Chapter Thirteen

Harry spent the first month of summer at the head of the campaign for Amelia Bones for Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour, the other candidate, was a powerful and obvious choice, but since Harry had come down on Madam Bones' side, Scrimgeour had taken a disliking to Harry and Harry to him. Scrimgeour's campaign was doomed almost from the start, but for a reason that made Harry despairing instead of glad.

He could use his fame to point out why Bones was the better candidate all day. He could point out that while Scrimgeour might have slightly more experience with the Ministry's wartime needs, Bones was the one with the integrity to relinquish the excess power when the war was over. Did they really want to hand Scrimgeour nearly limitless political power, he could ask them, especially when they had another candidate who had just as much backbone but more wisdom? And he did. Many times. But the real reason that the public came down on Bones' side was simply this: when the campaign had first started, Scrimgeour had demanded answers about Dumbledore's death from Harry and had been made to look bad. Harry had seen his opportunity and played the wounded innocent. It had been traumatic beyond words to discover his mentor's body like that, he said, and he'd even scrounged up a few fake tears for the cameras that Scrimgeour had foolishly forgotten about. He was too much an Auror and not enough of a politician, which was the reason Harry thought he'd be such a dangerous minister, but that didn't mean it couldn't be taken advantage of.

So, Harry came out looking traumatized, Scrimgeour came out looking like a bully, and the outraged public declared their love for Bones. Harry was satisfied with the outcome, but the trick he'd had to pull and the exhausting manipulation of his fame . . . he was slightly sickened by the whole process. Not least of all because it seemed that he was good at it. He didn't want to be good at it.

However, in mid-July, Amelia Bones was made Minister of Magic and people stopped asking Harry questions about just how traumatic it had been to find Dumbledore (allegedly) murdered / killed by wasting disease. Harry had given a short statement to Gertrude Garnet and then just pretended to be too upset to talk about it. He knew he had done the right thing by Dumbledore that night, and he actually thought he might be exonerated if it went to trial, but he was not about to condemn the Order's greatest asset to an excruciating death.

That was not the end of the press, of course. There were questions about who he thought might be Headmaster at Hogwarts, which he dodged —he could hardly come out and say that since the Board of Directors was controlled by Voldemort, then Acting Headmistress McGonagall would be lucky to keep her life, to say nothing of her job. He was leaving the problems with Hogwarts up to Sirius and Snape. Rita Skeeter, damn the bitch forever, had found out that he'd once been friends with Draco Malfoy and tried to publicly question him about the whereabouts of the boy and his mother. Harry smoothly replied that the friendship had ceased when Draco had chosen Voldemort over Harry and that Rita would do better to seek out the Dark Lord and ask him. Sounded just scathing enough to be convincing to the public, and also sent a message to the Death Eaters that Harry was not harbouring any warm feelings toward the Malfoys and they shouldn't hold out much hope of seeing them alive again.

Once the campaign was over, he retreated into his house. His appearances in public had been with extremely powerful wizards and witches and swarms of Aurors surrounding him. He wasn't about to go out in public alone. That would just be stupid. He kept from going barmy by spending a lot of time brewing with Draco and training with Simon, using them to break up his intense periods of study—Dumbledore had left nearly his entire personal library to Harry in his will, and Harry was only too glad to receive it. He was still sorting through it to decide if there was anything he'd rather donate to the Hogwarts library rather than keep. The pile was pitifully small. Mostly because Hermione sorted through things with him and kept talking him out of letting books go.

He hadn't seen a great deal of Sirius this summer, so far. The man was extremely busy. Somehow, not by his own design, Sirius was leading the Order of the Phoenix. By some combination of being entirely too clever, being a Hogwarts professor, and being Harry Potter's godfather, he'd got put in charge. He kept trying to foist it off on Moody, but Moody wasn't getting any younger and Sirius was better connected to the various plots in motion.

