Chapter 2 : With Interest
The owl held up one leg, a small pouch hanging by a cord. Embroidered on the pouch in golden thread was the message: Administration Cost, 5 Sickles. With a sigh Harry fetched a few coins from his school trunk and deposited them into the pouch, then removed the letter keeping an eye on the sharp-beaked bird. He was halfway amused the Ministry had elected to charge him for a letter, – and on his birthday, no less – but shrugged it off. The large owl took off immediately, sparing no glance for Hedwig in her cage nor the owl feed and water he'd made ready for the expected barrage of birthday owls.
Harry rubbed a finger over the ministry seal, wondering what on earth this could be about. He remembered his last warning for under-age magic; that certainly hadn't been so formal. Nor did he have to pay for it, Harry noted, throwing an annoyed glance out the window, though the owl was already far gone.
He heard a rumbling sound, and accurately concluded that Moody was making his way out of his trunk; the slight opening of the trunk's and the flash of a spinning eye was all he saw before the ex-Auror smoothly jumped out of the trunk, wand at the ready – he'd gotten used to it. The paranoid ex-Auror quickly glanced over the envelope, and a ghost of a smile flickered over his face. "I'll be out for an hour or two," he announced, popping his spinning magical eye out of its socket with a sickening squelching sound. As usual, he dropped it into a conjured glass of water and ambled over to the window. "Need to do some recruitin' for Dumbledore. You keep yourself safe, right? Just be yourself and you'll be fine."
Harry had no idea what had gotten into Moody, but nodded anyway, hoping to put the Auror's mind at ease – though, the effort didn't seem horribly effective. After a few more moments Moody apparated away, not mentioning it though looking thoroughly unconvinced. Harry rubbed his neck and took a look out the window to see if anyone was around, but it seemed that even this birthday would be particularly unexciting. The Dursleys, of course, had ignored it entirely.
Removing the seal on the Ministry letter, Harry pulled out an ancient-looking piece of parchment – it was entirely blank, save for a small drawing of what was unmistakably a wand. For a moment, Harry considered the idea that the Ministry was playing a prank, but it seemed unlikely. With some hesitancy, he raised his wand to the paper and lightly tapped it, as he'd seen Dumbledore do before – he wasn't entirely sure if any spell was actually need, or if it was just intent, like with extracting memories. A moment later he reconsidered, but it was already far too late.
The moment the tip of his wand touched the paper he felt a sharp tug behind his navel – he had moments to panic at his own stupidity for trusting a letter from the Ministry – before the Portkey whisked him away in a kaleidoscopic flurry of colours that left him dizzy and entirely helpless.
Harry landed painfully on a solid marble floor, in a crumpled heap – he took in his surroundings quickly: a dark stone corridor, similar to some he'd noticed last time he was in the Ministry, but this particular hallway seemed to have neither doors nor windows. He heard someone chuckling and snapped upright, his wand pointed at the source of the sound. For a brief moment Harry thought it was a Death Eater – he paled at the implications – before realizing that there was no white mask in sight.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, lowering his wand slightly. The woman – he was certain that hadn't been a man laughing – shrugged, then gestured for him to come. She was covered head to toe in a dark blue robe with a deep cowl hiding her face, though he thought he could see the outlines of a chin. "Why the Portkey?"
"It is the usual method of arranging a meeting here – we value our privacy. I'm afraid my identity, and many other things, aren't for you to know. Secrecy, you know – important in our line of work. For now, you're merely here to answer some questions. I'm afraid that you won't remember anything else from here on out." It was definitely a woman's voice. She gestured with her wand, and Harry shivered.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I remember?" Harry asked, confused, shaking his head. He blinked at the woman, who was shaking her head, chuckling again. He jerked when he noticed that he wasn't in the same hallway as moments before – there were doors. How had he just moved without noticing?
"Those Obliviators do a marvellous job, I must say," she commented dryly, face still carefully concealed. "Your visit is over, Mister Potter. I hope it was a productive afternoon – though, I suppose you are the worst person to be asking at this point. You will find that some memories may return if they become necessary: depending on what happens in the future, you may eventually find out what you spoke about, today. Your letter will send you back to your home. " The woman turned and walked away, vanishing from the hallway quite suddenly, as if she'd apparated. "Have a good birthday – or, what's left of it," her voice drifted from far away.
Harry shook his head, and looked down on the letter he'd received. His mind was racing – had he really just been memory charmed? He tried the nearest door, but it was firmly locked. With a shrug, he figured he might as well think about this at the Dursleys, and let the Portkey whisk him away in a psychedelic spin – this time, his landing was better – right onto his bed.
It was dark outside.
"They did obliviate me." Harry muttered angrily, glaring at the letter with suspicion. What on earth did the Ministry achieve by inviting him over, then erasing the meeting from his memory? Evidently he'd been away for hours, and judging by the small pile of parcels stacked up on his desk, he'd missed the arrival of his birthday presents entirely.
"About time," Moody said, stomping into the room, his wooden leg tapping loudly on the floor clearly in need of a new silencing charm. "My, they took their sweet time with you, didn't they?"
Harry sighed, and glared accusingly at Moody. "Alastor – you knew about this, about this whole – ?" He gestured widely, annoyed, "This whole kidnapping and memory erasing business? What on earth did they do to me? Couldn't you have given me a bit of a warning?"
"I heard rumours back before summer, since I've got my own business at the Ministry. Nothing solid, but as it turned out, I still have some pull. I managed to get into contact with a few of my friends in there and they made sure your appointment was properly guarded," Moody said, smirking. "Come now, you're clever. Surely you've some idea of who you went to meet?"
