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

– CHAPTER THIRTEEN –

In Essence Divided

The next morning dawned bright with just a very slight nip in the air. Perfect conditions for the upcoming match. Harry allowed himself a few moments of lazily gazing at the sunlight on the ceiling, picturing the thrashing Slytherin were going to get, before kicking back his blankets and getting up.

'Nervous?' asked Ron when he joined Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall.

'Actually, no, I'm not.'

Ron looked dubious.

'I'm not,' Harry reaffirmed. 'Honest. I'm eating, aren't I?' He hungrily shovelled a large spoonful of porridge into his mouth as proof.

'Well, you're about the only one.' Ron glanced around at the other team members, ignoring the stack of toast Hermione had pushed in front of him.

Harry looked up. Fair enough, most of the team were still pretty new to this and probably had concrete blocks in the base of their stomachs (he knew that feeling only too well), but even Ginny wasn't eating. Harry found this odd because nothing ever seemed to faze Ginny. He had been counting on her confidence to help boost the team's morale. His nerves started to make themselves felt as he realised he might have to give them all a pep talk. He forced the next spoonful of porridge down with difficulty.

Hermione was watching him closely. Harry felt his face grow warm.

'What?'

It was almost with a sense of relief that he led the others down to the changing rooms. Even though he could hear excitement building out in the stands, Harry took as long as he could to change into his Quidditch robes, trying to stave off the moment when he would have to say something encouraging. He was in the middle of pulling his boots on (the rest of the team were changed, brooms in hand, and watching him expectantly) when McGonagall and Madam Hooch marched in, followed by the Slytherin team. Hermione slipped in quietly behind them, probably having sensed trouble brewing.

Immediately, every Gryffindor player stiffened warily.

'That one.' The new Slytherin captain, pointed at Harry.

'He does have a name, Mr Vaisey,' said McGonagall warningly. 'Please be so kind as to use it.'

Vaisey just glared at her insolently.

'What do that lot want?' Ron eyed the Slytherins with distrust.

'Your mate is breaking the law, Weasel king.'

All three Gryffindor chasers grabbed Ron and held him back.

'And what law am I supposed to have broken?' Harry had stepped in front of Ron and was now nose-to-nose with Vaisey.

The Slytherin waved his hand in front of his face as he took a staggering step back. 'Don't they pay their teachers enough so you can afford toothpaste?' Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly in the background.

'It's a pity I'm not teaching seventh year,' Harry threw back. 'I'd be able to give you detention for not answering a teacher's question.'

'You see,' said one of the Slytherin chasers. 'He admits it.'

'He admits what?' Ginny loosened her grip on Ron and tried to step around Harry.

'He's a teacher!' All seven Slytherins were grinning as if they had already won the match.

'Yeah, so?' Ritchie Cootes waved his bat.

'There seems to be some doubt as to whether you should be permitted to play, Potter,' McGonagall finally spoke up. 'The tournament is supposed to be for students.'

'He is a student!' Ron was now glaring threateningly at McGonagall.

'Not to more than half your team.'

Everyone turned towards Vaisey's supporter.

'Hermione,' Harry was certain he hadn't heard correctly. 'Do you know what you just said?'

'Yes.' Hermione didn't seem at all concerned that both McGonagall and the entire Gryffindor team were staring at her, stunned. 'I just said the Slytherins are right; you shouldn't be team captain if you're a teacher.'

'But I'm not a teacher. I mean, I am a teacher,' Harry stammered as McGonagall looked like she was going to launch into a lecture. 'But I'm also still a student; that's why I sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory and wear Gryffindor robes. Student robes.'

'Why are you siding with them?' Ginny asked Hermione, throwing the smug-looking Slytherins a dirty look from behind McGonagall's back.

'Please be quiet, Miss Weasley.' McGonagall was still looking at Hermione, but with a considering expression, as though she was assessing the validity of her argument. 'Potter,' she finally dragged her eyes from Hermione, 'whom do you have to play in your stead?'

'What?'

McGonagall pulled a whistle out of the air and blew it in an attempt to bring order to the chaos of sound which had erupted around her. Once a very sullen silence had been restored to the changing rooms, she once again looked at Harry.

'Professor, surely you're not going to let a bunch of Slytherins tell you how to run the school? They're not even in your house.' Harry tried to keep a pleading tone out of his voice.

'Whether they are in my house or not is irrelevant.' She raised her voice slightly to forestall another outburst. 'The fact remains, they do have a valid point. Now, would you please answer my question?'

Harry stared back at her, dumbstruck. Why were people always trying to stop him doing the one thing he both enjoyed and was good at? First Quirrell, then Dobby, the Dementors, the Triwizard, Umbridge, Snape, and now the entire Slytherin team. And Hermione!

'Well?' McGonagall was still waiting.

Harry glanced around at his team desperately. 'Ginny, I suppose,' he mumbled, refusing to meet McGonagall's gaze.

'And who would you prefer to have replace you as captain?'

Harry did meet McGonagall's eyes this time, and knew immediately that she would brook no argument.

Again, he gazed around at his team-mates. Ritchie Cootes was bobbing up and down on his toes, an eager expression on his face, but the rest of the team plainly didn't want to lose Harry as their captain. However, if he did have to leave …

'Ron,' he said firmly, trying to ignore Ritchie's disappointed look as a chorus of jeers broke out from the Slytherin players, claiming favouritism.

