Chapter Twenty-Two:

Which Sounds More Dangerous to You?

Harry felt like his entire body was being pricked by needles—that horrible feeling when blood is returning to a body part that had been asleep. But all over? He moved restlessly. Where was he? His eyes felt too heavy to open and those prickles—damn, his whole body must have been asleep. What had happened? He remembered Ginny, vaguely, and—pain. Moving a hand to his face, he felt smooth skin where he was sure there shouldn't be.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. Through the haze of blurry light around him, figures were drawing near.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore's voice greeted him lightly. "How are you feeling?"

"All right," he rasped. "I think."

"Here you go," Ginny whispered from beside him. She placed his glasses on for him, somehow knowing what he was looking for. He settled his glasses more securely, taking in at a glance Hermione's grim look, Fred's pale steadiness beside her, Lupin's obvious tiredness and Tonks, looking rather defeated in a Hufflepuff uniform. The Headmaster looked as he often did around Harry—twinkly-eyed but defeated around the edges.

"Harry. I'm sorry."

Harry looked back at Ginny, surprised to hear the unfamiliar note of helplessness in her voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Mad as hell, but fine," she retorted as several shades of red crossed her face.

A sudden burst of memory assaulted him, half-assembled. The girl who had pulled him out of the tent—that hadn't been the real Ginny. "Where were you?"

Ginny threw her hands in the air angrily. "Violet Hooch asked me to go with her and talk to Tobias because he was so depressed, but we never made it. Some one got the drop on us from behind. And if I ever find out who did it—"

"She'll be a goodgirl and come tell me so I can have first dibs on killing them," Fred put in.

"Not likely," Ginny tossed back in clipped tones. Harry's mind was racing to fill in the blanks. He remembered now—the false Ginny throwing something at his face, something that burned. . .

"Violet and Ginny were both found unconscious behind the Hufflepuff Pasty Shop," Lupin went on to explain. "Neither was seriously injured."

"They only wanted me out of the way," Ginny seethed, before focusing back on Harry, "so they could use my face again! I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so bloody sick of this!"

Harry clutched clumsily at her hand. "It's not your fault. I'm fine. But . . . I don't understand how exactly. Professor Dumbledore, Crabbe threw the Killing Curse at me. I tried to put up a shield, but I didn't think it would work."

"Indeed, it should have been impossible, my dear boy. But your shield deflected the Avada Kedavra."

"Deflected it? Then—Crabbe?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Vincent Crabbe was killed by his own curse."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. "I couldn't dodge it. I was afraid it would hit someone behind me, like Neville in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. So I tried to block it. I knew it wouldn't be strong enough. And I remember very distinctly that the shield was failing and then—" Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying to remember. "A silver light came from somewhere and . . . strengthened it. Does that make any sense at all?"

The glance passing between Dumbledore and Lupin made Harry pause. Hermione was holding her hands to her mouth, crying. She'd been silent this whole time. Why was she . . .

Harry felt the world suddenly tilt beneath him. "Where's Ron?"

As everyone's gaze slid to Harry's left, he turned to look there, too—and stopped breathing. Ron—pale and terribly still—was lying in the bed across the aisle. And the missing pieces slid into place with an almost audible click.

"That spell . . ." Harry breathed, turning back to Ginny, who stared back at him with a closed look. "Is that was the spell is about? The bloody Bodyguard Spell?"

"Harry, you must stay calm," Professor Dumbledore warned in a low voice. Harry turned to him.

"Why? Someone tell me! What does the spell do? What did it do to him?" He looked wildly from one face to the next.

"Oh, Harry," Tonks murmured and walked away from the bed.

The Headmaster stepped up to the bed. "All your questions will be answered. The Fraterdum Singletus is a spell of fidelity and brotherhood, one that has been used to magically bind the Weasleys to you. It was adapted and administered, quite without my knowledge, to allow the many to support the One."

"What?"

Dumbledore raised a calming hand. "It is an archaic bodyguard spell, used in times of great necessity. It allows the guard to give magical energy or anything else needed to the One they choose to support."

"'Anything else?'" Harry repeated, suddenly feeling the bed falling away behind him. "You mean, I took . . . from Ron to make that shield? Because he was my bodyguard?" Harry's voice cracked.

"Yes, that would seem to be the case. Making you, incidentally, the only person to have ever survived the Killing Curse once or twice."

But Harry wasn't smiling. "And the Weasleys knew this would happen?" He turned burning eyes on Ginny. "You helped do this?"

"Yes."

Harry sat up jerkily, clutching at the bedclothes for balance. "Then take it off."

"I can't," Ginny said edgily.

Harry ignored the buzzing in his ears that sounded like Hermione pleading and Lupin giving rational advice. He only had eyes for the beautiful traitor in front of him, whose face was turning bright red except for the white ring around her set mouth—a danger sign he had no intention of heeding.

"Take it off. TAKE IT OFF!"

"No! You pig-headed clot, will you just for once let someone help you—" Ginny began.

"TAKE IT OFF RIGHT NOW OR I'LL—"

Jabbing pain stole Harry's breath, cutting him off abruptly. He fell back as though his strings had been cut.