Harry snorted, falling back on his bed. "I thought the Minister or the Aurors first, but it didn't seem their style. They're not exactly good at the cloak and dagger thing, no offence." He smirked as Moody frowned at the slight against his profession. "I figure that the woman I met must've worked at the Department of Mysteries – probably as an Unspeakable, whatever they are. I'm assuming it had something to do with the whole fiasco back before summer."
Moody grunted, "I've some idea what they're after, but I don't think I'm supposed to tell. Unspeakables are really into that whole secrecy hubbub, and they'd probably come and obliviate me – and my mole – if I said anything. Heck, for all I know they've already done that – that's the trick with proper memory charms, you don't actually notice. Dumbledore told me that you'd already been interviewed about June."
"I haven't, at least, I don't think I'd met an Unspeakable before today" Harry answered truthfully. " He noticed Moody's cheesy grin, and groaned, "I suppose I wouldn't remember having an interview either. They're really fond of that, aren't they?"
"You better believe it. Didn't meet any of them on the job; or, probably did, but it's impossible to know. . I reckon they've hit me with memory erasers more times than I can count, cleaning up after yet another dark wizard strewn all over the pavement. Glad they're good at it, at least – wouldn't want to get unbalanced, like you can get with amateur memory modification."
Harry didn't comment on that, opting instead to open his presents. The first one he opened turned out to be from Moody: a small portable foeglass that could be used to figure out if any enemies were nearby – a practical albeit slightly-paranoid gift, though he wouldn't have expected any other. He noted with some amusement that Uncle Vernon was quite distinctively glaring at him from it. Hermione, as per usual, had sent him school supplies: books on defence and charms, and one all about the use of common spells in combat – it'd surely come in handy, considering the overall lack of proper defence teachers. Ron's gift consisted of a small miniature quidditch set, with two teams replaying classic, often-referenced matches. The letter that came with it noted that it was an experimental product Ron had helped create with Fred and George. As a consequence it was placed firmly on the far end of the room: knowing the twins, it was full of pranks that would go off at the most inconvenient time.
Remus had sent him a small photo album: a copy of his own, with a wide collection of Wizarding photographs taken in the Marauder's first few years of Hogwarts. Three of the boys showed up most frequently, but a few of the photos also contained his mother, usually some distance away. In one or two pictures he'd occasionally see a glimpse of Peter Pettigrew, but it seemed that the album was enchanted to hide his presence. It quickly found a place with the photo album he'd received from Hagrid.
There were a few small gifts from other Order members – one of them sent the Daily Prophet, which Moody usually summarized for him anyways. Nibbling on the cookies that 'Devlin' sent him – apparently, a new Order member - he looked through the small instructional manual on Wizarding cooking (from Mrs. Weasley, of course) and tried on his brand new sweater – Ginny's gift. Unfortunately, the sweater wouldn't do very well as Muggle camouflage, as it had golden snitches slowly fluttering all over. Neville had sent some samples of gillyweed he'd grown himself: for future watery emergencies, no doubt. They were suspended in small globes of quick-melt ice that would dissolve when placed in the mouth.
The oddest gift, though, was the one from Dumbledore. It was a massive book of Ministry regulations and procedures: hopefully, not something he'd be needing in the future. The note was equally unusual: "take extra care in reading pages 796 onwards" – which he would have been happy to do, if the book continued past page 742.
"Knowing Dumbledore, it's a riddle," Moody commented as he made his way back into his trunk for a good night's rest. "I'd keep that book somewhere close. If you ever figure out where to find the missing pages, you'll have quite a useful volume."
Harry nodded, stashing his presents safely into his trunk, thinking about the Ministry and what on earth they could be up to; why Moody was evasive; Dumbledore didn't comment one way or another; At least, he acknowledged as we was falling asleep, the Ministry hadn't hurt him – not that he knew of, anyway. Obliviation is so annoying.
It was a few days before September First, which would be the day he went back to Hogwarts, and the last day he'd see Moody for some time. He was spending the day sipping butterbeer and exchanging stories again at the Dursleys. It had become something of a tradition, and even the Dursleys didn't seem particularly bothered by the magical brew any longer. Dudley, for all his fear, had asked Harry for a taste of butterbeer back in early August, As the month progressed, he'd keep an ear trained towards the smallest bedroom, and the distinctive sound of drinks fizzing open. He'd knock on the door and send in a request; he didn't even seemed fazed by Moody any more.
Moody would conjure up some nice chairs and fireplace, and he'd reminisce on this or that battle – mostly against Death Eaters, but there was a considerable amount against the likes of Mundungus Fletcher, who Moody had apparently caught red-handed several times.
Summer had, honestly, been quite brilliant. Spending time with Mad-Eye had been surprisingly interesting. The man, though paranoid like no other, was quite capable of being amiable and even kind, though the frequent rituals of secrets, training, and questions and answers got tiring.
"I'm going to miss this, Alastor." Harry said, chugging from his butterbeer, staring into the fire. "I could really get used to this lifestyle – maybe throw in some excitement." Moody didn't answer – he was busy sipping from a bottle of firewhiskey.
"Don't worry about it, Harry – it's been good for me too: I'm itching to get back on the field, but I can't say it was a terrible few months. It's been ages since I had a proper vacation. " Moody rubbed a hand over his peg-leg and grinned vaguely. " You could probably arrange an apprenticeship in the future, with your history: like what we did with Occlumency, but an area more of your choosing. If I were still employed as an Auror I'd offer it myself."
"Will you be at the station tomorrow?" Harry asked, curious – Moody had been rather tight-lipped on what he was doing for the Order, particularly in these last few weeks.
Moody grunted non-committally, taking another drink. "I might be there. Don't know what Albus has planned, honestly – probably purposefully. I won't be at the school – 'fraid I'll be burying an old friend. Death Eaters got 'im yesterday."