As a result, Sirius spent most of his time ordering people around, organizing networks, gathering information, and being found by his godson in the kitchen at midnight with a cup of coffee and an exhausted, haggard look. Despite the angry, protective feeling this gave Harry, there was nothing he could do for Sirius except win this war. So he usually just forced some food into Sirius and tried to take the responsibility for the household off the man's shoulders. It meant he had to deal with listening to the Black sister's plans for Remus' and Tonks' wedding, look after Simon, and make sure Draco didn't burn the house down, but he was happy to do it if it meant Sirius got some sleep. Sometimes.

On 31st July, Harry rose at seven o'clock without any idea of the date. His routine was pretty well fixed at this point, and he followed it with the same feelings of grim resoluteness that he'd been harbouring for the past month and a half. He went to Hogwarts for an early morning run. He imagined he was running between four and five miles per day now, but it caused him no innate sense of satisfaction anymore—it was just a good idea to stay in shape. He often took his broom and put himself through a flying workout as well, then some simple forms and mind-clearing exercises to cool down.

He returned home around nine o'clock, showered, and ate a bland but nutritional breakfast. At nine-thirty, he checked on any potions that Draco might have left to cook overnight, then he went into the study. He practiced Mermish by translating a children's book aloud, then studied one of the Transfiguration books that Dumbledore had left to him. At noon, he put the books aside and fixed lunch for himself, Simon, and Draco. Draco wasn't here every day, but he was generally included in the routine. Sirius wasn't here today, for some reason, but Harry didn't worry about it. Sirius often wasn't home. He spent about an hour working with Draco, then spent another hour in the training room with Simon.

Hermione showed up at teatime.

"Hi," he said, feeling a smile on his face for the first time all day.

"Hi," she replied in a happy voice, and stepped forward so he could slide his arms around her and place a gentle kiss on her forehead. They hadn't moved to any overtly sexual displays yet. They had talked it over at some length, and decided that before they started doing anything serious, they were going to let Hermione get comfortable with someone larger and stronger than her. They touched as often as possible, holding hands, cuddling together, laying down for a nap together, and whatever else they could find to do. Harry had started brushing her hair, just so he could get his hands on the beautiful mess of it, and that was surprisingly intimate. She sometimes massaged his sore muscles if he put himself through a particularly grueling workout. The idea was that when (they had cautiously and almost shyly decided that it was when, not if) Harry took her to bed, she'd already know, with her physical instincts as much as her rational mind, that the person she was with would never hurt her, and that she already knew his body just as well as he knew hers.

They spent a few minutes cuddling, then went to work sorting through Dumbledore's (Harry's) library. While they worked, they talked about what Harry was going to do next. Harry made sure to cast a few spells to be sure Simon and Draco wouldn't be privy to the conversation. He felt confident in his knowledge of all the Horcruxes and he had collected all the basilisk venom that Dumbledore had saved from the destruction of the beast several years ago. He was fairly certain that he didn't want to cast Fiendfyre at the Horcruxes, but it was a viable alternative if he lost or ran out of the venom.

"Fiendfyre, Harry?" Hermione said doubtfully, looking up from her perusal of a cracked old book he'd put on the Hogwarts donation pile. "I think you should keep this one, by the way."

He rolled his eyes at her predictable attitude toward not keeping the book.

"Well, if I had to do it, I'd ride my broom out into the middle of the Atlantic and cast the curse there. I'm just saying, it's an option."

"I'm sure there are other ways to destroy a Horcrux, besides basilisk venom and Fiendfyre. We should get back to our research on that."

Harry made an agreeable noise, but all he said was, "I can destroy Nagini just by killing her, I think. We'll go with the basilisk venom for now and look at other ideas if we need them. I've got to save some room in my brain for my NEWT studies."

"Even though you're not taking them," Hermione grumbled.

They'd had this conversation. He couldn't go back to Hogwarts. He'd likely get snatched right out of his bed at night and dragged before Voldemort. He wasn't giving up his studies, but he couldn't be anywhere visible for a while. He'd made an exception for Madam Bones' campaign speeches, but he'd been so thickly surrounded by Aurors that he'd been willing to risk it a few times.

