Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER SIX –

McGonagall's Offer

The morning of the wedding, Harry felt more in the way than ever. Even though the ceremony wasn't until mid-afternoon, Mrs Weasley had everybody up by six and kept them all running from one end of the house to the other, fetching things, showering and feeling like they had been caught in a hurricane. Charlie could be seen silently muttering to himself, practising the speech he would have to give at the wedding breakfast, and Hermione and Tonks spent most of the morning following Bill around, trying to persuade him to let them put just a little bit of makeup on him, something which Fred and George found very amusing. An argument broke out between the girls and twins ('We don't want to make him sissy, it's just to hide the scars!'), making Mrs Weasley explode and everybody else dive for cover to avoid the shrapnel.

At ten o'clock, a group of house-elves arrived to take the wedding food to Hogwarts, and after a very hurried lunch, Mrs Weasley sat down to attack Harry's head with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

'This really isn't necessary, Mrs Weasley,' Harry tried to pull away from the comb. 'Honest.' But no amount of protesting would sway her, and by the time he finally escaped upstairs to change, his hair felt like it had been set in concrete. The look on Ron's face said it all.

'Stop laughing!' Harry scowled at him, and resolved not to talk to his friend again until he got all this goop off his hair, but his mood brightened a bit when he got downstairs and Tonks told him he looked very dashing.

'Hurry, everybody,' Mr Weasley called. 'It's half past two.' They all bumped into each other in their rush to line up by the kitchen door.

'Charlie, you've got the rings?'

Charlie held up the ring box for his mother to see.

'Lose those things now!' Several fireworks flew out of Fred and George's dress robes in answer to their mother's Summons. She passed them to Hermione who dumped them on the table, though Harry could have sworn there weren't as many as Mrs Weasley had confiscated.

'Now what's wrong, Molly?' Mr Weasley leant against the fireplace as his wife wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, gazing at nothing in particular and patting herself like she'd lost her car keys.

'I've forgotten something, I'm sure I've forgotten something.'

'You haven't forgotten anything,' Mr Weasley sighed. 'Now, come on, or we'll be late.'

'But –'

'Please, Mrs Weasley,' said Hermione. 'If we don't get going, Bill will get there after Fleur.'

'We need Neville's Remembrall,' Ron muttered to Harry.

'Why? It wouldn't tell your mum what she's forgotten.'

'No, but it would prove to her that Dad's right – she hasn't forgotten anything.'

'But if she has, we'd never get away,' Harry pointed out. 'She'd have us all turning the house upside-down looking for who knows what.'

The combined efforts of Hermione and Mr Weasley had Mrs Weasley being (firmly) led from the house before many more minutes passed and they were finally ready to leave.

'Charlie,' Harry heard Mr Weasley mutter to his second son. 'Would you mind going with your mother? That way she'll definitely get there.'

They Apparated to just outside the Hogwarts gates, where Filch let them in, muttering the whole time about how much extra work this was all making for him, but everybody was in too good spirits to let his crusted bitterness spoil the day. Determined to find some reason to hang at least Fred and George by their thumbs in his dungeon, he managed to run his Sensory Sensor over them three times but yielded nothing (Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed suspiciously at that one) and he was left at his post complaining that they had 'no right being happy; it's only been a month.'

'Why's Filch so upset about Dumbledore being dead?' Ron wanted to know as they trooped across the lawn towards the lake. Harry glanced over towards the Forbidden Forest; Hagrid's hut had been rebuilt as good as new, but there was no sign of the gamekeeper. He gazed down at his feet, his heart squeezing painfully 'He hated how Dumbledore wouldn't let him use really nasty forms of torture on students. You'd think he'd be glad; he might get a boss now who'll give him free rein.'

'But surely Professor McGonagall will be Headmistress … if Hogwarts stays open.' Hermione glanced up at the stone castle.

'Not that it makes much difference to us,' sighed Ron.

Harry kept his head down, ignoring them. True to his wish he would appear happy and cheerful, doing nothing to put a damper on the festivities, but that still didn't stop him wishing he wasn't here. He just hoped he could keep that hidden from the others.

Aware that Hermione was watching him closely, he squared his shoulders and held his chin high, ready to fool the best of them. Trailing after Mrs Weasley, Harry rounded the corner and felt his jaw drop.

Before them stood a large archway, entirely covered in white and gold roses. Soft music drifted towards them from a dozen violin-playing gold cherubs drifting lazily over the assembled guests. Above those, a thin layer of crystal-coloured fabric stretched across the temporary pavilion, breaking the mid-afternoon sun shining through it into a million tiny rainbows.

'It's beautiful,' whispered Hermione. Despite it not perhaps being the most macho thing to think, Harry had to agree with her.

'I'll see you later.' Bill accepted a quick kiss on the cheek from his mother before he and Charlie separated from them, turning right to go around the arch and along the outer edge of the congregation.

'Come on, everyone,' said Mrs Weasley to the rest of them. 'We need to get seated.'

