Chapter 18

We Have to Support Harry

"What happened today, Ron?"

Molly tried consoling her daughter throughout the evening, yet Ginny steadfastly refused to discuss the matter, even though she could not hold back her tears. But whether the girl liked it or not, her mother knew her better than anyone, and she knew that these tears could only have one source: Harry Potter. Ginny had her eyes set on The Boy Who Lived from the first time they met, even before that, and Molly knew that her daughter's fascination with Harry never diminished.

Arthur also faced his son, supporting his wife's interrogation. Ron shifted nervously on the sitting room sofa, unsure how to respond. Should he deny everything? Come up with a lie that his parents would see through in a second? Would revealing that they met with Harry be a betrayal of his best friend?

Mr. Weasley sensed his son's disquiet, and he knew as well as Molly that Ron and Ginny must have seen Harry, and probably Hermione. He decided to try to ease Ron's concerns.

"Let me tell you something, Ron. After Harry's interview in the Prophet, Scrimgeour is giving in. He's given the order calling off the search. Harry is a free man again, though he may not know it yet." Arthur stared severely at Ron before concluding, "Don't lie to us. This is important. Not Ginny crying; that's not important. Everyone goes through some heartache in life. But if you two met with Harry, we need to know."

Finally Ron bowed his head and answered, "We did. But I don't know where he's staying. Hermione told us to meet him at King's Cross. The two of them were already there when we arrived. Harry wanted to make sure that we didn't know where he's hiding. We spent the afternoon with them."

Ron felt that this story came close enough to the truth not to be considered a lie, even though he knew he had to conceal the purpose of their meeting and their later hours in Hermione's home town. His parents appeared to accept his words.

"What happened between Harry and Ginny?" asked his mother, more concerned than Arthur with the emotional state of their daughter.

"I don't know," Ron responded honestly, "Harry seemed a little cold towards her, but he's been through a lot these past few weeks. He acted a little coldly towards Hermione and me too, but for the most part he seemed happy to see us. Ginny and he never spoke alone; Hermione and I were with them all of the time. I don't know what happened to set her off."

His parents again accepted his explanation, knowing that their teenage son would be too thick to note the subtleties of Harry and Ginny's relationship. Molly quickly left the sitting room to climb back up to Ginny's room.

"I know Harry's been through a lot," Arthur commented to Ron once Molly left, "I don't want to rush him, but we need to make contact. Can you talk to him for us?" Ron reluctantly nodded his head.

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Early the next morning, Michelle Goldsmith apparated to London and then took a train to Hermione's home town. Unlike most in the magical world, Michelle possessed a driver's license, so she rented a small car. The Order knew Hermione's address from her Hogwarts file, so she simply consulted a map, found the house, parked the car under a tree a few houses down the street, and waited. She made no further effort to conceal herself.

As she sat patiently, she wondered why she needed to act in this way, like a spy. Why shouldn't I just knock on the door? she asked herself. She did not intend to arrest Harry Potter, and both Hermione Granger and he already knew of the Order of the Phoenix. As she mulled this over for half an hour, she noted a young man walking towards her on the other side of the street. She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, pretending to be writing in case the man looked her way.

Every few seconds, she glanced up at the young man, whom she determined to be a teenaged boy as he walked closer, and soon she knew that he must be Harry Potter. After all, she did know him, even though he had changed greatly in the past six years. He still walked in a distinctive way and had that thin, wiry body. She could not see his scar or much of his short hair, both covered by a red hat, but she would have bet one hundred galleons on it. Sure enough, the young man turned towards the Granger home and knocked on the door. Michelle could barely see the door from her vantage point, but she knew that the door opened and that the young man entered.

This seemed far too easy. Other members of the Order of the Phoenix, able wizards and witches with years of experience, failed miserably in their attempts to locate Harry Potter, yet she managed to track him down in a mere two hours. What should she do now?

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Ginny slept restlessly through the night after her mother forced her to confess her discovery that Harry's termination of their relationship in June would be permanent. Molly comforted her only daughter as best she could late that evening, knowing that the right time to discuss the matter fully had not yet arrived.

