Chapter Two

When We Last Left Our Hero...

It had been three days. Just three days. Harry Potter couldn't believe that only that short amount of time had past since the funeral. It had felt like forever. Time, it seemed to Harry, had slowed down to the speed of snail, and every hour of every day was painful and harsh. The train ride from Hogwarts was agony, and Harry had wished desperately for it never to arrive at Kings Cross station. Once he got off the train, that was it - there was no going back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; there would be no summer vacation. There would only be the start of real life, and in Harry's opinion, real life was highly overrated.

The days that had passed between Dumbledore's death and the funeral were filled with probably the last happy memories that Harry was going to have for a long time, and he was well aware of it. Two weeks ago, everything had been fine. Well, as fine as it could be with Voldemort around. For the first time since the days of Lupin and the imposter Moody, lessons were going well (except, for once, Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had annoyed Harry to no end) and he had been learning loads. He had been Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And he'd had Ginny. And then had come that fateful night of the fake horcrux and the Astronomy Tower and Snape, and Harry's world had been literally torn apart. Snape, thought Harry, his insides boiling with anger. Mere mention of that name would send Harry's temper to the boiling point so quickly that on their last day at Hogwarts, Ron had started taking bets on how long it would be before Harry's head actually exploded. Harry would break whatever he had been holding at the time, or slam down whatever he was carrying, or, if his hands were free, punch the closest wall or chair or cupboard or anything else around him that wasn't moving. Well, it's not likely I'll be hearing that name around here, Harry thought. That's one small bit of comfort.

For Harry was once again back at Privet Drive. He'd had a horrible row with Hermione and Ron on the train, who had insisted that they come with him back to his Aunt and Uncle's.

"We told you we were coming!" Ron had bellowed at him, his face and ears a fiery red that matched his hair. "No more than two hours ago! And you-"

"-Never agreed to it!" Harry had shouted back, interrupting him. "Look... I have to go back there first. Even they need to know what's going on. I'll meet up with you guys at Bill and Fleur's wedding," Harry continued, talking over Hermione and Ron's protests, "and then you can come back with me from there until my birthday. Okay?"

After much more shouting they agreed. He had bid them goodbye on the platform at Kings Cross, where Mrs. Weasley had tried and tried to invite him to the Burrow for the summer instead. "No, I've got to go back with them for a while," he had said. "I really should let them know what's happened, it concerns them, too. It concerns everyone." Ginny had given him one last, long and lingering kiss before running off to join her parents and brother, eyes brimming with tears. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about this. They hadn't technically finished their conversation from earlier. She had to understand that it was over, even if he didn't want it to be. The point was that it had to be. It was one thing for Hermione and Ron to be putting themselves in danger; they were his best friends and now both adults. But if he could save Ginny from that kind of life, he would.

But Harry hadn't bothered explaining anything to his Aunt and Uncle, at least not yet. Instead, he had been succumbing lately to increased bouts of depression, much as he had the summer before last, hiding himself up in his room for hours at a time. He knew this wasn't healthy. He knew he should be concentrating on the horcruxes, but the very thought of what life had in store for him made him physically ill, and then it made him angry, and then it made him scared. He wasn't scared for himself rather than scared for his friends. He knew they would never waver from their statement at the funeral. They were with him till the end. When that end would be, Harry had no idea, and he was just hoping that all three of them would live to see it. The thought of losing either of them was more than Harry could take, and he tried hard not to think about it.

Besides being scared he was stressed; he had absolutely no idea how he was going to find the remaining horcruxes. The Hogwarts library had been, and would be, no help. He had found out before that horcruxes were such a forbidden subject that no book contained any information on them whatsoever. Hermione had become increasingly disgusted with the library because of this. Ron and Harry had said it was a good first step toward her actually becoming normal.

