Chapter 9: An Ill Wind

"You may be seated, students. It appears that the beginning-of-term jitters hasn't gotten to us yet." Professor Dumbledore's light-hearted voice echoed about the room, but Harry didn't hear any more of what was said.

Dobby can't be dead; I haven't even seen him yet! His eyes searched Charlie's, hoping for a reprieve of some kind, while his mind wrestled to understand. There'd been no warning whatsoever. It couldn't be that simple, that easy for someone to die just floors away from you, before you'd been able to make time to see them, though you were planning to. But Harry's heart didn't need time to reason it out at all. It plummeted down into the deep grooves already worn by grief. Sirius.

A sharp pang made him bow his head and all at once, hope left him. This was what he had to look forward to—a year of this, a year of loss—unless he could get rid of Tom before then.

"Stay with me, Harry. The toast was poisoned," Charlie was saying, "and we need to figure out where it came from before anyone else can get hurt. Did you see anyone bring it up? Surely they didn't do all this work and then just leave it lying around for anyone to eat."

"I did," Ron said in a hoarse voice from behind Harry, "I mean, I brought up some toast, but we both ate it, remember, Harry? It couldn't have been that toast, right? Because we ate it and it was fine. Right? I mean, you do feel fine. You do, right?"

Harry frowned. Something was niggling at his mind. Toast. Someone had brought him—

"Neville," Ron said suddenly, jumping on it like a dog on a bone. "You said that he brought you a piece of toast, too—remember? But you never ate it. I saw it there on your bed."

Harry whipped around and stared at Neville with such sudden fury that the boy recoiled. He was a traitor, like Wormtail.

"Bloody hell," Ron continued in a horrified voice. "I—I almost ate it while you were in the loo."

Charlie cursed low under his breath. "Better not tell Mum about that."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said in a quiet wail, grabbing on to his arm, seeming too overcome to speak for a moment. "You—you don't think Neville could have tried to poison Harry on purpose, do you? Oh, poor, poor Dobby!"

Ron swallowed hard, blue eyes wide. "Imagine if I'd just taken one bite . . ."

Harry felt his lips draw into a grimmer line and a huge, clenching fist encircle his chest. As Charlie strode over to consult Professor Dumbledore, Harry's gaze returned to Neville: his friend of so many years, yet timid and shy; so like Wormtail in his years at Hogwarts. The thought at first had shocked Harry, but now he was wondering how he'd never seen it before. Neville was just like Peter Pettigrew. Harry's wand flicked into his hand again and he moved with purpose toward the Gryffindor table.

"Harry—no," Hermione said sharply, grabbing his arm. "We have to find out what happened first; hear his side of the story. We could be wrong, Harry!"

Ron tugged on his other arm, but said nothing. Harry let them hold him back for now, but his hard gaze was leveled at Neville, whose face was changing from horrified to something slightly more determined. He stood, even though Dean and Seamus were pulling him back down.

"Don't be daft," Dean counseled.

"Give him time to cool down!" Seamus said in a placating voice.

But Neville kept moving, awkwardly stepping over the bench and walking around the table to face Harry. Harry squared up to face him and flicked his eyes to Ginny. She sat watching with wide eyes, shaking her head slowly, looking dumbfounded. Harry felt furious; Neville hadn't just betrayed him, he'd betrayed all of his friends.

"Harry, calm down!" Hermione cautioned him, "we don't know for sure what happened."

Ron stepped closer in behind Harry. Neville's wand wasn't drawn, but Harry only gripped his all the harder, ready for anything. He half-wished Neville would try something and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the traitor he was. But Neville, his head down, only walked more slowly as he got nearer.

"Mr. Potter, stand down," Professor Dumbledore cast into his mind. Harry didn't move. His wand wasn't up, anyway. They could damn well do what they pleased, but he wasn't going to let another traitor get away with murder. He'd already made that mistake with Pettigrew, and the rat had helped the Dark Lord return and people had died. Sirius had died. Red sparks jutted out of the end of Harry's wand, causing a few students to cry out. The Slytherins loved it.

"Do him in, Harry!"

"Yeah, a Gryffindor battle-to-the-death!"

"Shut it!" Ron yelled.

Harry ignored them.

"Harry," Charlie called after him as Neville stepped into range, "wait." Harry could see him jogging their way.

"C'mon, Potter. Let's see you turn Longbottom into a short one!" Pansy Parkinson cackled.