"Don't you dare fly at my parents like that for doing this or I will bloody well kick your arse whether you're the One or not!"

Ginny sucked in a deep breath and went on longer—far too long considering Harry was just trying to breathe.

From the next bed, Ron groaned.

"Oh, Ginny—stop it! You're only making it worse!" Hermione flung in their general direction and fled to Ron's side. Ginny finally stopped, or just ran out of words. She was standing there, fairly vibrating as Fred ventured close enough to pull her away.

"Let him rest," he murmured, "he just got off dying, you idiot."

Harry was focusing on not passing out. Over the quiet sound of Ginny's sobbing, he heard The Headmaster approaching, and from the other side of the bed, the brisk footfalls of Madame Pomfrey. Professor Dumbledore laid a cool, dry hand on Harry's brow and the pain in his abdomen loosened its deathgrip. Harry pulled in a deeper breath, despite the guilt sitting heavily on his chest. Or maybe that was leftover pain from the curse binding his ribcage in fire. He couldn't tell which.

"As if he needed anything more to yell about," Madame Pomfrey chided as she bent over him. "Worst case of magical depletion I've ever seen and here you stand, baiting him. Out!"

As his friends called whispered goodbyes, Harry took the offered pain potion gratefully. Waves of exhaustion, anger, guilt and pain were taking it in turns to make him miserable. How could the Weasleys do this to him? Madame Pomfrey straightened his covers, patted his hand and gave the Headmaster a stern look. "One minute and no more theatrics."

"Yes, Poppy," the Headmaster said obediently. Madame Pomfrey nodded, satisfied, and then walked briskly away. Harry listened to her footfalls, the seething mass of pain in his gut now down to a dull ache. He waited for the Headmaster's words, hoping they would give him some dim understanding of how to deal with this new wrinkle in the tattered fabric of his life—oxygen alone wasn't doing the trick.

The Headmaster spoke in his most gentle voice. "I'm sorry, but Miss Weasley was telling you the truth: there is no way to reverse the spell."

Harry stared at him in slowly-mounting horror. "Why? Why would they do this? What if I lose?"

"Courage, Harry. This spell was not meant to burden you," Professor Dumbledore said with a smile. "The Weasleys are trying to show their faith in you, in your ultimate triumph, and they mean only to give you an added incentive."

UltimateTriumph? The words echoed in Harry's mind. He covered his face in his hands. "What . . . incentive?"

"That of giving you something to live for. They fear, as I do, that you will whole-heartedly throw yourself into the battle and care not what happens to yourself afterward." Harry dropped his hands, staring at the familiar ceiling. He had to admit that he had gone far beyond caring in many ways what happened to himself in the end. Except when he thought of Ginny . . . there he was hopelessly entangled in the future he desired with her. But . . .

"Now, with this spell active, you must take care of yourself if you would have your friends survive."

Tears threatened, and Harry blinked several times. He already had the fate of the whole world on his hands. Did it have to get more personal? His biggest fear was Voldemort getting his claws into one of his friends and using them against him. Now that didn't even have to happen for Harry to be responsible for their deaths. He simply had to need their magical energy, their adrenaline, their . . . blood . . .

Oh god.

"There has to be a safeguard," Harry said forcefully. "There must be."

"Yes. That was the adaptation they made, Harry. The need will travel from one Weasley to the next until the need is met." The Headmaster nodded, answering Harry's unspoken question. "Ginny also contributed some of her own energy to help shield you tonight. It was apparently your own quite substantial magical force as well as nearly all of Ron's added to a small part of Ginevra's that led to your second escape from the Killing Curse. Quite remarkable and perhaps something to be grateful for, don't you think?"

Guilt hit him again, this time with the prick of a four-inch needle directly to his heart. He covered his face with his hands again. He couldn't process it. His mind just could not wrap itself around such . . .

A wave of exhaustion hit him, pulling him down into a drugged stupor. He wanted to think more about the consequences of their actions, but his eyelids were so heavy . . . even heavier than his heart.

"Sleep, my boy. You will feel better when you wake. And then, we will deal with these . . . Slytherins."

Harry heard the words as if from a far distance, and they stayed with him as he slept. He dreamed of endless ways of dealing with Slytherins, none of them involving endangering Weasleys.

That night Harry woke suddenly, shaking his head to clear it. He felt so much better that he was certain his sleep had just sucked more magic—or something else—from his friends. When would that stop? How had he never noticed it before? He'd been injured plenty of times. But then again, maybe not this bad since the Weasleys had become his bodyguards. Maybe it only came into play because it had been an Avada Kedavra cast his way.

He still didn't know what to think about what they had done. It made him feel . . . different. He was always trying to protect those around him, and suddenly, the best way to protect them was to protect himself?

"Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry jerked violently. Dobby was floating there, pale and translucent.

"Dobby! Where have you been?" Harry whispered sternly. "I thought you were supposed to be watching out for me."

"Dobby is sorry, Mr. Harry Potter, sir, for failing you so miserably!" Dobby wailed, but quietly so that Harry, for once, didn't have to shush him, "Dobby is a bad, bad House Elf ghost. But Dobby is still having to guard poor Winky, sir. It is needing to be done."