Following them through the archway, Harry realised that the roses weren't trained over a supporting structure but just grew upwards, stems and branches entwining in a lattice pattern up and over to join in the centre above their heads. He'd like to see Aunt Petunia's roses do that. Once through the archway, the hot summer heat cooled significantly and Harry realised the fabric above them was actually made of ice. Ron's mother led them up the aisle, thick with a carpet of rose petals, past witches and wizards (many of whom could give Fleur a run for her money beauty-wise), all dressed in exquisitely-tailored robes and gossiping quietly in French, to the empty seats at the front which had been reserved for Bill's family. As their feet crushed the flowers, the most delicious scent wafted up to flood their nostrils with its exquisite perfume. Harry took a deep breath and received a very pleasant surprise. Instead of roses, he smelt treacle tart, a woody smell and the flowery scent which reminded him of Ginny; the rose petals had been steeped in the love potion, Amormentia. Feeling that 'acting happy' wouldn't be such an effort after all, Harry sank into a seat next to Ron with a contented sigh and looked around.

The seats on the right-hand side of the aisle housed the Weasley family – aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, most of whom Harry had never even heard of, let alone met. He knew there had been a Great Auntie Muriel and that both Mr and Mrs Weasley had been related to the Blacks, so Tonks was some sort of distant cousin, but he didn't know if they had been only children like himself or not. If they had both come from large families like the one they had produced, there would be an endless number of new names and faces to be introduced to later at the wedding breakfast. He gazed through the sea of people behind him and wondered, briefly, if the accountant had managed an invite.

'The blonde woman with the blue hat and orange robes is Auntie Ella, Dad's sister,' Ron whispered, seeing Harry checking out the gathering. 'She never did have a very good dress sense. And the bloke next to her is her husband –'

'Husband?' Hermione whispered as Harry's jaw dropped. 'He looks young enough to be her son.'

'He's actually older than she is. They've never confirmed it but we think he might be part elf.'

Hermione gazed at him with increased interest. 'Any kids?'

'Why?' Ron narrowed his eyes at her. 'Were you thinking of switching to something better looking than me?'

'What?' No, of course not.' Hermione sounded hurt that Ron would think her capable of such a thing.

'Well, for your information, no, they don't have any kids.'

'Is his wife your dad's only sibling?' Harry drew Ron's attention as Hermione sank back against her seat, pointedly looking anywhere but at her boyfriend.

'Yeah, just Dad and Auntie Ella. Mum's side weren't too big on having kids either,' he continued. 'Only her and her two brothers.'

'Which ones are they?' Harry scanned the congregation for more red heads.

'They're dead,' said Ron as if stating a fact which, Harry supposed, he was. 'They died right before I was born so I never knew them at all.' That explained the lack of sorrow. 'Bill remembers them a bit, I think. That's Uncle Fabian's daughter there,' Ron nodded towards a red-haired woman in her mid-twenties.

'So you've only got the one cousin?' Hermione had apparently gotten ever her fit of the sulks.

'Yeah,' Ron looked out over the crowd. 'Heaps of second and third cousins and stuff, though.'

'Ron,' Harry's stomach had turned as cold as the ice canopy shielding them from the late summer sun, 'did you say your uncle's name was Fabian?'

'Yeah, weird name, I know. It was a toss-up between him and Mum's other brother who had the worst name.'

'Why?' asked Hermione. 'What was your other uncle's name?'

'Gideon.' It was Harry who answered her.

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him. 'How did you know that?' Ron wanted to know.

'Moody showed me a photo of the original Order of the Phoenix a couple of years ago … mainly to show me my mum and dad … but there was a Fabian and Gideon in it too. No one ever told me your mum was a Prewett.' He stared at Ron, numb.

'No one ever told me Mum's brothers were in the Order. Are you saying that they were killed by …' Ron looked like Harry felt.

Harry felt terrible. They were supposed to have left the war at the front gates and now he had brought the bitter sadness of that war right into their very midst.

'Breathe deeply, both of you.'

Harry and Ron stopped gaping at each other long enough to stare at Hermione 'What?'

'Breathe deeply,' she repeated. 'This is a wedding, not a funeral. You're supposed to be happy, so breathe deeply. The rush of endorphins from the smell of the Love Potion will make you happy again. So…' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pure rapture lighting up her face.

Ron frowned sceptically brow at Harry, who shrugged.

'It certainly won't hurt,' he said, taking a breath.

Shrugging back at him, Ron took a breath and visibly relaxed.

Harry was into his third breath when silence fell over them; the cherubs had stopped playing.

The crowd stood and turned towards the arch as lilies tied with large white bows to the end seats lining the aisle began to trumpet a fanfare.

First came Fleur's sister, Gabrielle, not as little as she had been when Harry had fished her out of the lake two and a half years ago, but still not what Harry would call big, being about the same size as a first year. Her dress seemed to be made of a silky fabric, gold in colour, which draped from her shoulders and hugged her slender body, stopping just below her knees, the skirt swinging slightly with each step she took. Her hair was pulled back into a simple knot at the back of her head and, as she passed, Harry could see that it was held in place by a small dark yellow rosebud threaded through the bun at an angle. She certainly didn't have her sister's looks … yet … but give her a few years and, with her Veela blood, she would probably have boys tripping over themselves to get to her, especially if she wore dresses like that.

