"—possible reason could he have for wanting to let you go?!" Harry could hear Padfoot perfectly but he was speaking so loudly that Harry was sure everyone else could hear him too; the library was filled with an uncomfortable silence, like no one wanted to speak or make any other sound lest they disturb the argument going on upstairs, but it also meant there was no possible way to ignore it.

"I don't know, Sirius!" Moony said, and Hermione twitched at the loudness. Dora, sitting across a chessboard from Ron, frowned. Harry could hear the muffled sound of footsteps; Moony was pacing.

"Did he say—"

"I've told you what he said!" Moony snapped.

"But it doesn't make sense!" Mrs Weasley chewed her lip, eyes on the ceiling.

"No," Moony said. "It doesn't—at all. I don't know why he decided to warn me—given his track record, I'd have assumed he'd be quite happy to sit by and let me die or even try to kill me himself—"

"So why didn't he?" Padfoot asked.

"I don't know," Moony said.

"We're on opposite sides," Padfoot said. Harry couldn't decide if he sounded more angry or desperate. "He's never— not for James, or Lil, or for me—"

"Don't feel I'm special," Moony said with an ugly laugh. "He made it perfectly clear he doesn't care about me and that I'm not important—"

"He must have been lying then," Padfoot said. "Why else would he save you?"

"He wasn't lying," Moony said. "I told you, he was right there—I could see him, and smell him. He meant it when he said—" Moony cut off with a growl: "Sirius I swear if you ask me why one more time I'm going to—"

Harry was already on his feet—had been since Padfoot said the words save you—and strode to the door with an awful, sick feeling in his stomach. Stella made a whinging sound and began to wriggle along the carpet toward him.

"Harry, dear…" Mrs Weasley began in a hushed voice, but Harry waved his hand at her and swung himself up onto the stairs.

"I don't understan—" Padfoot cut off, obviously hearing Harry, and a moment later his head poked out of Moony and Dora's room. "Harry." It was just a word but the look on his face made it a question. Harry's expression must have answered it; Padfoot swore under his breath. "Silencing charms." From inside the room, Moony sighed. "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it," Harry said, following Padfoot back in. "Which might not be unusual—" His mouth quirked up. "—except I wasn't the only one."

"It wasn't meant to be a loud conversation," Moony muttered; he had a pinched look on his face and looked as frustrated and defensive as the night Harry'd confronted him at the camp about Dora's pregnancy.

"You went for a chat with Peter without your wand," Padfoot muttered back. "You should have expected it might get loud—"

"I didn't have a choice," Moony snapped. "And even if I'd been able to take it, there's no guarantee it would have done me any good; if I recall correctly you went up against him with yours and still wound up in the Hospital Wing."

Padfoot opened his mouth but Harry beat him to it:

"Don't," he said, and Padfoot frowned, but then Moony let out a loud sigh.

"Sorry—that was unfair of me, Padfoot."

"You think so?"

A long look passed between them and Padfoot let out a matching sigh and shook his head. Harry glanced between them both and Padfoot reached out to run a hand through his hair.

"We'll quieten," he said. "Sorry." His expression changed slightly: "What?"

Harry hesitated; by giving voice to his idea he would make Moony aware of it and therefore make it even more likely or possible that his idea was right. But if he was right, and Wormtail already knew, then it didn't really matter if Moony was aware of it or not, except that he would need to know so that he could be on his guard for it. Harry swallowed:

"Could Wormtail have been trying for a life debt?"

Moony and Padfoot exchanged a much longer look and then Padfoot strode right out the door. Moony sank down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands; he smelled sick and like he was thinking hard. Harry wrapped his hand over his wrist, awkward.

"Where—"

"He'll be back," Moony sighed. He patted the bed beside him and Harry went to sit down. "I just realised I've not wished you a happy birthday, yet." Moony tried for a smile, but it was weak. Harry blinked at the reminder; between Moony's sudden arrival at his cottage and finding Blaise at Marlene's, Harry had quite forgotten.

"Thanks," he muttered. Moony pressed their shoulders together, and Harry offered him a small smile and leaned against him for a moment. "Is Matt okay?"

