Chapter Sixteen: Fall-Out

Seventeen Hours Earlier . . .

At some point later, Harry was awakened by clattering around his bed. He forced his eyes open to see a very fuzzy Madame Pomfrey standing at the head of his bed with her back to him, the skirt of her robe brushing against his arm. She must be getting a potion ready.Harry's gaze left her, drawn into the shadows and patterned light along the stone ceiling. Although he could tell that it was just getting to be first light outside, without his glasses, the shapes collapsed into a puddle of light and dark somewhere in the middle.

"Oh, you are awake, then?" Madame Pomfrey said as she turned around. Harry nodded, but his unfocused stare remained on the ceiling. For some reason, his eyes seemed stuck on the muddled shadows and his brain was perfectly happy with the arrangement. Perhaps it was because he was still glowing after that little kiss Ginny had given him. "Brothers across the room and all."

Interrupting his pleasant thoughts, Madame Pomfrey insisted on administering two potions, one that tasted like sour cream and one that tasted strangely like dust, or rather, the metallic tang left in your mouth after you sneezed out dust. Ylllech.

Harry settled back into bed, noting that the pain medication must still be in effect; he felt numb more than anything and slightly off-kilter, as if his mind was searching for something to amuse or interest it, regardless of the what or who. Someone was talking in low voices over by Charlie's bed, but the intermingled chuckling told Harry that everything was all right over there. He tried to focus long enough to figure out who it was, but he couldn't hear them well enough and the mumble just wasn't interesting. His mind kept drifting, so he let it.

Of course, it drifted to Ginny and the fact that she was, surprisingly enough, turning out to be his first girlfriend. Cho didn't count. Pansy really didn't count. Harry gave a shudder. No, Ginny was going to be his first girlfriend. Girlfriend. There was just something warming and happyish about the word, about knowing that someone liked him—really, really liked him. That was precious to him. After all, one of the many hard things about being Harry Potter was that so many people didn't like him for stupid reasons, or wanted him dead for even more stupid reasons.

"Harry, you're awake!" He looked up to see Hermione approaching, one hand over her mouth as she yawned. "Oh, sorry, but it's been a long night." She stopped by the bed and reached out a hand to him. "And a long ten days before that." The breath she huffed out sounded clogged with tears as she leaned down to half-hug him. "It's so good to know it's really you. Charlie never could get it right. He was always laughing too much and showing off for the girls. Oh—you need your glasses. Here." She grabbed them and held them up for him to take them. "I've gotten so used to looking at you without them on. How's your hand?"

Harry put his glasses on and frowned at her. He held up his right hand and stared at it. "Fine. Why?"

"Oh, honestly. Madame Pomfrey really needs to talk to Ginny about that pain medication." Harry just smiled, feeling rather indiscriminately goofy, but not caring a bit. "It's your other hand."

Harry frowned and then looked down at his other hand, the one that he hadn't moved at all since waking. Oh. That was why he didn't want to move it. "Er. Yeah, it's fine. I think."

"Oh, I forgot. Ron!" She called over in a loud whisper toward Charlie's bed. "Ron! Oh, has he fallen asleep again? I'm too tired to go back over to get him." And she did look tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look in her expression, as if it hurt just to sit there on the side of his bed. "It's been so terrible without you, Harry. The way you collapsed after the Love Potion was horrible; it looked like you were in such pain. And then you were unconscious." Hermione gave a shudder. "We had to get Professor McGonagall and she couldn't wake you, either. So they put you in here, and tried to keep it quiet. But word did get out, and then someone let it slip about Ginny giving you the potion. And oh—those nasty, vicious Slytherins!" She clenched her fists. "They loved it that you couldn't wake up. They treated Pansy like a goddess. Then when word got out about Ginny's potion. Oh—they were horrid to her, as if she'd done it on purpose!

"And they weren't the only ones. Padma and Pavarti started in on her soon after, accusing her of being a gold-digger and everything else."

Harry was aware that he should be angry at this point, but all he seemed to be able to feel was an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was all his fault."I'm sorry. I was just . . . god—I couldn't—"

"Oh, I know. I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to bring it all back up and throw on you like that, but it was just horrible. And then Dumbledore—"

"Hermione! Is Harry awake?" The long, lanky figure of Ron appeared in the gray twilight of the room.

"Yes. I tried to call you," Hermione called back to Ron.

"Hey, mate," Ron called, yawning as he jogged closer. "How you feeling?" Harry shrugged, too despondent to answer. He'd let everyone down with that stupid Occlumency trick. Poor Ginny. She must have felt terrible, and all she'd been trying to do was help . . .

Hermione growled so furiously that Harry jumped. "He was fine. I've made him feel bad." She stood up and leaned in. "Harry, forget everything I said. I'm glad you're back and I want to hear what happened when you're ready to tell it. Right now, I need sleep. I've been on duty all night and I can't even think straight. Good night, Harry. Sleep well." She was gone so fast that Harry was left with his mouth still open to say good night.

