone know about Gramps."

The icon watched impassively as the small room was impeccably cleaned. "Read all you can while you can, Heir. Such knowledge was never shared in my day, but don't forget that it's your magic and that you learn to use it by doing."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if that wasn't the smarter way. Where would Riddle be today without learning all the wrong things at Hogwarts?"

"Such speculation is fruitless. It's not how much the wizard knows, it's what the wizard does with what he knows that makes the mage. The knowledge here is valuable, but it's only the bare beginning. Count on it."

"I understand." Harry sighed. "I just wish that I could keep you over the summer. I'll have to put you back in the vault until school starts again.

"Why?" The icon had a lot to teach and firm plans.

"The muggles that I stay with would burn you the second that they saw you." Harry frowned. "I can't cast during summer because of the trace, so there's really nothing that I can learn anyway, and no way to defend or even hide you. They keep me locked in and watch me all the time."

The Icon's expression hardened. "Do they now. Tell me, Boy, do you care for them?"

"What? No!" Harry was repulsed by the very idea.

"Then why are you planning on returning?"

Harry thought about it. "Professor Dumbledore says-

"Ah, yes, the Headmaster of your life. What has this grand professor actually taught you?" The icon frowned impatiently.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing, really. Not lessons or anything."

"Has he defended you? Helped you to grow stronger in any way?"

"I don't know." Harry had to think about it. "Maybe? He did say that I was safe on Privet Drive."

"Safe from the muggles?" The icon scoffed. "You do understand the folly of depending on one single spell, enchantment or ward for your safety, don't you?"

Harry thought about it. That was exactly what his parents had done and it hadn't turned out well for anybody. "How else can I be safe?"

The icon set its face at the idea of his heir being caged. "The absolute best thing is to not have enemies at all, but if you have them then know them, understand exactly who they are, what they want and where they can be found in order to safely wipe them out first. In the meantime, the best way to be safe is to move about so that they can't find you while becoming strong enough to achieve your goal. Now tell me, Boy, if the places were reversed, if Tom Riddle was hiding at that house, how would you kill him?"

Harry thought about it. Voldemort and Quirrel had cursed him while trying for the Stone and they had tried to knock him off of his broom, so spells cast by Death Eaters could get him. Since spells and wards got weaker the farther away they were from the source, Death Eaters could likely cast very near the house. No matter how miraculous his supposed safety at Number Four, he hadn't known enough to stay silent about the Dursleys. If Hermione could look them up then so could the Death Eaters.

Harry considered the problem. Even if they couldn't see Number Four, they could certainly see Number's Two and Six to either side and just blow the whole block up. "Could Voldemort use magic in the house?"

The Icon shrugged. "No more than you can."

Harry bit his lower lip. "I could kidnap Dudley, hit him with a few stinging hexes, call Vernon and put the Dud on the line to blubber a bit. Then I'd tell him to bring Tom to me or else say goodbye to his pride and joy. I could hire a dozen criminals to kill him while he was doing yard work. I could imperio a neighbor to run him down with a car."

Harry swallowed, face pale. I'm not going back there."

"Good choice." The icon smiled sardonically.

Harry winced. Now that he had started looking at the problem from the other side of the chessboard, he could think of countless ways around any kind of magical protection. Going back wouldn't stop them from say, casting imperio on the ice cream van driver. A cyanide flavored snow cone would finish him in a minute. "But if I stay away, they could just find me with the 'point me' spell!"

"I expect that the family has defenses against that. I recall a certain pendent. Best to search your vault and see if it's there."

"Maybe you're right. See you later, Gramps." Harry swarmed up the narrow stairs and out of the trunk.

"Gramps indeed. I suppose it's better than 'Iggy." The light went out and the icon froze into immobility, the magic that animated it going dormant.

lf

Percy sat at the table and frowned as his plate appeared. It was finer than the other plates. Instead of a brimming goblet of thick sugary pumpkin juice there was a tall elegant glass of ice-cold lemonade, just the way that he liked it. Looking closely, he saw that the ice cubes in the glass were actually made of frozen lemonade. Everyone else at Gryffindor table was eating pork chops, but his plate contained prime rib.

Someone in the kitchen seemed to approve of him and Percy knew that the only thing that was notable or different about him was the matter of Lucius Malfoy. It worried him that someone knew him for a killer, but there was nothing for it but to wallow in the rewards. Ladling gravy on his mash, he conscientiously ate his green beans first.

Unlike the rest of the students, he had a freshly ironed Saturday Evening Prophet that had been intricately folded by his plate. The folds were so artfully done that Percy was able to unfold it a little at a time and read without spreading it out. Marveling at this all but unknown house-elf art, he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.

"Percy!"

