Guest reviewer S left me a thoughtful review on FFN of Chapter 15, which reads in part: "...At the risk of going against popular opinion here, I'm going to say that you are depicting Harry as this perfect guy with fantastic skills and absolutely perfect behaviour. Essentially a guy who can do no wrong. Yes, it can be justified to a large extent by the fact that he has already lived through these years and is able to moderate a lot of his actions accordingly, but isn't it implausible to have that kind of control at all times?"

I see two ways that S's question can be interpreted.

The first interpretation is to say "In your story, Harry never does anything ignorant, unwise or because he's lost his temper." My reply is this the only time Harry totally loses control in canon is just after Sirius has died and Dumbledore tells Harry the Prophecy, then Harry trashes Dumbledore's silver Harry-spies. Harry in my story will never be hit with such a huge and unpleasant shock, so Harry in this story will never lose his temper like how he did at the end of OOTP.

As for Harry doing something ignorant or unwise, the planning session in this story's Chapter 2 absolutely prevented such possibilities.

The other way to interpret S's question is "Harry has made a plan and everything has worked perfectly. Voldemort and Dumbledore have not bollocksed the plan, nor has wild bad luck bollocksed the plan. However, fiction does not work so smoothly." My remarks below, answer the second interpretation of S's question.

In commercial fiction, like what I write for Amazon, S's point is well taken. In commercial fiction, life is never a cakewalk for the hero. I the author am expected to dig a big hole for the hero to fall into, then have the hero painfully dig his way out. The more adversity that the hero overcomes before the end of the story, the more we root for him. (Or for her, in the case of Katniss Everdeen.)

But since I am not writing this story to make money, then I am free of the rules for writing commercial fiction. So why should I invent new ways to cause Harry a ration of s**t?

The whole point of the setup for this story was that I wanted to write a story in which things were planned so well that nothing went wrong. The Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939 worked like clockwork; the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii in 1941 went exactly to plan. Whilst the military rule of "No battle plan survives contact with the enemy" is usually true, it is not always true.

And let's face it, Harry deserves a break this time round, because he was given much more s**t than he deserved in his previous lifetime (which is the same as the canon universe, except for Harry not surviving the Killing Curse).

How s**tty was canon-Harry's life? In canon, sooner or later every character turned against Harry (except Luna); and by the time Harry walked out to face Voldemort, there was not one person who said, "Please come back! You're important in my life." What was worse, Harry himself was convinced that he did not deserve to be hailed as a hero, should he survive. So he essentially committed suicide. Then too, in the series, there were the whoopsies—whenever it looked like Harry would be able to live with Sirius and to get away from the Dursleys, some plot contrivance happened, and both Harry and Sirius went back to being prisoners dancing to Dumbledore's tune—until Sirius died needlessly by another plot contrivance.

I'm not interested in repeating Harry's seven years of canon s**t, with only minor changes, so that he again battles Voldy in May 1998. Nor am I interested in writing a story in which Harry's victory is a certainty, only for his life to go back to s**t when he trips over a plot-contrived tree root and sprains his ankle.

No, I want to write the story in which Harry destroys Voldemort, forevermore, and Harry destroys Voldy in Harry's first year, instead of dragging out the conflict for Harry's entire seven years of schooling; then Harry vanquishes his true enemy, Dumbledore.

The way I have set things up, this can happen. Advisors James and Lily have had personal experience with Dumbledore (as has previous-lifetime Harry), and the founders have watched Albus since he was a firstie in the nineteenth century. Harry's heaven-sent advisors have been able to tell him, to six decimal places, exactly how Dumbledore will act in a given situation.

Plus, there is this: Dumbledore thinks he has the element of surprise? Harry actually does.