"Hang on," Ron said to Harry and walked after Hermione, grabbing her arm before she could get very far. "What's up?" he said in a low voice and Harry blinked. He stared at them, eyes wide open. He could suddenly see it—the way they leaned in to each other, the way Hermione looked up at him and how Ron curved his body over her slightly as she whispered to him. Something had happened while Harry had been out, something . . . well, it looked like something good. When they parted this time, Ron bent over to give Hermione a small kiss on the cheek. Hermione looked almost boneless as she turned to walk away, her hand parting from Ron's reluctantly.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked as he sat down, looking a bit pink.

Harry smiled. "I was going to say the same thing." He raised his eyebrows.

"Er, yeah. So," Ron said, getting Harry's meaning easily, "a lot's happened since you were gone."

"I'd say so."

"Anyway. Why was Hermione upset?"

But Harry wasn't going to be distracted that easy. "Dunno. Did you kiss her?"

"Er—well, yeah, I mean, just because she was going on and on and you weren't waking up, and well, you know," he trailed off, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I know."

"So," Ron said more loudly, "why was Hermione upset?"

Harry was still grinning. "I guess 'cause you hadn't kissed her in a while."

"Shut it, you," Ron groused. "I'm never going to get a straight answer out of you when you're like this."

"Probably not." Harry yawned and settled himself back on the pillows more comfortably. "Sorry."

"About what?"

Harry paused, not remembering for a moment. "Oh. Sounds like I made everyone miserable by being out for ten days. I didn't mean to."

"'Course you didn't." Ron said promptly. "Wait a minute—is that what Hermione made you feel bad about? Mate, you couldn't help it. And come on, you just saved my brother's life! You made Mum so happy Fred and George are worried there's a Permanent Cheering Charm on her—she's that happy."

"Oh." Harry immediately felt better. "Good."

"I mean, sure, while you were out, the school hit some hard times, but it's not like it was your fault."

"Yeah."

"You were out cold. And you would've woken up if you could have, right?" Ron suddenly sounded a tad insecure.

"Right!" Harry said heartily. "I was trying to. Honest."

"I knew you were. That's what I told everyone. 'Look out,' I said, 'when he wakes up, he's going to kick the bloody hell out of those Slytherins.' That's what I said."

"I am? You did?"

"Well, yeah. 'Course you are. They want you dead for one thing and they've tried twice now. For another, they ran Ginny into the ground for giving you that potion, and well—actually, there were quite a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that helped them. We might have to take out a few of them, too. Zacharias Smith was such a—" and here, Ron let out such a string of curses that Harry knew he'd been spending time with Bill. "I knocked him flat on his arse once. And Ernie McMillan, too. And then there was Malfoy—bloody hell—Draco was sitting back, watching it all like it was bloody Quidditch match—the smug, bloody sot. But I didn't have to take him out. His own mates beat the hell out of him."

"Is he still here?"

"Yeah. He's across the room, passed out on something too good for him. He insisted that Bat-Bogey Hex of Ginny's re-injured him. He just don't want to go back to the Slytherin dorm now that they've turned on him."

"The Seven Deadly Slytherins," Harry said softly.

"What's that?"

"Draco said there were seven Slytherins altogether out to kill me," Harry answered, wishing the Veritaserum-effect of the painkillers would wear off. He didn't want to think about this stuff anymore. "Where's Ginny?"

"Asleep." Ron grimaced, yawned and stretched his arms up over his head. "It's about five in the morning now. You should get some more rest. Don't worry about the bloody Slytherins. You've got at least seven Weasleys watching out for you, five of them in here right now and two of us are always awake. Good to have you back, mate, I mean it." He tapped Harry lightly on the arm and slouched to his feet. "Sleep good."

Harry didn't want to sleep. He wanted to talk to Ginny, but there wasn't really a choice. He lay back and looked at the ceiling, letting the gray around the edges of his mind take over until everything around him faded. This time, Harry fell into a deeply-drugged sleep.

"Harry? Harry." Professor Dumbledore's voice was breaking through the clouded recesses of Harry's mind, bringing with it the light of consciousness—a light which was far too bright after the dark nothingness. Harry groaned. "Yes, yes. That is a good sign. Very normal to feel like your head has been removed and replaced by a fifty-pound weight. I remember that feeling well." Harry was squinting now, trying to see the familiar figure in the halo of bright morning light surrounding him. "Have you come back to us completely now? We need to talk, Harry, about a great many things," the wizened old wizard said in a sad, resigned voice.

Harry's mind circled around the words for a moment, then suddenly sharpened. "Like what?" he repeated in a gruff voice that cracked half-way through. "What do you mean?"

"First off, how do you feel?"