Harry turned back towards the arch … and felt his heart stop. If Gabrielle was pretty, Ginny was … gorgeous. Her hair, which looked like burnished copper in the afternoon light, was pulled back into the same rosebud-struck twist as her fellow bridesmaid. Her dress, which was also the same style as Gabrielle's though ankle-length, definitely sat on her better than it had Gabrielle. Flowing from her shoulders and enveloping her in a waterfall of gold sparkles, it clung to and accentuated every curve of her perfect body, light rippling up and down its length with every step she too. Halfway up the aisle, she glanced across and her eyes met his. Beautiful at the best of times, they were now dazzling, highlighted as they were by the kohl Bill's friend had brought from Egypt. When Hermione had first told them about that stuff, part of Harry had been worried that the effect would be too heavy but, he was pleased to see, only the merest smidgeon had been smeared along the tops of her eyes, reflecting in the lights sparkling in those fathomless depths.

Harry found he was having difficulty breathing and struggled to drag his eyes away from her so he could see if anybody had noticed. The last thing he needed was for someone to realise he still had feelings for Ginny. The whole point of him breaking up with her was to protect her. When this was all over … if he survived … then maybe he would get a chance to stand where Bill was standing now and see Ginny walk towards him, as a bride rather than a bridesmaid. After this was all over …

His face growing hot, he forced himself to look back down the aisle towards the arch as the lilies trumpeted more loudly … and Ginny was suddenly forgotten.

A collective 'Oooh' echoed through the congregation. Even the women, who were usually united in their dislike of Bill's fiancée, seemed to have put aside their jealousies for the afternoon and joined the men in their appreciation of Fleur's unrivalled beauty. All eyes were totally drawn to the bride.

Great Auntie Muriel's tiara perched delicately upon those fair silken tresses, coloured lights twinkling from one end of the goblin-worked stones to the other. More diamonds dripped from her ears, dazzling Harry's eyes with their brilliance. Her silvery blonde hair was pulled back like Gabrielle and Ginny's, and Harry wondered if the rose holding it in place was white to match her dress. The flowers in the bouquet she was carrying were, a dozen roses mixed with Queen Anne's lace and lilies of the valley. Harry grinned to himself as he realised he could name them all; years spent slaving away in Aunt Petunia's garden had done some good, after all.

As Fleur moved closer, Harry was able to get a better view of her dress. Made of the same silky clingy fabric as her two bridesmaids, it shimmered down her slender torso and rippled past her ankles, flowing behind her in a train so light, it seemed to float above the floral carpet, leaving the petals undisturbed in its wake, although the air was once again filled with the scent of the Love Potion's magic.

It wasn't until Fleur reached the waiting Bill and had given her bouquet to Ginny to hold, that Harry noticed her veil. The tiara's band wrapped all the way around her head, resting just above her neck. Her hair was folded over the metal to hide it, ending, not in a rose-studded bun, but a rose. Somehow, Fleur's hair had been shaped like a rose. And from beneath its petals, probably hanging from the ends of the tiara, fell a veil so delicate, Harry could have sworn it was made of cobwebs. As the lilies fell silent, a very faint breeze blew up from the nearby lake and Harry's heart skipped a beat that such beauty would be destroyed, but the threads held.

The ceremony certainly wasn't what Harry was expecting. Celebrated by the same short, tufty-haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral (Harry supposed he must be some kind of priest) as well as another man who only spoke French, it was very difficult to follow because both men spoke at the same time. Harry thought it would have been better if each person could only hear the one speaking the language they understood. Fleur spoke her responses and vows in French, Bill in English, so they obviously had no trouble handling the bilingual proceedings and, since they were the only ones who really mattered, Harry supposed he could ignore his confusion and be happy for them. When Charlie gave the rings to the celebrants who then waved their wands over them in a complicated pattern, Harry wondered if Hermione's translation of the runes had been correct. After the bride and groom had placed the rings on each other's fingers, the two wizards performed more spells over Bill and Fleur's joined hands, making fine white flames, almost like St Elmo's fire, wrap around them, binding both Bill and Fleur in an ancient mystical ritual.

Harry heard a sob to his left. Glancing across, he saw Mrs Weasley crying – smiling broadly, but tears steaming down her cheeks, nonetheless.

Suddenly, the lilies burst into another fanfare and everybody started clapping and cheering as Bill and Fleur shared their first kiss as husband and wife. Standing with everybody else, Harry watched as the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle through a shower of petals falling softly from the cherubs above, Gabrielle and Ginny following behind.

'Oh, Arthur,' Mrs Weasley was still crying, 'doesn't she look beautiful. And her gown …Oh, I'm so happy.' She sniffed loudly. For someone who claimed to be happy, she was doing a lot of crying. 'Oh, there's Cecile; I really must tell her how lovely it all was.' Tears drying up almost immediately, she left her husband shaking his head slightly in incredulity.