I also imagine, in the planning session between lifetimes, that Harry's advisors hit him with some tough love—such as Godric yelling, "You were a war leader! People respected you, they looked to you for guidance! Quit acting like a puny little victim who deserves to be kicked in the teeth. So the redheaded rubbish pail fancied Hermione? Why did it follow that he should have her? Why shouldn't you have had her? Didn't you fancy Hermione more than him? Didn't you deserve Hermione more than him? Didn't Hermione deserve you instead of being stuck with him? One last bit of advice: You have commanded soldiers—when you go back, act like a general, not like an unstubbled youth who doesn't know which end of the sword to hold. Last time, your acting like 'just Harry' always got you victimised."

Chapter 16
Gazer

Still Wednesday, 18th September, afternoon

Harry asked Snape, "If I can remove this from your arm, do you want me to?"

Snape looked at Harry for a long time, his face expressionless. Neither Harry nor the three other people who were present, spoke.

Harry, who was seventeen years old no matter what the mirror said, could guess Snape's thoughts. If Snape said No, I want to keep the Dark Mark, then his relationship with Harry, Andi and every professor whom Andi talked to, would sour. But if Snape said Yes, please, get rid of the Dark Mark ASAP, and word got back to Voldemort—or to Quirrell; did Snape know that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort?—then Snape would be in a world of pain before he died soon.

Eventually, Snape looked at Harry and said, "Yes, please remove it if you can. The second-biggest regret of my life is taking the Dark Mark when I was seventeen."

Hermione opened her mouth; Andi said to her, "Dear, don't ask him."

Harry said to Hermione, "I'll tell you later." Hermione shot Harry a hurt look of How do you know what Snape's biggest regret is when I don't?

Harry slid out of his chair, then told Snape, "Please rest your lower arm on something, so that it doesn't move. I want to look at your Dark Mark sideways."

Snape rested his forearm on the table; Harry knelt down beside the table. Seconds later, Harry said, "Yes, it's just as I suspected, once I thought about it."

Harry looked at Snape, Andi and Hermione. "My first guess, and I'll bet it was yours too, is that the Dark Mark is a magical tattoo—the skin is dyed. But the Mark has a tiny bit of height above the arm—about a tenth of a millimetre. It's a wafer that's been glued to his arm—a wafer that has been cut out and shaded to look like a snake slithering out of the open mouth of a skull."

Andi said, "Magicals would say it was 'Sticking-Charmed to his arm.' "

Then Andi pulled out her wand. "Would Finite Incantatem take it off?"

Snape said, with remarkable calm, "Please do not cast that." Then he explained: "A wizard whose name you do not need to know, asked his wife to cast this very spell on him. It killed him. It is rumoured that trying to slide something flat under the Dark Mark likewise is ill-advised."

Harry said to Snape, "I will find something that will take that horror off your arm, without killing you."

Then Harry looked at Hermione. "May I ask for your help in research?"

Hermione's smile was like the sun. "Do you even need to ask?"

Harry said to Snape, "I'll begin the research in two days."

Hermione said, "Not today? Not tomorrow?"

Harry smiled at his friend (and soulmate!) and said, "Tomorrow is your birthday, Hermione. Do you think I'm going to spend those hours surrounded by books and parchment?"

"Actually," Snape said, "from all the reports I hear about Miss Granger, such an activity would be the perfect way to honour her day."

Later

After Andi's tea ended, and dinner had been served and eaten in the Great Hall (with the other all-Houses firsties), Harry said to Hermione, "There is something I need to do. It's Delphi stuff. I'll see you in the library a bit later."

"All right," she said, looking puzzled. As Harry walked out of the Great Hall, he hoped fervently that she would not decide to follow him.

From the Great Hall, Harry climbed stairs till he was on the second floor. From there, Harry walked to the girl's loo that had a big "OUT OF ORDER" sign hanging on the outside of one of the doors. (The paint for the sign's lettering was faded and chipped; this sign had hung on this door for forty-eight years.)

Harry looked about, assuring himself that nobody was watching him. Then he opened the door and walked into Hogwarts's notorious haunted lavatory.