Harry took a quick inventory as he grabbed his glasses off the table from where someone had stashed them while he was asleep. "Fine. What do we need to talk about?" He pushed himself up to a sitting position, noticing that his bad hand felt a good bit better.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes shifted to the other side of the room, where Harry presumed the Weasleys were still encamped. The Headmaster's voice was lower when he spoke. "A lot has happened since you fell unconscious after the second Love Potion was administered."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot of it, from Mal—Draco, Hermione and Ron. How did things get so out-of-control, sir?"

"A very good question. I can only conclude that the other professors and I underestimated the profound effect your well-being has on the school. By the time we realized there was a problem with having the Boy-Who-Lived in a coma, we were neck-deep in accusations and altercations. House Points were being lost so quickly that the first years were confused—they began to think the hourglasses were merely keeping the time." His eyes twinkled. "To stave off the inevitable, we brought Charlie out as a decoy, to buoy the spirits of those who needed your presence to feel safe. As it turned out, that left him extremely vulnerable. Once he had been taken, I'm afraid things went from bad to worse—much, much worse."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"You took it upon yourself to rescue Charlie—"

"Yeah, and I—" interrupted Harry.

"—were completely within your rights to do so," came the surprising final words. Harry's mouth snapped shut. "I do think I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. However, your actions have had unfortunate results." Harry's stomach gave a lurch at the somber tone of the Headmaster's voice. "The timing was most . . . unfortunate. Severus was Summoned directly after leaving you in the Infirmary, whereupon he left the castle immediately, as we had decided that he must.

"You see, Voldemort was frustrated with the trap being spoilt and wanted to know if there was any further hope that you might awaken and spring to Charlie's rescue. Though he knew you to be awake, Severus was able to convince Voldemort that there was no chance. Thus, when you arrived, it was to a skeleton crew of wizards, and no Voldemort." Harry closed his eyes in disbelief. He owed Snape again.

But Professor Dumbledore wasn't through yet. "After you escaped with Charlie, and with the gratitude of all of the Order of the Phoenix, of course, there was the unfortunate side effect that you proved Severus a liar. He now has to choose between two equally distasteful paths: returning to Voldemort and trying to prove that his misinformation was due to my manipulation, or staying put at Hogwarts, which will keep him far safer, but prove his disloyalty further, rendering him unsuitable as a spy. It is a difficult, difficult choice."

Harry was horrified. He cast his gaze around the room, thoughts coming in short bursts. "I didn't know—I mean—Draco told me that Snape was—but I didn't think—"

"Put your mind at ease, Harry. You are not to be blamed for this predicament."

A pause while Harry remembered the thrown chamber pot and a very irate Draco. At least one person blamed him. And, of course, there was . . . "I don't suppose Snape feels that I am not to be blamed, sir?"

"Professor Snape, Harry. And, well, perhaps his feelings on the matter are best left out of the discussion. He is understandably disgruntled and I also am none too delighted over having lost out on our most direct source of information. However," he went on quickly, "I consider it a mixed blessing, to have him here with us, out of harm's way."

Mixed blessing? A vengeful, helpless Snape stuck in Hogwarts? Harry sighed. "I don't imagine he'll have much incentive to go easier on me in Potions class."

"I don't imagine so," the Headmaster said cheerily, "it is amazing how quickly you get under his skin, Harry. So like your father in that respect."

And for the first time in a long time, the thought that Harry resembled his father in some way brought him a small glow of satisfaction. His father would have liked that, for sure.

"Now, the other item we need to discuss is the attempt on your life by Gregory Goyle. Aurors are on their way to the castle later this morning, to question the boy about his involvement. Right now, he remains under lock and key, guarded by his Head of House and two prefects at all times. There is concern for his life because of the fate of Miss Parkinson. I trust you have been informed of her untimely demise?"

Harry nodded, discomfited by the reminder. "So you think Goyle may be killed as well?"

"Indeed. His incarceration is only half for your benefit. We shall be keeping a close eye on him at all times."

Harry sat up straighter. "Draco said that it was his mother who killed Pansy. Is that right?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is what we suspect. However, our attempts to locate her within the castle have so far failed. Neither the Marauder's Map nor the school-wide sweeps have produced any evidence of her."

A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "I suppose there's one chamber you haven't searched yet."

The Headmaster smiled. "I know of only one person at Hogwarts that could get into that chamber, and he has been most decidedly unavailable."

"But she could get in there, couldn't she? If her Animagus form is a snake, and he told her the right words."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "That thought has been pressing upon my mind with even greater import over the last few hours." He stood and walked to the end of the bed, gazing over at the Weasleys. "As soon as you are up and about, I'm afraid we will need your services," he looked back at Harry. "We must get back into the Chamber of Secrets, Harry. Would you be willing?"

"I'll look forward to it." The Headmaster smiled and began to excuse himself, but Harry stopped him. "I had one more question, sir, about Professor Snape."

"Go on, please."

"When I came out of my . . . coma or cocoon or whatever it was, I saw a memory of Snape's, of a conversation he had with you." He paused, uncertain. "Is it true that the Dark Lord rifles through his memories to see me?"