'It's not favouritism.' Harry had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. 'If I can't be captain anymore, then the team is going to need someone who can step in and start doing the job at very short notice. Someone who has experience playing above form when the pressure is on, which Ron has done in two finals; of all the team, only Ginny has as much playing experience, the rest of the team are pretty green; and when it comes to analysis and strategy, Ron could probably give Bobby Fisher a run for his money.'

'Who's Bobby Fisher?' asked Ginny.

'A Muggle,' Hermione answered her. 'World Chess champion.'

The Slytherins didn't seem to be able to find an argument against that one. Even though most of the students present hadn't been at Hogwarts when the Philosopher's Stone had been hidden there, the story of what happened in the dungeons was still commonly known. And Ron did win fifty points which helped Gryffindor end Slytherin's seven-year winning streak with the House Cup.

McGonagall gazed at Ron, possibly remembering that it was her giant chess set which he had beaten.

'Very well, Potter.' She held out a hand. Harry unpinned the Captain's badge from his robes as she beckoned Ron forwards.

'Mr Weasley.' Her voice was quite solemn. 'I do hereby appoint you Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. May you lead your team to many glorious victories.' She spared Ron a rare smile as she pinned the badge below his Head Boy badge, Hermione leading a round of applause from the Gryffindors.

The Slytherins scowled as Ron's first duty as captain was to promote Hazel Dominic from the reserves to the regulars; Harry was willing to bet they had hoped Gryffindor would go on a player short.

'Is it all right to get the match underway now?' Madam Hooch glanced from Ron to Vaisey, who both nodded, Ron with far more enthusiasm than his Slytherin counterpart.

'I haven't got a broom,' Hazel piped up as both McGonagall and Hooch left.

Ron looked momentarily undecided; it would take more time to fetch one from the broom shed. Harry stepped forwards.

'This is my last act as Captain,' he said, drawing everybody's attention. 'Ginny, give Hazel your broom.'

'And what am I supposed to use?'

'Ron's broom – only for matches, of course,' he rushed on, as Ron looked slightly stricken at the prospect of losing his broom, even to his sister; a reward for being made prefect, it was about the only thing he owned (apart from his wished-for clothing) which hadn't been owned by someone else first.

'So what about me?' asked Ron as he passed his Cleansweep to Ginny. 'It's going to be a bit hard captaining the team when they're airborne and I'm still on the ground.'

'You,' Harry tried to control the grin threatening to split his face in two, 'will be flying …' he brought his arm up '... this!'

Ron's jaw dropped as he stared at the broom Harry was offering him. Gold letters spelling the word FIREBOLT twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the open doorway. The Slytherins had been in the middle of leaving when Harry's announcement had stopped them in their tracks.

Ron dragged his gaze from Harry's broom up to his face.

'Are you sure?' he whispered. Harry gave his grin full rein as he nodded.

'Only for matches, you understand, not for keeps. You don't mind, do you?'

'Mind?' Ron's eyes were almost popping out of his head. 'Why would I mind?' He tentatively reached a hand out and gently stroked the handle. Harry glanced over at Hermione and was pleased to see that she finally seemed to approve of one of his spur-of-the-moment decisions as the rest of the team crowded around to clap Ron on the back.

'Captain Weasley,' Hermione fought through the crowd to give him a hug and kiss. 'You have a match to win.' She stepped back. 'Go win it.'

To more applause from Harry, Hermione and the other Gryffindors, Ron pushed though the stunned Slytherins and led his team out onto the Quidditch pitch as McGonagall made the announcement about the change of captaincy.

Once the Slytherins had lumbered after them, Harry glanced back at Hermione. 'Coming?'

'You're not going out like that, are you?' She ran a bemused eye over his Quidditch uniform.

Harry resisted sticking his tongue out at her as he pulled the robes up over his head. 'Happy? Can we go now?' Cheers filtered through from the stands, signalling the start of the match.

Hermione pushed past Harry and peered cautiously around the door, blocking his exit. She slowly waved him forwards, but instead of heading over to the Gryffindor stands, she ducked around the back of the changing rooms, dragging Harry after her when he didn't immediately follow.

'Aren't we going to watch the match?' asked Harry, confused, trying to wrench his hand from Hermione's grip.

'Not at the moment, no.' Hermione dragged harder. 'We need to go to London.'

'NOW? What about the match? Don't you want to watch your boyfriend in his first match as captain?' Harry dug his heels in.

'Yes,' Hermione turned to face him, a look of pleading on her face, 'but this is important and we need to go now while everybody's busy looking the other way. Now, come on!' She started dragging him again.

It took them nearly ten minutes to reach Dumbledore's tomb, Harry struggling every inch of the way.

'Why can't we do this tonight?' Harry stubbornly refused to hand the ring over.

'Because we've already been caught out at night once; we can't afford to get caught again.'

'And you don't think anyone'll notice we're missing?'