Hunger finally forced Ginny from her bedroom the next morning after Arthur already had left for work and while Ron passed the time outdoors in the comfortable summer warmth. Molly kept her ears tuned to the tell-tale squeak of Ginny's door, and by the time the young witch reached the bottom landing, Molly had already placed a plate of food on the table.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"A little better," Ginny admitted grudgingly, lifting a fork to her mouth.

Molly allowed her to eat for a minute before resuming the conversation, since the poor girl skipped dinner the previous day.

"I hope you don't blame Harry too much, Ginny," she advised, "I doubt he could have done anything differently. We can't help the way we feel."

Ginny did not respond, and as Molly suspected, she had hit a sore spot. In fact Ginny's mood had transformed through the evening from anguish, to despair, to hopelessness, to anger. Harry cheated on her, she convinced herself while brooding in her room. They had not truly split, in her opinion, and Harry knew it. He should not have allowed his liaison with this Melissa to have occurred. She narrowed her eyes at her mother, taken aback that she would defend Harry.

"You don't know that I had a boyfriend once. Before your father. We were very close," Molly continued, carefully observing Ginny's expression. Though the young witch attempted to remain stone-faced, Molly sensed that her admission peaked her daughter's interest. "I guess I was the Harry in that relationship. I broke his heart, but I couldn't help it."

She waited for Ginny to react, and she knew her daughter well enough to know that she would. Ginny tried her best to remain silent, but after a prolonged silence, curiosity prevailed.

"What happened?"

"I met your father," Molly explained simply, "and just like that I knew that I did not love Curtis. None of it was planned, and I felt terribly guilty about it for a long time, but would it have been any better to have remained with Curtis when I knew I didn't love him?" Molly paused to allow Ginny the opportunity to answer the question, but when she remained silent, Molly continued, "Of course not. Deception is far worse than heartache. In the end, with many years of hindsight, I can see that splitting up with Curtis so quickly after I met your father was one of the best decisions I ever made. For both of us."

"What happened to him?" Ginny asked as she slowly finished her meal, no longer feigning disinterest.

"He met another woman, much prettier that I was; married less than a year after we did. They had three beautiful children, around Charley and Bill's age." Molly stared out the kitchen window, and Ginny saw her mother's eyes glisten. "I think they were happy, as far as I knew, but then they killed him. Death eaters. During the first war. It was a terrible tragedy, one of many."

Ginny stopped eating and bowed her head, staring at her plate. Molly continued to stare for a few moments, lost in her memories, until she redirected her attention towards her daughter.

"We can't know what life has in store for us, Ginny. Now we face another war, and somehow Harry has to lead us. I don't know why and I don't know how, but Dumbledore made it clear. No matter what, we have to support Harry."

"I know," Ginny whispered in reply, and she realized that she knew much more about Harry's task than her mother did. "It's going to be hard, but I was willing to stand with him, no matter what. Now he won't even want me there."

Molly understood. Ginny hated being left out, and after years of being the fifth wheel, she finally had become a part of the group. Now inevitably she would find herself on the outside again. Molly reached out and grabbed her daughter's hand, squeezing it tightly.

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Hedwig nipped at Harry's fingers, apparently pleased to see him again, though owls' expressions change little. For his part, Harry felt deeply affected, surprising himself, to see the beautiful snow-white owl. He enjoyed a great sense of relief that the two of them managed to meet again, against all odds, after he released her in Little Whinging while on his way to the train depot. Somehow, holding the owl in his hands and stroking her soft feathers instilled in him a sense of optimism. Irrational, he knew, but he felt it nonetheless.

"Looks like you've taken good care of her, Hermione," Harry commented as his friend sat on the bed in her bedroom, "I can't thank you enough." Clearly a girl's room, Harry noted, neat and tidy, with plenty of flowers on the bedspread and other spots in the room. Not too girly, however. No pinks or pastels.

Hermione smiled at Harry's emotional reunion with his owl and assured him, "It was nothing, really. I enjoyed having her here. She's a beautiful owl." Harry nodded his agreement.

He place Hedwig on his shoulder, and Hermione showed Harry around her house, a perfectly normal, comfortable two-story residence, Harry observed. Compared to his humble lodgings of the past weeks, however, it seemed like a mansion. While Harry made himself comfortable in the sitting room, Hermione poured themselves glasses of iced tea which they intended to enjoy on the patio in the backyard on the warm morning. Glancing out the window, she noticed a woman approaching her front door.