'You can stop gawking, Ron, she's out of sight now.' There was only the very slightest hint of jealousy in Hermione's voice. 'Or were you wanting to ask her to dance again?'

'What?' Ron very slowly dragged his eyes from the shimmering mass of white just visible through the archway.

'Are you lot coming or not?' Mr Weasley raised his eyebrows questioningly; the rest of the guests were leaving.

'Be right there, Mr Weasley.' Harry gave him a half-wave, then noticed Fred and George grinning at him, mischief all over their faces. 'What? We're coming.'

'So's Christmas.'

'Budge up there, Ron.'

The twins gave Ron what probably would have been a friendly nudge but, because there were two of them, it turned out to be a bit harder, making him trip over the end seat and land face first in the rose petals. Good-humoured laughter from the few guests who still hadn't made it through the arch greeted him as he clambered to his feet, face bright red and petals sticking all down the front of his robes. Luckily, Percy had already followed Mr Weasley out into the bright sunshine or Ron's embarrassment would have been a lot worse. Unluckily, his mother was still chatting to Madame Delacour and had seen him fall. She descended upon her youngest son, her face turning as red as Ron's.

'You haven't been fighting, have you?' She scowled as she began beating the petals away, more fragrance filling the air.

'It wasn't my fault.' Ron tried to pull away. 'They pushed me.' He jabbed a finger in his brothers' direction.

Mrs Weasley rounded on the twins. 'I might have known you two would find some way to ruin everything for Bill.'

'They didn't do it on purpose, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione explained. 'Ron was too busy getting all hot and bothered over Fleur to get out of their way.' Harry had a feeling she hadn't quite forgiven Ron for allowing himself to be affected by Fleur so hard.

'What's holding you lot up?' Mr Weasley poked his head back through the archway. 'The photographer is –' He broke off, staring from Fred, George, Harry and Hermione, to his wife tightly gripping Ron's arm, to Fleur's mother looking horrified that her daughter's new family could be so embarrassing and uncouth.

Mrs Weasley tugged Ron's arm a little harder, starting to drag him towards her husband. 'Move!' she hissed over her shoulder, fiery sparks in her eyes.

'It's a pity I haven't got my wand with me,' said Hermione quietly as they followed the others down the aisle. 'Mrs Weasley could do with a Cheering Charm.'

Harry heard Fred mutter something just behind him as they passed under the rose arch and when they stepped out into the sunshine, Mrs Weasley had let go of Ron and both she and Madame Delacour were smiling quite cheerfully, looking as though nothing had happened at all to spoil the perfect day. Harry and Hermione glanced at Fred, who gave them a quick wink as he stowed his wand back inside his robes.

Everybody was milling around in groups, accepting glasses of French champagne from floating trays and watching as the photographer snapped permanent memories of the happy couple. Harry and Hermione grinned when it was time for the shots of the bride, groom and groom's family. Ron looked less than pleased being made to stand next to Percy, though Harry would have thought he would be glad that, since he was taller than the twins, he got to stand behind them, making it impossible for them to make rabbit ears behind his head. The photographer was about to start snapping when Mrs Weasley suddenly cried out 'Wait!' and began waving frantically.

'Harry, come over here, you need to be in this one, too.'

Harry took a step back. 'Er … Mrs Weasley … I'm not …'

'Come on; you're family.'

'But,' Harry wished she would stop waving at him; everybody was staring. 'I'm not your son –'

'You're as good as. Isn't he, everybody?' She enlisted the opinions of the other Weasleys who, with the exception of Percy, nodded enthusiastically, beckoning him forwards.

'Arry, pleeze, it would make Bill and I very 'appy that you would be part of theeze family.' Fleur smiled and Harry found it very difficult not to immediately do as requested.

'Go on, Harry'

Harry turned to see Hermione grinning at him as well. She gave him a little push.

'Aren't you coming too?'

'I've been in plenty of family photos. You haven't. So …' she nodded towards her boyfriend's family, '… stop holding things up. I'm hungry.'

Harry was pretty sure he should be feeling a lot guiltier than he was as he squeezed himself in between Ron and Percy. After all, wasn't he somehow betraying his dead parents? But as the photographer readjusted his lens, lining up all of Harry's surrogate family, and Fred and George's confiscated fireworks mysteriously began bursting in the background, he couldn't help joining them in grinning from ear to ear.

As soon as the photographer had finished with them, Harry, Ron, Fred and George started to slowly make their way up to the school. Hermione and Mrs Weasley hovered down on the lawn, watching as more photos were taken of the bridal party with the lake as a backdrop (Fred and George's fireworks exploding behind them). Mr Weasley had started to take a few steps towards the castle as well, but his wife had grabbed his hand and refused to let him go in to the wedding breakfast just yet. And Percy …

'Where's Percy going?' asked Harry. 'And what's Dawlish doing here?'