"That's quite enough!" Professor McGonagall snapped out from behind Harry. "Ten points from Slytherin." They groaned.

Harry didn't care one way or the other. He had eyes only for Neville. Slowly, the blonde boy's head came up and his nervous eyes fixed themselves on Harry. He shook his head, which was already trembling, and barely formed the words, "I didn't do it, Harry. I don't even know what Ron's talking about—about the toast. I didn't do it."

Yeah, right. Feeling all the eyes in the room turn back on him, Harry said nothing.

Hermione pleaded with tears in her eyes, "Listen to him, Harry."

Harry glared at her, surprised that she was not on his side when the poison had almost killed both he and Ron. But it was hard to be angry with her when she was so upset, and the mantra Listen to Hermione took up residence in his head. He nodded reluctantly.

Charlie stepped in to take charge. "Glad I didn't have to put you in a Body Bind, Harry. Now, let's all head up to Dumbledore's office. He's going to fetch Snape and meet us there." Harry's stomach gave a twist at the idea of Snape being thrown into all of this. Charlie turned to Ron. "I've got bodyguard duty. You go on to class, right?"

"What," Ron blustered. "No way!"

"Take a break," Charlie snapped. "One of you has to go to class and get the notes for the others."

"So send Hermione!" Ron all-but-yelled, stepping closer.

"Shut it, Itsy, or I'll shut it for you," Charlie said tersely, leaning into Ron, who went red. "I need Hermione to deal with the House Elves. Winky's in quite a state and I don't know what to tell the others. Some of them are even talking about wanting clothes. You think you want to come and handle that?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

"Oh. Well then," Ron said finally, his color looking more normal now, "okay. I'll go. I can see what Hagrid wanted, at any rate."

Harry nodded at him, then stowed his wand up his sleeve. Ron walked over to Charlie, wand out, and gripped his wrist with one hand. Under his breath he muttered something like "Fraterdum Singultus." A shimmer of silver followed the spell, and Ron turned back to Harry.

"Don't go anywhere without Charlie, right?"

Harry nodded, wondering vaguely what that spell had been. Ron's head quirked to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out, then he gave a nod and headed back to the table. Voices began to fill the hall, muttering and conjecturing, as the crisis was over.

"This way," Charlie gestured to the hall doors. "Neville, you first."

Harry approved. That way, he could keep an eye on his ex-friend. A sudden flare of anger made him clench his fists. He would make Neville pay if he had turned traitor. He would make sure everyone knew what would happen to anyone who hurt one of Harry's friends while trying to harm him. But suddenly and vividly there came before his mind the scene in the Shrieking Shack when he'd felt the same way, facing down Sirius, ready to kill him for betraying his parents. He'd been dead wrong that time.

Harry shook his head. This was different. And back then, once he'd found out Pettigrew was the real betrayer, it had been wrong to convince Sirius and Remus to let the rat go. It had! Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him as they walked along and he realized he'd been shaking his head like a nutter. He forced himself to stop.

They exited the hall just as it was coming back to life, though the tables were as empty as before. Harry could hear the professors making explanations that the food would be returned as soon as it was cleared by the House Elves.

Immediately after they gained the hallway, Charlie pointed out to Neville a side passage that Harry hadn't noticed before, just before the first stair. They took the narrow, winding way and stopped short at a portrait of a gypsy in a bar doing a rather sensual dance for some wizards in farming gear. Something about the men's faces gave Harry the feeling the farmers visited this portrait often.

"Wouldn't think this one goes to Dumbledore's office, eh?" Charlie said with a slight grin. "Lascivious Leprechauns," he called out to the gypsy. The music stopped and the gypsy turned to Charlie.

"Oh, eet ees a Weasley boy, ees et not?" Her black eyes flashed. "Eet has been a too long time seence I have seen one of you here een thees hallway. But I teenk now, perhaps, there are too many of you for a rendez-vous?"

Harry looked over at Charlie, wondering exactly what the Weasley brothers had been up to at Hogwarts in the years before Harry had come. Charlie was flushed.

"All right, all right, just let us through to Dumbledore's office—please."

"Oh. Why deed you not say so?" With a sudden clap of her hands that sent her many bracelets jangling, the gypsy opened the portrait.

"Thanks," Charlie muttered.

"My pleasir," she called after them.