So he ignored the grumbling. "I think I'd better start practicing with the Elder Wand soon," he said instead.

It was upstairs, in his room, although it was currently disguised as part of the bedframe. He planned to begin using it soon, not exclusively, but often enough to get a feel for it and ensure that when he confronted Voldemort it would work for him. Hermione had asked him what he would do with it after he faced Voldemort. Harry replied that he'd likely work it back into a bedframe and leave it the hell alone. Then she asked him what he was going to do when he confronted Voldemort. That he had no answer for. It was a good question, and Harry had been thinking about it often.

He would not kill Voldemort. He absolutely would not do that. He had tasted the idea of it in those last moments with Dumbledore, but the situation was so different. He knew that his assistance to Dumbledore had wounded him terribly, though his soul had not exactly fractured. He was changed by that experience. Voldemort was not ill, had no intentions of dying, and his death was to be considered punishment for his crimes. Harry wasn't so far outside the law yet that he felt justified in carrying out an execution under his own authority. No, he could not kill Voldemort. Could not without becoming something . . . something as wrong and evil as Voldemort himself. He was not a murderer, and he was going to keep it that way.

So what he would do, was make Voldemort mortal again. He was going to force the man to see that he was nothing more or less than a wizard, bound by wizarding laws and with the limitations of mortality. He was going to take away his Horcruxes, he was going to tie him up in ropes, and he was going to deliver him to the Ministry's door for trial. The utter humiliation of being put on trial and having to answer for his crimes would be a far more cruel fate, for a person like Tom Riddle, than mere death would be. Harry was pretty sure the fellow was going to get the death sentence for his crimes. He would get Kissed, anyway. Say, there was a thought. Maybe Dementors could kiss Horcruxes. Good backup plan, that. Unless it turned them into Horcruxes, a thought that would keep anyone up nights.

He didn't explain the part about Dumbledore's death to Hermione, but he did tell her everything else. He needed her to know that he wasn't considering murder. Hermione suddenly dropped everything, pulled him over to the sofa, and practically sat on him to hold him there. She wrapped her arms around him so tightly that it almost hurt.

"This shouldn't be so hard," she whispered roughly. "You shouldn't have to do so much. It's not fair that it has to be you."

Harry gave her a confused look. "Hermione . . . I chose to do this. I said I would."

"Only because Voldemort was already after you and Dumbledore already thought it was inevitable that you were it," she argued.

Harry gave her a crooked smile. "You of all people know how stubborn I am. You really think I'd let old Voldemort and Dumbledore tell me what to do?"

She let out a disbelieving little laugh. "Harry," she murmured, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. "I know you're taking on the responsibility willingly. But . . . look at how much it's changed you. It'll keep changing you. And it will change me, too. Can you blame me for being a little angry and scared?"

Harry hadn't thought about that. That all this was going to fundamentally change Hermione, as a person. And that she was choosing to stay with him despite how frightening that was.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "I don't want that for you." Their policy of openness and honesty was hard to get used to. There were so many opportunities to hurt one another's feelings. But they already knew that they didn't mean to do that, so they were learning to ignore hurt feelings and look at what lay behind them. "I don't want you to change just to stay with me. I'm not sure what to feel about this. I know that you are capable of making your own decisions. And you know how much I want you with me. But I think I'm going to feel very guilty about what I'm going to put you through. I already do feel guilty."

"How can you feel guilty when it's my decision?"

Harry bit his lip. "Because it wouldn't happen if it weren't for me. Guilt isn't always rational, you know."

"No, but you are always rational," she argued.

"I know you're afraid. You've told me. I honestly don't know why you're still here, Hermione. I don't know what you're doing with me, when all I can be right now is a source of pain and fear for you. I realize now why you broke up with me to begin with. I don't know why you came back."