Harry awoke that morning in one of his angry phases. He'd had a dream that Snape was taunting him with the locket as he was chained to the chair used in the old Ministry trials. The chains would let Harry's hands reach so far, but Snape would always jerk the locket away just as Harry's fingers were about to touch it. Harry hadn't bothered reading the Daily Prophet that had been dropped off earlier that morning. There was nothing in there that he didn't know already. Yesterday's issue was just coverage of Dumbledore's funeral, the same pictures of known Death Eaters, and the same assurances that they were still searching for Severus Snape. Harry decided that it was bad enough dreaming about Snape; he didn't want to have to read about him either. He came down the stairs, poured himself some orange juice, and sat down at the kitchen table next to his Uncle, whose face was hidden behind the morning newspaper. He took a sip of juice, glanced at the front page, and nearly spit it out all over the table. There, on the front page of a Muggle newspaper, was his ex-potions teacher's face. It wasn't moving, like in the photographs from the Wizarding world, but it bore the cold, leering expression that Harry had seen so many times over the last six years.

They couldn't have caught him, Harry thought frantically. He kicked himself for not checking the Daily Prophet, but he had been sure there was no way the Ministry was every going to be able to find Snape. He yanked it out of his Uncle's hands ("What do you think you're doing, boy!") and scanned the article. But it looked like it was just a warning sent out to the Muggle community, much like they had done with Sirius four years ago. What surprised him even more was that Aunt Petunia, who had been watching a morning talk show with Dudley, caught on right away to Harry's reaction.

"He's one of you, isn't he?" she asked, a small hint of fear in her voice.

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, taking in the author's comments... known murderer... dangerous... possibly armed... reward if located, contact police...

Like that's going to do any good, Harry thought, savagely. He'd probably just kill them all, too.

"What's he doing in our paper?" Uncle Vernon asked, pulling it out of Harry's grip. He scanned the article as well. "Hmph! Might have known. Another one of you lot's gone off the deep end."

"He used to be my teacher," Harry told them.

Harry could tell Uncle Vernon was dying to say something along the lines of "Why couldn't he have finished you off then" but he held his tongue and said instead, "I shouldn't be surprised they'd let someone like that teach in a school... if you can call that circus you go to a school. Nutters, all of you!"

Harry took a deep breath. Deciding he'd put it off for long enough, he said: "There is no more school."

There was a crash from the living room as Dudley fell off the chair he was perched on trying to eavesdrop on the conversation, followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard. Uncle Vernon's face was beginning its daily routine of going purple.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. "I thought that old codger said last summer that you had one more year and then you'd be out of our hair."

"Actually, I only have another month," Harry corrected him. "I come of age when I'm seventeen, remember? And then the magic-" Uncle Vernon's mustache twitched - "protecting me while I'm allowed in the house is over and I can leave."

"Why don't you have school?" Aunt Petunia asked. She was looking at him rather oddly.

"What does it matter?" Uncle Vernon said, loudly. "He'll be gone and we'll never have to bother with this business again, school or no school!"

Harry had shared a moment like this with Aunt Petunia only once, and that was two years ago when he had told her, and his Uncle and cousin, that Voldemort had returned. "Because Dumbledore's dead. That man, on the cover of the newspaper... Severus Snape... he killed him."

"Snape killed Dumbledore?" Aunt Petunia asked. Harry noticed that her eyes were wide with not only fright, but also surprise. Harry stared at her.

"You knew him, didn't you?" he asked. "How?"

Aunt Petunia shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to Uncle Vernon's, who was staring at her, open-mouthed. "Of course I knew Dumbledore, he sent me those letters-"

"Not Dumbledore," Harry interrupted. "Snape."

"I-I only saw him once, in passing, really," Aunt Petunia explained. "At her wedding-"

"What!" Harry exclaimed. "Snape was at my parents' wedding? I don't believe it. My dad would never... I don't believe it." Harry felt like his brain had completely shut down.

"Well, he wasn't invited, if that's what you're going on about," Aunt Petunia sniffed. "I wouldn't have gone myself, believe me, but my parents said they would never forgive me if I didn't come. He wanted to talk to her... trying to talk her out of marrying that fool of a boy, from what it sounded like. Unfortunately, he didn't succeed, and here you are."