Percy, lost in his thoughts, looked up from his paper into the terribly amused eyes of his prospective girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. He couldn't help his blush.

"Um, hi, Penny. Sorry for ignoring you." He gestured at the paper. "I was a bit preoccupied."

Penny laughed. "So you are still in there. It must be an interesting read. What is going on that has you so riveted?"

Percy grinned at her. At least she cared enough to twit him. "A few things, actually. It seems that a group of Wizengamot members came upon Minister Fudge in the Ministry lobby and questioned him over the dearth of trained Aurors available to counter the Death Eaters and why Madame Bones has been seen responding to calls herself when the overall Ministry budget has risen steeply every year of his tenure. He couldn't tell them exactly where the funding was going and was fumbling for an answer when Undersecretary Umbridge chose to interject her own peculiar opinion to the proceedings. Called them cowards in so many words."

"Isn't she the one that looks like a toad?" Penny frowned. "Foul woman."

Percy nodded "She really set them off and so a snap meeting was called, wherein an obscure back bencher stood and called for Fudge's head. Much to the leadership's shock there were many seconds and our dear Minister came within one vote of dismissal. It seems that these new attacks upon sitting members have woken the rest."

Penny shrugged. "Unfortunate that he's still there. Can't see why Fudge getting the shove would be a bad thing." As a muggleborn, Penny had little respect for the Ministry.

Percy's grin widened. "Oh, now don't imagine that this hasn't wounded Fudge, and it's not the only new development. Our beloved headmaster was in a closed ICW meeting when the Wizengamot was called. His lackeys couldn't delay the proceedings and so Dowager Longbottom was elected Chief Witch by the full Wizengamot."

Penny's eyes widened. "I thought that you liked the headmaster."

Percy shook his head. "Not after what happened to Ginny. In that vein, our esteemed Chief Witch promptly called for a vote upon withdrawing the clemency that he had granted to so many of the Death Eaters. The vote wasn't even close, and they were fed through the Veil of Death last night."

"Really?" at his nod, Penny blew out a breath. "That's a relief. Keeping them around was like keeping a cobra in one's sock drawer."

"Everyone knew that but Dumbledore, apparently." Percy shook his head. "I just don't understand him."

"He was born in what, 1878? Who knows how or what he thinks about." Penny touched his hand and blushed.

"He quite brilliant you know, but Dumbledore doesn't do anything with his power. Look at the deadlock that he's built into the Wizengamot. The two blocks of the Wizengamot are both reactionary movements. The majority of the Traditionalists have no links to Voldemort, but fear Dumbledore's 'light' idealology and its drive to outlaw all but a few approved forms of magic. The majority of the Progressives are equally leery of Dumbledore but fear Voldemort's 'dark' ideology and mad desire to engage in unlimited war against the Muggles." Percy smirked. "With the two of them finally out of the chamber, both of those monoliths have collapsed."

"But Voldemort was long dead," objected Penny.

"Dead perhaps, yet never quite gone in spirit." Percy wondered if Malfoy's elf was grateful enough for a request. "My dinner is wonderful, thank you, but could I get another for Penelope, please?" Much to his delight, a second meal, identical to his own, appeared in front of her.

"Percy! How did you do that?" Penelope looked at the fare, astonished.

"A good magician never reveals his tricks, my dear." Percy smiled and made a mental note to thank the elf later.

"Well, I'm impressed." Penny tucked in. "What else is going on?"

Percy made a show of consulting his paper. "They've stripped the funding from Fudge's shadow departments, clawed back the monies and appropriated a budget to recall thirty-seven former aurors. This will be expensive, as most had long moved on and will require an extraordinary payment and considerable financial assurances to upset their lives again. A state of emergency has been declared and a Special Task Force answerable only to the Chief Witch was formed."

Penny frowned. "It must be much worse that we're hearing."

Percy nodded. "There have been battles in the streets. Alastor Moody was reappointed to his wartime rank of Auror Commander."

"I hope that he gets it all sorted this time." Penny shook her head.

"Me too, Penny." Percy felt much better about the prospect of service to the Ministry after reading this. Though the usual sitting quorum could be swayed by the likes of Malfoy, it seemed that the full Wizengamot was not enamored with masked murderers, most having been personally threatened or having lost family members to them.

Hearing angry ranting from the Slytherin table, Percy's eye fell upon Draco Malfoy, who was loudly decrying the death of his aunt, Bellatrix LeStrange. As he watched, Percy noted the smarter Slytherins quietly slipping away, not wanting to be seen at the same table with the blind little fool.

Shaking his head, Percy wondered how such a backward child had ever made his way into Slytherin. If anything, Malfoy was even less subtle than Ron, having never been forced to deal with any kind of adversity. The Twins would have eaten Draco alive.