Harry angled his body to fit through the somewhat narrow opening and found himself at the base of a spiral staircase carved ornately from a dark wood. The sconces on the wall threw shifting shadows and patches of light across the stone walls, giving the tall, cylindrical passage the illusion of constant motion.

Harry started up after Hermione, and listened as Charlie threw an explanation over his shoulder. "That's Bill's fault, always flirtin' with the gypsy girl. He had her convinced he was always up to no good. And Fred and George probably didn't help with that, either."

"How did Bill find this place?" Hermione asked in awe, taking in the height of the ceiling, which sloped away into landing after landing of candlelit stone. "It's not in Hogwarts: A History. I'm almost positive the map said this room was used for storage."

"It is," Charlie said as he mounted, "unless someone needs a quick passage to the Headmaster's Office. You know, it's only there if you need it." Which explained why it hadn't shown up on the Marauder's Map, Harry decided as Charlie went on. "Bill knew it on account of Head Boy privileges, of course, which he always took advantage of. His own rooms, own bath—disgusting, it was," he snorted. "Quidditch heroes don't get nearly the same perks, you know, Harry. Just girls."

Harry found himself smiling at that and was pleased to notice that his chest felt less constricted now. He could breathe easy for the first time since hearing that voice, just in time to climb this mountain of stairs. Hermione hung back to whisper to him.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" Harry glanced over at her, puzzled. "You're not speaking." Harry paused, realizing that it was true and feeling instinctively that it was necessary. He'd broken out in a rage after Sirius died, and he couldn't let himself do that again. Silence was his control. Harry shrugged and kept walking. Hermione kept pace with him for a minute, tossing a few warnings at him about needing to be able to tell what had happened when they got to Dumbledore's office. Harry finally gave her a look, and she backed off. That, more than anything else, told him that she was truly worried about him.

She moved up to Charlie, and asked him about the name he'd called Ron. "Was it 'Itsy'?"

It was, and Charlie explained he'd nicknamed Ron and Ginny "Itsy" and "Bitsy" when they used to always try to tag-along with him and Bill. He still used it sometimes when Ron needed to be put in his place. Harry had to smile again. Then Hermione asked about the spell he and Ron had performed, but Charlie wouldn't explain.

"Just switching bodyguards, that's all," he said more than once.

Hermione fell silent then and over the next few minutes, Harry had plenty of time to contemplate Neville's role in the poisoning. And try as he might, even as angry as he was, he just couldn't force himself to honestly believe that the gentle, almost painfully loyal boy would willingly harm him. The Imperius, however, was a definite possibility, since Neville had had such trouble in fourth year throwing that curse off when Moody-alias-Crouch had put it on him. A more remote possibility was someone using a Polyjuice Potion, but Harry really didn't want to consider that. It was hard enough trying to figure out who to trust this year without wondering if everyone was who they said they were, too.

They reached the top, silent except for the ringing echoes of their footsteps and walked through the ornately carved door one at a time, Charlie going in between Neville and Harry. After winding their way through one more very narrow tunnel, there was a doorway guarded by two more gargoyles, identical to the ones guarding the main doorway to Dumbledore's office.

"Gargantuan Gobstoppers," Charlie said readily, and the gargoyles stepped aside. The door opened with a vertical whoosh and Harry followed the others inside, hanging slightly back to think. The fierce anger that had flooded him at first was gone now. He was almost certain Neville would know nothing about the poison and there would be no one to punish, no one to take responsibility for Dobby's death. Harry could feel a well of hatred and despair bubbling up inside.

He took the only seat left in the room with a loud flump and scrubbed at his face with his hands. With the barest flicker of interest, he realized that Dumbledore and McGonagall were already present in the room and seemed to be studying him. A horrible lump had lodged in his throat and all he wanted to do was escape back down the hallway before he did something he regretted.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Today, we have lost a good friend to Hogwarts, a pioneer of the House Elf cause and one who never ceased to care for others. Dobby was an example for all of us in loyalty and in diligence. Grief and weeping at his loss are to be expected." Harry's jaw clenched and he tried to swallow. "But even more so, keen investigation and swift justice are to be pursued. The Ministry of Magic does not investigate the deaths of House Elves, but we at Hogwarts cannot let this crime go unpunished. With great speed and delicacy, and with all the power of mind we can spare, let us delve into the past and see for ourselves what happened so that we may prevent its passing again."