The Headmaster sighed wearily. "Yes. It has been a difficult and treacherous time for Severus these past years. You see, he has been reporting to Tom, trying to prove his loyalty to the Dark Side. One of the initial things that convinced him was the memories Severus surrendered of his treatment of you."

"You mean to say that he did all that on purpose. But Tom wasn't even alive when I first came here. How could—it's not possible that Snape could have known that far in advance—"

"Professor Snape. And not only possible, but true, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said in a light voice. "Severus knew of Tom's fight to be immortal and he knew that an Avada Kedarva curse was unlikely to do away with him completely. You see, Severus was forced to help brew the potions that Tom took in order to keep himself safe from death. He was always careful in class to treat the children in a way that was in keeping with his Death Eater status, so that no traitorous reports would reach unwelcome ears." Then the Headmaster smiled. "It did help that Severus was . . . naturally hard to work with. It also helped that he despised your father. That was not feigned in the least."

Harry nodded. "But the Occlumency lessons. Obviously, Snape couldn't let him—"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted patiently.

"Sorry. Professor Snape wouldn't let Tom see those memories, right? I mean, no one knew about those."

The old wizard sighed. "Tom knew, Harry. As soon as it was revealed that you were taking Remedial Potions, Tom demanded access to the memories. Severus is an accomplished Legilimens, but it is nearly impossible to deny Tom a memory when he is at close range. The best one can do is direct or distract him a trifle here and there. He was forced to give up those memories, as he knew that he would. And then his teaching style was seen as the harsh, hateful experience it was, which provided Tom with the gloating he wanted while misdirecting him as to your true talent in that area."

"So then . . . if Professor Snape was ever to have a conversation with me that was completely off the record, he would stop being such a git?"

With reproachful eyes that slowly turned into twinkling half-moons, Dumbledore said, "Harry, in the same way that I was afraid of our conversations getting back to Tom last year, Severus has been forced to treat you as if any part of your interaction might get back to Voldemort, either from your connection or from the mind searches. Give him the benefit of the doubt whenever possible."

With that, Dumbledore congratulated him again on his accomplishment, warned him that school would begin again for the other students on the morrow and that he might attend if he were feeling up to it. Harry said goodbye with a troubled mind. Dumbledore seemed to think that Snape's hatred was an act designed to prove his loyalty to Tom. But there was at least one conversation they'd had which never would have gotten back to Tom: from this past summer, the one in Dumbledore's presence, where the greasy git had spouted off venomously about Harry being "the One." That was very likely Snape at his own, lovable best, without a Dark Lord eavesdropping.

Harry snorted. If Snape's hatred is all an act, I'll let Cho Chang catch the snitch at the first Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match of the year. And cheer her on, as well.

Time slipped by quickly that morning, as Harry nodded off for naps as the potions dictated and stayed awake for bits of conversation with various Weasleys. They all continued to be grateful, which made Harry feel quite flustered; it wasn't like he could get up and walk away. Fred and George reminded him as often as they passed of something he'd spouted off about during his pain-killer filled hours.

"He looks good." Fred would pause to ask his brother as they walked by.

"Quite," George would agree.

"I don't think he's looked this good in well—maybe never."

"I think the very same, brother dear. Except wait—""

"With bated breath, brother."

"Yes. There was that one time after he snogged Ginny. Didn't he look slightly more smashing after that?"

"Ra-ther. Or maybe it wasn't better, maybe it was wetter."

Harry wanted to crawl under the bed, but settled for just pulling up the covers and turning scarlet. Had he really said that snogging Ginny was the best he'd felt in his whole life? Harry sighed. Never again. He was never drinking anything Ginny handed him again. Either she was overdosing him with Love Potions or overdosing him with painkillers.

After lunch, Cho Chang showed up, to the surprise of nearly everybody in the Infirmary. Harry was stunned she'd gotten by his guard, but found out later that it had been Tonks' idea of a joke to let her in. And as the pretty Chinese girl went on stiffly about the state of the school at present and how glad they all were to hear of Harry's return to health, Harry wished he could find some humor in the situation. Cho looked about as comfortable talking to him as he felt sitting with her while in his jammies, in the presence of his very new girlfriend, who was helping clean up after lunch.

"Now that I'm here, I had hoped to ask you to do me a favor," Cho went on quietly, "or even if not for me, for the Head Girl."

Harry, who had tuned in more sharply at these words, smiled a little. "But you are the Head Girl."

"If you want to get technical about it, yes," and a half-smile curved her mouth, too. "But this favor is something that a Head Girl would ask the resident hero, not necessarily something that Cho Chang would ask someone that she'd kissed . . . not too long ago."

Harry lost his smile and he felt his insides grow cold. "Do you often speak of yourself in the third person?"

"Harry—"

He gestured impatiently. "What's the favor? You want an autograph or something?"