Hermione grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a look of blazing passion. "You are my best friend, Harry Potter. You care more about me than I ever imagined a man could, and you've given me freedom from at least one of my worst fears. You have trusted me and included me in every part of your life that you can. I know that there are things you can't tell me, but we have managed to maintain our respect for one another in spite of that. I don't think I'm going to find that anywhere else. You are a good, brave man. You are the most intelligent person I know, with the passion for learning I never thought I'd find in anyone but myself. You are patient, and courageous, and so many other things."

Harry tried not to let her see the doubt in his eyes. He knew that he was patient with her fears, that he must be brave to be facing down the dangers in his life without going screaming mad. He knew he cared about her, because his heart practically stopped every time he looked at her and because he'd never taken so much joy from simply holding a girl's hand until Hermione. He knew that she was speaking the truth about him. But for Merlin's sake. He was a former fugitive, he'd hired prostitutes, he'd cursed the previous Minister's undersecretary, he'd nearly failed music theory class, and he'd been callous enough to take the Elder Wand from Dumbledore when he should have been weeping. And if she stayed with him, there was a good chance that she could get tortured and murdered. And he might get tortured and murdered, and if she survived, who knew if she'd be brave enough to risk another relationship?

Before he could point any of this out, she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes against the tears welling in them.

"And if I'm not here, I'm afraid of what might happen to you," she whispered. "You need me, Harry. I'm not trying to stroke my ego. You need me."

"I do," he admitted, gratefully holding her against him. He was grateful because she already understood this and he didn't have to explain it to her. She was his insurance against the darkness in his own heart. As long as she was there and he had to meet her eyes, he would kill himself to keep from disappointing her. If she wasn't there . . . he might not. And that possibility scared him more than any ideas about his fate at Voldemort's hands. "I'm so selfish, Hermione, I'm sorry. But don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going to, you dolt. Now, then. Come on."

"What? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. And I know you trust me, so don't start dragging your feet now. Don't tell me you're out of Floo powder?"

"There's a new package in the kitchen," he said in bewilderment. "Why?"

"We're going somewhere that we can forget about all of this for a few hours," she declared grandly.

Harry was entirely certain that wasn't possible, but he followed her. Because trust was the most valuable commodity in the world, and he wasn't about to let theirs lose any of its value.

Neville had cautiously agreed to meet Sirius Black in his classroom at Hogwarts on 31st July, despite the fact that the professor had refused to explain the nature of the meeting. The man was taking no chances with possible monitoring on fireplaces. Much easier to combat spies once they were in the school, since he was a true master with warding spells. Something to do with warding an entire town against vampires, though Neville had considered this to be a fabrication to impress the younger students to pay attention in his classes.

They met in the early afternoon, and Professor Black looked as deadly sober and determined as Neville had ever seen a man look. Neville felt some pity for him. He'd had a rough time of it since Albus had died. Neville was actually feeling kind of good that day, since he'd just used Apparition for the first time without supervision. He'd turned seventeen yesterday, and he could get used to the idea of doing magic whenever he bloody well wanted to.

But seeing the professor shocked him out of his good mood. He was invited to have a seat.

"What's going on, Professor?" Neville asked cautiously.

The man sighed. "You're seventeen and I'm about to make life even harder for you than it already is, Neville. Just call me Sirius, okay?"

Neville couldn't shake the feeling that he just wanted to be called that because he was still, after all this time, sort of a rebel and liked to undermine established authority. But he nodded agreeably and waited for the purpose of this meeting to be revealed.

"As you know, the Board of Directors belongs to Voldemort," the professor said bluntly. "I'm not sure exactly who's going to be made Headmaster, but it's going to happen within a week or two. It's likely to be Snape."

Neville paled at that. He was entirely against the idea of having the (alleged) murderer of Albus in charge of his school. But Neville was getting highly practiced at rolling with the punches, and he just nodded for Sirius to continue.

"McGonagall's got only a few days left as Acting Headmistress to do what she can for the students next year. She's trying to firm up staff appointments as much as possible, despite the fact that Professor Burbage has gone missing and we doubt we can get her replaced. I don't think they'll want Muggle Studies at the school anymore."