Neville was nodding, looking eager to delve away. At that moment, Harry hated him. His scar seared and a rumbling feeling of nausea and unpleasant happiness ran through him, but he just closed his eyes and waited until they dissipated. Tom liked his thoughts, these thoughts of hatred and despair. With a wrench, Harry pulled up the gray screen in his mind and felt the blessedness of relief.

"Harry, would you permit us to use the Pensieve and see for ourselves what you remember of this morning?" Harry, startled from his thoughts, opened his eyes and nodded.

Dumbledore stood and went to the cabinet against the wall. With a gesture, the doors opened and a flood of gray, shimmering light unfolded across the ceiling and dripped down the walls. The Pensieve moved to the center of the room at Dumbledore's directive and alighted on the floor, its contents sloshing thickly. Once there, the Headmaster gestured for Harry to stand beside him.

"It is a painless procedure, Harry, and needs only for you to focus on the memory. Perhaps if you use your Procclumency screen, the memory will be clear enough."

Harry closed his eyes again and for a moment, continued to enjoy the blankness of the dove-gray screen, welcoming its soft, iridescent warmth. He wished he could wrap himself up in it and just be alone for a while; he wondered what would happen if he did.

"Harry, when you are ready, visualize the scene from this morning when you first became aware that someone had brought you the toast. We need to see as much detail and as little bias as you can provide. Remember it exactly as it happened."

And Harry did. He remembered waking up late, feeling stiff and sore from the day before and being surprised by Neville's voice just outside his bed hangings. That should have seemed strange enough to begin with and Harry wondered how he could have ever ignored it. But the memory went on, with Harry's over-the-top response to Ron's pounding footsteps, and then him going to the loo—ohno—and then having the whole conversation about Susan—oh help—before the toast actually fell to the floor—

Harry jerked and opened his eyes. If the toast hadn't fallen, he would have eaten it. He was going to, but he got mad at Ron and jerked the covers and the toast had disappeared. Harry shook his head, feeling stupid.

"Is that it, Harry?" the Headmaster said in a kind voice.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore with pained eyes, mutely asking if it had to be shown. The Headmaster nodded without a word, then put his wand to Harry's head. A stream of light clung to the wand when he pulled it away and there was a curious shifting sensation, as if the contents of Harry's mind were re-settling themselves. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange and made him want to scratch the inside of his head.

"Very good, very good," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "Have a seat, Harry, and a lemon drop," he gestured to the tin on his desk. In a whisper, he added, "You most likely won't enjoy this part."

Harry paused, looking at the contents of the tin morosely and finally taking a lemon drop. He popped it in his mouth as he took his seat, and his taste buds went into overload. They weren't just lemon drops, they were super-sour lemon drops and the citric acid on them was well into the second layer of skin on his tongue before he was forced to chew on it. As soon as he did, a soothing, sugary syrup erupted from its center and for some reason, he felt calmer. Hm. That was why Dumbledore was always offering those things. Now, with clarity, Harry could see that what was about to happen was more ironic than tragic. It had to be a payback—yeah, that was it—a cosmic retribution of sorts for the time Harry had given into curiosity and viewed Snape's embarrassing memory in the Pensieve. Now a roomful of people were going to see an unguarded moment of his, and he felt like he'd rather do a month of detentions with Snape than suffer through it.

As the Headmaster said a few words preparing everyone for what they were going to view, Harry started to wonder where Snape had gone off to. He would have had a field day with this, snarking out comments on the futility of trying to get Harry to focus on anything, smirking as he waited for the curtain to come up and reveal Harry's idiocy for everyone.

Then Dumbledore was finished speaking and he gestured to everyone to come closer. Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm as they walked forward, joining Charlie, Neville, McGonagall and Dumbledore around the Pensieve. Harry tried not to look at their faces. He sighed, half-hoping Neville would have a go at him now and interrupt the Pensieve session while simultaneously proving to everyone that he was guilty. But no, Neville was sandwiched in-between Charlie and Professor McGonagall, now looking as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

Dumbledore directed everyone to touch the rim of the bowl and Harry noticed the look of awe on Hermione's face. He could tell she'd been dying to use one of these. Then her eyes met his and her free hand took his firmly. Harry took a deep breath, staring down into the gray, swirling depths of the pool and then they were flipping forward, through a kaleidoscope of color and shapes until they landed in . . . Harry's bed. Of course, in real life, there wouldn't have been room for all of them in there, but here, they all managed somehow to be standing inside the bed hangings, looking down at memory-Harry on the bed.