"Good as new," Moony said. "He'd be here except Ethan can't be, so Matt's going to be staying with him at my cottage for the next little while."

"Right. So—"

"—saves another and basically creates a favour between them," Padfoot was saying. His voice was low, likely so it wouldn't carry back to the others downstairs, and Dora, following in his wake, was nodding, a frown on her face and Stella in her arms.

"And you think that's what's happened?"

"I don't know," Padfoot said. He was holding a book that he flipped open before Harry could read the title, and started to leaf through it. Stella noticed Moony and reached for him, and Dora offered both Moony and Harry a tense smile.

"Moo," Stella said, patting Moony's face with her chubby hands as he took her from Dora.

"Dad," Moony said, gently catching her fingers. "Can you say 'dad'?"

"She can't say two of your names before she says one of mine," Padfoot said, pausing in his perusal of the book. Dora laughed, catching Harry's eye, and the bed dipped as she sat down on Moony's other side.

"Surely you'd rather be nameless than 'Silly' again," Moony said, with a sly look at Harry. Padfoot scowled good naturedly if a little distractedly; his eyes were back to skimming over the page and his scent was stressed. "Is Harry right?" Moony asked, tone grim rather than playful.

"There's no way to know for sure, unless we ask Peter or try to test whether there's a debt," Padfoot said, still reading, "but I think it's possible, yes." Moony tipped his head back, eyes shut. Stella patted his chin. "Ultimately, nothing happens if magic doesn't recognise it, but magic's likely to if three conditions are met…" Dora shifted, glancing between them, but neither Harry or Moony interrupted, and Padfoot continued, "The first is obvious—that one person saves the life of another."

"And does this count?" Moony asked the ceiling. "It's not likely I would have got away unscathed, but it's possible. There's no guarantee I would have died—"

"By the same logic Snape might not have died when James saved him from—" Padfoot cleared his throat. "I mean—"

"It's not the sore point it used to be," Moony said wryly. "You can say James saved Snape from me." Padfoot grunted. "I suppose you're suggesting I might just have bitten him—"

"Exactly," Padfoot said. "He could very well have survived; the moment you'd had him in your mouth you'd have realised how greasy he was and spat him out again." Harry let out a startled laugh, and even Moony looked amused, though only for a moment. "He might have lived."

"But I'd have destroyed his life," Moony said. "James saved him from that."

"Destroyed his life," Dora repeated under her breath, and then poked Moony in the side. "You of all people should know werewolves can live good lives." He smiled at her, a little crookedly and reached out to take her hand with the one that wasn't supporting Stella.

"I've been lucky," he said. A look passed between them, and Harry felt a bit like he was intruding on something private. He looked at Padfoot instead, and found Padfoot watching them fondly. "What's the second condition, Sirius?" Moony asked after a moment.

"It's got to be deliberate—not triggering the debt, but the act of saving someone." Padfoot glanced back down at his book. "One person has to take an action that deliberately and directly saves the other person's life from an immediate threat. Usually doing so comes at some risk to themself, but that's not a requirement..."

"Surely that's ambiguous here, though," Dora said. "Pettigrew just told Remus to leave, which meant he had time to save Matt and Runcorn, and meant he knew what he was running into, but—"

"Wormtail could have killed Moony himself, though," Harry said. "He chose not to."

"Apparently I'm not worth the bother," Moony said, a little sourly. He lowered a wriggling Stella onto the carpet, where she pushed herself up onto her elbows and stared at them all, seeming pleased with herself. "Meant it, too—"

Padfoot bared his teeth, but Harry shook his head:

"He probably did, but that doesn't mean Voldemort's not going to be angry that he let a member of the Order—two, if you count Matt, who wouldn't have been able to get away without you—go."

"Perhaps he agrees with Peter that I'm not enough of a threat to worry about," Moony said.

"He might," Harry said, shrugging. "But even if you're not a threat, he could make use of you. Keep you alive as bait, or torture you for information about me and the Order, or if he'd— if Wormtail had—" Harry looked down at his hands. "They might not think you matter, but we do. If they wanted to hurt us, they could do it through you."

Moony looked stricken, like he hadn't considered any of that. Harry supposed he hadn't; he and Padfoot had been more concerned with why Wormtail had let him go to think about what might have happened if he hadn't. Padfoot stared at Harry for several long moments, then gave a slow shake of his head.