She looked affronted. "No. Of course not. Wait." She seemed to collect herself. "Before we get off on any more wrong feet, I have to say something." She took a deep breath. "You were right about Marietta. She was so insufferable all summer long, never owning up that she'd done anything wrong. It was like she'd forgotten it all. I never should have sided with her against you, especially with all the trouble you'd already gotten into with Umbridge. Sorry." She looked much more like her old self suddenly, with a flash of that delicate prettiness that Harry had always admired, and he couldn't help but relent.

"Thanks. So, what was the favor, then?" This time, he asked much more nicely.

"We just thought, the Head Boy and I, that you might want to come and make a few statements to the school body tomorrow. If you've fully recovered, of course."

Harry blinked. "You want me to make a speech? Another one!"

"Not a speech, Harry, not really. Just to set all those stupid rumors to rest for once and for all. No one can figure out how Charlie got hurt, when you were the one who disappeared." Harry started to speak, but she held up a hand. "You don't have to explain it to me, but could you just set the record straight? Everyone is at each other's throats, and Ginny has had it the worst of it all. Wouldn't you like to tell everyone that she's not to blame for your coma? If she isn't, I mean."

"Of course she isn't," Harry said hotly. "And yes, I'd love a chance to tell off everyone who's been harassing her! It isn't like—"

"Good," she interrupted him with something like a gleam of triumph in her eyes. "Then I'll expect you tomorrow morning at 7:45 in the Great Hall for breakfast. You can address the school at 7:50 and set everyone straight. Thanks, Harry." She stood, leaned over to kiss his cheek and was walking away before Harry could respond.

He was still sitting, shell-shocked, when Dean and Seamus walked up. "Harry! What was Cho Chang doin' here?"

Dean was staring at him with wide eyes. "You two back at it again, mate?"

"No, of course not," Harry said hastily.

Ginny walked up just in time to hear all of this and stopped at Harry's bedside, a tray of potions in her hands. She was gazing at them quite coolly when she said. "Harry's not going at it with anyone but me now." She turned to him with a smile. "Here are your potions." She set them on the table beside him and kissed him on the cheek. "Take every last one of them or you'll be hearing from Madame Pomfrey."

Harry nodded. "Right. Got it. Every single one." He had a vague memory of not wanting to take potions from her hand again, but couldn't remember while she was looking at him like that. Something in his stomach heated up like a stovetop burner as she smiled.

Ginny touched a hand to his hair and then walked away, slipping beside a grinning Seamus to leave. "So the Great One has finally chosen. Now maybe some of these ladies will be taking a look elsewhere now. As I've said before, Dean and I are quite willing to pick up your slack."

"Yeah, right," Dean mumbled from where he had sat down in the bedside chair, looking disgruntled.

Going on at a fairly good pace, Seamus alternately stunned and embarrassed Harry by giving detailed accounts of his fan club's behavior during his coma, disappearance and recovery. First and foremost, they had panicked. Then they had met, organized themselves and decided to investigate. They had spent hours clogging up the library, helping Hermione research Harry's condition. Once he awoke, they had rejoiced and threw him a party, which Charlie-as-Harry hadn't been able to get out of. Harry was horrified to discover that his doppelganger had signed autographs. When Charlie-as-Harry had disappeared so dramatically, the Gryffindors had tried to keep it a secret, which meant that the Slytherins heard about it in a matter of hours and were parading around like Voldemort had won the war already. Not all of them, Seamus reported grimly, but a good many of them.

During those hours, the fan club had been just this side of violent and lost many House Points in challenging Slytherins to duels. When they weren't fighting, they had been harassing the faculty and many of the Gryffindors with constant questions and miscellaneous theories—mostly regarding the Slytherins. After he had been reported recovered, but injured, they had camped outside the Infirmary and pestered the guards outside for just one peek.

"If Fred and George hadn't vouched for us, that Auror wouldn't have let us in, either. She's a right rum one, that girl. Wouldn't mind getting arrested by her, eh?" Seamus grinned. "But now that you're on the mend and all, how'd you like for us to leak the information that you're no longer the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Are they still out there, then? The fan club, I mean?"

"Yeah," answered Dean. "Bit of ridiculous, actually. You could shoot an arrow in any direction out there and come up with ten girls on the shaft—easy. Someone should tell them what your breath smells like in the morning."

"Nah," Seamus admonished him. "It'll backfire, mate. Remember what happened when I mentioned how sweaty Harry was after Quidditch practice?" He hunched over and continued in a high-pitched squeal. "A sweaty Harry Potter? Oooooo! I'll shower with him! Can I take his shirt off and rub his yummy tummy? OOOO! A naked Harry Pot—"

"OY! Seamus, I'm trying to eat over here!" Charlie called over. "Get your hormones under control."

Dean was shaking his head. "Shut it, Seamus or you'll get the fan club started up again."