Neville knew what "gone missing" meant, these days. He swallowed a sick feeling. Professor Burbage was a nice woman and it didn't seem right that she'd been killed just for the subject she taught.

"The other thing we're doing is appointing you Head Boy."

Neville stiffened. "What?"

Sirius raked his hands through his tangled hair, which was escaping from its usual ponytail. "Head Boy, Neville. You're going to be in charge of as much as we can give you. What we're hoping is that the new Headmaster, Snape or whoever, won't feel they have enough power immediately to get rid of you and appoint a new one."

"Why me?" Neville asked faintly.

Sirius gave him a sad look. "Because we believe in you, Neville. Why else?"

"I'm not anything special," Neville protested. "I don't have the highest marks or anything."

"You're a prefect and you're the leader of the DL," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Merlin's sake, boy, what else would we look for in a Head Boy?"

Neville poked at this idea, feeling at it like it was a loose tooth. He'd gotten too used to being sort of reviled by the other students, and the changes that had taken place over the last couple of years had crept up on him. He was surprised to realise that the members of the DL all liked him, and that he was an effective prefect. He wasn't the best student ever, wasn't even taking Potions anymore, but he wasn't the worst, either. Weird to think that he'd ended up being exactly what Dumbledore had wanted him to be, after all.

"Okay," Neville said calmly. "I reckon you're expecting me to sort of buffer the students from whatever the new headmaster throws at them?"

Sirius nodded tightly, looking ashamed. "It's likely to hurt."

"I would have volunteered if I knew you needed someone," Neville said lightly. Pain didn't bother him much. Not being able to fight in this war was worse. "Who's Head Girl?"

Sirius tried to straighten his hair again. "We haven't been able to reach a decision there, yet. We think Miss Weasley is the best candidate, but she obviously can't take the position, being a sixth year. Miss Patil's not the right material, brave as she is, and I don't think enough of the school will respect Miss Abbot." He shrugged. "Any ideas?"

Neville thought about it. The answer was glaringly obvious, but he hated it, and he didn't want to say it. Unfortunately, Sirius was right about how limited their options were. Damn Cho for graduating, anyway.

"Veronica Vanderlay," he sighed, forcing it out.

Sirius gave him an affronted look. "Slytherin prefect who nearly lost her badge when she got caught behind a suit of armour trying to swallow her fellow prefect Blaise Zabini? That Veronica Vanderlay?"

Neville sighed again. "Yes."

Sirius crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

"She's a Slytherin prefect," Neville said. "You have to see the advantages of that."

Sirius's eyebrows went up. "Oh."

"If she and I come together as a package deal to the new Headmaster, Head Boy and Head Girl already chosen . . ."

". . . he might actually allow it," Sirius said, sounding impressed. "Sneaky."

"Not to mention the third of the school that won't like having me in charge won't mind having her. Between the two of us, we'd pretty much have the student population's support."

"You've got one very big problem," Sirius said. "She's a Slytherin. How on earth are you going to work together with her?"

"Well, she's loads more reasonable than Pansy," Neville pointed out. "She's actually got some class and we've worked together as prefects without resorting to curses. Can't say the same for Pansy, unfortunately. For her."

"You're saying you think you can work with her? That the two of you can agree on things?"

"Doubt we'll agree on much," Neville said. "But I think she'll do her part to keep the students from coming to harm. She's not really the violent type."

"I'm still not thinking this is a great idea."

"I'm one of the very few people who know what really happened to Draco Malfoy," Neville said as his closing argument. "And that definitely works in my favour to get her indebted to me."

"What?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you professors think you know so much."

"Well, we— hey!" Sirius' face darkened. "I don't really have the energy to play games, Neville. Tell me."

"I'm sorry," Neville apologized. He knew this was serious business, but he thought he could be forgiven for trying to find some lightness in all of it. "Let's just put it this way, sir. If Veronica didn't want to get caught, she'd have let Blaise talk her into somewhere a little more private."