'No.' Hermione grabbed Harry's clenched fist and tried to pry his fingers open. 'Professor McGonagall will think we're sitting with the students, the students will think I'm in the library and you're sitting with the teachers. And Ron will be too busy playing to notice anything else.' She finally wrenched the ring from Harry's finger but didn't release hold of his hand as she activated the Portkey, dragging him into the riot of colour with her.

x

The kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place materialised around them. Sitting at the table, calmly sharing a cup of tea, sat both Dumbledore and Lupin.

'Oh good,' Lupin looked up. 'You were able to get away.'

'No problems, I trust?' Dumbledore wanted to know.

'Only Harry,' Hermione replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 'He wanted to know what was going on and was most reluctant to co-operate as a result.'

'So you haven't told him anything?'

She shook her head. 'I thought it would be best coming from you; if-if I'm right.' She didn't sound at all sure of herself, which Harry found very surprising.

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled slightly. 'Yes; it would be best not to induce unnecessary panic until we know exactly what it is we are dealing with.'

Harry stared angrily at them. They were talking about him as if he wasn't there. 'And why exactly would I be unnecessarily panicking?' he asked, making Hermione start slightly at the sharpness in his voice.

Dumbledore gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. 'Miss Granger has brought to my attention a possibility which I had previously not considered, concerning yourself and Lord Voldemort. Now, I am not certain if she is correct, so I asked her to bring you here that I may test the accuracy of her theory.

'And her theory is what?' Harry eyed all three of them warily. If it had anything to do with Voldemort, it probably wasn't good.

'Not yet.' Dumbledore raised his left hand to stop Harry as he drew breath to protest. 'First I need to discover if there is anything to explain.' Glancing at Lupin, he said, 'Shall we get on with it?'

As Lupin rose from his chair, Dumbledore continued, 'The charm we need to use requires great strength of power, which I have had in very short supply for the past few months, even with the help of Professor Snape's ministrations, so Professor Lupin has kindly consented to perform the test.' He raised a brow. 'You do want to defeat Voldemort, don't you?'

Harry nodded slowly.

'Then think of this as your initiation into the Order of the Phoenix.'

Harry frowned. 'You're letting me join the Order? But I'm still at school.'

'Only part time.' Lupin was rolling up his sleeves.

'And you think McGonagall will agree with that?'

'You shall be taking your orders from me, not Minerva,' said Dumbledore.

Harry glanced uncertainly from Dumbledore to Lupin. 'And what exactly does this test entail?'

'Professor Lupin will need to borrow your wand, Harry, then he will touch it to your scar.' (Harry unconsciously rubbed his forehead.) 'He will then perform a special Revealing Charm.'

'And then what?'

'I don't know. I've never heard of this Charm being performed on a live person before. It is normally used on inanimate objects to learn if they have been impregnated with concealed magic.'

Concealed magic? 'Will it hurt?'

'Again, I do not know.' Dumbledore watched him closely. 'If it is any consolation, Remus is also taking a risk. You may end up doing more harm to him than he does to you.' Harry's eyes flicked to Lupin, who nodded.

Looking around at the three of them, he realised that they weren't trying to hurt him; just help him defeat Voldemort any way possible. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. 'OK then.'

'Excellent.' Dumbledore visibly relaxed. Harry hadn't realised he had been concerned that his proposal would be rejected; after all, he could easily have made it an order.

Harry took out his wand and handed it to Lupin. 'Do I need to stand?' he asked, half-rising.

'No, no, Harry,' Dumbledore waved him back down. 'Just slide your chair back from the table and turn it slightly so Professor Lupin can stand before you easily.' After Harry had done this, Dumbledore gave Remus a slight nod.

Lupin's pale gaze met Harry's as the tip of the wand made contact with his scar. 'Ready?'

Harry gazed back. 'Ready.'

He saw Lupin's lips move, but couldn't hear what the words were, for he was suddenly deafened by a very high-pitched, very loud scream. He felt something pulling him from behind, (or was everything rushing forwards?) then he found himself standing outside a house, not Grimmauld Place, and it was night.

Gazing up at the house, he smiled inwardly. Good! The fools had not placed too-complicated wards around the property. They obviously thought their Secret Keeper was protection enough. A good thing they hadn't decided to use Bellatrix's cousin after all. Ever since Snape had told him, over a year ago, of a prophecy about his destruction, he had been frantic to find where the Potters were hiding.

And now he had them. All he had to do was kill the boy, create his final Horcrux, and he would be indestructible. Flicking his wand, he dissolved the charms on the front door, and it swung open.

Entering the hall, he heard a shout above him, and looked up. Potter was standing halfway up the stairs, pointing his wand at the man who had just entered his house illegally. His wife was hurrying up the stairs, disappearing from view at the top, no doubt attempting to protect her son.

So they weren't going to make this easy. No matter. Killing the boy's parents as well would be no problem for one who had killed his own father when he was still in his teens.

Potter cast a Freezing Charm but deflecting it was simple. Why did they always try to fight him? You would think after so many deaths, Dumbledore's minions would know better.

Deflecting another charm, he pointed his wand at the boy's father and hissed, 'Avada Kedavra.' A bright green flash of light filled the air and Potter fell down the stairs, landing at his feet. Potter's face stared up at the ceiling, the shocked expression displaying disbelief. So stupid. He stepped over the body and slowly began to climb the stairs.

At the top, he glanced along the hallway, unsure which door hid his quarry. However, a light glowing faintly from beneath the door furthest from the landing indicated the logical place to commence his search.