"So, basically, he tried to crash my parents wedding," Harry growled. His hatred for Snape seemed to be escalating to an alarming level over the last few days. Harry was envisioning all the horrible curses he'd like to use on Snape when he caught him when the reality of what Aunt Petunia had just said sunk in. "Wait... that doesn't make any sense." Snape didn't give a damn about my mum... "He hated my parents. Why would he care-"

"How should I know? I'm telling you I've seen him before," Aunt Petunia said, firmly, pointing at Snape's picture. "Disgusting, greasy fellow. Rude as anything, too." She bit her lip, shooting nervous glances in Uncle Vernon's direction. "If that man... Dumbledore... if he's gone, that means things are bad, doesn't it?"

Harry was still reeling from the knowledge that not only did Aunt Petunia know about Azkaban, Dementors, and Dumbledore, but that she had met Snape and that, for some obscure reason, Snape had shown up at his parents wedding, that at first he didn't hear what she had said. He realized that his Aunt and Uncle were looking at him expectantly and snapped himself out of it. "Yeah... things are bad. Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world. Without him . . . " Harry felt his throat getting tight. "Without him, I don't know what's going to happen." He sighed. "I'll be here for a while, and then I've got to go to a wedding. Ron and Hermione are coming back with me and we'll stay here until my birthday."

Harry waited for the explosion and wasn't disappointed. Uncle Vernon turned a brilliant shade of magenta and jumped out of his chair. "Who do you think you are? You don't just decide your bringing some freaks into our house!"

"Would you have said 'yes' if I asked you?" Harry said, shortly.

Uncle Vernon's eyes bulged too about twice their normal size. "NO!" he shouted.

"Well, then," Harry shrugged. "I'm not asking and I'm not deciding; I'm telling you - Ron and Hermione are coming back here with me. They're going to stay in my room. I guess I'll just camp out on the couch down here. We'll leave before midnight the day I turn seventeen, just in case."

"Just in case what?" asked Aunt Petunia.

Harry glanced at her. "Just in case they come looking," he said ominously.

Uncle Vernon was still sputtering wildly, and Harry figured it wouldn't be long before he started pulling tufts of hair out of his mustache. "Don't even bother with all of that, it won't make any difference," Harry said, tiredly. "There's no stopping them, so you might as well get used to the idea."

Aunt Petunia looked like she had been slapped in the face, Dudley was staring wide-eyed over the couch, and the vein in Uncle Vernon's forehead started pulsing threateningly.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, through clenched teeth.

"I said get used to it." Harry's temper was starting to rise. "Yes, Ron's a wizard and Hermione's a witch. They won't be flying over on broomsticks or anything, so you can stop worrying about what your stupid neighbors are going to think. Haven't you heard a word I just said? Dumbledore is dead. I think you should be a little less concerned about what Mrs. What's-Her-Name down the street is going to think, and bit more worried about whether you're all going to be around to find out whether she cares or not."

"And what's to stop us from chucking you out before your birthday, eh?" Uncle Vernon smirked.

"Dumbledore explained that one to you, too, or don't you remember? I can tell you right now that she hasn't forgotten," Harry said, nodding to his Aunt. "Besides... Hermione and Ron are of age now, so you wouldn't be able to stop them anyway. They're allowed to use magic whenever they want. And I won't be at all fussed if they get bored one day and turn you all into tea cozies."

He grabbed his orange juice off the table and turned to head back upstairs. "I'll let you know when I'll be leaving for the wedding when Ron sends me the invite."

And then he turned and started back up the stairs, leaving his Aunt and Uncle sitting in stunned silence.

Harry didn't have to wait too long. The very next day he got a letter from Ron giving him the date of Bill and Fleur's wedding:

Harry,

Oy, mate! I figured I should probably send you a letter about the wedding since I told you to come to it and all. Er, not trying to sound like Hermione or anything, but I hope you're doing all right. Mum's in a right state about Dumbledore. Well, at least she says it's about Dumbledore, but I think she's still not entirely happy Bill and Fleur, though they have been getting along much better since that night in the hospital wing.