"That's terrible," Harry said, tiredly. There'd been a number of deaths during the summer –he'd had mostly heard about them from Moody, who had a subscription to the Daily Prophet, though he didn't lend them out freely: Harry didn't know if it was because the paper had more disparaging nonsense, or whether the paper was getting too graphic and truthful, or if it was just Moody's paranoia. Regardless, he'd been relieved when he didn't recognize the names, though Moody had sighed at quite a few: almost all the Auror fatalities (and there were nearly a dozen at last count) had studied under the ex-Auror at some point.
Sitting on the comfy couch, deep in thought, Harry didn't expect a sensation of pain and fire blazing through him, fading almost immediately into a mellow haze. Harry tiredly took out the small notebook in his pocket and noted the time and place. For some time now, the attacks through his link had been fading in intensity; this last one was too weak to really even distract him. He'd just jot down the basics and hand it over to Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity. "I really wonder what on earth this fire thing is about." Harry muttered, as he noticed Moody was watching him. "It's not nearly as wild as back in the beginning, but still ... You don't suppose the Unspeakables did anything about it, do you?"
"You didn't hear yourself, did you?" Moody asked, his voice soft. "You're creepy, you know. I'd be terrified of losing control like that – heck, I am terrified, and it's not even happening to me! As for the Ministry, they'd probably not erase your memory if they were trying to help you with something important. Besides, the decrease in severity seems to have been pretty steady."
"I said nonsense again, I guess?" Harry figured it'd be the usual mix of silly poetry – it'd been that way for as long as Moody had observed the attacks.
"Usual gibberish about clean bones, wind, moon." Moody said, nodding, brow furrowed. "You'd best warn your friends on the train about this, or they'll have a fright or two the first time."
The attacks, though less traumatizing, had increased in frequency: there was now barely a day without a brief surge of fire and feeling like a megalomaniac. Luckily, it appeared that Harry's training in Occlumency had advanced far enough to largely block it out; or, enough to keep him from turning into a loony. It seemed like his scar was back to the way it had been early in summer – not much more than a regular scar. He supposed Luna, at least, would probably be able to empathise with being a bit loony.
Harry's school trunk had been packed several days ago, filled to the brim with school supplies and his personal effects: the invisibility cloak, photo albums, and even – after some deliberation – the books his mother had left behind. The book of poetry was lodged firmly besides Dumbledore's book on Ministry regulations and Hermione's gifts. It'd be difficult to fit in another pair of socks, and Harry briefly wondered if he should order a multi-compartment trunk of his own for Christmas. He'd ask Moody about them later.
A few times he found himself fingering the letter from the Ministry that he'd received –it was now entirely blank, not even showing the drawing of a wand. He'd tried tapping it with his wand again, but it hadn't reacted. These days it spent most of its time in his back pocket – irrationally, perhaps, but Harry was hesitant to throw it away.
Potions Master Severus Snape was having a rather boring holiday: it was so dull, in fact, that he'd elected to refilling potion stocks for St. Mungo's hospital and the Hogwarts Infirmary just to get his mind off things. Muttering under his breath as he stashed another bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion into the holding crate – it could hold about a hundred bottles, and was charmed to keep the potions from spoiling. The potion recipe itself had been – edited – by Snape to further increase the product's longevity and potency. As it was, the crate and bottles would keep the potions for two months, – maybe more – making them some of the best potions of their kind available on the market.
Few people knew the extent of his brewing skills, Severus considered as he poured armadillo bile into two cauldrons that were softly bubbling away. For years now he'd been busy trying to teach pathetically ungifted schoolchildren about the art, and the general opinion among practically all his students was one of intense dislike or fear of their teacher. Severus was well aware he was aggravating that situation, and it had been the source of many a heated discussion with the headmaster.
Only a few more days, and the halls would again stream full with the little tykes, and he'd be back on the job, having entirely too little time to study the myriad subjects he'd taken an interest in. If that wasn't enough, Albus had chosen today to tell him that he'd once again need to educate the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Potter, in the Mind Arts. After the disaster that had been their last Occlumency lesson, he'd hoped that the impossible relationship was cut permanently short. Now Albus had to go and forcibly mix oil and water again. Snape wasn't so far gone he thought Potter had volunteered for this; it was beyond doubt that it was the headmaster's latest attempt at nudging them towards reconciliation.
Severus carefully measured out five short tentacles of Flitterbloom, and dropped them in the largest cauldron – an on-going batch of the Wolfsbane potion, which he was once again supplying to Remus Lupin. This particular dose had a larger than usual concentration of Wolfsbane flowers, by Lupin's request, and Severus had to admit a certain curiosity in hearing the effects of his various variations on the potion. It wasn't easy to find werewolves willing to submit themselves to experimental brews like this, and, truthfully, Snape felt some degree of pride that he'd been trusted as potion brewer in this manner.
Of course, he didn't get much praise or acknowledgement from most people, even within the Order. His activities as a spy were infrequent and, thus far, decidedly unexciting; the Dark Lord had not requested Snape to be at any of his attacks, and had only very occasionally talked about his forthcoming plans in his presence. It was clear that there was little trust between them. Of course, he'd noted that the Dark Lord had chosen to limit the number of people summoned at any one time; most likely a way to sift out traitors.
It was all rather amateurish, Severus had to admit. The Dark Lord had little experience in treacherous followers, as he knew most of his old followers as well as they knew themselves; or he thought he did, in any case. The new recruits – and there were a lot of those – were too numerous to keep track of individually, and spies would be ridiculously easy to slip in. The Dark Lord, realizing his predicament, had implemented his first measure of defence, dismissing those who raised criticisms of his method. Snape had noticed the disappointed looks that a few purebloods had tried to hide, and couldn't help but smirk. He was glad that he, as a veteran member, was required to wear his mask at meetings; nobody could know what he thought of the situation. Of course, there was always the possibility that the Dark Lord was playing a far more devious game ...