Harry winced and muttered a curse. There he was in his pajamas, just waking up and groaning about his sore muscles. He looked like such a wimp, all bed-headed and skinny in his pajamas. Memory-Neville was speaking now, sounding . . . normal, if a bit nervous. But then, he always did lately. Didn't he?

Memory-Harry was still turning over in bed, stretching out his muscles painfully and present-time Harry bit back a groan. At least Snape wasn't here to see it. Although . . . Harry's gaze shot to Dumbledore as he watched the bedclothes ripped open. Would the Headmaster show the Pensieve memory to Snape? Dread laced Harry's stomach. Of course he would. Harry cursed again, then realized he should be paying attention.

In the memory, Ron was just entering the room, hands full of food, and there Harry stood like an utter prat, wand out as if fighting off hordes of Death Eaters. Neville was flipping through his books over on the side, fumbling curiously as though looking for something. Present-Harry frowned, wondering if that was really what he had been doing at the time, or if that was something Harry's mind was filling in since it was blank. Then Memory-Neville was heading out the door at a rush, obviously in a hurry to get to somewhere.

Harry looked over to where Present-Neville was watching the scene and shaking his head, looking amazed. Back over on the trunk was the piece of toast and Harry watched as his memory-self picked it up only to move it and to later knock it to the floor. He felt an utter clot. The only other surprising thing was how many times the episode with Susan was mentioned, which made Harry want to crawl under the table. But finally, painfully, the memory was done and they were all back in Dumbledore's office, horror etched on every face.

"That was entirely too close for comfort," the Headmaster said, looking gravely at Harry. "As usual, though we do our best, Harry, there are insidious dangers which creep through the cracks. Your Universal Antidote Pellets would have reversed the poison immediately, had you maintained enough calm to remember them. Venenum, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir. I remember," he said in a subdued voice.

The Headmaster gestured to the chairs. "If you would all please be seated again." Only Harry and Professor McGonagall sat. Hermione clutched one of Harry's shoulders fiercely, as if she could keep him safe by holding on. Charlie was pacing, wand clenched in his hand, face set like granite. His eyes kept straying to Neville, who was thunderstruck, rooted to the ground where the Pensieve had been. Dumbledore was maneuvering the Pensieve back into the closet when Hermione could wait no longer.

Her hand gave a convulsive twinge on Harry's shoulder and she threw the words out at Neville hurriedly. "That wasn't you, was it? You wouldn't do that to Harry, would you?" Neville was still frozen, so she went on, looking at the faces around her. "Last year, Neville risked his life to save Harry's. He went with us to the Department of Mysteries and he stuck by Harry even after he was injured and tortured and—"

"Miss Granger," began the Headmaster, who was now watching carefully, but Neville cut in.

"Of course I wouldn't try to poison Harry!" he almost yelled, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Of course not! He's my friend! Of course I wouldn't do that to him! How could I, when he's got so many people after him already, and he's done nothing but do the things I couldn't do?" Harry stared at him, not quite understanding and Neville flushed. "I mean, I'm not as brave as him and I don't know what to do all the time like he does, and—and, well, somehow, it was nearly me. All those people, all of them, could be after me." He grew so pale that Harry was concerned. "I found out about it this summer, Harry, about the Prophecy. Great-Uncle Algie told me on my birthday that I could have been . . . the One."

And then it all slid into place. Harry suddenly understood the strange looks he'd been getting from Neville—looks of guilt, something he must have been feeling for not being The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"When I found out, I just wanted to hide. But . . . I couldn't, not when Harry's being so brave," Neville looked down, abashedly. "So I got a new wand—I studied all month long—I practiced—just to be of some use to Harry this year!" Neville took a breath, now looking Harry right in the eye, standing straight and completely unlike the round-faced, forgetful boy that Harry had known for so long. "I swear, Harry—I swear I did not betray you. I haven't and I won't, and whoever did that is going to pay as soon as I find out who it was who took my face. I wouldn't do that to you, Harry. I wouldn't."

And Harry found that in the face of such earnestness, he could do little but believe. There was a sudden lightness in his chest and he took in a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd needed. Despite himself, his vision grew watery and his mouth turned up at the corners. The pain of betrayal fell blissfully away. Instead of betrayal, he had true friendship, and another person he could count on.