Fleur said she wasn't going to waste an invitation on you since she figured you were coming anyway. I told her that was right, and Bill's got a spot reserved for you on the family's side. It's ridiculous, everyone from our family is going to be there, it'll probably scare the hell out of you. Watch out for my Aunt Tessy... she gets drunk and makes you dance with her. I got stuck doing the Goblin Romp with her at Percy's graduation party. I still have nightmares about it, actually.

Er... Ginny's a bridesmaid. Dunno why I'm telling you that because even if she wasn't, you'd have to see her anyway... What exactly happened with you two, she's been really secretive and won't talk to anyone. I'm not mad at you or anything, I promise... Um... how are things with the Muggles?

Hermione's coming, too, of course. She's written to me about a hundred times already. She's barking mad, it's only been about three days since we saw each other.

What all should we pack for your Aunt and Uncle's? The wedding is on July 11th, by the way, so they'll only have to put up with us for, what, three weeks? Eh, not too bad. If they have a problem they can just sod off.

Oh, did you see the Muggle paper yesterday? Dad told me Scrimgeour made the Muggle Prime Minister put out a warning about Snape. I figured you'd have seen it, living with them and everything. I'm surprised his ugly face didn't kill all the Muggles when they saw it. Stupid git. I'd say something else about him but Mum's been tutting over me since I started writing to you. She's told me to put in that she hopes that you're okay and that they're feeding you enough, and if you want her to send you some pies. Say yes so she'll make some and I can nick them up to my room.

Dad says he'll come pick you up on the tenth since you've done side-long Apparition before. I retake my test the day you come. Wish me luck!

See you in a few weeks,

Ron

Oddly enough, Harry had been fantasizing lately about Mrs. Weasley's mince pies, especially after the burnt-black chicken he had been forced to eat for dinner last night. Harry had wondered vaguely whether Aunt Petunia had made it that way on purpose after his attitude at breakfast, but figured that even the Dursley's wouldn't even torture themselves just to make Harry miserable. He sent back his response with Hedwig half an hour later:

Dear Weasel Boy (heh, kidding!)

Yes, PLEASE send some of your mum's mince meat pies. If I have to eat one more spinach salad, or three day old corned beef with mash, I think I'll do Voldemort a favor and kill myself. It's not like he'd mind, eh? I swear, I think they're doing it on purpose after I told them all you and Hermione were coming. Granted, the food here is always horrible, but it's usually not THIS bad.

I see you're not trying to Floo me back to your place this time. Shame, really, because I would have loved to have Dudley try and eat another one of the Wizard Wheezes. Puking Pastille would have been brilliant, but I think even he's not that stupid anymore. Wizened up a bit after living with a wizard for almost seven years. It's absolutely no fun anymore trying to scare him by saying this like "Hocus Pocus" or "Bippity Boppity Boo".

Yes, I did see the article the other day. How could I miss it, he was on the front page! Oh, that reminds me, my Aunt Petunia said something really weird in regards to Snape... I'll tell you about it when I get to the Burrow on the tenth. Speaking of, I don't think I'm going to come back here after the wedding, so you might not have to worry about it after all. I've left during the summer before, and I really think I should get started on my, er, homework.

I think I'm going to write to Hermione... she's the brainy one, you know, and she might be able to help me with it. Not saying you can't or anything, mate, but you know she'd enjoy it. I'm really nervous... my teacher didn't pull any stops on this assignment and I'm not sure whether I'll do well, but I know I have to. It's not like I can get by with a P or a D this time around.

Anyway, tell your mum thanks for the pies, and I will see you all soon.

Harry

He'd had some trouble with the last part, trying not only to convey his feelings, but to put it in a way that if the letter was intercepted it could be in no way related to the horcruxes, which had not been an easy task. He was sure that Ron would know what he was talking about, though. He then wrote to Hermione, asking for her telephone number. Ron had tried contacting him by phone before and it had been a complete disaster, but seeing as how Hermione was Muggle-born he figured his and Hermione's correspondence would be easier this way, plus there was no danger from anyone in the Wizarding world intercepting their calls.