Harry had let the three others at tea—and this included Hermione—believe that he would do nothing about destroying Snape's Dark Mark before 20th September. But Harry had misled them.

In Harry's previous lifetime, he had been in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom several times in second year. Back then, whenever Harry had been in this loo, he had had other things on his mind, rather than looking about. But now, Harry looked about.

Over the sinks was a long mirror; this mirror was cracked. The lavatory floor was damp and mouldy. When Harry walked closer to the toilet stalls, he saw that the floor was not merely damp, it was wet, and the floor was greenish from mould. The stall at the far left, whose door hung by only one hinge, had a solid-green floor, the floor there was so mouldy.

Harry had heard no sound except his own footsteps, but for what he was about to do, he needed for there to be no witnesses. So he squatted down and looked under the toilet-stalls' doors.

He saw no female feet.

Harry was a bit surprised at this. Was there no girl in the castle who got hit by a "call of nature" so bad that she felt the need to dash to the nearest girl's loo no matter what, even if this meant "doing her business" in Moaning Myrtle's loo?

Apparently not. When Harry opened the door of a random stall and looked in, he saw three reasons why no living girl used this loo: 1) the loo roll was nothing more than a naked cardboard cylinder; 2) the cardboard cylinder was covered with dust, as was the toilet seat; and 3) the toilet bowl was Sahara-dry, and had dusty cobwebs in it.

Harry was now satisfied that he was the only person, living or dead, in this lavatory at the moment. He walked over to the sinks and found the snake-marked sink. But rather than speak Parseltongue now, Harry said lowly, "I ask for a meeting with the Spirit of Hogwarts."

The Spirit appeared and said, "Harry, how can Hogwarts help you?"

"First, Spirit, I have an important question for you. You told me earlier that you don't report to the headmaster or to the Marauder' Map when someone is in the Chamber of Secrets—"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't know that name."

"Slytherin's hidden place. 'The Chamber of Secrets' is what Tom Marvolo Riddle called it."

"Duly noted. Please, go on."

"You said before that you don't report when someone is in the Chamber of Secrets or in the Room of Requirement. But do you know when someone is in either place?"

"Yes. My awareness extends to every inch of the castle, the grounds and every inch of the hidden tunnels."

"So to be clear: Anytime someone goes into the Chamber of Secrets, you know. You don't tell the headmaster or the Marauder's Map, but you know. You knew in 1943."

"This is correct."

"New order: Whilst I'm a student here at Hogwarts, if anyone other than me opens the Chamber of Secrets, send a house-elf to me immediately. When this other person goes down into the Chamber, spy on him or her until he or she leaves."

Harry thought, If Quirrellmort goes into the Chamber of Secrets, I'll know. If possessed-Ginny goes down there next year, I'll know from the start.

Meanwhile, the Spirit of Hogwarts was saying, "Change made."

"Another new order: Besides you not reporting the location of anyone in the Room of Requirement or the Chamber of Secrets, don't report anyone who is in this lavatory, for as long as I'm a student at Hogwarts. This haunted restroom is going to get much more foot-traffic in the next two months, and I don't want Dumbledore or the Weasley Twins getting the slightest hint of this."

"Change made."

"Now please summon the ghost of Myrtle Warren."

Eternally-fourteen Myrtle was not a pretty being, and not only because she was dead. Her hair was lank, she was chubby, and her face had pimples. She wore glasses. Her Hogwarts robe and her school tie were the dark grey/light grey of an unsorted firstie, not the Ravenclaw colours she had worn in life.

"BOYS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THIS BATHROOM!" ghost-Myrtle yelled at Harry. "GO! LEAVE!"

The Spirit of Hogwarts said archly, "This boy, Harry Potter, is the founders' Designated Secret Substitute. He speaks with the founders' authority; his commands overrule every headmaster's. He may go anywhere he wishes, and you shall obey him in all things."