Easily opening the door with another flick of his wand, he entered the room.

As the door burst open, a woman's scream shattered the brittle silence. His eyes swept the room in a second before being drawn to the young woman in the centre of the room. And in the crib beyond her…

He felt exhilaration course through him as a smile split his face. At last! That stupid prophecy would be stopped, once and for all. He took a step towards the boy…

Suddenly, the woman was blocking him, screaming at him. He had almost forgotten about her.

'Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!'

'Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside now.' He tried to push past her.

'Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy.'

He tried to move her out of his way, but she, amazingly, deflected the spell. And she didn't even have her wand out. No Mudblood should have that much power.

'Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'

'Stand aside – stand aside girl – ' He was getting really angry now. The boy was so close!

'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – '

That grabbed his attention. He gazed at her … surprised. She was actually begging for death. It was not the first time someone had pleaded for him to end their life, but the others had desperately desired death as an escape – usually from pain. Nobody had ever offered themselves before. This was a new experience for him – being presented with the opportunity to fulfil desires other than his own.

And she truly did desire death; he could see it in the depths of those green eyes. Such a beautiful colour, green …

His own desire making every fibre of his being tingle, he pointed his yew-encased phoenix tail feather at her and hissed the two most powerful words in existence; and, so doing, ended her existence, extinguishing the light in those eyes as the room was bathed in the glow of that most beautiful colour.

As the flash of green faded with his laughter, he felt pain deep within him, so sharp he almost doubled over from it. That had certainly never happened before. And it wasn't easing up. He felt angry at himself, at his weakness. He had worked so hard to banish all weakness from himself. After all, hadn't he made himself impossible to kill? Admittedly, it had come at a price: with each Horcrux he had created, his once-handsome features had blurred and changed, and he had found it that much more challenging to make his body not tire so quickly; but what were looks and physical strength compared to power?

He savoured the word, tasting it, using its strength to pull him forwards through the pain to where the boy lay in his crib, screaming with fear.

He looked down at the terrified face. So this was the child who was going to destroy him. It seemed almost pitiful that he – the greatest, most powerful dark wizard of all time – had feared this small, pathetic child.

He blinked to clear his vision, which had blurred as a result of the pain building deep within him. He tried to massage the muscles responsible but found it difficult to pinpoint the exact spot. Very odd. Best just to get on with what he had come for.

As he gazed once more at the boy's screaming face, he felt the first twinge of doubt – not of his motives, but his ability. The pain was so debilitating now, he was no longer confident he would have strength enough to kill the child and then perform the complex Dark magic needed to create his final Horcrux. He felt certain (although he did not know how) that he would definitely not have any strength remaining to bury the Horcrux deep within the boy's body.

It would be the perfect hiding place, he had decided. Dumbledore, that Mudblood-loving old fool who wouldn't see past the end of his crooked nose to notice the power lying at his fingertips, would ensure that the boy's poor hapless body would be enshrined in an impenetrable tomb, protected for all time; partly out of reverence for the one who should have destroyed his enemy, partly to assuage his own guilt. Unable to protect Harry Potter in life, he would protect him in death, ensuring none else could ever use the boy for even darker means; and in so doing, seal his enemy's immortality.

But now, suddenly, he knew his strength would not last through each of the three steps. He would be more successful if he combined the steps. Yes, that would be best; do it quickly, then hopefully this pain would cease.

Concentrating as hard as he could, he reached deep within his being and grasped his soul. The pain trebled. Concentrate! he admonished himself as the room seemed to tilt and darkness began to creep in at the edges of his blurred vision.

Raising his wand and touching it to the boy's forehead, he tugged at his soul. The tiny scrap tore in two as his rasping voice almost screamed the words, 'Avada Kedavra'; at the same time, he focused deep within the boy to channel the precious piece of his being into its sacred keepsake.

His red eyes squeezed shut against the white light burning his eyelids, and he felt a hard barrier strike his head so that it seemed to burst open.

In a split second of thought, he realised he had fallen forwards and butted his forehead against the boy's, his wand trapped between them at a point which felt like lightning shooting through him, around him, the roar of the bolts splitting the floor beneath him as his very being seemed also to split.

He tried to focus on a spell, any spell, which would stop the house from collapsing completely and crushing him, trapping him for the Aurors to find, but he could no longer feel the magic. All he could feel was pain: pain without beginning, without end, without solid fact.

For he was no longer solid fact.

As he felt his being sink as low as a snake and flow forth upon the pain, the last thought which screamed through his consciousness was, 'How did a small, helpless child, which had proved itself too weak to even bear his soul, condemn him to this lowly, painful, powerless non-existence, less than his soulless servants in Azkaban?

HOW?

x

Harry's eyes stung. He tried to blink them but they wouldn't obey him; it was as if they were being forced open. Struggling to ignore his panic, he tried to fight against the force but with no success.

Then, as if from a great distance, a frail voice said, 'You may release him, Miss Granger. He's back with us.'

Finally free to rapidly blink moisture into his too-dry eyes, Harry felt around for his glasses, confusion overcoming his panic as he discovered that he was lying on a cold stone floor with (even more confusing) several pieces of timber pressed between his thighs. He tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed him back down.