"Cheery," Dora said, clearing her throat. "What's the third condition, Sirius?"

"One or both need to know about the debt," Harry said, before Padfoot could. Padfoot glanced at the page in front of him, mouth twisted, and gave a little nod.

"I see," Dora said, a little too calmly. "And I assume, then, that this is something we're looking into because you—" Her eyes were on Moony. "—realised it was a possibility and not because one of you two have brought it to his attention and therefore made it real?" Harry winced.

"Peter's familiar with life-debts," Padfoot said. "And he's had one used against him before—Harry made him confess at my trial." Dora turned curious eyes on Harry, though her hair was a sick-looking green with worry, and she had a white-knuckled grip on Moony's hand.

"I saved him from a kelpie when I was staying with the Malfoys," Harry said. "I didn't know it was him, though."

"But the magic still recognised it," Padfoot said. He shut the book and tossed it onto the bedside table. "What happened today meets the first two conditions, and even if Remus didn't know, I don't think we have a choice but to assume it would also have met the third. Now that he does know, it definitely does. There's no way to know if magic actually recognises it as a debt—"

"Dumbledore'll know," Moony said. Stella pulled herself along the carpet toward Harry and then clawed at his jeans. He reached for her hand with his and propped his stump against her side to lift her into a very wobbly standing position.

"Hopefully," Padfoot said. "We should certainly ask him, but unless he can be certain that it somehow wouldn't, we're going to have to assume—"

"—that it does," Moony finished.

"What sort of favour can be called in?" Dora asked, after a moment of unhappy silence.

"Anything," Padfoot said. "As far as I know, anyway, though there are limits. Harry making Peter confess used up their debt."

"So Peter could ask for anything and you'd have to…" Dora trailed off at the grim looks on their faces. "What if you didn't? What if you refused?"

"I don't think you can," Padfoot said, glancing briefly at Harry. "Maybe if someone asked more of you than the debt was worth, but otherwise… you saw Wormtail at my trial. It was like a compulsion."

"I'll have to leave," Moony said, expression and scent miserable.

"You've just come home," Dora said, looking heartbroken. It wasn't an argument, though. Harry was incredulous:

"What do you mean?" he asked, starting to straighten and then realised he couldn't without toppling Stella; she clutched at his arm to stay upright and he bent down again. "Why would you leave?"

"I can't be near the Order if there's that much potential for me to be a liability, Harry," Moony said. "It's not safe—"

"There it is," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes. His scent was not horrified or scared or sad, but rather exasperated. Harry was glad that he and Padfoot seemed to be on the same page. "It's been a while since Moony's tried to convince us all he's too dangerous to have around."

"We were probably due," Harry agreed, and Padfoot's mouth twitched.

"This isn't funny," Dora said, sounding upset. "Sirius—"

"No one's going into exile," Padfoot said firmly. "I'm not surprised that's where Moony's head's gone, but I'm surprised yours is there with him, Dora." He looked at Moony. "You'll stay here, like you have been anyway."

"And just… what?" Moony asked. "Try to be oblivious to everything the Order's doing, so I can't be used for information, or—"

"No," Padfoot said. "Peter might not think you're useful or important, but we do; we need you involved."

"That's not safe—"

"It'll be fine if you stay here," Padfoot said. He grimaced. "And I do mean stay here. Leaving is… probably not going to be an option for a while."

"Wormtail can't call in the debt if he can't get to you," Harry said. "And he won't be able to, not through the Fidelius." Moony blinked slowly.

"He'd be a prisoner," Dora said, chewing her lip.

"You think he'll be any better off if he leaves?" Padfoot asked. "On his own, and constantly looking over his shoulder?"

"I wasn't going to be working anyway," Moony said, to Dora, "not with you back at work." He gave Stella a meaningful look. He sounded like he was warming to the idea; he sounded relieved his scent was markedly calmer. "And even if I can't go out, it's not like there'll be any shortage of company."

"Full moons?" Dora asked.