"Are they still out there?" Ginny's outraged voice carried easily across the room. "All right, that's it. I'm sending them away."

George went out the door with her, throwing a wink in Harry's direction.

"Some girl you've got there," Seamus grinned as he walked over to tap Harry on the foot. "Glad you're better. Drink those potions and we'll see you tomorrow back in the dorm. Be nice to have you back, mate."

"Yeah," Dean said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Neville and Ron have been driving us spare. Everything's been weird." Harry just noticed that he was squinting slightly.

"Something happen to your eye?"

Dean turned to fully face him and Harry could see the fading bruise on one eye much better. "Yeah, Goyle happened. Couldn't let him get away with that, you know? Portkeys to hell and all. Quite a row we had over that."

"You shoulda seen him, Harry. I knew Dean had some wild moves from those karate classes he took years ago, but I've never seen him like that. Took out that sook Goyle with three punches and only had a black eye to show for it."

Harry felt, once again, humbled by all the fuss over his disappearance. "Didn't want it healed, Dean?"

"Nah. Badge of courage and all that," he grinned, good humor showing through at last.

Harry wanted to say thanks, but they started moving away and saying goodbyes before Harry could find the words. So Dean had fought Goyle after Charlie-as-Harry had disappeared. It sounded like the Slytherins had earned their reputation as the evil house—setting traps for Harry, rejoicing when they worked, taunting the others who supported Harry. "The Seven Deadly Slytherins," Harry whispered, and that brought his mind to Draco. From there, his thoughts jumped to Tobias, the other person who had warned him about the Slytherins' plans.

"Dean! Seamus?" The two boys were passing through the doors and didn't hear him.

"Harry, what is it?" Ron appeared at the partition beside him, hair scruffed out in all directions.

"Did I wake you? Sorry."

"'S'all right. Not tired anymore, really. Just being a slug. Wha's wrong?"

"Tobias—I was wondering, how is he?"

"Tobias?"

"Tobias Wafting—first year. He's the one who said that that the Slytherins were after me, a while back. Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember now. Who had he been talking to?"

"The Twitchtie girl—which one I don't remember. Not the Ravenclaw one."

"Tobias is fine, I'm pretty sure. Seems like he did say something about Zabini talking to him, but nothing came of it."

"I shouldn't have asked him to spy on the Slytherins. They're deadly in earnest about this and if he gets too much information about it, who knows what they'll do."

Ron met Harry's gaze evenly, but said nothing. Finally, the redhead looked down and shook his head. "Hell in a hand basket," he muttered. At that moment, the doors to the Infirmary banged open and Ginny came stalking in, her mouth set in a grim line. George fell in the room behind her, laughing.

"Well, that takes care of the fan club," George explained loudly.

Ginny looked smug as she walked over to Harry, and he could see the way her eyes had fired up into molten brown. Ron stepped back away from the bed, watching her warily. She fired him a look and he jumped back.

"Yeah, right. Later, mate," Ron said as he walked back over to Charlie's bed.

Looking down at Harry, Ginny took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Now. Take those potions, Harry Potter, or you'll have me to deal with."

"I will?" A teasing tone crept into Harry's voice and a smile bubbled up from somewhere inside. "And what if I don't want to take them?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, but a faint smile played around her lips. "I have ways of making you drink, Potter. Don't even try me."

"I don't know. Every time I drink something you've given me, I end up out cold or blathering my innermost secrets to nearly perfect strangers."

"Fred and George would be appalled to hear you call them that. And are you trying to say that you don't trust me?"

Harry had to swallow, keeping only the barest memory of a smile on his face. "Something like that. I mean, hey—why should I trust you?"

Ginny leaned down, a smile echoed in her bright eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Just because." And even as Harry berated himself for carrying on such a heinously stupid conversation, he realized that both of them were saying much more with their eyes and their body language than words could ever convey. Before he knew it, Ginny was sitting on the bed, leaning across him with her soft, soft lips on his.

His arms went around her, pulling her against him and sending radiating waves of melting softness and answered need back to his very core. She smelled like . . . clean and like Ginny, only so much more alive and tantalizing than before. The kiss lasted long, blissful minutes, as they communicated tender thoughts and dreams and wishes through shifting bodies and light caresses.

And damn—it was good.

Long after the kissing session ended and Ginny left to check on Charlie, Harry still felt buoyant and wonderfully alive. In fact, he felt well enough to begin his campaign to be let go tonight. Madame Pomfrey was not very accommodating, but as Harry's hand was mostly healed and as he'd spent so much time in the Infirmary lately, and as the fan club had been waiting outside for hours every day, harrassing everyone, and as nearly the whole Weasley clan was there to vouch and plead for him, she finally relented. But as punishment for his past escapes from the Hospital Wing before he was well, she would only let him go if he wore a bandage around his still-healing left hand and kept it in a sling for two days. And only after he rested for another hour.