'Lie still for a few moments, Harry.'

Harry frowned. What was Lupin doing here? Then memory came rushing at him like a tidal wave, making him gasp with shock.

'It's all right, Harry.' Lupin squeezed his hand comfortingly. 'You're home now. You're safe.'

Harry still scrabbled around for his glasses and felt a rush of relief when they were pressed into his hand. Able to see clearly once more, he surveyed his surroundings.

Hermione was leaning against the kitchen table, a terrified look on her face. Lupin was crouched down beside him, gently trying to pry Harry's legs apart so he could remove pieces of broken chair. He gave Harry a reassuring smile, though it did nothing to reduce the ageing of his concerned features.

Blinking again, Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes peered into his. Harry had the feeling they had been gazing deeply into his for some time.

Too deeply.

'You just used Legilimency on me.' It wasn't a question.

Dumbledore's solemn smile was hard to see beneath the moustache.

'Good.' Harry breathed shakily. 'Then you can explain to me what that was all about.'

To his annoyance, Dumbledore shook his head.

'Not now, Harry,' Dumbledore's voice echoed the anxiety etched on his ancient face. 'We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Both yourself and Miss Granger need to return to Hogwarts before your absence is noticed.'

Harry felt a flash of anger at being treated like a child. He glared up at Dumbledore, stubbornly refusing to move until someone told him what was going on.

'Please Harry,' begged Hermione. 'We really do need to go. It's been three hours.'

Three hours? Harry jerked around to check the clock above the stove. Where had the time gone?

'Now do you understand the need for urgency?' asked Lupin quietly.

Nodding distractedly, Harry allowed Lupin to help him to his feet while Hermione gathered the ring from the centre of the table.

'Any instructions, Professor?' she asked Dumbledore.

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, watching Harry closely. 'Don't tell Harry anything about what we just witnessed.' He quickly raised a burnt finger as Harry opened his mouth. 'I'm afraid I am going to pull rank and insist that I be the one to enjoy that privilege. But not yet,' he told Harry. 'First we need to get you safely back to school. I'll let you know when I am able to discuss this matter, but it may not be until close to Christmas. In the meantime, concentrate on your work at Hogwarts – on both sides of the desk. I understand you have quite a lot of essays to correct.' The silver moustache twitched.

'Most importantly, do nothing to arouse anybody's suspicions.'

x

'OK, so what was that all about?' Harry asked as they trudged up the slope leading from the lake.

'We're not allowed to talk about it.'

'To anybody else; that doesn't mean we can't talk about it between ourselves.'

Hermione spun around, a very stern look on her face. 'No! Now come on, I think the match might be finished.'

Harry stared after her, his ears subconsciously straining towards the Quidditch stadium. She was right; the game did seem to be over, a conclusion confirmed by the sight of Ron coming down the front steps towards them.

'Where did you two disappear to? Ginny said you didn't watch us play!'

'Of course we watched the match,' said Hermione.

'OK, what was the score?' Ron glared at them in challenge.

'Er …'

Disgust spread across Ron's face Ron's face as he turned away from them.

'Ron, wait.' Harry hurried up the steps after his friend. 'We were –'

'Harry, no!'

Harry spun around. 'What, we can't even tell Ron?' Harry couldn't believe that Hermione wanted to extend Dumbledore's order to Ron.

Ron's curiosity got the better of him. 'Can't tell me what?'

'Nothing!' Hermione said stubbornly.

'Hermione!'

'No, Harry. Not one word.'

'Not one word about what?' Ron was still watching the two of them, no doubt hoping that someone would explain what was going on, but all Harry and Hermione did was glare at each other, Harry in frustration and pleading, Hermione very much don't-you-dare. Silence stretched between them.

Ron glowered at them. 'Fine! Don't tell me! See what I care!'

Wheeling around, he galloped angrily up the steps, his entire demeanor making it quite clear that he cared very much.

Over the following weeks, only Harry's massive workload kept him from giving Ron the thumping he deserved; he was too exhausted to lift a finger.

Ginny had cornered him, demanding to know what he'd fallen out with Ron over this time ('I didn't fall out with him; he fell out with me!') and when Harry only told her that it wasn't romantic and was very important but refused to give her details, she didn't help the situation at all by taking Ron's side against Harry and Hermione. She even refused to be go-between and mediator.

Hermione, also, was in Harry's bad books because she refused to back down and allow him to explain to Ron what was going on or even give Harry that explanation.

During the second week of November, Dumbledore sent Harry a cutting from a catalogue for a company which converted dreams and memories to a more tangible format. They usually worked with law enforcement bodies, recreating witnessed scenes for criminal hearings, but also ran a profitable sideline preserving much happier memories such as weddings and birthdays. Dumbledore had suggested that getting the memory of their World Cup match converted to a three-dimensional model might be an ideal Christmas gift for Ron.

Harry's first impulse had been to throw the advertisement straight into the fire, but Sirius's portrait had argued that, once Ron was permitted to learn the truth about Harry and Hermione's little … excursion … he and Harry would be the best of friends again. And what better gift to give to his best friend?