The others turned to look towards the school gates. 'Mum won't be too thrilled that Percy's walking out on Bill's wedding.' George sounded like his own sentiment was the exact opposite.

'You don't suppose something's happened, do you?' Fred glanced towards his father, a worried look on his face.

'If it has, the Ministry will make sure they stuff it up ten times worse,' said Ron as he continued up the steps, food obviously a much higher priority than his brother's truancy. And Harry didn't really blame him as the smells and gaiety of an imminent party greeted them as they reached the front doors, promising a delicious feast, raucous laughter and exhaustive dancing.

x

Harry was so busy grinning at Ron's attempts at dancing with Hermione that it took him a moment to realise he was no longer alone. McGonagall had left the main table and was now standing beside him wearing a slightly grim look.

Harry's face must have reflected his feeling that he had somehow done something wrong. 'It's all right, Harry,' she reassured him. 'I just noticed that you weren't really busy doing anything right now, and wondered if I might have a word in my office.'

Harry stared at her in confusion. 'Er...'

He glanced back towards the dancing couples, but McGonagall had already taken his lack of immediate refusal as agreement, and began dragging him towards the Entrance Hall.

Five minutes later, he found himself in Dumbledore's old office, (Harry had been rather surprised at McGonagall's choice of password – 'Albus' – to gain access to the spiralling staircase leading up to her office), surrounded by the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses. Still not certain why he was here, he looked around as McGonagall settled herself behind her desk.

The room had changed. All of Dumbledore's gadgets and gizmos were gone, along with Fawkes's perch. It now bore the unmistakeable mark of Hogwarts' present headmistress. Tartan curtains hung at the windows, several tins of shortbread were stored in a glass-fronted cabinet along with a bottle of scotch and some glasses, and three straight-backed wooden chairs were lined up against the wall.

'Please take a seat, Harry.' McGonagall indicated the plain chair in front of the desk.

Reluctantly, he slowly lowered himself onto the proffered seat. The last time he had been sitting here facing her, Dumbledore had just died, and McGonagall had been most annoyed when he refused to tell her why he and the headmaster had been absent from the school that evening. If she was going to take up where she had left off? Eyeing her warily, he waited.

'Comfortable, Harry?' She smiled at him.

He nodded, wishing she wouldn't stare at him like they were best friends. He liked her – she certainly hadn't been his least favourite teacher – but he doubted they would ever have the same relationship he had had with Dumbledore. His eyes flicked to the picture hanging behind McGonagall. Dumbledore's portrait was awake this time, watching him with a twinkle in his eyes and a slight smile, as if he knew a secret which he thought Harry would enjoy.

With a slight cough, McGonagall dragged Harry's attention back to her. 'The reason I wanted to speak with you, Harry, is that I wanted to ask a favour. As you are aware, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher … resigned –' she tensed slightly, '– recently, leaving the position vacant yet again. I am also certain you are aware that, due to its history of high turnover, we have often had difficulty finding suitable candidates.'

Harry already knew this, having had six different teachers in as many years, and only one whom he would consider adequate – Professor Lupin. He also knew why no teacher had lasted more than a year; people said that the job was jinxed, and they were right. Voldemort himself had laid a curse upon it after Dumbledore had denied him the job years ago.

McGonagall continued. 'Now, we have been able to find a teacher … after a fashion: Stanwick Fulstrum. He works in the Auror Office, and will be dividing his time between Hogwarts and the Ministry. As such, he can only spare a few hours a week, so will be teaching only the sixth and seventh-year students. But we still need someone to teach the younger years.' She looked pointedly at Harry. 'That's where you come in.'

Harry blinked. 'Me?' he squeaked, then coughed to bring his voice back down several octaves. 'But I'm not a teacher. I haven't even done my NEWTS.'

'I don't believe that should be a problem. According to Professor Dumbledore, you did an excellent job teaching the group known as "Dumbledore's Army" two years ago. Not only were you able to teach students older than yourself skills they hadn't yet learnt, but you even managed to get Longbottom to start to do his Auror father proud. Also, you possess quite sufficient natural talent in Defence; you have proved that numerous times through you exploits over the past six years. And your own N.E.W.T studies won't be a problem. The classes you are unable to attend because of your teaching commitments will be done after hours in one-on-one tutorials.

'So, do you accept, Harry?' McGonagall sat watching him expectantly. Harry found it difficult not to fidget. He couldn't believe what she was asking.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to burst her bubble. 'I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, Professor.'

She frowned slightly. 'But I thought it was your wish to be an Auror. You will need to sit your N.E.W.T. exams if you are to join that profession.'

'I know. But I don't think I would enjoy working for the Ministry. It would mean Scrimgeour would win because it would look like I was on his side or something. And I'm not!' He folded his arms and adopted an obstinate stance. Several of the portraits called out their opinion of the Minister, but under their voices, Harry thought he heard Sirius's ancestor, Phineus Nigellus, pass comment about Harry's insubordination towards his elders.

McGonagall regarded him a moment. 'So what do you plan to do with you life?'

He shrugged. 'I'll do what I have to.'