The two women's eyes met briefly, and the stranger smiled nervously and continued towards the door. Hermione immediately grasped her wand and ran to the sitting room.

"Harry! There's a woman at the door." she whispered excitedly, "I don't know who she is. You should leave. Apparate back to your room."

Immediately Harry stood, wand in his hand, his eyes gleaming brightly. Hedwig jumped off of his shoulder, landing gently on the mantle over the fireplace. Hermione could sense that Harry had no intention to leave, and in fact seemed to welcome a potential confrontation.

"Just open the door and see who it is," he instructed her calmly, "I'll stay out of sight, unless there's a problem. Probably just trying to sell you cosmetics. Tell her that you don't need any, you're pretty enough as it is."

The unexpected and untimely compliment caught Hermione by surprise, but her nerves prevented her from responding. The doorbell rang. She inhaled deeply to calm herself, and then moved to the door.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," greeted a clearly nervous Michelle Goldsmith, "You probably don't remember me. I was in seventh year at Hogwarts when you were a first year. May I come in please. I'm with the Order of the Phoenix."

Hermione hesitated but did not allow the stranger to enter. Harry peered around the corner, only seeing Hermione's profile.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked, "Why have you come?"

"I think you know why I've come. My name is Michelle Goldsmith. And I've come to talk to Harry Potter. I know he's here. He walked down the street half an hour ago, and I saw him come in. The Order just wants to make contact with him. I'm not trying to kidnap him or any such nonsense."

Hermione pursed her lips, unsure how to respond, when Harry removed that necessity. He quickly moved down the hall appearing suddenly next to Hermione, his wand pointed directly at Michelle, his eyes glaring intensely.

"Expelliarmus," he demanded quickly and forcefully, knocking the young woman back two steps. Michelle's purse opened involuntarily, and her wand slid out neatly into Harry's outstretched hand. The boy glared daggers at her.

Michelle's heart stopped at the unexpected appearance of the famed "Boy Who Lived," and she gasped for breath after being hit by the spell. Harry sneered at her and lifted his wand a few inches threateningly. Finally Michelle snapped to her senses and stepped back towards the door trying her best not to appear scared stiff.

"Let her in," Harry ordered bruskly, backing his way into the sitting room, never taking his wand off of the woman. He directed her to take a seat on the sofa, and he stood on the other side of the room, staring at her appraisingly. "Please bring Miss Goldsmith a glass of iced tea, Hermione. We must remember our manners."

The newspaper worker felt completely out of her element as her eyes focused on the wand pointing at her while she sat wandless and helpless on the sofa. Though she attempted to remain calm, she could not prevent her hands from shaking. After Hermione placed a glass of iced tea before her, Michelle lifted the glass to her lips to take a sip, believing that to do otherwise would somehow be insulting. Placing the glass on the table before her, she directed her eyes again to Harry Potter, whose wand remained pointed at her.

"You found me," Harry declared abruptly, "So what do you want?" His voice sounded blunt and rude.

"I've been sent by the Order of the Phoenix," Michelle replied nervously, still staring at the wand, "To tell you the truth, I'm amazed that I found you. I just came to Miss Granger's house thinking that I would talk to her when I saw you walking down the street. I'm muggle-born, so the Order sent me because I know my way around the muggle world. In fact, I'm still more comfortable there, to tell the truth." The words cascaded from her mouth rapidly and uncontrollably until she realized it. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm a little nervous. This is my first mission for the Order, and I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to do."

Hermione stepped a few paces towards Harry and turned towards the unexpected visitor.

"Don't worry. We won't hurt you. We're just surprised that you knocked on the door like that. Obviously, Harry has had to be extremely careful lately."

"Of course, I understand," Michelle quickly agreed, "Everyone in the Order worried that the Ministry would find you, but it seems that you managed to avoid them."

Harry continued to stare at the young woman intently, not interested in engaging in a lengthy conversation.

"Things are different now," he finally asserted softly, "There's no reason why I can't talk to the Order. I'll talk to Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley. Only them. What time is it, Hermione?"