"Severus?" a familiar voice called from the corridor, and the irritable Potions master threw open the door immediately, a scowl marring his face. Dumbledore, of course. The old man was dressed in preposterous purple robes again. He didn't seem particularly joyful today, though, for which Severus was thankful. He'd seen enough of that side of the headmaster to last him two lifetimes.
"What are you doing at my door at one in the morning? I've potions to finish, and they won't brew themselves," Severus snapped, gesturing to the chair and taking his own, eyeing the bubbling potions: they could do without his direct attention for a short time. "You were aware I'd be at breakfast, tomorrow?"
"I've been thinking on several memories I retrieved from one of our students, this summer. He's been experiencing atypical waking nightmares that seem to resemble, pardon me, an ancient, rather painful, purification ritual – I've read about the ritual in ancient texts, but thought the spell itself had been destroyed." Dumbledore stroked his beard, glancing at Severus over his glasses. "I will not insult your intelligence – Mr. Potter has been seeing quite a bit of me over the summer, and I have promised to research the cause of his plight. I have been hypothesizing about Tom's involvement. Evidence, however, suggests we may be dealing with something else – we've known Tom's activities during several of the episodes, and he has never been seen working ritual magic at those times, or any other. Indeed, several reports state that Tom seemed distracted and inaccurate with his spells at those times. I think that perhaps Tom, like Harry, is experiencing a certain mental backlash."
"Does the experience originate with Potter?" Severus asked, trying to ignore the negative comments that tempted to slip into his every description of the 'boy-who-lived'. "Is it possible that instead of the Dark Lord causing Potter's discomfort, Potter's instead causing the Dark Lord's?" Severus hesitated, then sighed. "It seems beyond Potter's abilities."
Dumbledore stared at the bubbling cauldrons around the room, deep in thought. "I had considered the possibility, but discarded it – although Harry has the potential to become quite a wizard, he's not tapped into this to the degree that Tom or I have – or even you, Severus. He's not powerful enough in his magic to overcome Voldemort's mental shields; not consciously, at least. Unconsciously, however, is another matter. Intense emotions might be able to slip through. Without magic on either Harry's or the Dark Lord's part, though, I see precious few possible scenarios that are workable at all. The bond between them is not nearly the most powerful in existence, so it seems to me unlikely that it would have bizarre magical properties, even considering the method of its creation."
Severus shrugged, stepping over to the largest cauldron to give it a few good stirs. "If you want my thoughts on the matter, I believe it may be something left over from the Dark Lord's attempted possession at the Ministry. Possession is a particularly volatile magical connection, and it may have had unintended effects on both their minds. Potter's, as the less disciplined, would likely have taken the brunt of the impact. These experiences may simply be ghost pains from the damage done." Severus himself however, grimaced at his explanation. "The problem is, direct damage to the mind would be rather obvious. Mad-Eye has been working with the boy for weeks, and he's not reported anything significant or worrying."
"We find ourselves with quite the conundrum," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling slightly. "I have full confidence that you will be able to find an explanation where I cannot – you have considerably more knowledge about the disreputable side of magic, which I believe may be involved. I've looked into elementalism, channelling, pyromancy ... Though this resembles all of the disciplines in that fire is involved, none of them have any obvious connection besides that – I believe you'll agree that magic involving heat isn't a sufficiently narrow research field."
"Potter should better be thankful for the time I spend on his problems," Severus muttered after a moment, though Dumbledore pretended not to hear. "Leave the memories. I'll study them in my pensieve. I'll finish these potions and start immediately. Hopefully it means I can get back to something riveting tomorrow."
"I have every confidence in your abilities, Severus. Never doubt that," the headmaster made his way out of the room, and vanished down the corridor. Severus was tempted to acknowledge the praise. After the footsteps finally died down, it was back to brewing. Tonight would be another long haul – and so close to the new school year. It was enough to drive a man crazy.
"Get up, loafer." Moody said gruffly, as he exited his trunk and stepped into the smallest bedroom. It was the first of September, and Harry had ignored two loud alarms that'd been ringing in his room for the better part of five minutes. "I'll be side-along apparating you to the barrier, and you'll be on your own from there. I have an appointment to keep."
The Dursleys, as usual, didn't have much to say – Aunt Petunia just gaped at the two wizards, now properly dressed in Wizarding robes.
"I'll be going now," Harry said to his aunt. Uncle Vernon had already left for work – he'd barely been seen around the house at all while Moody was there – and Dudley had already left with his friends. "Hopefully I won't have to come back here – but if I do, you'll see me sometime next summer."
He grabbed hold of his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage when he heard a distinctive stomping gait; Hedwig, of course, had elected to fly to Hogwarts, as she'd been bored. Wizards taking care of the mail left her with little to do over the summer.
Moody didn't warn him: from one moment to the next, he felt like he was being sucked up through a straw – he couldn't quite breathe and he frantically tried to pull air into his lungs – and, with a slight pop, he managed it, staggering. When he looked around he noticed they were standing in a small alcove, a stone's throw from the large red locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express.
"Here's where I say goodbye, I suppose," Moody said sadly. "Don't know if we'll be seeing each other again soon. I doubt I'll get stationed at Hogwarts – Dumbledore has plenty of people here already, I reckon. If you're ever in the Ministry, look me up. I've got the sneaking suspicion I'll be frequenting my old colleagues."