"Winky?" It took a moment for Harry to remember that someone had been threatening the poor elf. "Oh. Have you found out who was behind all the problems?"

"Yes, sir, but it is not making very much sense to poor Dobby. It is Duffy who is doing it."

"Wait—I remember him. He was all for getting freed when I was down there last. What made him turn against Winky?"

"Dobby is not knowing! Winky is not knowing, either. Duffy has said he is never doing anything to Winky, but Dobby knows he is lying."

"Has he taken clothes yet?"

"No, sir, Harry Potter, sir."

"Then perhaps Professor Dumbledore should ask him. He wouldn't be able to lie to his master. Would he?"

Dobby grew more agitated, wringing his ghostly hands. "But Duffy has already talked with the Headmaster and it is not doing any good. Duffy is still lying."

"Is there any way I can help?" Harry asked hopelessly.

Dobby hesitated. "Dumbledore is saying that House Elves need to take care of House Elf problems or they will never truly be free. Do you think this?"

"Er . . . I think that's the way it usually works. But I can still come down there if you need me."

Dobby straightened up at once, his tennis ball eyes shining brightly. "Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby—Dobby is handling it."

"Good. So, er . . . have you followed Draco at all, then?"

"Oh, yes, sir! And I is having something to report."

"Finally," Harry muttered.

"He is going to see the Head Auror."

"Claude Fornier? At the Ministry? Why?"

"No, Harry Potter—here at Hogwarts. The Aurors are here because Harry Potter almost died, and the Headmaster is beside himself," the house elf said in a whisper. "He is letting the Head Auror meet with students. Bad past-master was in his office because he is being a Slytherin and he is fighting with his wand when everyone fought because . . . because of Harry Potter almost dying," he said in a hushed whisper, his eyes suddenly swimming in tears again. "Oh, Dobby is so glad you are better, good Mister Harry Potter!"

"Yes, but—what's this about Draco?"

"When bad little past-master came out of the Auror's office, he was not well, not at all. He had been Cursed."

"Are you certain? Did you hear anything?"

"'Silencio!' is what Dobby heard," the elf said soberly, drifting toward the floor. "And when the past-master came out, he was white and shaking and there was blood on his lips."

Harry lay back on the pillow, sudden nausea making him ill. His skin prickled and a shudder went through his body. "How many Aurors were in there?"

"Just the Head Auror, Harry Potter."

Harry took a deep breath. "Still. He could have done . . . anything to him. Why?" Harry was sickened. "Why would Fornier do that? Why would Snape let him? Did you watch to see if Draco went to visit Snape after that?"

"No, he did not. Bad past-master cleaned himself up and went back to his room, slowly. Is Harry Potter sad? Dobby was not sad. Dobby is bad House Elf ghost," he said with conviction.

"No, that's all right. Don't punish yourself!"

Dobby hesitated, hand on nose. "It does not really work as well now that Dobby is a House Elf Ghost. That is bad."

"I don't think so."

Dobby grinned, just a little bit and then went off with promises to report about Draco to Dumbledore. Harry laid there for a while, trying to adjust his picture of what was happening in the school.

Apparently there'd been another catastrophic incident between the houses after Harry had gone unconscious and Fornier was ensconced in the school as part of heightened security measures. Draco was in a worse spot than ever. He'd finally gotten the Slytherins to trust him and now the Head Auror was making his life a living hell again. It sounded as if Fornier had been vicious and out-of-line, but then anyone would generally assume Draco was the head of the SDSes instead of an outsider trying to help Harry and betray them. And maybe Fornier's actions would make the Slytherins think again before trying again—not that anything else had seemed to work.

Long before Harry had decided whether or not the Head Auror's presence would ultimately be a good or bad thing, he found himself drifting back to sleep. His dreams were haunted by a half-transformed, snake-like Narcissa and Claude Fornier doing a waltz while Draco stood chained to the wall, watching.

It was such a disconcerting dream that Harry was grateful to wake to the quiet darkness of the Infirmary later, sucking in a deep breath of relief before he realized something blurry was sitting lightly on his chest. Stifling a cry, he tried to grab at his glasses without moving the thing unnecessarily. It seemed harmless and sort of soft, but—

"Meoowwww."

Confused but hopeful, Harry managed to get at his glasses and keep a hand on the cat at the same time. Once his vision was restored, a smile crept up his cheeks. A tawny cat with bright brown eyes and white boots on its paws sat serenely, watching him from its perch on his chest. With an imperious expression, it—she lifted a dainty paw and licked carefully at the fur there, though the gesture seemed too tentative to do much actual good. In fact, she looked less as if she was trying to clean herself and more as if she were trying to convince someone that she was an actual cat. It was so much like the dream Harry had seen once before, in what seemed like ages ago, that he had to laugh.

"Ginny? What are you doing here—and like that?"

Instantly, the cat dropped her paw and stared at him in a decidedly affronted manner—again just like the dream. She dug her claws into his chest, the pain chasing away his smile.