"But if feels fine," Harry protested, alarmed at the thought of how the bandage would beg attention.

"You are lying, you impertinent scamp," she retorted coldly, "and I know it. If you will not stay in that bed and recover fully, and well do I know the futility of trying to force you to stay, then you will do me the courtesy of at least keeping the injury clean. Miss Weasley knows the Cleaning Charm and will perform it every morning and every night for a week, until your hand is completely well. Before you leave, come and get a vial of Pain Potion. But only before bedtime, as it may make you a bit tipsy."

The twins, who had been over visiting Harry when he started in on Madame Pomfrey, and had found the entire conversation hilarious, held on to each other, laughing. Harry glared at them.

"Truer words were never spoken," Fred said as he wiped his eyes. "Don't worry, Poppy, if he gets high, we'll be sure to keep him company and keep those juvenile delinquents from that fan club of his take advantage." Madame Pomfrey turned such a fierce gaze at him that Fred wiped his face of all expression before adopting a sweet, innocent smile.

"Besides," added George helpfully, "we've thought of a whole new spate of questions to ask."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Just what had he told them during his spaced-out hours? He had a niggling feeling that it was something he wouldn't like.

"Fred and George Weasley—!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she bustled across the room, lecturing as she walked. "Harry has done nothing but help our family and here you are, terrorizing him! You will be nice to Harry or I'll take you back out of Hogwarts the instant I hear otherwise!" Harry stared at Mrs. Weasley, and she smiled, though her face was quite red. She had really taken a turn for the worse, as far as being fiercely overprotective of him. Her face contracted a moment and then she was wiping her eyes and smiled reassuringly at Harry. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Ron and Ginny will make sure of that."

Madame Pomfrey looked satisfied. It only took a moment to get the bandage on, covering the still-raw, but freshly grown skin on his left hand. It didn't restrict his movement at all—not that he wanted to move it all that much at present: every part of his hand was involved in the uncomfortable healing process, either itching, hurting or gone strangely numb. But he was on his way to recovery. He just hoped he could navigate his classes this way.

"Just make sure you don't leave without one of us," Fred said rather sternly after Madame Pomfrey had walked away. "I'm on duty now, but you can have George if you like."

"I'll be here by then," Ron said loudly. "I'm just going to get some food, you know, not to Siberia."

"Right, but take George or Mum will have our heads," Fred added as he turned to go. "Got to have a Weasleyguard, you know."

"Hey, what am I—flobberworm intestines?" Ron sniped back.

Fred held up his hands, "I don't care what you call yourself, but this is the first time he's walked the halls since all hell broke loose. Don't you think two guards would be good?"

Ron groused a bit more, but headed to the Great Hall with obvious excitement. "Be back in a bit, mate."

"Great. I'll just be sitting here, in bed. Waiting for an hour." Harry knew Madame Pomfrey meant well, but what difference was one hour going to do? He laid back against the pillows and resigned himself to boredom. There didn't even seem to be anything worth thinking about now; he'd done very little else lately. His mind seemed enveloped in a sort of gray fog, and in a very few short minutes it had made him sleepy again. Damn potions. Just as Harry was letting his eyes close, Madame Pomfrey scooted by his bed, moving faster than he'd seen her in days.

Harry frowned, but when she spoke, he understood. Charlie was getting ready to leave. "You are free to go, Mr. Weasley, and may I say it's been an honor having you here."

"Poppy, old gal, I feel fit as a fiddle, thanks to you. I just might have to give you a kiss."

"Oh, go on with you, it's just wonderful to see such a strapping young man well and up on his own two feet again. That's reward enough." Then she gave a squeak; Charlie must have kissed her.

Harry heard voices outside the door, and then Fred's voice called through, "'Bout time the lazy sot got off his arse!" Ginny's giggle followed.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were arriving right on time, admonishing Fred and still brushing Floo Powder off each other as they walked. Mrs. Weasley sounded almost giddy when she saw Charlie.

"Oh, Charlie, you look so much better, dear!"

"Madame Pomfrey," Mr. Weasley said in a thoroughly puffed-out-chest voice, "you are simply the best medi-witch in the history of Wizarding Health. I don't know why someone at St. Mungo's hasn't lured you away for a nice, better-paying job over there, but—"

"Because I wouldn't take it, and that's that," Madame Pomfrey huffed. "The very idea! Leaving Professor Dumbledore!"

Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley started making placating noises, but Charlie broke in, "Now, Poppy, you know Dad only meant that as a compliment, so unruffle those feathers," Charlie said in his most charming voice. There was another harrumph from Madame Pomfrey, but nothing else, so Mrs. Weasley had a go.

"How can we ever repay your kindness? It simply isn't enough to say thank you. May we invite you over for dinner? Perhaps on a weekend when things are slow?"

"Well, now, that does sound nice. But I insist that you invite that young man over there to come as well, since he is to be thanked even more than I am." The Weasleys agreed so loudly and enthusiastically that Harry felt himself grow warm. He rather hoped they wouldn't all head his way and make a fuss.