Over the next two weeks before the wedding, Harry stayed out of his Aunt and Uncle's way, locking himself in his room, studying out of his old textbooks, and memorizing spells he thought may be useful. He couldn't practice any of them yet, even nonverbally, as he was still under the age of seventeen and could risk no more disciplinary actions from the Ministry involving his use of underage magic. He knew nonverbal spells were where he needed the most work, and resolved to master them before the summer was over. But for now it seemed the "Umbridge Approach" of understanding the theories behind the spells was going to have to do, which aggravated Harry to no ends. What angered Harry even more was that, for some odd reason, he had been thinking lately about that wretched Potions book. He hadn't wanted to admit it at first as he began his studying, but he had grudgingly realized that Snape's old book might have held some spell-work that could come in useful during his quest. It horrified him that he was actually starting to miss it. He hated thinking about that book, about how he used to think of the Prince (no, Snape, for God's sake) as a friend and mentor, how he had felt that the book had been a better teacher than either Slughorn or Snape, and then the irony of how it had turned out to be the latter's tips that he had relied on so much. He hated himself now for using those spells, even the beloved Muffliato that had come in so handily during their Charms lessons. And he didn't even want to think about Sectumsempra . . .

I should have known then who I was dealing with, Harry thought, angrily. But the truth was that, deep down, he didn't even think Snape was capable of creating something like that. But then he reminded himself firmly that Snape was a Death Eater, he had murdered Dumbledore, and he was capable of anything. He had been mentally kicking himself for not recognizing Snape's handwriting. As he was sifting through his notes one day in his room, he had pulled out some of his old Potion's homework and studied the remarks that Snape had scrawled over it. Snape's handwriting had changed a little over the years from when he had been at school with Harry's father, but there was no mistaking it. Harry had tried very hard to resist the urge to throw it all in the fireplace downstairs, but the part of his mind that always sounded like Hermione had warned: You might need that . . .

Mrs. Weasley's pies had arrived the first day of Harry's second week at the Dursley's, followed soon after by a letter from Hermione with her phone number. It also contained instructions for when to call:

I think it would be best if you phoned me instead, remember what happened when Ron called? Of course, he didn't know what he was doing, did he, but I think that even someone who sounded relatively normal asking for you wouldn't be wise.

This should only take a day to get to you... call me Thursday night once you're sure everyone at your house is asleep. Don't worry about waking anyone on my end; I'll be up and I'll keep the phone with me.

Harry had waited till around eleven o'clock that Thursday evening, poking his head out of his bedroom door every now and then until he was satisfied that Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were sound asleep. He crept down the hallway, listening intently to his Uncle's snores, wishing he could use Muffliato on all their doors, but he still had another two and half weeks before he could legally use magic; plus, that would mean relying on one of Snape's spells, and he knew his pride wouldn't have allowed him to anyway. He climbed down the stairs as silently as he could and tiptoed into the kitchen. Pausing once more to make sure there were no sounds coming from upstairs, he closed the parlor door and went over to the phone. He checked Hermione's number written on his hand, punched it in, and waited. It had barely rung once when a breathy, whispered voice came over the ear piece:

"Harry, is that you?"

"No," he replied, smiling.

Hermione sighed in an exasperated way. "Oh, ha ha."

Harry's insides filled with warmth at the sound of his friend's voice. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Hermione, and how much he needed both her and Ron. "All right?"

"I suppose. I'm all right has humanly possible, considering. You're sure everyone's asleep? I don't want you getting into trouble."

Harry grinned in spite of himself. Typical Hermione, he thought, fondly. But he paused anyway, listening for any hint of sound or movement. "Yeah, it's all good here. Look, I wanted to ask you a favor, and I know you won't mind."

"Let me guess," Hermione said, and Harry could tell she was smiling. "It involves books and research?"

"Only the best for you. Can you get as much information as you can about Protection Spells and Barrier Spells? I know the horcruxes will be protected by some enchantment or another, but the locket's protection included some kind of wall you had to get through, so I figure it might be the same with the others. Bring as much as you can to the wedding - books, your own notes, I don't care. Anything you think will help."