"I believe you, Neville," Harry said simply, and he felt everyone in the room stir in relief.

"As do I," Professor Dumbledore broke in with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "And it is an unusual and wonderful conclusion. However, if you did not bring the toast to Harry, then I'm afraid we must consider the possibility that another Gryffindor has used a Polyjuice Potion."

"A Gryffindor?" echoed Harry. "But it doesn't have to be, does it?"

"They had to have had the password," Hermione said, sitting slowly into her chair. "Although, if he came in with some other Gryffindors, who just thought that it was Neville and so didn't make him say it, they might have made it incredibly easy for him, whoever it was." She paled. "It has happened before."

"And that is the precise reason that we must follow the rules, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "It must be the practice of the dorm to only allow one person at a time from now on, so that each person may prove who he or she is by their knowledge of the password. And I believe we are down one Prefect in the Gryffindor Sixth Year dormitory, Albus, as I have been reminding you all week."

The Headmaster nodded gravely. "Yes, Minerva, and I think now I have found my trustworthy Prefect for the Boys' Dormitory. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom, what do you think your Gran would say if you wrote home that you had made Prefect?" Neville's jaw dropped and the Headmaster smiled merrily. "Wonderful!"

"Well, I suppose that would be perfectly acceptable, Albus, though goodness knows why you had to make such a production out of it," Professor McGonagall said a bit crossly. "One might think that you didn't trust my boys at all."

"The Marauder's Map!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, his mind taking a sudden turn. "That's the answer! If I had looked at the map this morning, I would have seen the true name of the imposter and I would have known not to eat the toast." Quickly, he explained the amazing properties of the map.

"Merciful heavens," Professor McGonagall said in an undertone, "that would take an enormous amount of ingenuity and power to construct something of that caliber. Who did you say made the map?"

"The Marauders," Harry answered, feeling a stirring of pride, "a group headed by my father and Sirius Black, also including Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew."

"Astonishing. And you say you have this map," Professor McGonagall gave the Headmaster a stern look, as though he were responsible, and then requested to see it.

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore sighed, "I'm afraid we may have use for that artifact, Harry, more use than you at the moment. That map is singularly helpful in the way that it sees through Polyjuice Potion. The current aides I have access to do not detect that type of Dark Magic, and so have been rendered useless."

"And whose fault is that," spoke up a portrait from the wall for the first time—former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus." I told you several times that divesting the Headmaster's Office of all Dark Devices would run you to ruin, and here you are!" he said with smug satisfaction.

"Ah, Phineas," Dumbledore said amiably, "I hardly think we are at ruin."

A sniffing noise came from the portrait. Phineas had turned away. "A matter of semantics. Ruin is upon you, whether you recognize it or not. The castle is rampant with spies and plots and all of them center around that boy. You would do well to immobilize him, attach him to your robes and be done with it."

Harry's anger flashed. But before he could speak, Dumbledore had lifted a hand to stop him and Harry choked down on his words. "We are hardly unaware of the seriousness of the situation, Phineas. But I am of the opinion that Harry was prophesied to be the One because he is the very sort of person that can take a dire situation such as this and not only handle it, but excel in the midst of it and push others along with him, as has been evidenced by the amazing proclamation tonight by our very own Neville Longbottom." He gave Neville a warm smile, which the boy blushingly returned. Then the Headmaster turned his approving smile on Harry. "They may try to knock Harry down, to put the fear of Voldemort into him, and to keep him from his destiny, but they will not prevail. They cannot. He is much stronger and more determined than they know, indeed, more than even Tom knows."

Heat was flaming the sides of Harry's face, and yet he could feel a cold chill going down his spine. How could anyone have that much faith in him? How could he possibly justify it—do all those wonderful things, when he was just himself—just Harry? But Hermione was smiling at him and nodding with shining eyes, and there wasn't room in Charlie's proud gaze for doubt. Nor was there any in Professor McGonagall's eyes, only a strange-but-familiar approval and dawning respect. Neville was smiling, nodding at him, smearing away a tear.

"That's right," he said, "they won't prevail, Harry. Not if we have anything to say about it."

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A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! I wish I had more time to answer them all, but alas! I do read them, promise! Please review so that I know how I'm doing and what you'd like to see.

Fraterdum Singultus.—"Brothers until the final breath."