Examining the clipping closely, Harry decided to order the deluxe model. This consisted of two modes – original playback, which replayed their World Cup match exactly as it had happened, and role-playing, where you could change the players, teams, outcome and moves, directing the action like a chess match. You could even add memories of other matches, making it a valuable tool for coaching purposes, since it enabled a captain to see exactly how his team would play against other teams.

So, despite the hefty price tag, he had sent Hedwig winging her way to Switzerland with a phial of his memory. But he had difficulty remaining positive about what the expression on Ron's face would be when he opened his present on Christmas Day.

As November froze into a glittering December, hinting at the approach of the festive season, the mood was anything but festive. Voldemort's forces continued to evade the Ministry's efforts to bring them to justice and, as a result of a spate of particularly vicious attacks, eight students joined Harry in the ranks of orphans, five of them – all Ravenclaws – from the one family. Harry hadn't realised there had been another wizarding family as prolific at childbearing as the Weasleys until he had started teaching and came across the same name recurring four times on his class registers.

Ron was still refusing to speak to either Harry or Hermione, which the rest of the school couldn't help but notice, and this gave rise to much speculation as to the reason. The most ridiculous which Harry managed to hear claimed that he was having problems on the romance front – having had no success with Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley – and Hermione was giving him private classes behind Ron's back. And it was –

'…Only natural that Weasley would be –'

'Now, now, Mr Macmillan, a little less talk, a little more attention to the task at hand, please.' Slughorn remarked as the Hufflepuff's Vanishing Potion began to overflow.

Harry glanced up from his own cauldron. It was unusual for Slughorn to discourage gossip, especially if there was a chance he could learn some juicy news about his favourite student. The next moment, his worst fears were realised as the corpulent professor's eyes roved over Harry's table, taking in the three friends sitting as far apart as possible and refusing to look at each other. The walrus moustache stretched above a broad smile.

'Harry,' Slughorn leaned in close; Harry suppressed a groan, 'Harry. Been meaning to have a word about my Christmas party. Last night of term, same as last year. Excellent success, last year's party, don't you think?'

Harry gave a non-committal grunt as he stirred powdered lionfish spines into his potion.

'Well, this year's party would hardly come close without my star apprentice …' (Harry dropped the spoon into the sticky brew and managed to splash Ernie Macmillan's book as he struggled to fish it out; Slughorn didn't seem to notice) '… and I know I've been a bit lax not speaking to you sooner, but you'll have no trouble attending, will you?'

Harry looked up and finally met Slughorn's gaze full on.

'Miss Granger has already accepted, so you'll be able to make a date of it.' Slughorn didn't seem to realise that he was skating on very thin ice.

Harry saw Ron glance up, his face turning red.

'I don't think so, Professor.'

'Horace, Harry; we are fellow teachers.'

'Professor,' Harry stressed, making it clear that their relationship would remain at arms length. 'I won't be able to make it; I'm going to be too busy with correction and homework –'

'Oh, I'm sure I can get Minerva to give you the night off.' Slughorn smiled self-confidently. Harry wasn't worried; there was very little chance of McGonagall allowing pleasure to come before work.

'Have you asked Ron to the party?' he threw at Slughorn, catching the Potions teacher off-centre.

'Er … Mr Weas –'

'He is Head Boy, after all,' Harry continued before Slughorn could draw breath. 'And he comes from a very accomplished family.'

Over at the Slytherin table, Zabini snorted loudly. 'That lot accomplished? What are you comparing them to … a litter of pigs?' Since Malfoy's incarceration in Azkaban had made it impossible for him to continue the post of Slytherin prefect, McGonagall had appointed Zabini as his replacement and the fellow Potions student had decided this meant picking up where Malfoy had left off: being as mean and arrogant to Harry, Ron and Hermione as he possibly could.

'Why would I want to compare them to your family?' Harry tossed back as Slughorn tried to calm things down.

'Now, gentlemen –'

Both boys ignored him.

'Don't you talk about my family like that!'

'Why not?' Harry raised his voice to be heard over the jeering at the Slytherin table. 'What has your family ever done?'

'Now, Harry,' Slughorn tried again to get between the two combatants as Zabini threw his chest out, showing off his prefect badge. 'There is the little matter of his mother –'

'What, because she bumped off seven husbands just so she can get her hands on all of their money?' Harry glared at Zabini's sneering face. 'Ron's family has produced three Head Boys, three Quidditch players including two captains, a pair of extremely successful businessmen, a Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, and head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. And Ron's done more than any of them had at his age; he's both Head Boy and Quidditch captain, he's been instrumental in Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup for the last two years, he helped delay Voldemort's return by three years and he's still helping in the fight against Voldemort. Seeing you're a snobby Slytherin, are you and your family doing anything to stop him and his cohorts? Or are your family his cohorts?'

'Boys, please!' cried Slughorn desperately, but too late. Zabini tried to hit Harry with a curse but Harry had no trouble deflecting it. Unfortunately, Ernie Macmillan also threw in a Shield charm, making Zabini's curse hit a Ravenclaw cauldron. Vanishing Potion exploded everywhere, splashing the other two Slytherins and hitting Zabini full in the face. Screams echoed around the dungeon as Zabini rolled around on the floor, his hands scrabbling over his face, which was disappearing at a rapid rate. Just as he had when Ron had been poisoned, Slughorn merely stood there, at a complete loss as to what to do. The trouble was, so was Harry; a bezoar wouldn't help here.