"Will need some thought," Padfoot said after a moment of consideration. "Might need a Fidelius on the cottage, or we might just have to go to completely random places, where no one would know to look… Though, frankly, Peter'd be stupid to try it… It wouldn't be safe for him to come as a human, so he'd have to be there as a rat." Padfoot's smile was a little feral, and Moony's wasn't much better.

"He wouldn't need to be there in person, though, would he?" Harry said. "Couldn't he leave a note, or something? Somewhere you'd find it."

"Then I'll check wherever we go before Moony comes through," Padfoot said. "It's manageable."

"We'll talk to Dumbledore when he arrives," Moony said, nodding. He glanced down at his watch. "Which'll be soon, actually. We should probably head down."

Harry stood, helping Stella take a few wobbly steps before he bent and picked her up—she wailed a protest and then immediately reached for his glasses. He followed Padfoot to the door, only to almost walk into the back of him:

"Present!" he said.

"Oh!" Dora said.

Padfoot flicked his wand and Harry heard a quiet thump from upstairs as a wrapped gift about the size of a tissue box came soaring into the room. Padfoot caught it, and Moony plucked Stella from Harry's arms so his hand was free to take what Padfoot was offering him.

"Happy birthday," Padfoot said, and Dora grew a few inches so she could kiss Harry on the cheek.

"Thanks." They hadn't wrapped it with a ribbon, thankfully, so Harry was able to hold it in the crook of his left arm and unstick the sellotape.

It was a wooden box - plain, but clearly well-made - and lighter than Harry thought it should have been, given how solid the wood felt.

Curious, he unlatched it and opened it. Within was smooth wood, with a leather handle.

"You might want to put it down before you pull that open," Moony said. "It's bigger than it looks."

Padfoot flopped down onto the floor as Harry knelt, and Moony crouched, setting Stella on her feet but keeping a grip on her hands that was likely as much to keep her upright as it was to keep her from going to investigate.

Harry tugged on the leather strap, and from the box emerged a compartment that was at least a foot tall, and had two more straps affixed to the front, like door handles.

He pulled those and then watched incredulously as the two halves slid out like drawers and then open like the doors of a wardrobe to reveal storage system about two feet wide.

The right side of the little cabinet held phials and bottles; poking through them revealed dittany, murtlap essence, Anti Aches and Stomach Settlers, and even a Blood-Replenisher and some Pain-Potions. Below that were little pots of what looked like salves and creams and ointments.

The right side was taken up mostly by three books - The Healer's Helper, The Healer's Apothecary, and Human Anatomy - but also held an assortment of dried herbs and other ingredients, and various spoons and flasks for measuring.

"It's a healing kit," Harry said, a bit dumbly.

"Thought it was about time you had your own," Padfoot said. "Obviously I'm never far off, and at school neither's Pomfrey, but you were learning some spells and things last year, so we figured…"

"It's a very practical gift," Moony said, a bit apologetically.

"It's brilliant," Harry said, poking through the phials. Obviously the coming year at Hogwarts would be different without the Tournament, but he imagined they'd still use the Room to practice new spells… Harry certainly would, anyway. With Voldemort back, he couldn't afford not to, and there were always accidents when they practiced spellwork; that's why he'd started to dabble in healing in the first place.

From downstairs, there came a knock on the door; Harry, Moony, and Padfoot swivelled towards it, while Dora looked blank and Stella continued to strain towards Harry's present and all the things inside it.

"Absolutely not!" came Mrs Weasley's loud declaration.

"Watch your hand," Padfoot said, drawing his wand. Very clearly, he said, "Claudo."

Harry's kit closed in on itself, then slid back down into the box and the lid snapped shut over the top. Padfoot scooped it up and offered it to Harry.

"You're underage!" Mrs Weasley's voice carried up to them again.

"You'd think they'd have learned by now," Moony said, sounding decidedly amused, as he helped Stella toddle towards the door.

"Got to admire the fighting spirit," Padfoot said, with a bark of laughter, "even if it's an impossible battle."

"It's not," Harry said. "Hermione figured out how the Fidelius charm works."

"Ah," Padfoot said and winced.