Myrtle turned to Harry and dropped a curtsey. "Sorry, Mr Potter."

"Please, call me Harry." Then Harry asked Myrtle how she had died, and listened patiently whilst she told her story.

Then Harry asked Myrtle another question that he already knew the answer to, from his previous life: "Where can you go in Hogwarts?"

Myrtle answered that she was allowed to go anywhere in the castle, on the grounds or on (or in) the Black Lake; but she generally chose to avoid people.

Harry said, "You were a Ravenclaw, so I invite you, whenever I'm in the Ravenclaw common room, to join me there. Besides, I'm sure my friend Hermione will want to meet you. Just one little thing—and now I'm speaking as the Designated Secret Substitute. Myrtle, you can't tell anyone in this castle that I'm the DSS; and you can't tell anyone except Hermione that you met me in the lavatory."

"I obey. I'm just mildly curious, you understand, but this girl, Hermione—she's a girl, and she's your friend. Is she—?"

"We're both eleven, so the answer is, Not now."

The Spirit of Hogwarts said, "This is so sweet, Harry, inviting Myrtle to visit you. She never is invited anywhere."

Myrtle made the rocking-hand gesture. "Nearly Headless Nick invites me to his Happy Deathday parties, but those are not fun. But fun places? Yeah, I'm never invited to those."

Harry looked at the Spirit of Hogwarts and said, "One last order before I go do what I came to do. This is about the Ravenclaw door-knocker that asks riddles. Beginning tonight, I want a Hogwarts house-elf there from 8:45—fifteen minutes before the curfew for first- and second-years—up through midnight—the curfew for seventh-years. This house-elf needs to be able to tell time without seeing the common-room clock, and the house-elf needs to recognise what year a given Ravenclaw student is in. What I want to happen is that if a Ravenclaw presents him- or herself to the door-knocker, and the student is within fifteen minutes of curfew or comes after curfew, I want the house-elf to say so, and I want the knocker to pass the student through the door without asking a riddle. Any seventh-years who show up after midnight, ask them the riddle! What I want is that no Ravenclaw student can be locked out of Ravenclaw Tower overnight, if one of the seventh-year prefects is abusing his or her authority and is acting like a bully." The trick that was often pulled on Luna will not be pulled on Hermione, Harry resolved.

Meanwhile, the Spirit of Hogwarts was saying, "Change made."

"Thank you, Spirit of Hogwarts, for your time." The Spirit of Hogwarts curtseyed, then vanished. "As for you, Myrtle—"

Harry turned to look at the snake-sink. "§Open,§" he said. The tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets revealed itself. "§Stairs.§"

Turning back to Myrtle, Harry continued, "I would enjoy your company down here. Though I'll understand perfectly if you decide not to join me."

"Is it dangerous?" Myrtle asked.

"Not for you, no. I don't think I'll die today, but I might."

Myrtle smiled at Harry. "If you die, I'll let you share my toilet." She gestured to the dark tunnel downwards. "Onwards, Harry, to your next great adventure!"

After the boy who was living had walked down the stairs, and the ghost-girl had glided down the stairs, they came to the door into the Chamber itself. The round, metal door, of an alarmingly big diameter, was locked shut.

"§Open,§" Harry commanded. Metal snakes on the door's edge slithered inwards, unlocking the door; then the door opened itself.

"Shall we go in?" Harry asked.

"Eww," said Myrtle, "you're stepping on little skeletons."

He shrugged. "They're dead; they can't harm me. Now if I saw hundreds of rat ghosts here, then I might be bothered."

"You have something against ghosts?" Myrtle asked archly.

Harry walked from the round door, through the Chamber and towards a gigantic stone carving of a bearded man's head. Myrtle glided beside him. Light was provided by magical lights in the ceiling that lit themselves as soon as Harry stepped into the Chamber.

Harry ignored the many statues that he walked between, of rearing cobras with their hoods spread.