She sat staring at him for several minutes. 'You can't face him alone, you know.' Harry just sat there. 'Here at Hogwarts, you have friends, as well as access to several members of the Order of the Phoenix. We're all on the same quest. If you would just tell me what you were up to with Professor Dumbledore, I might be able to tell you what to do nex –'

'Stop!' Harry stood, angry. 'I told you weeks ago that Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone, so don't even try to change his order.' (Two bright spots showed on McGonagall's cheeks as she stared at him, surprised by this outburst.) 'And that's my final word on the subject.' And wheeling, he marched from the room.

As he slammed the door behind him, he heard Dumbledore's portrait say, 'I told you he was my man through and through.'

x

'Harry!' Ron grabbed his arm as he went rushing past, pulling him up. 'Where did you disappear –' He stopped as he saw the look on Harry's face. 'What happened to you?'

Harry just stared at him, trying to steady his breathing. After all, it wasn't Ron he was mad at.

Over by the drinks table, he could see Hermione speaking to Lupin and Tonks. Tonks turned slightly to look at Ron and spotted Harry. Her face lit up and she quickly brought his presence to Hermione and Lupin's attention. All three of them began to wend their way around the dance floor towards the boys.

Once they successfully navigated their way to Harry and Ron, Lupin immediately noticed that something was wrong. 'Are you all right, Harry?' he asked quietly.

Not trusting his voice, Harry just nodded.

Lupin, however, wasn't fooled. 'No, you're not.' He waved at the others. 'Would you all mind waiting here? And you,' he grabbed Harry's arm, steering him towards the door, 'come with me. Let's find somewhere quiet where we can talk.' Before Harry could object, he once more found himself being commandeered against his will.

To his surprise, Lupin led him across the Entrance Hall and down the stairs leading down to the Potions lab. 'Why are you taking me to the dungeons?' he wanted to know.

'Because it's one place I know nobody will think to look for us,' Lupin replied as he opened the door to the one room Harry hated more than any other in the castle – Snape's old office. He then held Harry back and waved his wand at the room.

Harry was confused, until a black vapour suddenly began to fill the air.

'Hold your nose and keep your mouth closed,' Lupin instructed. Tossing a handful of small petals into the office, he stood back and waited.

Harry could feel his face turning blue and wondered how much longer he could last before he fainted, when Lupin exhaled quietly.

'It should be safe now,' he said as he guided Harry inside. At Harry's confused look, he explained. 'Dandelion. Very good at absorbing toxins.'

'How did you know Snape's security?'

'It seemed logical given his specialities.'

'Oh,' was all Harry could think to say.

'Now,' Lupin settled himself on the edge of Snape's desk and indicated for Harry to take the seat. 'What happened before to get you so upset?'

Harry sat on the very edge of the chair, unwilling to sit back any further in case it tried to grab hold of him, and regarded the man before him. Yes, he felt he could trust Lupin not to laugh at him. 'McGonagall offered me a job,' he said.

Lupin's expression closed slightly. 'Doing what?'

'Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to the first five years. Apparently the bloke she's hired as the real teacher is an Auror and can only work a few hours a week.'

'Who's the Auror?'

'Stanwick Fulstrum.'

Lupin tensed.

'Do you know him?' asked Harry.

Lupin shook his head. 'Only from what Dora has told me. He sounds like a really arrogant, nasty –' He pulled himself up before he could complete the thought but Harry could just imagine Tonks's description. 'He's the one who arrested Stan Shunpike.'

Harry felt a sudden dislike for the man, despite having never met him. 'Then I'm glad I turned McGonagall down, if it meant working with someone like that.'

'You turned her down?' Lupin sounded surprised.

'You think I should have accepted?'

'I think you should have kept your options open by telling her you wanted some time to consider the offer. In other words, don't burn all your bridges,' he said quietly. 'Now, what's the real reason you were so angry?'

Harry looked up sharply.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. 'Professor McGonagall must have done more than just offer you a job. You were almost set to explode upstairs. Why?' He watched Harry, waiting.

Feeling slightly stunned that Lupin could read him so well, Harry slumped back into the chair (which did not try to strangle him).'She tried to trick me into telling her what Dumbledore and I were up to the night he ... that night.'

'And you didn't wish to tell her?'

'Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone and he didn't tell me not to stick to that if he died.' Harry shrugged. 'McGonagall got annoyed that night when I told her that. So she tried a more subtle approach just before.' He glared at Lupin. 'Why? Do you think I'm being stubborn or selfish obeying Dumbledore?'

'No, Harry,' Lupin replied. 'If Dumbledore told you to keep a secret, then you should abide by his wishes. I imagine - and this is only a guess - that it had something to do with destroying Voldemort. But it doesn't hurt to remember that a problem shared is a problem halved. And you do have many friends who want to help you come through this problem as unscathed as possible.'

Harry couldn't believe it. 'Not you, too,' he growled.

'No, Harry,' Lupin stopped him. 'You and you alone, must decide if and when you will share your secret. And with whom,' he added.