He smiled, thinking of the first time he'd ever seen Ron best the twins. It had been over the matter of a 'small' shed acromantula exoskeleton that they had brought back from Hogwarts and transfigured to match Ron's stuffed bear. It had reverted in the ten year old's bed, sending Ron almost insane.

Percy had felt his first trace of pride in his youngest brother when Ron had simply walked up to George, who was innocently doing homework in the sitting room and laid into him with an iron hard club of rolled and petrified Daily Prophets, getting serious enough licks in to send George semiconscious to the floor.

Fred had leapt to the rescue, only for Ron to shy the bundle into the fire and fall down into the fetal position, crying out in shock and terror.

Their mother, still enraged over the spider incident, had emerged from the kitchen just in time to see the twins apparently attempting to kill their little brother, something that had almost resulted in their permanent ejection from their home. They had repented their little joke at great and harrowing length with the loss of all privileges and thoroughly learned their lesson, to wit that Ron could and would hurt them.

It was a good lesson to learn. Recent events had convinced Percy that he was not unique in associating the Dark Mark with a slave mark, as the once-untouchable Death Eaters were being purged with only the barest shrug from the Wizengamot. It was even more interesting to watch the various Slytherins react. The more politically adroit were trimming their sails, the magnitude of recent events clear to them. Being a sympathizer with 'Tom Riddle' was not healthy and they were literally putting distance between themselves and the less astute, such as Draco's rented clique.

Blind to reality, an overconfident Draco still didn't know about Lucius demise. Watching him rant, hearing snatches of, 'mudblood,' and 'my father,' from across the hall, Percy couldn't muster so much as a trace of compassion for the arrogant little twat.

lf

Harry reached the Great Hall and slid into place next to Hermione, who had a book lying open by her plate. "Come on, Hermione, it's been a week. Don't try to tell me that you're not caught up."

Hermione rolled her eyes and put the book away. "Not quite."

Harry grinned and picked up his fork as his dinner plate appeared. It smelled delicious. "Admit it. You were already more than four weeks ahead and are delighted to have the professors all to yourself."

"I do appreciate the opportunity for more intensive tutoring with our teachers." Her smile vanished and she shot a dark look at Snape, who was making his way to the high table. "Bar one or two."

Harry rummaged and brought out a bright yellow plastic shopping bag emblazoned with the logo of a record store. "It's not like Professor Git's ever taught us anything. Here, have a present."

"A present?" Hermione, eyes wide, took the bag and then bit off a squeal as she pulled out the blister pack containing the Walkman. "Why?"

"To take your mind off all of the money that our parents wasted on useless professors." Ignoring the green beans, Harry carefully spread his mash over the beef on his plate, creating well engineered dimples to properly hold his gravy. "There are rune inscribed batteries in the bag. The magic of Hogwarts will keep them charged, but you'll want to change them out for mundane at home. If they run down while you're away from a high magic area then that's it for them."

"Oh, Harry, thank you!" She hugged him, slipped the batteries in, then opened a tape and slotted it in. Putting on the earphones, she hit 'play' and smiled.

"Oy! I thought those didn't work around magic!" A thunderstruck Dean was sitting across from them next to Seamus, the two having shifted up in the absence of Ron and the twins.

"My London girl says that it all works with a few runes on, but certain old blokes want everything to be like it was back in ye olden days of yore, so he makes sure that it doesn't." Harry was no longer sure what to think of Dumbledore, having been badgered into seeing some of his shortcomings by the icon.

Seamus laughed, but Dean scowled.

"What the actual f-!" Dean was angry, but not angry enough to risk bad language in front of Hermione. She had a stinging hex that should be classified as an 'unforgivable' and no compunction or restraint about using it. "It's like being trapped on the set of Ivanhoe and you're saying that it's deliberate? Can you show me how to make one of those work if I bring mine in?"

Harry and Seamus glanced nervously at Hermione, who had Views on Foul Language, but she hadn't heard anything objectionable, nodding along to the music.

"Sure." Harry cut up his meat into little potato and gravy boats, then took an exploratory bite. It was very good, but it wasn't chops like everyone else was having. Dobby had struck again.

"London girl?" Seamus was incredulous.

Harry swallowed, and then gestured pompously with his fork. "Why do you plebes presume that I'm dining on this delicious prime rib while you common lot get that hastily transfigured ballock, snout and arsehole slurry? I'm a celebrity, lads, a veritable celebrity. In spite of how dreadful it all sounds, celibate just ain't in it. However, if you lot think that I'm going to conduct a discussion of the urban adventures of a growing boy within hexing range of Hermione then you're madder than a hog with his twig and berries in the grinder."