"Ouch! What was that for?" She hissed at him so angrily that Harry jumped. Then, he remembered. "Oh. Because I yelled at you?" She retracted her claws. Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. I . . . just hated that I hurt you and Ron without even knowing it and that it's likely it will happen again. I don't want that."

The cat stared at him with wide open brown eyes, not blinking, for so long that Harry felt self-conscious.

"What?" But he had just spilled his guts to a cat, hadn't he? And said something easily that Ginny might never have gotten out of him otherwise. Just as he was about to start babbling an excuse, the cat stepped closer and licked his nose. Her breath wasn't very cat-like—not fishy or bad like Crookshanks' had usually been—just warm and sweet and her nose was a bit cold where she rubbed it against his cheek.

"That tickles," he murmured, but was more comforted than bothered by her closeness as she began to settle down by his shoulder. He lied back on the bed and let her circle and paw at the mattress to her heart's content. "Why do cats do that, anyhow?" She didn't answer, but flopped down inelegantly right on his nose. "Hey, budge over," he protested, scooting her off his face. "Your aim is a bit off."

She sniffed at him, flopped down again and set at once to licking at her back, one white-booted paw in the air. Harry watched her with interest. "You know you don't have to do that to convince me." She didn't stop, and he watched her until his eyes started to cross.

He yawned and slid his glasses back on the table beside his bed. "You ought to have a cat name, you know, so that I don't give away who you are. Boots, maybe?" She started to purr against him. "Boots it is, then. Staying here all night?" He stretched and felt her slide into place beside him. Not wanting her to have to resettle, he turned on his side and cupped her body between his chest and knees. It was nice, if a bit strange, to know that his girlfriend was here, even if she was furry and had a tail. "G'night, Boots," he whispered, mind drifting to years past, when as a boy in the closet under the stairs, he had wished for a pet.

Harry fell asleep to the sound of purring and the feel of soft paws flexing and pushing gently against his chest. He slept better than he had in weeks.

When he woke, Boots was gone and Madame Pomfrey was standing by his bedside with a draught of medicine to start the day. Far from well, Harry spent most of that day recuperating, welcoming Ron back to the land of the living and apologizing many times for sucking half the life out of his best friend.

"'not your fault, mate," Ron said cheerfully, though his freckled face was still far too wan for a real smile. "Bill was the one who started the whole thing this summer. Remember that drop of blood you gave to him, so he could do that test to see how far you'd recovered? Yeah, well, he took two drops. One for the test and one to set up the bodyguard spell. Or—no wait, I think it was three, actually. One for the test, one for the bodyguard spell and one so Charlie could charm that kidney stone so we'd know how you are all the time."

"Without me even noticing?"

"Obviously you don't you know Bill very well," George put in from, grinning. The twins, Ginny and Hermione had come in to see Harry and Ron, leftovers from breakfast in hand. "If he doesn't want you to notice something, you don't. How else do you think he got to be Head Boy?"

Harry shook his head, and his gaze naturally moved over to Ginny, who was pale, but gave him a brief, secretive smile.

"So, how many Slytherins did you say got expelled?" Harry looked over at Hermione. She was feeding Ron a pudding.

"Twelve, but don't get too excited. None of them were the ones who should have been expelled. And there were ten Gryffindors, six Ravenclaws and three Hufflepuffs as well. They expelled anyone who'd thrown dangerous curses during the fighting. The ones who threw defensive shields or basic defensive hexes didn't get expelled."

"Or yours truly would have been gone," Fred spoke up, "and most of the other Weasleys as well."

"At least the ones that were conscious," Ginny growled, then turned to glare at Harry. "And by the way, why is it that when you were passing out those spiffy little hand gestures to everyone before, I was the only one who didn't get one? If I'd had one, then you would've know it was me from the get-go, instead of following Crabbe-as-me into a dark and steamy alley."

Harry stared at her, mouth slightly open. She was right; he'd never given her a sign to give him whenever they met so he would know it was her. And all the others had been forgetting to do theirs.

"You're right. I should have. I'm sorry."

"Of course you are."

Harry took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry for . . . not being grateful for the bodyguard spell." There was a marked silence in the room, and Harry couldn't meet anyone's eyes. He'd already said it to Ginny, but he knew the rest of them deserved to hear some of it, too. "It's . . ."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Harry blinked his eyes several times hoping they would dry out and then he found his lap full of Ginny. She threw her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck.

"We know," she whispered, "you don't have to say it."

Harry hugged her back, tucking her head under his chin and reveling in the feeling of peace she brought just by her nearness. She felt so small and he once again vowed to keep her safe. Which meant, confusingly enough, partly keeping himself safe. Odd.

"I know what my sign should be," she said, nuzzling against his neck. "I'll just say, this—Meow." Harry felt a zinging heat go through him at the sudden reminder of the dream, remembering rather uncomfortably now (since her brothers were in the room) that the dream had ended with her undressed. "And if I can't say it out loud, I'll just mouth it."

"Perfect," Harry whispered back in a husky voice, breathing in the fresh scent of her faintly-damp, just-shampooed hair.