Michelle turned her wrist to check her watch while Hermione turned to glance at the clock behind Harry's head. Both women spoke at the same time

"It's nine-fifteen."

"I'll be at the Burrow at ten o'clock. Go there. Mrs. Weasley can arrange for them to be there. If they can't be there at ten, then it will have to wait." Finally he lowered his wand. Michelle stood up, agreeing to do as instructed.

Hermione handed Michelle's wand back to her, and a few moments later, the visitor disappeared with a crack. Harry and Hermione stood mutely for a few moments until Harry finally spoke.

"Let's write that letter to McGonagall."

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Seated at the small dusty table in the corner of the Shrieking Shack, Draco Malfoy waved his wand several times above a plate. He previously transfigured a piece of wood into the plate and now attempted to conjure some food.

After a few tries, a few ill-formed cookies finally appeared. Draco never could conjure food with any skill, since pure-blooded wizards of his status cared little for such unnecessary magic. He knew the cookies would taste like cardboard, but his hunger caused him to grab the first cookie anyways. He consumed it in three bites. It tasted as bad as he imagined, but he grabbed a second one.

Cookies were the only type of food he could even half conjure, and he knew that even skillfully conjured food contained little nutrition. Clearly he had to make a decision. Unfortunately, all of his options displeased him.

Return to the dark lord? Torture and death. Turn himself in to the Ministry? Incarceration in Azkaban and probable death, given Scrimgeour's summary execution of Draco's father and others. Hide in the muggle world? He had no idea how to do so, lacked muggle money, and could not bear the idea of demeaning himself. Hide in the wizarding world? Likely capture by the Ministry. But at least he would have a chance with this last option. He could transfigure his clothes, change the color of this hair, alter his appearance. Perhaps he could eventually find a way out of the country.

The aftertaste in his mouth from the bitter cookies finally caught his attention, and he pointed his wand at his mouth, streaming water to wash away the taste. Having decided, he rapidly changed the color of his hair from blond to dark brown, and shortened it by several inches. He found a shard of glass in the corner of the room which he transfigured into wire-rimmed glasses. Lastly he changed his black death-eater clothing to a long-sleeved red shirt and blue jeans.

Checking his pockets, he counted his money. Not much, but enough to survive for a few days. Inhaling deeply, he cracked the door open and peered out. Seeing noone, he stepped outside and walked towards Hogsmeade.

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Several copies of the Daily Prophet lay haphazardly on the low table of Minister Scrimgeour's table, as well as various other wizarding publications. The Minister and his aides read each account of his press conference of the previous day in which he tried to explain away the Ministry's actions towards Harry Potter. For the most part, the articles served the interests of the Minstry well enough, or better said, as well as could be expected.

For more than an hour, Scrimgeour received varying advice as to how he needed to proceed. Mostly he listened silently, only occasionally interjecting a question. The more aggressive of his advisers counseled proceeding with his plans as quickly as possible, to shut down all press outlets, declare Martial Law, and arrange for the transport of all citizens to the six castles and mansions identified as suitable to house the wizarding population. Others advised caution and patience. For whatever reason, He Who Must Not Be Named had not unleashed all of the attack dogs, so the Ministry still had some time to implement Scrimgeour's ultimate plans. To act immediately would result in chaos and widespread resistance, they asserted, quite possibly resulting in the Minister's removal, by legal means or not.

Three interns, Cho Chang among them, carried in stacks of parchment, letters received overnight and early that morning. Scrimgeour only vaguely noticed them at first, but the shimmering long black hair of Cho caught his attention. Suddenly, he felt a desire to talk to her.

"Please leave, everyone. Thank you for your comments. I have much to consider."

His aides gathered their files and began to make their way back to their offices. Cho and the other two interns had almost reached the door.

"Cho, could you stay for a moment?" the Minister asked unexpectedly.

The young woman jerked her head towards him, her eyes betraying her astonishment. Scrimgeour had not so much as directed more than a word or two to her in the time she had worked in the Minister's office despite the fact that he had know her all of her life as a friend of the family. The eyes of the others in the Minister's office also exhibited surprise, but the Minister felt no reason to explain himself. After a few moments, the door closed, leaving only Cho and Scrimgeour. She walked towards his desk when he motioned for her take a seat by the low table.