They arrived downstairs to find Mrs Weasley near tears. Harry couldn't tell if they were from worry or anger or both:

"...doing it because we don't think you can handle it, we're doing it because we don't want you to have to! We're trying to protect you— Your father and I put you down as— as honorary members, to protect you, not to bring you into the fight—"

"We're already in the fight, Mum," Ron said. Beside him, Ginny folded her arms and Hermione chewed her lip. "Have been for years. You let us go into the tasks with Harry last year—"

"That was different," Mr Weasley said, placing his hands on Mrs Weasley's shoulders.

"How? Harry was involved, so we got involved too, to help him—"

"If Harry needs your help and you're the only one who can provide it, then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Mrs Weasley said. "But until then, Harry has the entire Order at his disposal for help—"

"But Harry gets to—"

"What Harry does is up to Sirius." She noticed him, Padfoot, Moony, Dora and Stella on the stairs. Moony excused himself, murmuring about Dumbledore and debts, Dora on his heels. "As my children—"

"I'm not," Hermione said, rather carefully.

"No, but your parents aren't here," Mrs Weasley said, "and so someone's got to be responsible for you. If you don't want that to be me, then you can take it up with Sirius, but I know he doesn't like the idea any more than I do. If he did, you'd be in already."

"And if I could keep Harry out, I would," Padfoot said. Harry scowled at him, but Padfoot just ran a hand through his hair.

"The meetings are information that we have access to anyway," Hermione said reasonably.

"Then there's no need for you to be in them," Padfoot said, arching an eyebrow at her. Mr Weasley hid a smile. She scowled at him.

"You can't keep us out if it, Mum," Ginny said.

"Watch me," Mrs Weasley snapped, wiping her face.

"The Fidelius—"

Mrs Weasley drew herself up: "I don't care if there's a piece of paper somewhere with your names on it. It doesn't mean—"

"Take us off, then," Ron said. The hallway went silent. "If it doesn't matter, take us off—"

"Maybe I will," Mrs Weasley said. "I'll take you off it, and then we'll go back to the Burrow for the rest of the summer and spend it under our own Fidelius charm." Something in Harry's chest tightened at the thought, and Padfoot put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't think I wouldn't, Ronald Bilius—"

"Mum!" Ginny said.

"Molly," Mr Weasley said, shaking his head. Mrs Weasley's lip trembled and he put a hand on her back. "How about we give you a choice?"

"What choice?" Hermione asked curiously.

"As honorary members it would make sense that you'd be involved in some of the Order's activities. But not all. So, you can decide whether you'd like to join our meetings, or you can opt to join our trainings." A silent conversation passed between Mr and Mrs Weasley, and then Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, folded her arms, and nodded.

"Trainings," Ginny said immediately. Mr Weasley's mouth twitched, ever so slightly.

"Until when?" Hermione asked. "Until we're of age, or—"

"Until the Christmas holidays, let's say," Mr Weasley said. "And then we can look at everything again."

"Trainings too, then," Hermione said.

"Meetings," Ron said, and Harry wasn't the only one taken aback by that; the Weasleys, Hermione, and Ginny both stared at Ron, and Harry could smell Padfoot's surprise and curiosity. Mr Weasley was the first to recover:

"You're sure, Ron? You've been wanting to train all summer."

"I'm sure," Ron said, and sounded it. Hermione looked like she was trying to ask him a million questions with her eyes alone, and when Ron didn't acknowledge that, turned to Harry instead. He shrugged and shook his head.

"All right," Mr Weasley said. "All right. Girls, we'll see you after the meeting."

"Sure," Ginny said. "The meeting clashes with the honorary Order members' training session anyway." She grinned and towed an amused looking Hermione toward the kitchen—Harry supposed that was the next best space since they'd be using the meeting room. Mrs Weasley opened her mouth, but Mr Weasley put a hand on her shoulder and she sighed and rounded on Ron:

"If you put even a toe out of line in there you will not be invited again, choice or not."

Ron looked like he wanted to say something in response to that, but decided against it—wisely, in Harry's opinion.

"Sirius, a moment?" Dumbledore asked, as everyone got to their feet. "Harry too."

Sirius watched Harry drift away from Ron and the twins, a curious look on his face. Dumbledore offered him a small smile, but said nothing until Arabella Figg had shuffled out. He flicked his wand to close the door and silence the room, and then sat again, gesturing for Sirius and Harry to sit.