There was more nuzzling, but as a mass exodus took place, and Ron discreetly took a slow turn around the room (limiting himself to one disgusted noise on the way), no one was witness to the sweet, slow kisses that marked Harry's true return to the land of the living and reminded him of exactly why it was so, so very good to be alive.

He fairly floated through the afternoon as Ginny kept him company, helping with water or whatever he needed, giving him a lingering kiss whenever he looked too pale or seemed to need it. (He might have pretended one or two of those times, but who could blame him?) Life was good. That is, until that night, just after supper, when Hermione arrived at the Infirmary breathless and waving a Daily Prophet. "You're not going to believe this!"

"I don't like the sound of that," Ginny said, sitting up in the chair beside Harry's bed and putting away her Transfiguration text.

Harry was perfectly happy to halt his Wizarding Chess game where he'd been getting spanked by Ron. "What is it?"

"Can't it wait?" Ron groused.

In response, Hermione tossed down the paper and waited, hands on hips. Harry read with mounting disbelief.

Poppycock! And You Can Quote Me On That!

This quote comes directly from the Wizarding Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge, who was incensed at the rumors that Harry Potter, the Wizarding World's youngest and most beloved hero, has again survived the Killing Curse. "Impossible!"
shouted the Minister as he was followed by this reporter following a speaking engagement at the Royal Bramblebury Peppermint League's Annual Bazaar. "Absolute balderdash! What sort of nincompoop would believe an idiotic story like that? The boy's gone mad, trying to put that over on us. Mad!"

The report came from Head Auror, Claude Fornier, who watched the Minister's slight tantrum with a sardonic smile and said only, "I believe it to be the truth, Minister. You might want to revise your statement."

The minister turned to this reporter and said, "Poppycock! And you can quote me on that!"

After the Minister had been bustled away by a contingent of Aurors, Mr. Fornier stayed behind to explain the facts behind the rumors. First hand, he saw the disastrous results of a duel between Harry Potter and classmate Vincent Crabbe. Crabbe, son of Brody Crabbe of Hanglington Heights, was dead on the scene, the victim of not a spell of Potter's, but of his own deflected Killing Curse.

"Potter did not send the Killing Curse," Fornier, a tall, dark and handsome wizard, said decisively. "We investigated that possibility right away, of course. Who would want their hero running around killing students? That's a recipe for disaster. As it is, parents who send their children to Hogwarts are in arms over the previous deaths of two Slytherin students this term, all in some connection with Potter."

"'Some connection with Potter?'" Ginny interrupted. "What the bloody hell is he up to? He knows Narcissa killed Pansy! He was here when she was caught!" Ginny's eyes blazed at Harry.

"Yeah," Ron echoed loudly. "What's he doin'?"

Harry folded up the paper and banged it down on the table pulled across his bed, causing one of his pieces to topple. The small black knight straightened himself, huffing loudly and rather melodramatically. "I have no idea what Fornier's game is, but he's got his own agenda, that's for sure." Harry then confided in his friends about Draco's debilitating visit to the Auror's office.

Hermione made a hmmming sound. "That makes no sense. Fornier is questioning your innocence in the paper, but then while he's at Hogwarts, he ignores you and spends his time working Draco over?"

"Yeah, doesn't make much sense, but finally—an Auror with his priorities straight," Ron barked out a laugh.

"Maybe he's only waiting until I'm out of the Infirmary to work me over."

"Just let him try," Ginny snapped, and Harry smiled at her briefly before moving on.

"Has Fornier called other students in?"

"Yes, all those who were expelled, all the Slytherins and a few others, mostly Prefects," Hermione added. "Neville and I were called in right away, mostly to answer questions about your behavior toward the Slytherins before and after the deaths occurred."

"All the Slytherins?"

"Yeah. I think he's doing a brilliant job—shaking up all those nasty Slytherins. Maybe he'll force the Seven Death-Eaters-in-Training to give up," Ron said, eyebrows raised. "I still say it's not a bad thing to go after Draco like that."

"Ron! Draco's completely helpless right now," Hermione chided him. "Someone should tell the Headmaster about this."

"Dobby already has," Harry assured her. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will put a stop to it."

"I wish he'd put a stop to the bloody SDSes," Ron groused. "How many more of them are there?"

"Three."

"No. There are four," Hermione corrected Ginny.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, let's start at the beginning. We know that the SDSes are going down the list of the Seven Deadly Sins," Hermione began. "Pansy was Lust. Goyle was Greed. Crabbe was Gluttony."

"Oh, I get it," Ron nodded thoughtfully, "'cause it was with a cupcake."

"And Blaise's attempt with Anger," Ginny said pointedly. "That makes four."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in.

"Er—no," Harry hesitantly broke in. "I don't think Blaise has had his attempt yet."

"What?" Ron exploded. "Then what the bloody hell was all that with Tobias? They had you surrounded!"

"But nobody threw the Killing Curse, did they? And besides that, Blaise said himself it was just to get me off-balance, make me angry."

"Worked," Ron observed.

"Are you sure he didn't just muff his attempt and say all that to play it off?" Ginny said despairingly.

"Pretty sure."