"I've seen you come and go, Cho," he commented in a friendly tone while he took a seat across from her, "but I haven't had an opportunity to talk to you. I've been wanting to know how you are faring."

Despite her personal misgivings about the man, she smiled at his comment and answered nervously, "That's quite alright, sir. I never expected you to worry about me. You're terribly busy. Anyway, there's no reason to worry. I've been doing fine here. The work is not hard, and I'm learning a lot."

Scrimgeour smiled in a grand-fatherly fashion, which Cho thought looked entirely out of character for the man. She knew him well enough to know that he had something on his mind beyond her well-being.

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied automatically, "How are your parents? I haven't had the chance to see them lately."

Cho assured him of her parent's well-being, and the two chatted pleasantly for another minute or two, but all the while Cho wondered what the Minister truly wanted to know. Finally she found out.

"Well, I'm in a bit of a pickle now, with this Harry Potter business. All a misunderstanding, of course, but it's a pickle nonetheless," Scrimgeour commented with apparent good humor, "You were a friend of Harry, weren't you?"

Cho's eyes narrowed slightly from their normally narrow state, but she answered honestly, "Yes, we were close for a short time, but that was quite a while ago. I haven't talked with Harry in months."

"He seems an interesting sort, from the little that I know of him. I've met him briefly. What do you think of him?"

The young witch smiled mechanically, but felt that the Minister had exceeded the bounds of propriety with his question. Nevertheless, when the Minister of Magic asks a questions, it must be answered.

"He is an interesting person. Harry's had a very difficult life, and I think that's made him tough. He's a lot tougher than many people might think. When he sets his mind on something, nothing will stop him. You've never had to play Quiddich against him like I have. When his eyes find the snitch, Merlin himself couldn't beat Harry to it."

She paused for a moment, thinking about her former boyfriend. In truth, she had not examined her feelings about Harry for quite some time. The last significant contact she had with him related to his betrayal by her friend, Marietta, and Granger's unnecessarily punitive hex on her. Their interaction during that time had not been friendly, and she could not deny that her opinion of Harry Potter contained a great deal of bitterness.

Yet she could not deny his appeal. Something inside of her would always be attracted to him, even though she no longer maintained any desire to resume a romantic relationship. Certainly she had no intention to betray him, which seemed to be the Minister's hope, that she would divulge some damaging information about him. She needed to choose her words carefully.

"I think quite highly of Harry. He's a talented wizard, as we all saw at the Tri-Wizard tournament. Despite his difficult upbringing, he's turned out to be an extremely competent wizard. I wish him only the best."

None of this interested Scrimgeour, but it led him to the question that the conversation had been leading to: "Harry seems to think he has some unfinished business with You Know Who. Did he ever speak with you about that?"

"No," she quickly replied, "We never discussed that. Our friendship never reached that level. I don't know any more about that than you do." Her answer more or less reflected the truth, though she knew a little bit more than that from her sessions with Dumbledore's Army in her sixth year. Even if she knew everything, however, she had no intention to divulge it to Scrimgeour.

The conversation ended shortly thereafter. As Cho left the Minister's office, she could not help but feel Scrimgeour's desperation. He was grasping at straws.

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Just a few minutes after the conclusion of Cho's conversation with Scrimgeour, Hermione helped Harry pack his few belongings in his hotel room. Harry left the room key on the dresser while Hermione zipped his rucksack. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, as if trying to recognize himself. Hermione observed him silently, wondering what thoughts passed through his mind.

Finally Harry turned towards her and asked, "Can you change my hair back to black? I'm tired of it like this."

"Sure," she replied with a smile. A moment later, she waived her wand while pronouncing the spell, and Harry's short hair returned to its natural shade of black. He nodded his thanks, and the two friends stared nervously at each other for several moments.

"Ready?" Hermione finally asked as optimistically as she could. Harry continued to stare at her, seemingly unwilling to move. Finally he answered.

"No."

After his one-word response, Harry slipped the rucksack over his shoulder and disappeared. Hermione sighed deeply and followed suit a moment later.