Suddenly, Hermione pushed past Harry and rushed into Snape's old office. They could hear her muttering 'Where is it?' and the sound of clinking glass, then she came rushing out with a bottle of red liquid. Perplexingly, she grabbed both Harry and Ron's hands, wrapped them around the bottle and held them there with her own tight grip, She then poured the bottle's contents onto Zabini's face. His nose regrew before their eyes. The screaming stopped instantly.

'What do you think you're doing?' Zabini scrambled to his feet and wiped the red potion from his face (he looked like he was bleeding), glaring at Hermione the whole time with a murderous expression.

'Saving your life!' Hermione glared back, hands on hips. 'You now owe a life debt to the three of us, so you'd better tell your naked buddies to back off because if any of us die, so do you!'

Slughorn finally emerged from his shock enough to register what Hermione had just said.

'Naked buddies?' An expression – half bemusement, half confusion – started to spread across his face. 'Why would you say – Oh!'

The whole class was staring at the Slytherins. When Terry Boot's potion had splashed Zabini's House-mates, it had hit their clothes, making them Vanish.

Where, moments before, the room had been full of the sound of screaming, it now rang with laughter as Slughorn snatched the potion bottle from Hermione, only to discover that it was empty. Several more minutes were wasted, much to the Slytherin's chagrin (and everyone else's delight), as Slughorn tried to find something to cover them with. Reluctant to sacrifice one of his precious smoking jackets, he had tried to commandeer one of the Gryffindor's cloaks but Harry, Ron and Hermione argued off helping by pointing out that, as teacher, Head Boy and Head Girl, they weren't obliged to do as requested if they didn't want to since it wasn't a matter of life or death. The Ravenclaws likewise refused to help, angry that one of their cauldrons had been destroyed. Even the threat of lost points didn't work because they knew they would win them back easily through academic prowess.

Finally, Slughorn had no choice but to confiscate Zabini's cloak and rip it in two, fashioning the torn pieces into new clothes with a flick of his wand.

'What did you want to go and save a Slytherin for?' demanded Ron when they started to head back up to the Entrance Hall.

Hermione turned back towards him. 'Talking to me again, are you?'

'Just answer the –'

'Mr Weasley.' Slughorn's round frame plugged the doorway behind them; he was looking up at Ron with an appraising expression. 'I'd like to have a word, please.'

Ron blinked at Slughorn, then up at Harry and Hermione who offered no help, then back at Slughorn. 'Er …'

Slughorn stepped back, allowing room to pass and leaving Ron without much choice but to comply.

'So, what did Professor Slughorn want?' asked Hermione when he got back up to Gryffindor Tower. The common room went extremely quiet. It was the first time in weeks that the friends had been heard to say anything to each other which wasn't above five hundred decibels, so everyone tensed themselves, ready for the explosion.

It didn't come.

'He wanted to invite me to that party of his.' Ron kicked a fourth-year out of an armchair in front of the fire and collapsed into its warmed cushions. He glanced over at Harry. 'Why did you tell him all that stuff about me, anyway?'

'Because it's true.' Harry leaned forward. 'Think about everything you've done since you started here, think about the Mirror of Erised. You saw yourself as Head Boy and Quidditch captain, remember?'

Ron's eyes glazed over as he gazed into the distant past and a goofy grin slowly spread across his face. 'Yeah, I did, didn't I?' He continued to stare into space.

Harry snuck a quick glance at Hermione, then grabbed Ron's hand.

'Where are we going?' Ron allowed himself to be dragged after his friend.

'Somewhere private.' Harry continued to drag. 'We need to talk.'

'Harry.' Hermione jumped up. 'We're not supposed to tell him anything, remember?'

Harry turned to her as he pushed Ron up the stairs leading to his room. 'I'm not going to tell him anything; I'm just going to tell him what he needs to know.'

'Am I finally going to find out where you disappeared to when we murdered Slytherin?' Ron stood in the middle of Harry's room, staring at them expectantly.

'We went to London,' Harry said in a rush before Hermione could stop him.

'London?' Ron gazed from one to the other, a blank expression on his face. 'Why did you go to – Oh!' Comprehension flashed in his eyes like a light going on. 'You mean you went to –?'

'Yes,' Hermione butted in. 'And we're not allowed to talk about it at all, not even amongst ourselves.' She glared pointedly at Harry.

Harry sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry, Ron. He won't let us say anything more.'

'He?'

'He,' Harry stressed.

'Ohhh!' Dawning spread across Ron's face again. 'And he doesn't think I can be trusted to keep a secret?' He sounded hurt.

'He doesn't trust me with the secret,' replied Harry. 'He said he needed time to think over something then, when he's got something to explain, he'll explain it.

Ron frowned. 'Yeah, sounds like the sort of crazy thing he'd come out with.'

'And despite what the whole school is buzzing about, Hermione has not been cheating on you, least of all with me.'

Ron glanced across at Hermione. 'So we're still on?'

'You're the only one who ever said we were off.' Hermione flopped angrily onto Harry's bed.

Ron beamed. 'Come here you.' He tried to pull Hermione into his arms but she rolled away from him.

'What makes you think I'll come running back just because you clicked your fingers?'