"Very sure," Hermione added. "Let's not forget, if he'd tried and failed already, he would be dead."

Ginny sighed and slid her hand inside Harry's. "You're right, of course. But Blaise has been expelled. For all we know, he is dead. After all, it took us a while to find out about Goyle." Everyone exchanged startled looks. "At least for now, Blaise isn't here and his plans must have been, at the very least, derailed. So perhaps there will only be three after all."

"Possibly," Hermione agreed, then went on. "The four remaining deadly sins are Anger, Sloth, Pride and Envy."

"Sloth? Isn't that one of them things that hangs on by its claws to the trees and moves slower than Mad-Eye Moody on the toilet? One of them is going to try to kill Harry now?" Ron looked from one face to the next. "What? That's a sloth, I know it is."

"Sloth, dear brother, means laziness," Ginny leaned across Harry to say.

Ron stared at her. "So someone's going to try to kill Harry by being lazy? How does that work?"

Harry was grinning. "You know, I think I might be able to handle that attempt."

"The point, Ron, is that laziness, or sloth," Hermione said pointedly, "is a sin according to the church and the penalty for it, as well as all sin, is death. I'm not sure what the Slytherins will make of that in their plans, but then, I don't see how envy could be deadly, either."

"Yeah, but look at Pansy. She managed to make Lust deadly, didn't she? And completely miserable for Harry as well." Ron added. "I would've thought that at least that one would have been fun. Damn Slytherins."

The day that Harry and Ron were to be allowed back to their dormitory dawned bright and cold, foreshadowing the gentlest beginnings of winter. Classes had again been interrupted, but were to resume the next day. Harry spent the day in restless rest, gladly gathering his things together when Madame Pomfrey finally declared both Ron and him fit. A few minutes later, Harry was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore arrive at his bedside.

"Is something wrong, Headmaster?"

"Oh no, Harry, everything is as well as can be expected. I am merely here to see you safely to your room."

Harry's eyes grew wide, and he looked over at Ron to see if his mate had any idea of what was happening. Ron shrugged.

"We're here," called Hermione's voice from over by the door, and suddenly the Infirmary boasted a dozen more students with bright smiles—all Gryffindors. Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, Dean, Neville, Katie and the rest of the Quidditch team were standing there, wands at the ready.

Ginny came over to the beds nonchalantly. "So—Ron, Harry. Feel up to a walk?"

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," she lied and picked up his schoolbooks.

"I can carry those on my own," he objected, reaching for them, but she stepped smartly away.

"Don't worry, I'm not carrying them. Wouldn't want to hurt your precious ego," she said quietly so only he could hear. "The boys wanted to help." She moved back to the door and passed out his books to the Gryffindor boys.

"Come on, Harry, we haven't got all night," Katie said loudly, but with a smile.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "Both of you follow me and we will give those Slytherins something to think about." Again, Harry and Ron exchanged a quick questioning look. Ron gestured for Harry to lead, and he did, taking a deep breath and picking up his bag of toiletries and such.

The other Gryffindors greeted him and let him pass through, only to re-form in an arrowhead once they were all through the doors. The two unfamiliar wizards who had apparently been standing at the door followed immediately behind Professor Dumbledore, and Harry walked behind them, flanked by Fred and George. Behind him was Ron, flanked by Hermione and Ginny. Past them came the rest of their friends. The entire group had their wands out and at the ready.

Harry flexed his wrist and his wand popped out. The poison antidote still rested reassuringly tight around his left bicep. He felt ready . . . but was soon overwhelmed.

At the first stairwell, the D.A. stood lined up against the wall. Each of them nodded at Harry and joined the group at the rear as they passed. Harry looked back to see the large group stretching back like a parade. All they needed was Muggle commentators and a purple dinosaur float.

It seemed funny, and a bit unnecessary, to Harry until they hit the ground floor and headed toward the Great Hall. Students who had been walking purposefully in one direction or another suddenly stopped and stared open-mouthed at the sight of Professor Dumbledore leading a procession, wand out and forward.

"It's Harry," he began to hear, repeated over and over, in whispers and shouts. "Look!" A disturbance up by the Great Hall turned out to be a groundswell of students rushing out to see them.

"He's all right!"

"Harry!"

"HARRY!"

The shouts grew to a roar, the atrium began to fill and just as Harry was beginning to panic, a bright, sizzling beacon of light burst forth from the tip of Headmaster's wand, painting the walls and all those beneath them a brilliant, blinding white. Students froze and cries died in their throats.

As the light slowly faded to a glow, an unnatural silence fell, spreading backwards into the Great Hall itself. Not a sound was made. Everyone blinked, trying to see again, and Harry felt the twins reach for him, making sure of his presence.

"I'm fine," he breathed, though it was several moments before he could see normally again. Around the procession, the students looked stunned, but still intensely interested in Harry's presence. Slowly, Professor Dumbledore began to move forward again and the tide of faces fell away as silently as the wind bows a field of wheat.

Harry half-wanted to apologize, but didn't dare break the silence. A group of Slytherins stood frozen by the doors to the Great Hall, watching with emotionless faces as Harry walked by. Draco, alone among them, kept his eyes down.