With a friendly handshake the two parted. Harry quickly crossed through Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, already quite busy with wizards, witches, and a horde of young children. Harry felt old walking across the platform; he saw only a few faces from his year, though there seemed to be first- and second- years all over the place.
"Bloody hell," Harry heard from somewhere behind him, and he spun on his heels recognizing the voice. He almost immediately spotted the dense concentration of bright red hair, and sauntered over. Ron still hadn't noticed him; he seemed to be having a strongly worded discussion with Ginny, while Hermione, also sporting a bright red hairdo, looked on in mixed amusement and exasperation.
"Hey, Weasleys," Harry said, prodding Ron in the side. One startled yelp and a cry of 'Harry!' later, he found himself being hugged – by Ginny, no less, blushing tremendously she let him go.
"The colour won't come off for a few hours." She said smartly, while Ron came up with a grin that mirrored Ginny's.
With a grimace, Harry grabbed his wand – he was terribly glad he could use magic again – and conjured a mirror. Sure enough, his hair was now bright Weasley red, and he noticed a number of freckles on his face that didn't belong. "Quite a nice effect, I admit. Fred and George's work, I suppose?"
Ginny chuckled, as she blushed again. "That's actually one of mine. Fred and George bought it from me for ten galleons though, so you'll probably see it in stores eventually. I hear they're also making ones to make you look like a Malfoy. I imagine they'll ask you, too."
"Looking like a bespectacled, scarred git isn't our idea of a great day," George said, as he appeared from somewhere behind Mr. Weasley, who was conversing with another man who'd apparently also been the target of the Weasley hex. "Indeed Fred, whatever would we do all day? Harry's already beat us to all the giant snakes, werewolves, and dragons. It would be rather boring."
"Good to see you two," Harry said, smiling. "How's business going? Shouldn't you be out there, selling your stuff, instead of hanging out here? It's not like you're getting on the train."
"Business, of course, is booming. Not too many customers on the first day of school, though. We're just here to see off the little ones off." Fred said with a fiendish grin.
"Perhaps we planted a few pranks and hexes in the train as well. We might've done that." George nodded, and pointed to the very end of the train. "We might've put a rather strong wobbling charm on that last carriage there, which might mean you'd better search another compartment."
Fred followed with a grin, "Though, it might've been some other car."
"You two are incorrigible!" Hermione said, sounding both amused and appalled at the same time. Fred and George merely laughed, and with a wave they went to talk to a Ravenclaw Harry vaguely recognized – she'd had blond hair before, but it'd just turned into a fair approximation of Ginny's hair.
"How's your summer been, mate?" Ron asked, glancing at Hermione. "Your letters were rather vague on the details, honestly. Wish you could've come over for some Quidditch at the Burrow. Though, we weren't home much."
"I think the letter situation is Alastor's fault: he's paranoid about everything, and he's been rubbing off on me," Harry admitted – he received incredulous stares back. "Mad-Eye Moody, y'know. He's been living in my house for most of the summer."
"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "A crazy deranged Auror in your house, and you came here intact? You must have more luck than any of us realized."
Hermione joined Harry in a lighthearted laugh, as Harry relayed some of his more comical Mad-Eye moments. He'd heard Moody take out his eye so many times he could imitate the sound nearly perfectly. He entertained the Weasleys for a moment with his impression of the man: glancing around suspiciously, making sure his wand was not in his back pocket, ambling back and forth while complaining loudly of inferior peg-legs.
Hermione, it turned out, had been studying during summer; Harry figured this was news in about the same way 'Water still wet' was. Ron, astonishingly enough, had joined Hermione for a while now, studying NEWT-level Charms and Transfiguration. Due to being in a magic-saturated house with many adult wizards present, they hadn't run any risk by using spells. Noted, Mrs. Weasley had been quite cross with them after they'd transfigured dust bunnies into actual bunnies, which had proceeded to nibble on the antique furniture in the storage room. Evidently, something in the charm went wrong and the bunnies in question had ended up with the mind-set of a deranged termite – Hermione theorized it was the inflection on part of the incantation they'd gotten wrong, though Harry tuned that out. Judging from his expression, so did Ron.
"Shouldn't we be getting on the train?" Harry said as the whistle blew. Most of the students had slowly been boarding while they talked. With a quick goodbye and a hug from Mrs. Weasley Harry was on his way, Ron and Hermione close behind him. Ginny trailed after, joining up with Neville and Luna, who'd been on the other end of the platform.
They quickly found an entirely empty compartment, though the slight trembling they felt made them wary to stay there. Walking down the train, there was eventually another empty – seemingly normal – compartment.
"It's good to get back to the Wizarding world," Harry grinned, grabbing one of the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had prepared. "Living among muggles, even with Mad-Eye, isn't terribly interesting."
Luna, as usual, had pulled out the latest Quibbler and was dutifully reading it upside-down; or downside-up, as she'd surely call it. "We could always break into the Ministry again," she said dreamily. "It didn't turn out like we thought it would, but it was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"
Neville coughed at that, and looked at her with some nervousness. "Luna, I think we're probably done with doing that kind of thing. I don't think they'd be very lenient the second time around."
Luna shrugged, continuing to study her paper. "The Unspeakables weren't awfully upset at what we did, I thought. I'm troubled they were just going along with the Rotfang conspiracy, but their compliments seemed genuine."
Harry snapped up at the mention of the Unspeakables. "I can't remember the Ministry questioning us."
"Oh, of course we were memory charmed," Luna started, finally looking up. "They use Wrackspurt magic though – and I'm protected from that. You could be too, you know – I'll make you a nice necklace when we get to Hogwarts."
Harry agreed awkwardly. Luna had always been odd, and he honestly wasn't terribly surprised that memory charms didn't work on her. He briefly wondered if she'd even need Occlumency to ward off a Legilimens. Maybe he'd bring up the topic with Dumbledore.