'Now,' he continued, 'how about an obvious change of subject. I understand from Hermione that you don't wish to return here for your final year.'

'No.' Harry felt his anger and frustration starting to subside. 'There are too many bad memories here. I wasn't even happy to come here today,' he sighed.

'I can understand that,' Lupin nodded thoughtfully. 'So, what are you plans for the future? Uh, uh, uh.' He raised a hand in defence as Harry tensed. 'I'm not trying to interfere or impose my authority. I just thought you might appreciate having an ally who has access to information concerning the Order. After all, would I be wrong assuming you would wish to work as separately from them as possible?' Harry shook his head. 'Then you need someone who can keep you abreast of the plans and movements of Order members, so you can make certain your paths cross as little as possible. And secrets are safe with me,' he added.

Harry didn't know what to say to this.

'Don't decide anything yet. Just think about what I've said, perhaps even discuss it with Ron and Hermione to get some other opinions. But ultimately, it must be your decision and yours alone.'

As silence fell between them, he smiled and jerked his head towards the ceiling. 'I think it's time we rejoined the others, don't you?'

x

The ceiling of the Great Hall had long since darkened, its stars twinkling brightly, when Harry saw McGonagall corner Lupin. She had steered clear of Harry after he had returned upstairs, possibly aware that she would not have helped matters had she confronted him again and could even have made things worse. So when she gave Lupin something and he promptly made a beeline for Harry, every shackle rose again.

'I thought you were on my side,' said Harry, an accusatory tone in his voice.

'I am.' Lupin dropped something onto the table in front of Harry.

It was a key.

Harry frowned up at Lupin. 'What's that for?'

'Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.' Lupin spoke quietly, glancing around to make sure nobody could hear.

'What?'

'McGonagall said you left before she had a chance to speak to you about your inheritances. Both of them.'

'Both?'

Lupin nodded. 'Dumbledore left you a few things. And then there is the matter of Sirius's house.'

'What did Dumbledore leave me?'

'McGonagall will show you presently.' Lupin scratched his nose. 'As for Grimmauld Place –'

'The Order can keep using it as Headquarters,' said Harry quickly.

'That's very generous,' Lupin commented. 'However, it's impossible for them to do that yet.'

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

'Because you need to take possession.'

'What?'

'The legal owner – you – once they are of legal age – which you are – must spend three days and nights in the house before the first full moon after your birthday to legally take possession.'

'Three days and nights?' Harry stared at Lupin, horrified.

'Thirty-six hours … and you're not allowed to leave during that time.' Lupin's expression was midway between sympathy and apology.

Harry glanced down at the key. Three days locked inside Headquarters – what had he done to deserve that?

'Is he allowed to have company?'

Harry jumped; he hadn't noticed Ron and Hermione approaching.

'Yes,' Lupin answered Hermione's question.

'Do we have to be locked in, too?' Ron didn't seem as keen as Hermione.

'No,' Lupin smiled at Ron's nervousness. 'Only Harry has to be confined to the premises. He is permitted visitors over the course of his stay, but my advice would be to keep it to a minimum. That way, his presence won't be noticed too easily.'

'So, when do we leave?' asked Hermione eagerly.

'You can't just up and leave in the middle of my brother's wedding!' Ron cried indignantly.

'Other people are,' Hermione pointed out.

Harry glanced around the Great Hall. The reception had been winding down for some time, pretty much since Bill and Fleur had left for their honeymoon (McGonagall had turned her wedding gift – two silver goblets – into Portkeys); most of the food and dishes had been cleared away, and even the band was packing up. He glanced up at Lupin.

'How soon do I have to go there?'

'As soon as you want,' Lupin replied. 'The sooner you start, the sooner the three days will be over.'

Harry glanced down at the key again. 'What happens if I don't take possession?'

'Then your inheritance will pass to the nearest Black descendant. All of your inheritance.' Lupin watched Harry closely. 'Do you want that to happen?'

'No,' Harry mumbled, scowling. How could such a happy day end up so –

BANG!

Harry jumped again. Unnoticed, McGonagall had snuck up on them and placed an ancient stone basin heavily onto the table in front of Harry. Several small sealed bottles and a ring were rattling around the bottom.

'Why have you got Dumbledore's Pensieve?'

'Actually, Potter,' McGonagall corrected him, 'it is your Pensieve now; as are those.' She pointed to the Pensieve's contents, a rare smile on her face. Harry gaped up at her. 'Albus left very specific instructions: these items were to be given to you, with the message, "Use them well." I trust you know what he was implying?' She gazed at him curiously.

Harry looked down at the Pensieve, his mind racing. What were the memories in the bottles? Were they things Dumbledore had intended to show him after they had returned from the cave, but never got the chance because he had been killed? Were they clues about where the other Horcruxes were? Excitement started to bubble deep in Harry's stomach. A few moments ago, he had been intending to delay his stay at Headquarters until the last possible moment. Now, he couldn't wait for the three days to be up so he could concentrate properly on the important matters – finding the Horcruxes and destroying Voldemort.