The long hallway seemed even longer than normal, and Harry was relieved to finally reach the stairs. The Headmaster continued the way up, his light steady, his figure strong and the parade of followers followed.

As they reached the third flight, Harry suddenly realized why he hadn't seen any other Gryffindors along the way. Up ahead, stretching from the fourth floor stairs and up as far as he could see, his housemates lined the path. For the first time, a smile lit his face, and a lump large as a bezoar stuck in his throat.

As soon as the Headmaster reached the first Gryffindor, they all started cheering. Harry found himself shaking hands that reached around Fred and George and calling out thanks again and again. The Gryffindors all piled around the parade until it began to get dangerously crowded all along the stairs. Harry had to be pushed up ahead by Fred and George just to squeeze through at the top. The clamouring and cheering only grew louder as they approached the Common Room door, as the hallway was lined by Harry's house mates as well.

At the door, Dumbledore stepped back and gave Harry a smile. He looked winded, but there was the light of pride in his eyes. "Welcome home, Harry. You'll be very safe here now. You have my word on it."

Harry, who was feeling a very disturbing mix of elation, exuberance, pride and teary-eyed gladness at being welcomed so heartily, simply nodded as words were so far beyond him.

He did that most of the rest of the night, at the welcoming party and afterwards in the dorm room. It was a great party, full of too much food and no talk of anything serious. But there were two very surprising moments: first, when Tobias stepped up to Harry manfully and shook his hand, all the while choking out thanks and sorrys and glad-you're-okays so rapidly that Harry nearly laughed once he understood him—but tousled his hair fondly instead—and second, Katie's announcement.

Tobias stepped away to tame his hair just as Katie called for attention from up on the first landing of the stairs. Once everyone's head was turned her way, she yelled that she was back to captain the Quidditch team. Deafening cheers resounded across the Common Room. She then welcomed Harry and Ron back and confessed it was their near-death experience that had prompted her to forgive Ron completely. Ron thanked her and said he was ready to follow orders—yelled or not. The whoops and hollers following soon lead to excited speculation about the season and how the team would fare in their first match of the season against Ravenclaw.

As the conversation ran down, Harry found himself once again accosted by Tobias, this time with a steadier, more determined look in his brown eyes. "What I meant to say before was that I'm glad you're okay, Harry and I'm sorry for not thanking you for helping me before. I was just a bit . . . messed up. You know."

"Of course," Harry hastened to say, "I do understand. Really. It's fine."

"And I promise to watch your back, like you asked at the beginning of the year in that speech. I'm determined to help you like you helped me. I promise. It's that important to me."

Harry wanted to sigh at another promise to protect him—it was really beginning to be quite a burden to be so well looked-after—but he managed to smile and say thanks. Tobias grinned, said thanks in return again, and went off out of sight. Harry was glad the first year was finding his feet again. He really was. But he truly, truly hoped the boy would be nowhere near him if/when the SDSes struck again.

Exhaustion suddenly came calling and Harry could stave off the inevitable no longer. He tried to conjure a moment alone with Ginny—but that's all it was—the barest of moments with a good night kiss at the end.

Any lingering elation immediately deflated when he came in and saw Seamus' empty bed.

"He threw a pretty vicious Bludgeoning Curse at Bulstrode after she bragged that you were dead," Dean explained soberly. "Wish I'd been mad enough to do it, too. Glad you're both back."

"Yeah. It's been awful with all three of you gone," Neville put in.

Ron and Harry put their things away, surprised to hear from their dorm mates that besides those Gryffindors missing because of suspension, more students had been pulled out of school by nervous parents over the past few days—including the Patil twins, and Violet Hooch. Harry hadn't even noticed their absence in the all the clamour, but he felt the worst about Seamus.

Despite that, it was a relief for the boys to be back in their familiar beds and it was easy to fall asleep. Dobby again woke Harry to report, but had nothing new on Draco's condition. The boy had remained in his room for most of the day until dinner when Harry had seen him. The only person who had gone in his room was Millicent Bulstrode. Not a good sign. Harry was going to have to find a way to communicate with Draco, but finding a way to do that unobserved was a puzzle.

Especially since there were now Aurors roaming the halls. Harry wasn't sure whether to feel oppressed or heartened by the presence of the men and women in charcoal gray robes, wands at the ready. Several of them nodded at him on his way to breakfast, as if they'd been watching particularly for him.

Dumbledore seemed very serious about Harry's safety now. But to that end, what neither Harry nor any of his friends could figure out was how none of the remaining Seven Deadly Slytherins had gotten kicked out.

"I'm dead sure Seamus only threw that Bludgeoning Curse because Millicent nearly hit him with one herself," Dean spoke up at breakfast.

"Yeah, and if Fornier's not here to get rid of the Slytherins, then what the bloody hell is the point?" Ron said, pausing to yawn widely.

Ginny grinned. "Well, maybe he likes tap-dancing around the Great Hall."

Laughter spread down the table. It was true that Claude Fornier's walk was just odd enough to make his footfalls in the Great Hall sound like Irish dancing, each time going toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel as he went.