"She wanted to get caught?"

"She wanted to make Draco Malfoy jealous to spur him into lavishing her with attention."

Sirius said nothing, but the look on his face was priceless. "She's in love with that little ferret?"

"Madly," Neville said, rolling his eyes. "Her plan didn't really work out, of course, since Draco was busy spiraling down into madness and treason and didn't take much notice of it. She got stuck with having Blaise as a boyfriend, but she's not exactly getting dragged into kicking and screaming, him being good-looking and rich and all. But I am pretty sure I can get some concessions out of her in exchange for some information about Draco."

"And you think it's a good idea to tell her Draco's whereabouts?"

"His whereabouts are not what I was planning to tell her, no," Neville said thoughtfully. "I was mostly just going to tell her that he'd defected. It'll come out eventually anyway, so there's no harm in her knowing. And she just might think it's a good idea for her to work on the same side he does in the hopes of seeing him again and impressing him."

Sirius was quiet for a long time.

"You do know that you are one sneaky bastard," he said at last, sounding impressed. "I'll talk to Minerva about it. But before this can happen, you and I are going to sit down and work out a foolproof way to ensure the information stays with Miss Vanderlay. I absolutely am not going to jeopardize the agreement Harry has with Draco. There are far too many people affected by it now."

Neville nodded. "I understand."

"There's something else I want from you, Neville," Sirius said abruptly. "I've thought about this until I've nearly driven myself mad, but I'm sure you're the proper person for what I need. I just couldn't ask you until you were of age."

"What?" Neville asked curiously.

"Well, you're close enough to us that it makes sense, yet far enough away that no one would think of you. And I absolutely cannot think of anyone more committed to our side than you are. I know how much you and Dumbledore loved each other, and I know of no one who is more unquestioningly stalwart in his convictions. I am absolutely certain I can trust you with this—and if you know my history, you know this is not a decision I'm undertaking lightly."

Neville just waited. He had no idea what Sirius wanted, but he wasn't sure he was going to like it.

"I want to make you the Secret-Keeper for Headquarters for the Order. Dumbledore put the place under a Fidelius charm, and I want to renew it with you, Neville."

Neville was shocked. "You really want me to do that?"

Sirius nodded. "You are the one person I know beyond a shadow of a doubt will never betray us. I thought about having Harry do it, but he's too obvious a choice, as is anyone in the Order. Dumbledore was strong enough that it didn't matter how obvious a choice he was. Now we have to be a little more clever."

Neville could see all the things that had gone into this decision, and he could see what made him such a good choice. And, well, he was already going to be Head Boy and leader of the DL. He wasn't exactly making a choice between being in danger or out of it. Might as well.

"Okay," he said soberly.

They performed the spell, Sirius walking Neville carefully through the process. Then it was done, and Neville felt strangely heavy, like bags of sand had been placed about him.

"I've been told it's disconcerting at first," Sirius said compassionately. "It'll feel better after a few days. You'll need to write down the location on something so I can show it to the Order members."

"Don't they already know it?"

"They did when Dumbledore had the keeping of it. But that's the beauty of Fidelius charms," Sirius grinned. "Handy, aren't they?"

Neville smiled back and carefully wrote down Sirius' address on a piece of parchment.

"Once I show this to everyone who needs it, I'll destroy it," Sirius said. "Try to make sure none of your school papers leaves the school, okay? I don't want a sample of your handwriting to become available to anyone to compare this note against. I don't want anyone even in the Order to know who you are."

Neville nodded soberly. "I have some of my school papers in my trunk at Gran's," he said. "I'll go home and burn them."

"Later," Sirius said repressively. "We have to go upstairs first."

"Upstairs?" Neville repeated cautiously. "What's upstairs?"

"The upper floors," Sirius answered. He shook Neville's hand. "I know this is a little bit more responsibility than you were likely picturing on your first day of adulthood, but thank you, Neville. Now, we're going to be working together quite a bit, so you'd better get used to trusting me. Come with me."