The Chamber was silent except for the sounds that Harry's own trainers made on the floor. No other living creature was visible, and Myrtle was not making a sound—

"Erm, Harry, may I ask you something?" Myrtle said. "How is it that an eleven-year-old boy is the Designated Secret Substitute? Isn't that supposed to mean that you're wise and mature?"

"Sorry, but I signed a contract that says I can't answer this question. But the Sorting Hat knows all about me, and I, the wise and mature DSS, give you permission to ask the Hat anything you want, and give the Hat permission to answer you."

Myrtle grinned at Harry. He was pretty sure that in his previous lifetime, he had never seen Myrtle smile (except when she was flirting).

Harry snapped his fingers. "Oh, I forgot something." Adopting a posh voice, Harry commanded, "Harken, O Myrtle Warren, your wise and mature DSS commands you." Then speaking in a regular voice, Harry said, "Today, I'm going down to the Chamber of Secrets alone. Beginning two days from now, I'll bring Hermione down here with me sometimes. I might bring other people with me in the future. But if any professor asks, and especially if Dumbledore asks, answer as though you don't know nuthin' about my friends and me visiting the Chamber of Secrets. Can you do this? Can you keep a secret from Dumbledore?"

Myrtle's ghostly face was wearing a vicious grin. "I think I can maybe manage it. I obey, with pleasure."

By now, the boy and the ghost were close to Salazar's big stone head. Harry said, "Myrtle, I want you to take two steps forward, then turn about to face me. Be sure to not look at Salazar Slytherin's big head, or anything that comes out of his big head."

"I obey," Myrtle said, and she did. "Harry, why am I doing this?"

Harry turned serious. "I'm about to call out the basilisk that lives here—"

"A basilisk? A 'look into its eyes and you're dead' actual basilisk?"

"Yes, the same basilisk that killed you in 1943—"

"A basilisk killed me?"

"Yes, when you looked into its eyes—'Surprise, Myrtle, you're dead.' Well, guess what? If you look into its eyes now, it can petrify you, even as a ghost."

"So why don't we show wit beyond measure and bloody-hell run away?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I know a way to make the basilisk safe for both of us. But if I drop dead, I want you to get out of here without getting petrified, then go tell the Spirit of Hogwarts that I died here."

"I'm to tell the Spirit of Hogwarts, not the headmaster?"

"Correct. Definitely not the headmaster."

"I obey. Please don't die—I've never had a breathing friend before."

Harry took a deep breath, and straightened his back. "It's showtime," he muttered.

He hissed as loudly as he could, "§Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.§"

With the rumbling of stone grinding against stone, the mouth of the sculpted Slytherin-head opened.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

Up ahead, he heard a hissing voice say, "§You are a Speaker, but you aren't the Heir of Slytherin. Who are you, and why are you here?§"

Harry told the basilisk, "§I'm not the Heir of Slytherin, I am the Trusted of Slytherin. Founder Slytherin told me that when you first were hatched, he called you Toadchild. Nowhere is this name written, so how do I know it? The one who called himself 'the Heir of Slytherin,' he is a deceiver. Never are you to attack children, inside the walls or outside. Your only job is to defend the castle from outside attackers.§"

"§Very well, Trusted of Slytherin. I shall obey you, and I shall not harm you and yours. You may open your eyes now. What is your name?§"

Here goes nothing, Harry thought. He opened his eyes. The head of the basilisk was sticking out of Slytherin's mouth. The basilisk's own mouth was closed; Harry could not see the forearm-length fang that, in his previous life, had bitten him. The scales of the basilisk's head were a dark but vivid green—the colour of a rain forest.

Myrtle had described the deadly eyes of the basilisk as yellow. Harry now looked into the orange eyes of the basilisk—and felt nothing.

"It's safe to turn about," he murmured to Myrtle. She gasped when she saw the magical beast that had killed her.