"Absolutely, you know I will. I have some books here at home that might have some information, and I'll Owl Order some more from Diagon Alley. I have some books on Ancient Magic that may come in handy as well. I'll bring them, too."

"Brilliant."

Hermione paused, and he could tell she was steeling herself to say something. "How have you been, Harry? Really."

Harry swallowed the tightness that had suddenly starting creeping up his throat. "I haven't exactly turned into Moaning Myrtle or anything, but... it's been a bit rough. I'm dealing with it." He sighed. "I've been studying up, actually, you'd be proud of me."

"Good!"

"Of course, it doesn't do much help when I can't practice any of the spells..."

"You'll be able to, soon, though. Your birthday's not too far away. Oh, Harry, what are you going to do!"

"About my birthday?"

"Yes! The spell Dumbledore did... won't it be over?"

Harry swallowed again. His mouth had gone very dry, and his insides were squirming as they always did whenever he started thinking about life after his birthday. "Yes. And I have no idea what to do about it." He shifted uncomfortably. "Can we talk about all this at the wedding?"

"Harry," Hermione began, "I know you're worried and you're scared, you can't keep hiding it, it's not healthy. You need to talk to someone."

"Like I needed to talk about Sirius?" Harry asked, starting to feel annoyed. "There are some things I have to deal with on my own, Hermione."

"This isn't one of them. Ron and I said we'd be there for you, Harry, and we didn't mean just helping you with the horcruxes."

Harry was about to argue back, when there was a noise from upstairs. "Damn, I've got to run, I hear someone. Cheers, Hermione, I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Are you sure-"

"Seriously, Hermione, I have to go!"

There was a whispered, "Okay, bye!" and a click as Hermione hung up. His heart pounding, Harry hooked the phone back onto the receiver just in time to see Uncle Vernon throw open the door to the kitchen.

"What the ruddy hell are you doing up?" he roared, his face already a deep shade of purple.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"You were using the phone!" Uncle Vernon stated matter-of-factly, pointing a finger at Harry.

"Oh, well done," Harry snapped. He had put up with the Dursley's for long enough. He only had to suffer another four days of their company and then he'd be free of them forever. "Are we having a state-the-obvious-contest or something?"

Uncle Vernon blinked. Recovering himself, he demanded: "Who was it?"

"Hermione."

"You were calling one of your freaky friends on our telephone?" Uncle Vernon was actually shaking with fury now. "How dare you! I won't have it, boy, I will absolutely not have it! And I will not tolerate your behavior any longer either! After everything that we've done-"

Harry laughed. "Please! You locked me in a cupboard for ten years of my life! Okay, you never beat me or anything, but you weren't nice to me either. I grew up hiding from Dudley and his stupid friends. You gave me food and you gave me clothes, and that's it!"

"We let you stay!" Uncle Vernon fired back. "We didn't have to! God knows I don't understand why we did it at all, but we took you in all the same. We could have left you on the street to starve or had you hauled off to some orphanage in London, but Petunia brought you into this house and by thunder you will be grateful for it!"

They stood there glaring at each other from across the kitchen for a good thirty seconds before Harry rolled his eyes and started making his way toward the door. Uncle Vernon blocked it. "We're not finished."

"Yeah, actually, we are. You let me stay because of Dumbledore. Nothing more and nothing less. You might not understand, but Aunt Petunia must have, because it's pretty damn obvious from where I'm standing that she doesn't want me here either, but she went along with whatever Dumbledore did. I'm grateful to him for that, and no one else. Now get out of my way so I can go to bed."

Uncle Vernon worked his mouth furiously but no sound came out. Finally, as if by someone else's will and not his own, he moved aside so Harry could slip past. Harry was halfway up the stairs when Uncle Vernon found his voice again: "Once you leave, don't you ever think of coming back here, boy."

Harry didn't even pause in his trek back upstairs has he replied, "Why would I ever want to?"