Ginny, who'd been chatting with Hermione, suddenly turned to him. "Harry, what did Mad-Eye do all day in your house? I can't imagine the muggles were terribly interested in talking to him."
"We did quite a bit of Occlumency training, and he spent a lot of time telling a thousand-and-one tales of his time as an Auror. He also did who-knows-what in his magical trunk, but I wasn't really privy to what that was. You might have noticed, but he's a bit paranoid."
Hermione beamed at him. "Occlumency training? I'm glad that Professor Dumbledore was able to find someone besides Professor Snape – I've been worried about how we were going to convince you to go back to training this year."
"I am going back to Snape's lessons," Harry said, making a face – Neville responded by shuddering. "I hope that 'remedial potions' is more civil this year. Honestly, it couldn't get much worse."
"We'll keep an eye out for the greasy git, you know that." Ron commented, snacking on one of a considerable number of sandwiches he'd taken from home. "We won't let Snape within a hundred yards of you outside class."
Harry nodded in thanks, thinking back on his OWL results which had arrived a while ago. He had traded a few letters over the subject with Hermione, though Ron seemed largely uninterested in the topic. Harry had, with some relief, managed to score high enough to enter all Auror-required NEWT subjects; the downside, of course, was two more years of Snape. "I suppose after fighting Death Eaters and being possessed by Voldemort, Snape's not entirely high on my list of scares nowadays."
Neville inhaled sharply at Harry's casual mention of Voldemort, but nodded resolutely. "I found a Boggart in our cellar this summer. They don't turn into Snape anymore. I won't be taking his class this year, so I suppose I won't see much of him. Thank goodness."
"We'll probably see less of each other than usual," Luna said airily. "Especially you, Harry. Better keep an eye out for any lethal potions."
Harry nodded uncertainly, as Neville and Ron gave confused shrugs. Hermione had a calculated look on her face – Harry briefly wondered if she'd finally decided to try and decode what the Ravenclaw was talking about. He wished her good luck.
A voice resounded from outside the door, and Harry recognized that smug voice immediately: Malfoy. It might as well have been tradition at this point – Malfoy would come and insult them, and eventually stomp off in a huff. Harry resigned himself to yet another load of verbal abuse.
"Well, Potter, what have we here? A whole compartment of bad blood and incompetence?" Draco Malfoy drawled, as he slid open the compartment door. "I knew you had bad company before, but you're not improving matters. What's next, you'll get that oaf Hagrid in here?"
"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron grumbled angrily. "We'll see quite too much of you during at school, I reckon."
Malfoy huffed, then looked straight at Harry. "You'd better be careful, Potter. My father might not be on the board of governors any more, but my family still has quite a bit of power. Step over the line, and you'll find that they're quite likely to expel you."
"You'd better watch out yourself, Draco" Harry answered grimly, "I'm afraid that without your daddy, you'll have precious little money to bribe your problems away."
Malfoy paled, his nostrils flaring. "You know nothing, Potter. Keep an eye on your food, it might just be poisoned."
"Get out of our compartment, Malfoy." Hermione said curtly, raising her wand. "Otherwise, we'll find out just what you look like without hair."
Malfoy took off instantly, sneering at Harry until he was out of sight. Hermione sighed and put her wand away – Neville was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, and Ron was grinning.
"Brilliant, Hermione! You should do that more often! Though – it doesn't seem like something a prefect would do. You are a prefect, right?" Ginny inquired.
Hermione shook her head sadly. "Professor McGonagall told me I'd have to pick between taking all my NEWT subjects or the prefect badge – otherwise we'd need another time-turner, and I'm doubtful they'd give me one again."
"Typical Hermione," Ron said, grinning. "She's given the choice between more classes or the ability to boss around first-years around and roaming the halls after curfew. Guess which she picks?"
"You know," Harry said, "Three people have told me to worry about poisons today. I'm wondering if they're trying to tell me something." He looked apprehensively at the sweets Neville had piled in his lap. "Those aren't Fred and George's, are they? Maybe I should take these warnings to heart."
The rest of the train trip was spent bantering about summer, insulting Malfoy, and reminiscing on previous years. Harry shared a few of Moody's crazier tales; Neville actually recognized a few of them from his grandmother. Luna spent quite a bit of time just listening to the conversation, though she'd commented on the merits of eating carrots when Neville had described his summer's work, which involved gardening and disposal of magical pests.
When they were nearly at their destination and everyone had put on their school robes, Harry decided it was time for his warning. "Listen, guys ... The reason I spent most of my summer with Moody in the house was because of something Voldemort's been doing. It's like last year," Harry was glad to see there were no gasps this time, though Neville seemed unnerved. "He's been sending me weird visions – or something – and Dumbledore hasn't really figured out what's going on yet. But, if you ever see me space out or start talking gibberish, you know what's going on."
"You speak Gibberish?" Luna wondered out loud, "It's a dialect of Gobbledegook, I believe. That's very interesting, Harry. I didn't know there were any human speakers of that language."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's just English, but it doesn't make much sense; it's mostly bits of poetry I've read before. I'm just saying so you won't jump out of your skin. Honestly, knowing my luck, I'd expect it to happen when Malfoy strode in. At least it'd have given him a nice scare."
"Can you imagine?" Ron said with a gleam in her eye. "Harry quoting some love poem at Malfoy? He would've run to the other side of the train like a dementor was chasing him."
They shared a good laugh at that, as each came up with increasingly ludicrous scenarios. Harry stayed out of the conversation, nervously pondering what Malfoy might do if he ever found Harry twitching and quoting Hamlet: expelled for temporary insanity? Harry kept out of the conversation from then on, as Ron made humorous hypotheses on why Voldemort would be reading poetry, or having Harry read it for him.