Harry picked up the ring and examined it. It was fairly simple, no gold filigree work or engraving. Just a single large ruby set in a claw clasp. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. Shrugging slightly, he slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand. It fitted quite comfortably, almost as though it had been especially made for him.

'I trust you explained about Headquarters, Professor.' McGonagall addressed Lupin, who nodded.

'Harry was just deciding when he was going to begin his occupation.'

'Now!'

McGonagall, Lupin, Ron and Hermione all looked at Harry.

'I think Mum might have something to say about that.'

'What would I have something to say about?' Mrs Weasley's curiosity had drawn her from the other side of the Hall.

'Harry needs to spend three days at Grimmauld Place in order to inherit, Molly,' McGonagall explained.

'When?' Mrs Weasley gazed at Harry.

'Now.' Harry was still eyeing the Pensieve.

Mrs Weasley glanced around the group, then over towards her husband. 'Just give me a minute; I'll just tell Arthur where we're going, then we can leave.' She turned to bustle back across the room.

'Without you, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry firmly, finally looking up from the Pensieve. Ron and Hermione started edging away from him, as if afraid they would be too near the explosion.

McGonagall looked down at Harry. 'Why don't you want Molly there, Potter?'

'Who'll look after you?' Mrs Weasley seemed to find the idea that she be excluded ridiculous.

'That's why,' said Harry. 'I'm not a child; I don't need looking after. Whether you like it or not, I'm legally an adult now.'

'But –'

'No buts, Mrs Weasley. I'm going to take possession of Sirius's house on my terms, whether you like it or not, or not at all and the house, Kreacher and all of Sirius's gold can go to Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Mrs Weasley looked like a kettle filling up with boiling water. 'Arthur.' She waved her hand wildly to get her husband to join them. 'Arthur, tell Harry to stop acting like a child and let me look after him while he stays at Grimmauld Place.'

Poor Mr Weasley didn't know what he had walked into the middle of. He gazed around the group, confused, as Lupin spoke up.

'Molly,' (Mrs Weasley span around, a hopeful expression on her face, thinking she had an ally), 'you can't force yourself on Harry. One, he is of age and, two, you're not his mother.'

'I'm as good as –'

''It makes no difference,' Lupin sighed. 'We must abide by Harry's wishes in this matter or things could go dangerously wrong.'

'If you don't do as I say, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry, 'I'll go to Professor Flitwick right now and have him perform a Fidelius Charm, making me Secret Keeper for number twelve, Grimmauld Place so you can't turn up. You won't be able to find it.'

Mrs Weasley looked almost like Harry had slapped her across the face. 'Arthur … Arthur …'

Mr Weasley grabbed his wife's arm and firmly steered her to the other end of the Great Hall.

'Do you really think that was wise, Potter?' McGonagall watched them go.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Whether she likes it or not, I'm a man now, capable of making my own decisions. And I've made a decision about this. The sooner I get there, the sooner the three days will be up.' He glanced at Ron and Hermione. 'Are you still with me?'

Ron was staring at Harry, clearly impressed. 'What do you think?'

Harry gathered up the Pensieve and key. 'Then let's get going before your mum can stop us.'

They were halfway to the gate when Lupin caught up. 'Sorry about that,' he apologised. 'McGonagall wanted to speak to me about a mission for the Order.'

'Are you coming too, Professor?' Hermione sounded quite happy that a teacher was going to spend three solid days with them.

'Only as far as Diagon Alley; our paths will separate there. But first I need to explain to Harry how that key works. Keep moving,' he ordered because Harry had stopped and turned towards him.

'When you get to Grimmauld Place, you will notice that there isn't a keyhole. You will need to prick your finger, smear blood over the head of the key, then touch the knocker's mouth with it. The keyhole will then appear. After you've completed your three days, you won't need the key anymore. All you'll have to do to get in will be to touch the door and the house will open for its master.'

'So does there always have to be someone inside the house to let non-masters in?' Hermione asked as they reached the school's gateway.

'House-elves do have their uses,' Ron muttered (Hermione's eyes flashed) as Lupin said, 'Once the three days are up; before that, you need the key.'

'But if I'm stuck inside for three days, how am I supposed to use the key?' Harry was confused.

'You may pass the key to someone else,' Lupin explained, 'but first, you will both need to touch the key with your wands and say the incantation, "Sesalm Portent".' They had now exited the school grounds. 'Outside Florean Fortescue's should do it. Three D's,' he added with a wink, and turned.

'Why do magical forms of transport have to be such unpleasant experiences?' Harry tried to rub the squashed feeling out of his ears. 'Given a choice of Floo Powder, Portkeys and Apparition, I'll take broomsticks any day.'

Lupin chuckled softly. 'You'll get used to it, I promise.' He glanced a moment at the boarded windows which had once been Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, then led them along the lamplit street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Once in Muggle London, Lupin checked that the three of them had enough Muggle money to get themselves onto the Underground, then headed back towards the Cauldron, reminding them that he would take them to Godric's Hollow in three days.