Neville followed him with trepidation. He reflected that while Sirius was correct, and he hadn't really pictured coming of age entailing quite this much danger to his person, he certainly hadn't argued about it. Maybe he had a death wish. Or maybe Albus had been right about his being so completely good and brave that he'd never question doing whatever was necessary. Strange thought, that. He wasn't a hero or anything like that. But he was pretty sure he'd die before giving up the Order or his fellow students to Voldemort. And he was pretty sure he'd fight like hell before dying, as well. So maybe it was okay to feel a little bit like a bad-ass.

Neville was kind of surprised to see Hermione and Harry when they got to the seventh floor, although Sirius and Hermione didn't seem too surprised to see one another. Harry was looking more suspicious all the time.

"We're at the Room of Requirement."

"Very good for stating the obvious, Harry," Sirius remarked.

"What's in the Room of Requirement?"

"Whatever we require, honestly, Harry," Hermione sighed.

Neville felt some solidarity with Harry. "I'm not going in there."

"Of course you are. We are all on the same side and working together and we'd never bring you to harm," Sirius said patiently. He paced in front of the blank wall until the door appeared.

Harry and Neville met one another's eyes as they were forced through the door, not liking this one bit. They were bonded, for the moment, ready to work together to face whatever was about to hit them.

Their eyes were assaulted by colour and loud banging, by a crowd of people, and they both automatically assumed that these sensory clues added up to the fact that they were being attacked by a range of spells.

"SURPRISE!" the entire room shouted cheerfully.

Then a good quarter of them fell to Harry and Neville's wands before the two boys noticed the gigantic banner over a table loaded with food that said "Happy Birthday!" with too much artistic flair to have been contributed by anyone but Dean Thomas. They both sputtered to a halt and began to sheepishly revive their fallen friends. After sorting out that they were at a surprise birthday party that the DL had planned for them, they were content to eat their cake and share a few butterbeers and feel inordinately happy at this proof that quite a few people found them worthwhile.

Everyone giggled at what had happened when Neville and Harry had come in. But it wasn't really that funny, when they thought about it.

That night, the reminder that he could use magic anytime he liked fell on Harry fully. It was time. He couldn't wait any longer to begin his quest. He needed to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, and he needed to do it immediately. There was one more meeting that had to take place.

He used one of the school owls to send a message to Professor Snape. Then he sent an owl to Minister Bones to remind her that he was strongly in support of the idea that Kingsley Shacklebolt should be her undersecretary. Then he sent an owl to Flourish and Blotts to have all required Hogwarts textbooks for his NEWT year delivered to Hermione's house. He returned to the remnants of the party (which was clearing out now) to ask Hermione to come by the house tomorrow. She agreeably said she would, then froze in surprise.

"What is it?" he said, touching her arm.

"I don't know how to get there," she said slowly. "Why don't I know that?"

Harry gripped her arm harder. "Um, I don't think I know, either. Sirius!" he shouted.

The man was by his side in an instant at his panicked call. "What's wrong?"

Harry spoke in a low voice. "You renewed the charm on the house?"

Sirius reached into his pocket for the slip of paper. "Yeah, here you go."

They both read the paper and relaxed a bit, then Sirius tucked it out of sight again.

"Who is it?" Harry asked. "Handwriting's sort of familiar . . ."

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing doing, kid. You don't need to know."

Harry bit his lip. "Yeah, you're right."

Hermione slipped her hand into his.

"What?" he asked her.

"You haven't bit your lip like that in a long time," she said. "I'd forgotten you used to do that when you were nervous."

The fact that he was doing it again meant his nerves and stress were distracting him to inexcusable levels. He resolved not to do it ever again. His use of Occlumency was not going to be particularly useful if his face gave it all away already.

"Tomorrow," Harry said, breathing in one last good whiff of her smell.

"Okay," she said. "What's going on tomorrow, though?"

"A meeting," he muttered. "You'll see."