Later that evening, after the feast, Harry made his way through the castle's winding hallways – it was good to be back in Hogwarts. The food, as usual, was delicious, and thankfully Dumbledore hadn't spent much time on announcements, beyond a warning of the presence of Aurors on the grounds due to the return of Voldemort. Snape hadn't even been in the Great Hall, nor the new defence teacher – whoever it was, as he or she hadn't been introduced.
Harry took a left and finally the familiar gargoyle came in sight. "Ice Mice" he muttered, as he made his way up to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore had tapped him on his shoulder just after the feast, and requested a quick talk.
"Come in, Harry" Dumbledore said before Harry could knock, and with a shrug he strolled right in. He paled slightly as he noticed Professor Snape, glowering, was seated at the other side of the room. Dumbledore wasn't expecting him to have an Occlumency lesson right here, right now, was he?
"Good evening, Potter," Snape said gruffly, his face a mask. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking on with interest. "I trust you had an enjoyable summer."
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered with some surprise. "Yourself?"
"It was satisfactory," Snape answered.
"I asked you here tonight for a reason," Dumbledore suddenly started, after a brief uncomfortable silence had settled in the office. "I hope you don't mind, but Professor Snape here has been helping me analyse the memories you gave me over the summer."
Harry nodded, concerned. Professor Snape reached into his robes and retrieved a flask full of memories – they seemed oddly dark grey. "Your memories have become somewhat diluted, hence the colour change. I have used several potion mixes to attempt to bring out the detail. I have been going through the first few in particular, but I've been limited by my inability to fully comprehend the experience – memories are approximations at best. The headmaster, intriguingly, doesn't experience anything whatsoever from these memories."
Dumbledore nodded, looking over his glasses with concern. "I had thought for some time that you were still possessed by Tom, or possibly damaged by his possession. It took me some time to consider trusting others with this information – I asked Remus, who had a powerful reaction; I was able to gain a good description from him, though even his experience – which diluted the memory further – was incomplete."
"I have my hypotheses on why that is, of course." Snape commented, his eyes narrowing. "It might have something to do with Dark magic – as you know, Lycanthropy is considered to be dark magic, and I myself am intimately familiar with it due to experience. Although I'm not aware of Potter's experience with the Dark Arts, it seems plausible."
Harry swallowed, thinking back to the Ministry and what he'd tried to do to Bellatrix. "Would ... would an attempt count? I … tried to use the Cruciatus curse." Harry began, and Snape hissed. "It was just after Sirius died – I wasn't thinking straight, and Bellatrix was right there in front of me. It just sort of knocked her down, it didn't actually torture her, I think – she said that you really had to mean it. I wasn't strong enough –"
Dumbledore nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "To deplore hurting another living thing – even Bellatrix – is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry – failure to cast the curse is a sign of utmost strength and character, not weakness." he looked up at Snape, and continued. "I'm afraid, though, that I have used the Dark Arts in the past – although I've never used them on human beings, quite a few of my early experiments had much to do with the darker side of magic. I have used the Killing Curse before, though only once, to find out if I could."
Snape nodded, looking somewhat surprised. "Very well. I'm afraid, Potter, that we'll have to step up our Occlumency lessons in order to get these visions under sufficient control that you will not be too distracted by them. If you were ever to be in a fight, it would be highly disadvantageous for you to stop in your tracks and expound on the birds and bees." Snape smiled, a truly frightening sight. "Furthermore, I request that during the weekend, you will spend some hours in the potions lab, preferably with your Occlumency inhibited. I will make an oath not to rummage in your memories, if that sets your mind at ease; I wish to use Legilimency to experience one of these visions first-hand – being in your mind, it should not have the same problems as the memories you gave the Headmaster."
Harry nodded dumbly, looking at Snape as if he'd never seen him before. "You're ... expressing an awful lot of interest, Professor."
Snape scoffed and glared. "You've caught my professional interest, Potter – for that reason, and that reason alone, I have chosen to ignore some of our differences. I will not be ignoring your many serious faults in class, believe me."
"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore chided. "You will note that a conversation from neutrality has thus far not descended into petty squabbling and mutual insults; if you were both to spend some energy into avoiding unnecessary confrontation, you'd both be better off."
Snape didn't answer with anything but a glare, and left the office. Dumbledore, meanwhile, took out a sherbet lemon and sighed contentedly. "I am glad to have you back at Hogwarts, Harry, though I have my suspicions that certain other parties might make this year difficult. I will always try to help you."
"Malfoy already threatened me," Harry said, frowning. "It was sort of weird. I thought he was insulting me at the time, but looking back now –"
"You'll find that many people are more than they appear," Dumbledore said sagely. "Especially those that you think you've understood. Now, a few words of advice: I would suggest silencing charms on your bed, in the case of any nightmares you may have, and any potential repeat of Tom's attacks on your mind. I'd also recommend scheduling a meeting with Professor Snape – not only is some swiftness advisable, but I do not believe that Professor Snape will set aside his grudges for very long."
Harry nodded, and stood up, sighing. "Between you, Professor Snape, and Mad-Eye, I feel like the whole world is revolving around me. I hardly feel capable of talking to you three on equal footing."
Dumbledore smiled happily, walking over to the many little devices Harry remembered smashing. Quite a few new ones had appeared since last June. "Not many people other than you and I can lay claim to fighting Lord Voldemort directly, Harry – and, indeed, multiple times. We both have experience fighting Death Eaters as well, and we've both survived every encounter. I hope that, in our future, we will also share the honour of defeating a Dark Lord."