"Draco looks terrible this morning," Hermione observed. "No—don't look at him all at once! But do take a look when you can."

Harry waited a moment and then glanced at the Slytherins table. Oddly enough, one of the Twitchtie girls was sitting on the end closest to Draco, in direct opposition to the usual hierarchy of Slytherin eating habits. A first year eating with a sixth year? Draco himself looked ill and jittery and was staring down at the table as if he expected to be devoured by it at any second. Whatever Fornier was doing to him, it was working.

The Twitchtie girl was chewing her food thoughtfully and surreptitiously watching Draco. Why? On the other side of Draco, Milicent, Nott and Hughes

Harry clued back into the conversation just as Ginny was getting on Ron. "Has it ever occurred to you that he has just as much information about Harry and how he's avoided the past attempts as he does about the SDSes? If Draco tells Fornier everything, it could be really bad."

"Bad for who?" Ron insisted. "Harry, Draco or the SDSes?"

"Harry."

"But, he isn't going after Harry!"

"Not yet," Hermione mused.

"Why would he? Harry hasn't done anything wrong. Fornier's an Auror," Neville continued hesitatingly, "isn't he one of the good wizards?"

Silence reigned at the table for a long moment, and several of them turned to look up at the Head Table, where Fornier was engrossed in an apparently amusing discussion with Trelawney. The dark man smoothed his beard and then reached for his glass of wine.

"We hope so," Harry finally summed up.

"But we know they can be compromised," Hermione reminded them, "after all, it was Kingsley Shackelbolt who helped the Death Eaters tear down the protection at Privet Drive this summer, remember?"

"Bloo—dy hell. I knew it wasn't a good sign when the Defense teacher ended up being a sweet old lady who worships the ground Harry walks on," Ron said morosely. "I knew it meant someone else was going to show up later on and do bad, bad things. But at least he started with Draco. That's something."

"Ron, really—this is—" Hermione began when she was interrupted by Ginny.

"Wait—what's he up to?" Ginny pointed back at the Teachers' Table.

Claude Fornier had just rounded the Teachers' Table and was tapping his strange toe-heel, toe-heel way to the front of the room. A few giggles spread around the room, bringing a frown to Fornier's face.

He raised his hands for silence and got it. "As I have stated to you in my previous talks, some additional safety measures need to be taken in order for this school to operate . . . safely. Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to rule on a very important decision just this morning. This year," he lingered over the words, "Quidditch has been cancelled."

Harry had been contemplating the fact that he had apparently missed some previous Fornier safety chats when the man's last words finally sank in. The announcement met with a stunned silence, followed by a loud, widespread outcry.

"WHAT!"

For the Gryffindors, who had just secured Katie's return to captaining, this was especially horrific. And as Harry listened to Fornier's lilting accent explain the needed security crackdown, something . . . just snapped. Harry stood up.

"No."

With that one word, he secured the attention of the entire student body. They swiveled as one to stare at him.

"Pardon me, Harry Potter, is there something you would like to say?"

"Yes. Don't cancel Quidditch."

The man shook his head as though he had misunderstood him, then turned to the Headmaster. "I assure you, Professor Dumbledore, that this is a necessary step in protecting—"

"Me?" Harry interrupted. "Then let me assure you, it's not necessary."

"Alas, the entire world does not revolve around you and your ego," the dark man returned with a snide smile, and a ripple of gasps went around the room.

"Nor does it revolve around yours, Mr. Fornier," Professor Dumbledore stood to his feet at the Head Table and turned to Harry. "Enough of this. What is it you would like to say, Harry? You certainly deserve our attention."

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to think of the right words, but they wouldn't come. "I'm tired of being the reason everything is turned upside-down. We've worked hard these few months—all of the teams have—despite all of the turmoil. We deserve the chance to play."

"And yet, as the Ministry-appointed Head of Security here at Hogwarts, I have the authority to make rules as I see fit," Fornier growled. "No Quidditch, Potter, no matter how much you whinge."

There were more gasps around, but Harry only felt his gaze upon Fornier sharper intensely at the dig. This was all so familiar . . . hadn't the Ministry learned anything by now?

"Mr. Fornier, you are testing my patience," Professor Dumbledore said softly.

But now Harry knew exactly what to say to the Head Auror. "Go ahead, cancel the Quidditch season. But I warn you, we'll play anyway. The same games, the same teams, without official school sanction, maybe without a few of the less popular rules." Some students around him cheered, but Harry only saw the narrowing of Fornier's eyes. "I don't know—which sounds more dangerous to you?"

Fornier said nothing, just took a look at the students and then back over to Dumbledore, who was smiling.

"Nicely put, Mr. Potter. Now, Mr. Fornier, we will allow you to make as many security requirements on the field and the players as you deem necessary, within reason, of course, but I think we will—nay, we must allow the Quidditch season to go on as planned."

A cheer went up in the Great Hall, and Fornier tap-danced his way out.

Author's note: Thanks for your patience, one and all. There are only six chapters left and they should come at more regular intervals now, with plenty of action to take us through to the end. You are all fantastic. Thanks for the support! --Ash