His eyes were just beginning to close again when Charlie suddenly appeared at his bedside, a huge grin on his face. "Harry! Mate, what's it going to take to get you out of this bed, eh? I never had you pegged for the kind to go lazing about."

Harry scowled. "It'll take an order from the Wizengamot, since Madame Pomfrey seems to be under the impression that any time I'm out of bed I'll be plotting ways to get injured again. Don't suppose you could put in a good word for me, eh?"

"And risk my good standing with her? Not even in your dreams, mate. You'll just have to be good and wait another half-hour."

Harry grumbled under his breath and then held up his bandaged hand. "Have you seen this? I'm to walk about with this on for two days!"

"Well, with all that's been going on around here, I'd say you're lucky they're not moving you in up here and posting five guards at the door," Charlie said soberly. "So cheer up. You should have learned this lesson from my folks: they only harass you 'cause they love you. Anyway, I owe you one. Anything you want, you call and you get—right?"

"Er—right." Harry licked his lips and rushed on. "But I really am sorry about the whole thing. I mean, you getting hurt trying to help me out again. I'm really sorry."

Charlie shook his head. "I'd say it wasn't your fault, but I don't think that's what you want to hear. I tell you what, mate, I forgive you. For any part of this—any tiny, insignificant part of this horrendous mess that's yours—I forgive you. Now, I also thank you, for saving my ignorantly greedy arse when I really was in deep . . . you-know-what." He glanced over at his mum and back at Harry. "Thanks, mate. I'll be back in a week or two and pick up where I left off, right?"

"Thanks, Charlie," and as he gripped his hand, Harry felt that there was no way any more words could come out of his mouth, gratitude had clogged it so thickly. The way Mr. Weasley was beaming and Mrs. Weasley was wiping away tears didn't help. He was thankful when they didn't say anything more. Mr. Weasley shook his hand and Mrs. Weasley kissed his cheek before leaving, but they didn't mention a dinner or go on and on or anything. He was surprised, but figured they must know by now how awkward he felt with that sort of thing.

When they were gone, Madame Pomfrey went back to her office, still mumbling about taking a job at St. Mungo's and interjecting "Honestly!" at various points. Harry's eyes were drawn to the ceiling again, in the curves and dips of the carved stone and their strangely-complex shadows. Ginny must have stayed outside so that he could get some rest, the way Madame Pomfrey had wanted. Oh well. His eyes drooped and finally closed.

His eyes jerked open some time later and it was a moment before he knew where he was—the Infirmary. There were screams and loud sounds coming from the hallway. Harry sat up, yanked the covers off and shot his wand from its sheath under his forearm—he'd at least put that on, even though he hadn't changed out of his pajamas yet. What was going on out there? There was a loud explosion and one more scream.

Ginny. Was that Ginny?

Harry vaulted for the door just as it opened and he slid to a stop. Nobody was there. The door closed with a light thud that, as hyper-aware as Harry was, made him jump. He raised his wand.

"Who's there?"

No answer, but a rustling of fabric.

Invisibility Cloak.

Harry took four steps back, wand pointed, moving around slightly as he didn't know exactly where the person was. "Answer me!" His breath sounded loud in the cold, silent air.

Then there was the soft swish of fabric and Ginny was standing there, her hair tangled, looking smug. "Did I scare you?"

Harry hesitated. "What's going on out there?"

"It's Narcissa, she was on her way, but the twins chased her off down the corridor. I came in to help you escape—got your Invisibility Cloak so we could get away."

Harry looked closer at the pool of fabric on the floor. It was his father's cloak—now he recognized the design weaved in its folds. Lowering his wand, he frowned, "What do you think I'm going to do, run for the dormitory? Give me the cloak and I'll go find Narcissa myself."

Ginny scowled right back. "No. You can't go anywhere without your bodyguards; you know that."

Harry scoffed. "You going to stop me or something?"

"You think I can't do it?" She shot back, raising her wand.

"A Bat-Bogey Hex won't do it, Gin. I'm warning you, step aside."

She cocked her head to the side and then stowed her wand in the waistband of her skirt. "I won't need my wand, anyway," she explained, then walked forward.

Harry huffed out a breath and then started past her. Until, that is, she grabbed his arm and swung him around. "You're not going anywhere." Then she pressed her lips to his.

Shocked, Harry couldn't kiss back. He was torn between trying to force himself to enjoy the kiss and wondering what in the hell she thought she was doing, kissing him now. Just as the "enjoy yourself" part won him over, a sudden nausea rolled over his stomach. His body clenched over and his lips left hers. In the next second, his wand went to her throat and he felt the cold prick of her wand against his Adam's Apple.

"Hello, Harry," Narcissa-as-Ginny purred.

He pressed the wand into her neck harder until he saw her eyes widen.

"Hello, Narcissa."