'I would have thought you'd want to.' Ron's ears were starting to turn red. Harry edged towards the door.

'The least you could do is apologise.' Harry noticed that Hermione was almost in tears.

'For what?' cried Ron. 'You're the one who was cheating on me!'

'I was not cheating on you!' Hermione shouted back. 'Harry just told you that.'

'So what do I have to apologise for?'

'For thinking that I would cheat on you in the first place!'

'But … everybody said …' Ron gaped at Hermione, seemingly unable to say the words she needed to hear.

'Ron,' said Harry quietly. 'I'd apologise, if I were you. I think you owe Hermione that much, at least.'

Ron glared at Hermione. 'You want an apology?'

Hermione sobbed. 'I don't want you to apologise because that's what you've been told to do. I want you to apologise because you want to, because you mean it.' She got up off the bed and started to leave.

'Fine!' Ron grabbed her as she passed. 'See if I don't mean this!' And before she had a chance to react, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

For all her anger towards him, it didn't take Hermione long to surrender to Ron's assault, both of them wrapping their arms tightly around each other as if afraid they might get away.

Leaving them to make up for lost time, Harry quietly shut the door behind him and snuck down to his office.

When the three best friends went down to dinner and were seen not just eating together, but laughing merrily over what had happened in Potions, all of the students (and several teachers) were left scratching their heads, wondering what the last month had been about.

But, whatever the reason for the weird bust-up … and even weirder make-up … Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn't have timed things better. The following weekend was a Hogsmeade visit and so provided the ideal opportunity to buy last-minute Christmas presents. It also provided the perfect cover for a secret rendezvous.

'Did anyone notice you?' Remus Lupin's eyes quickly scanned the snowy street.

'No.' Harry grinned, his breath fogging in the cold. 'I have had some practise at sneaking around.'

'Ron and Hermione on a date?' asked Lupin conversationally as they started to wander along the street.

'Mmm.' Harry nodded.

'And what about Ginny?'

Even though the question was thrown out casually, Harry could feel Lupin watching him. 'She's with Neville.'

Lupin stopped. 'The way I understood it, Ginny and you were quite the couple. I don't recall a lover's tiff over the summer, so what happened?'

Lupin's steady gaze told Harry he wasn't going to let this drop. He scowled. 'What do you think happened? Voldemort of course! Every time I get close to somebody, he makes sure something happens to them. I'm too dangerous to know right now. Maybe after …' He stared at the window of Gladrags Wizard Wear, refusing to look at Lupin and noticed not just their reflections, but also –

'Don't react,' said Lupin as Harry started to tense.

'You knew he was tailing us?' Harry didn't know whether to feel angry that he hadn't realised sooner or that Lupin had and didn't say anything.

'I spotted him two shops back. Considering his training, you'd think he wouldn't be so noticeable. Fancy getting a Butterbeer?'

The last part rolled so smoothly off Lupin's tongue, it took Harry a moment to realise what he'd said. 'Er … yeah … sure, if you want.' He took another glance at Dawlish's reflection before starting towards the Three Broomsticks. Dropping his voice right down, he asked 'Do you think he's watching me to protect me or spy for Scrimgeour?'

'Oh, definitely the latter.' Lupin kept up an easy pace both walking and speaking so as not to arouse suspicion; Harry tried to match it. 'According to Dora, the Aurors have been told to keep an eye on you to ensure your safety and well-being but, considering the only ones who have been taken off all their other duties to allow them time to look out for you are Scrimgeour's closest allies, I'll leave the interpretation of reasoning behind it to your good self.

'And from now on,' the quiet voice dropped even lower, 'you are simply a young man out having a drink with one of your dead father's old friends and getting me to reminisce about your parents and godfather. No mention whatsoever of former teachers, destinies or uncovered undercover agents.' He opened the door of Madam Rosmerta's pub and they allowed themselves to become lost in the very noisy crowd.

x

The rest of the month was lost in the rush of end-of-term essays and anticipation of who would be the special guest at the Slug Club Christmas party. After last year's attendance by a real vampire, Slughorn had gone all out to top it, inviting none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry hadn't believed Ron and Hermione at first when they told him who the special guest had been; there was no way St Mungo's would have let him out of the Sealed Ward. But, apparently, Lockhart had continued to improve further in the two years since Harry had seen him last, progressing from joined-up writing to understanding that it was his autograph that he was signing.

Slughorn had miscalculated terribly, though, if he thought Lockhart's former fame would somehow reflect upon himself. Not only had Lockhart not remembered the overweight 'friend to the stars' (and nobody seemed to be able to prove that the two had ever known each other in their former lives), but he had spent most of the party escaping his nurse and signing his autograph all over every surface he could lay his ostrich feather quill to – tablecloths, walls and even across the back of Slughorn's gold velvet smoking jacket – using two whole bottles of Slughorn's most expensive brandy for the ink.

The party had come to a very disastrous close when Lockhart finally managed to slip out through the door (his escape made all the easier by his nurse curling up in a corner, too drunk to know what was going on around her). He was last seen trying to explain to a suit of armour on the fifth floor that it really needed to apply at least three buckets of Dermexem's Body Lotion to its entire body every day if it wanted its skin to become much more supple and baby-soft than it was at the moment.