Harry nodded as Dumbledore twirled on one of his many devices – it gave a whistle and a hiccup. "I don't feel like I'm up to the task, headmaster. I might be a decent enough sixth-year, but that doesn't seem like a very good foil for a powerful dark wizard."
"You were only a first-year when you first fought – and defeated – Tom." Dumbledore said simply. "And let's not forget you slew his basilisk at age twelve. I do believe you are underestimating yourself severely."
Harry, thinking back on his discussion at Privet Drive, figured there was a good test for this; casting wandlessly. He held up his hand and concentrated on the little device he just touched; he said "Accio." This was something, Dumbledore had admitted, he couldn't manage wandlessly.
The device flew up to his hand instantly. Dumb-struck, he turned it around in his hand, wondering just what it meant to be able to do that. Was he really talented? He didn't think so – his spells hadn't ever been particularly overpowered, and he'd usually taken longer to learn them than a good portion of students in his year. With a frown, he placed it back where it came from, and concentrated on the globe he'd often seen at the other end of the room. "Accio globe."'
With a rumble and a snap, the large globe came rolling at him. at the last moment Harry lowered his hand and it stopped against his feet with a dull thud: it had quite some weight behind it. After a moment he noticed that the metal surrounding it was bent – the globe had been stuck to a device, which he'd just ruined. Embarrassed, he turned to Dumbledore, who was looking at Harry with mirth in his eyes. "I'm afraid I ruined another one of your possessions," Harry tried apologetically.
"Nonsense, nonsense," Dumbledore said, as he quickly floated the globe to his old position. One Reparo later, the globe seemed good as new. "I believe that little demonstration should set your mind at ease. You have significant control already over your wandless magic – more so than most people I've known. You'll find that, with practice, you will be able to summon heavier objects – perhaps you'll even be able to summon that globe through the air as you did with my letter opener, instead of simply rolling it over to you. Admittedly, I'd hope you would loosen it first, lest you break it again."
Harry nodded, staring wonderingly at his hand. He'd have to go and test this sometime soon – maybe get the rest of the Ministry Six together and see if he could figure out how it worked, and if any of them could also manage it. "I suppose if I practice enough ..." he said lightly, then smirked. "I'm betting Fred and George would have a field day with wandless spells."
"I am sure they would," Dumbledore answered with a chuckle. "I can remember very well how I used to – well, I'm not one to brag."
On his way back to Gryffindor Tower – he'd used his invisibility cloak, as it was past curfew – he'd come across Filch and spent some minutes whispering under his breath, trying to get a mild itching curse to work wandlessly. When the caretaker eventually started trying to get to the middle of his back with his broom, he let out a small cry of excitement; the itch was fast forgotten, and Harry had to nearly sprint back to the Common Room – the Weasley twins would be proud, he was sure.
Hermione, unsurprisingly, was reading; Ron, unsurprisingly, was sleeping. They'd clearly been waiting in the Common Room for some time. There was nobody else left on the squishy chesterfields, and the curtains were closed. "Good evening," Harry whispered, as he slipped off his cloak. "What're you reading?"
Hermione looked up, unsurprised. "Dumbledore must've had quite a talk with you; you've been gone for nearly an hour," she raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You didn't go exploring with your cloak, did you?"
Harry laughed guiltily, nudged Ron awake, then launched into a brief summary of what he'd talked about. He left out some bits, – he figured neither Snape nor Dumbledore would've liked him to blabber about the whole meeting –ending with his itching spell on Filch, which earned him a stern glance, though it was quickly replaced by Hermione's usual scholarly curiosity.
"Could you summon the fire poker? It's not too heavy -"
Harry did so with a softly spoken "Accio poker," and found that his spell wasn't nearly as precise as his wand-casted one. He found himself, quite suddenly, completely covered in poker chips that had come sailing from a student's bag that had been forgotten next to the fireplace. "I think I'll have to work on that one."
Ron, still groggy, was trying to work a kink out of his neck. "Can we talk about this in the morning? I could use a good sleep."
Ron and Harry found Neville in their dormitory, tending to a few tiny plants arranged beside his bed. "They'll make it smell nice and fresh," he explained. "I got a few of them from Professor Sprout for helping her out last year. I even have some Flitterbloom and Dittany."
"That's nice, Neville," Ron commented sleepily, as he crawled into his bed.
"Night, Ron," Neville responded, winking at Harry. "Luna told me I should warn you about big cloaks. Not entirely sure what she meant, but there you have it."
Harry nodded uncertainly. The only image that came to mind was a vague outline of a chin surrounded by a long blue cloak, chuckling.
The dark haired man wasn't very fond of waiting, and tapped impatiently on his desk. "What's taking so long?" he asked the air. The response came from a blond woman did, who'd just stepped into the office from the long hallway.
"Stop your whining. He's probably stuck considering all his options. You know as well as I do that there have been times where the application procedure took months. There was that one time – "
"Yes, yes, I know my history," the man grunted, annoyed. "Seemed to me to be a shoe-in, that's all. Weirdness isn't so much ground for disqualification as it is for promotion."
"It's... complicated," the woman answered. "There are numerous sides to consider. We both know that if this got out, we'd have no chance of alliance any more. We'd be stuck."
She only got a grunt in response. After a moment, the woman continued: "Honestly, let the higher-ups decide. If they figure it's worth the risk, then who are we to disagree? Besides, you have enough work to do: there's a whole new group of D-class personnel coming in tomorrow."
"Freakin' zombies," the man muttered, glaring at the paperwork piling on his desk. "Very well, I think I can go without screaming in annoyance for a while longer."
The woman smirked and left the way she came – the rhythmic tapping of fingers on desk swiftly resumed.
Author's Note : Betaread by Helen Racine.
This is about where things get interesting. ^^