Dean looked quite ill, picking suspiciously at his chop before casting a 'finite.'

Seamus just laughed and took a big bite to demonstrate his immunity to Harry's evil ways. Swallowing, he looked at the oblivious girl. If she heard him reply with what he wanted to say then she would probably leave him under a rhyming curse for the summer. "Good point."

Dean put down his wand. "Tosser."

Hermione clicked the machine off and turned to hug Harry again. "Thank you so much! I never realized just how much I missed music! Where did you learn these runes?" Her eye fell onto his plate, with its very different fare and her brow wrinkled.

"I-" Harry broke off at an anguished scream from the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy had lurched to his feet, staring at a letter, the Gringott's eagle-owl that had delivered it already winging ponderously away. "Uh-oh."

"Was that Malfoy? What's going on?" Hermione craned her neck to get a better view over Dean's shoulder.

Harry shrugged. "I expect that the Goblins have notified him of his father's death."

Hermione turned to him in shock. "Draco's father is dead? Why would they be the ones to notify him? How would they even know? How do you know?"

Harry took a long look at Draco, swallowed his grin and turned back to her. "The Gringotts vault key goes inactive when the owner dies. Remember the Associative Law? The Goblin enchantments link the man to the key, the key to the vault and the vault to a self-updating magical ledger. When the key enchantment goes inactive the linked vault enchantment triggers a vault lock down and that makes the vault-ledgers close themselves out and go to audit. It all happens within a fraction of a second of the keyholder's death. I was shown the Potter ledger and it had the exact times of my father and mother's deaths. I don't think that the Goblins care how people die or investigate anything but they always know when. Malfoy probably just got the standard summons." Harry had been walked through the procedure recently.

"You mean… Oh! Poor Draco." Hermione watched as Snape and McGonagall came running from the teachers table, her expressive eyes welling with sympathy and sorrow.

"Poor Draco." Harry's eyes inadvertently met Dean's in a moment of perfect communication and he stuffed green beans into his mouth in order to keep from laughing out loud. 'Poor Draco' had often found it amusing to needle him over his deceased parents and particularly enjoyed calling Dean a 'niggle.' Harry could hardly wait to quote some of those clever little gems back at the ferret faced turd.

Harry's lip curled into an unconscious sneer. Maybe he could make Malfoy blub in front of his toadies. It would even get better, especially if Malfoy tried to maintain his lordly airs with a dead daddy and a lean vault. Maybe Crab or Goyle would be up for a little ponce punching once they realized they wouldn't be getting a bean from 'Poor Draco.' After what he'd overheard in the Gringotts caf, Pasty Princess Draco might well end up working at some lowly job for his galleons, if he could get one.

"But… how did you know?" The professors were leading the sobbing boy out of the hall, so Hermione turned her attention back to Harry.

Harry swallowed green bean and withdrew from his fantasy of one day donning white tie and top hat along with an identically clad Dobby so that they could patronize the mean little shop of Draco Malfoy, Shoe Salesman.

"I keep my ears open. Look, Hermione, I've a question for you. How do you get mail to your parents? I mean without Hedwig." Ordinary post owls couldn't find muggles and wouldn't approach them, let alone deliver post to them. Hedwig was unique in that she had no problem delivering to Hermione's house, where she had a perch and all sorts of treats, but the only thing that she would ever deliver to a Dursley was precisely targeted cack to the eye.

Hermione frowned, wondering what he was doing, but time was short and her revision called. "If you send the letter to the Hogsmeade Owl Post Office with two knuts, they will eventually deign to drop it in the Royal Mail. Sometimes."

Harry scowled. "Two knuts for a bloody stamp? That's outrageous!" He had thought to give the Dursleys a bit of warning, but upon consideration they just weren't worth the two knuts.

Hermione gave him a wintery smile. "They provide nothing. The stamp costs an additional knut and it's why I so appreciate you letting me borrow Hedwig. And thank you again for keeping my parents informed." Hedwig often carried a bundle of mail from the muggleborn to her parents, who would drop them in the box without the standard 'mudblood' ripoff tax.

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. "You're my friend and Hedwig really likes it there."

She gave him a wide smile and opened her mouth to speak, but it just hung open as she stared past him.

Neville half danced, half strutted up to the table, eyes mostly closed and his head bobbing to the heavy metal beat escaping faintly from his headphones, completely oblivious to their presence. Ignoring everything, including his usually impeccable table manners, he slowed just enough to snatch a pork chop and then strutted away, barbarically devouring his prize with greasy fingers.

Hermione stared after him, open mouthed.

Dean laughed. "Look at him go!"

Harry sighed. "Purebloods. If anyone sees Neville again remind him that he doesn't actually have to walk in order to listen to his Walkman."