To the basilisk, Harry hissed, "§My name is Harry. Is Toadchild still your name, or do you prefer I call you something else?§"

"§Harry, the Heir of Slytherin called me Mudbloodkiller.§"

Harry thought, And I thought Freak was a horrid name. Aloud, he hissed, "§What name would you give yourself if you could?§"

"§If I could name myself, I would be called Gazer.§"

"§Then Gazer is what I shall call you. Gazer, I ask you to come out into the Chamber completely.§"

From Slytherin's mouth, Gazer slithered out—and out, and out. Myrtle gasped when she saw Gazer's full sixty-foot length, and neither was Harry calm. He had vivid memories of running for his life from this same gigantic basilisk, five years ago.

Harry thought, What was it Godric Gryffindor said to me? "When you go back, act like a general, not like an unstubbled youth who doesn't know which end of the sword to hold." These days, Harry lacked all of his future beard growth, but he calmly said to Myrtle, "Let's go, I want to find Slytherin's library," as if he had not just suffered the biggest scare of his seventh life.

Just inside Salazar Slytherin's open mouth was a tall-ceilinged room that was big enough to hold a coiled-up sixty-foot basilisk. The room reeked of basilisk. On the left side of the room was a door-sized cutout in the wall that was too small for Gazer to pass through. Harry walked through this doorway, and Myrtle floated through the wall. There they found a small flat with a fireplace in the sitting room. This fireplace was not Floo-sized, and it had just lit itself.

Almost everything in the sitting room, and in the bedroom beyond the sitting room, was coloured green. On the wall of the sitting room was a painting of a black cobra on grass; the cobra's hood was spread.

Myrtle floated over to the bookcase—but then huffed in dismay. "I can't read these book titles—they're just the letter 'S,' endlessly repeated."

Harry walked over. "They look fine to me." He noticed a book on the top shelf, §The Wizard and the Muggle Farmer's Daughter§. Harry pulled the book out and flipped through it.

.

§"Please," Rustica begged, "show me your wand!"§

.

Harry thought, Parseltext porn, who'd have thought it? He put the book back on the shelf.

He said to Myrtle, "I've reason to believe that there is another library here, one that is much better hidden."

Harry did not tell Myrtle that his "reason" for believing in a second Parseltext library was that Salazar Slytherin himself had told Harry so.

He and Myrtle moved back into the huge, basilisk-stinky room. Harry hissed, "§Reveal hidden doors.§" The featureless back wall now transfigured itself into a wall and door; the same happened with the right wall. Standing in front of the right-side door, Harry deliberately made three wrong guesses before he hissed, "§Unlock this previously-hidden door.§"

And thus Harry and Myrtle found Salazar Slytherin's ultra-secret Parseltext library—

Which had a thousand years of dust in it. Harry took two steps into the room and started coughing.

"Greyclay," Harry choked out. Pop. Greyclay, the head Potter house-elf, decided to "share the wealth" with the other three Potter house-elves; the dust was gone from the library in seconds.

Whilst the elves worked, Harry's curiosity was aroused by the sight of a book that was in the centre of the library's biggest table.

The table was way too big for Harry to reach the book by hand, so he Summoned the book. The title turned out to be §Read This First§.

Harry spent a minute flipping through the book. When he put the book back on the table, he was smiling from a sense of relief. His big worry, in coming here, had been that Hermione could not help in his research because she could not read Parseltext. But now, thanks to §Read This First§, Harry now knew a way round this.

Harry had done enough for the day. He walked out of the library, Parseltongue-locked the library door and Parseltongue-hid both doors. A minute later, Harry was back in the main Chamber and saying to Gazer, "I'm done in there, and I've put your room back the way it was. I'll return in two days with a friend."

Gazer replied, "Thank you. I think I will hunt now. I will see you in two days."

Harry watched the enormous basilisk slither away. Harry realised he felt relief that he had not been forced to kill Gazer in order to protect the children of the school; with careful planning beforehand, Harry and his heavenly advisors had bypassed this problem.

