Harry was in a grave yard. Around him, skeletons were laboriously climbing out of the ground, clacking their teeth together, making the air rattle. Wandless, he cast desperately around. Sat on one of the graves, Lucie chucked him a bottle of pepper spray and gestured upwards, where the dragon he'd stolen the golden egg from roared toothlessly at him. He turned back to Lucie, who grinned and shouted in Ron's voice…

"Harry! Wake up, you lazy git! She's coming back!"

"Huh?" managed Harry, waking half way up.

"I said get up! Hermione's coming home!"

Harry opened his eyes a tiny bit. He was in his room in Grimmauld Place, there was a bright lance of sunshine straight across his bed and a blurry Ron brandishing a piece of parchment.

"'s my glasses?" He muttered, seriously considering telling Ron to push off.

"Here!" Ron shoved them into his hands, along with the parchment.

Reunion successful, tearful. Made for lounge, No 12. 7pm. Missed you, H.

Harry yawned and reached for his watch. It was seven in the morning.

"I'm going back to sleep," he told Ron, firmly.

"But you can't!" Ron exclaimed, snatching the note back and brandishing it around some more.

"I can if you shut up," said Harry.

"But the place is a tip!" said Ron, looking crestfallen and half-heartedly giving the parchment a last wave.

"I'd go and tidy up, then," said Harry, now trying not to laugh. In truth, the place wasn't that bad. It would take an hour to have it presentable, max.

"You're a git," said Ron as he stomped off.

Confident he'd be forgiven by the time he woke up, Harry settled back down into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Having awoken at a far more reasonable time, Harry found the house in an unprecedented state of tidiness and Ron in a total state, pacing around and muttering. To stop him wearing the carpets through, Harry suggested they head to Diagon Alley for an early lunch and a perusal of the latest racing brooms. Ron agreed, intending to buy flowers and stop off at the Burrow on the way home to retrieve Crookshanks.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Harry asked as they strolled up the street, their shockingly grown up purchases. The heat was just as intense today and he craved a Fortescue sundae. He looked at what had been the parlour sadly. It was still empty, but now for sale.

"What?" said Ron. Although no longer muttering to himself, he was still distracted and uncharacteristically quiet

"Being here and not buying school stuff," Harry clarified. "It's kinda weird."

"Yeah," his friend agreed, seeming to take in his surroundings for the first time. "Hey, did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Someone just went into Weasley's! Maybe George is getting ready to re-open!"

They hurried over and Harry tried the door, knocking as he pushed it open.

"Hello?" He called. "George? We saw the door and came to say…" he stopped, embarrassed. George was there, along with Kingsley, Mr Weasley and Lucie, all of whom were staring at him. "Hi." He finished, lamely.

"Don't just stand there, in or out!" exclaimed Mr Weasley, peering anxiously over their heads towards the street. They sidled in and shut the door behind them. Lucie, pretending not to giggle, gave them a wave.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, looking as embarrassed as Harry felt.

"Stage one," she informed them, chipperly. "Rumoured sightings. I'm being bait-like."

"Yes, well," said Kinglsey, frowning at the term. "Not just you. Perhaps, in fact, it's best that you boys have arrived…"

"Nosy gits," muttered George.

"…Since you will be able to facilitate rumours convincingly. We are just waiting for…ah. Here he comes now."

The door opened once again and someone in an expensive cloak with the hood hiding their face came in. They shut the door behind them, nodded to Kingsley and moved into the room. As the hood was lowered by pale hands, Harry couldn't help an intake of breath.

"You!" he exclaimed. The head turned sharply to stare at him.

"Yes, Potter, I still exist. And I should have known you'd be here to make this as unbearable as possible."

"But why…"

"Mind your own business!"

"Mr. Malfoy, please," said Kinglsey. Draco turned his back very deliberately on Harry, causing his gaze to alight on Lucie.

"You're the muggle?" he demanded, struggling and failing to make the word sound neutral. She gave him a long, slow look – all the way down and all the way back up.

"Racist." She said, tartly.

"I am not!" He exclaimed, flushing slightly.

"The politically correct term is 'magically challenged'," she informed him.

"Shut up!" Thundered Kingsley. There was silence. "If everyone has quite finished, we will proceed."

"Sorry, Mr Shacklebolt," said Lucie meekly, stepping forward and sitting in the only chair.

"Alright then," he said. "Arthur, if you would."

Mr Weasley stepped in front of Lucie.

"I need you to think clearly about the morning of September the first," he told her. "Starting from when Harry asked you for directions." He raised his wand and pointed it at her head.