Less than five minutes later, Harry and Myrtle were back in the haunted loo. Myrtle said, "Thank you, Harry, for taking me down there. That was cathartic. But one thing I don't understand. The basilisk seemed nice—for a basilisk. How could it have killed me?"

Harry said, "The basilisk felt it had to obey the orders of 'the Heir of Slytherin'—who was Tom Marvolo Riddle. So Riddle killed you—the basilisk was only the means. Thirty-eight years later, Riddle had changed his name to Voldemort, he killed my parents and he tried to kill me. Somehow in that last part, he failed. Anyway, Myrtle, you and I are connected through Tom Riddle."

Five minutes later, Harry was back in the Ravenclaw common room. He was there only long enough to collect his books, then Harry was off to the (English-language) library.

At the all-Houses firsties' table at the library, Hermione had saved Harry a seat. She did not even wait for him to sit down: "Where did you go? What did you do? Why didn't you take me along?"

Harry made a show of sitting down and setting out his textbooks, parchment, quill and ink bottle. Then he grinned at Hermione and said, "You'll find out soon. You'll find out soon. Because it was dangerous."

"Great," said grinning Draco, "we've got ourselves a Ravendor here."

"Sod off," said Millicent. "I approve of Ravendor Harry."

A bit over a day later
19th September (Hermione's twelfth birthday)
Dinnertime, the Great Hall

At the all-Houses-firsties part of the Ravenclaw table, every student who could call upon a house-elf gave Hermione a birthday present—a book of some sort (what a shock!) or chocolates. Harry observed, "Giving chocolates to a daughter of dentists—oh, the irony!"

Harry himself and the three Tonkses bought Hermione a two-volume, box-set collection of Agatha Christie mysteries.

The only steady member of the all-Houses group who did not give Hermione a birthday gift was Justin Finch-Fletchley—who had no family house-elf. Justin promised Hermione that her gift would be late but it was coming, and it needed to be owled in.

The big surprise of the night: Harry had asked the kitchen house-elves ahead of time to bake a birthday cake that was big enough for sixteen people. The cake was chocolate, with thick and gooey chocolate frosting. Written on top was "Hermione's 12th," spelled out in cursive-script white chocolate. The cake was both beautiful (before it was cut) and delicious (after it was cut).

Hermione, Harry noticed, had started to cry tears of joy at some point during the birthday party.

The birthday cake had been presented, with great solemnity, by two Hogwarts house-elves. Justin had never seen house-elves before; Millicent explained what they were. Harry added, "They're symbionts, not slaves. House-elves have no magic of their own, but take magic from the wizard or witch whom they're bound to."

When dinner for the all-Houses firsties had ended, but before Hermione gathered up her birthday gifts and headed towards her common room, she hugged everyone in the group as a thank-you, boys and girls alike. Harry of course got the most powerful hug. When Hermione hugged Draco, he looked gobsmacked. Daphne explained Draco's reaction: "Purebloods don't hug."

Later on, in the Ravenclaw common room, Hermione told Harry that this was not only the best birthday party she had ever had, it was better than any birthday party she had ever dreamt of.

Harry was glad that Hermione could enjoy a completely carefree day before tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow, Hermione would begin the most important research project of her life.

Meanwhile at Number 12, Grimmauld Place

Thirty-one-year-old Remus Lupin was a man with scars on his face and a story how he got those scars. Now Remus pounded the door-knocker at Sirius Black's house. A minute later, Sirius answered the door.

A long time ago, Lily had taken the Marauders to see a famous Muggle film that had been made in 1931. A Hungarian actor with a distinctive accent had played the title role. The actor had been able to convey both charm and menace.

Now Sirius copied the Hungarian accent and said, "Remus my fine friend, enter freely and of your own vill. Ve have important matters to discuss about Harry, my godson."

Remus had known since age eleven that Sirius could be charming. Now Remus was reminded how menacing Sirius could be.