"I'll not take too much of your evening here," Dumbledore said. "I understand there are birthday celebrations to be had—" Harry nodded a bit awkwardly. "—and then, if we have time, I'd rather like the chance to sit with you and Bill and hear your theories about parseltongue-based runes and the Mark." Harry shifted his arm in his lap, nodding again.

Dumbledore smoothed down his beard, and then reached into the pocket of his robes.

"For you," he said, offering an envelope to Harry. "From Cornelius Fudge."

"What does Fudge want with Harry?" Sirius asked.

Dumbledore's mouth turned down, but he said nothing. Harry struggled with the envelope, scent embarrassed and a bit frustrated, and then set it between his knees, drew his wand, and sliced it open. He unfolded the letter, eyes flicking back and forward behind his glasses, and Sirius resisted the urge to lean over and read over his shoulder.

"He wants to meet me," Harry said. It was a statement, but there was a question in his eyes as he looked at Dumbledore. "For information?" He held the letter out to Sirius, who took it:

To Mr Harry Potter,

I hope you're keeping well, and are enjoying your school holidays.

As you're no doubt aware, the Ministry has taken to heart your warning about You Know Who's return and been doing what we can to protect the wizarding world. Recently, however, I have become aware of the existence of information that I believe will be crucial to the Ministry's efforts to prevail, and understand you can provide it.

I therefore invite you to join me at the Ministry for a discussion on the twelfth of August. It needn't take too long, but I'm sure it will be incredibly beneficial to us both.

Cordially yours,

Cornelius Oswald Fudge

Minister for Magic

Sirius dropped the letter onto the table, lip curled:

"That'll be him wanting your version of the night of the fourth task," Sirius said darkly.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said. "Cornelius has discovered the prophecy." Harry stilled. "Not its contents," Dumbledore continued, "but its existence. Though clearly he intends to rectify that by meeting with you, Harry."

"He wants Harry to tell him the prophecy?" Sirius asked.

"No," Dumbledore said. "I don't imagine it will have occurred to him that Harry might know it. I expect he thinks I've kept that information to myself, and under other circumstances he'd be right; certainly I would not have told you about it as early as Sirius chose to." Dumbledore glanced between Sirius and Harry and smiled slightly; Sirius looked at Harry and realised they wore matching scowls. He smiled a bit, despite himself.

"How does he know you know?" Harry asked.

"My initials are on the prophecy label," Dumbledore said, "alongside those of the seer who made it, your name, and Voldemort's title."

"Does he not want to ask you about it?" Sirius asked. "Surely if he knows you know…"

"Oh, he asked," Dumbledore said. "And I, of course, I refused to tell him its contents, or reveal the seer who made it." His eyes flashed. "I told you at your first Order meeting, Harry, that I have no desire to see you pressured into fulfilling the prophecy, nor blamed for not fulfilling it. That is more true now than ever."

"Bet Fudge liked that," Sirius said.

"Not at all," Dumbledore said. "In fact, he threatened me with charges of treason, and stripped me of the title Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and of my Order of Merlin." Harry looked stricken and Dumbledore gave him a tired smile. "Thankfully Cornelius has just enough sense to not to publicise the existence of the prophecy, or our ties to it, Harry," Dumbledore said. "The official story—likely released tomorrow—is that I've relinquished those titles myself to step back and focus on Hogwarts."

"I suppose that's something," Sirius said. "Still rubbish, obviously, but I wouldn't have put it past him to try to remove you as Headmaster—"

"That too, is in motion," Dumbledore said heavily. Sirius rubbed a hand over his face. "Cornelius' concerns about my increasing anti-Ministry sentiment and senility have seen the Board of Governors agree to place a Ministry-sanctioned teacher on Hogwarts' staff to ensure a high standard of education continues to be provided at Hogwarts. I daresay it will not take her more than a few months to find me lacking and call for my removal."

"Who is it?" Sirius asked.

"Dolores Umbridge," Dumbledore said. Harry made a noise of protest and Sirius curled his lip.

"I'll be lucky to last a month," Sirius said grimly. "She's got it out for me, has since—"

"Actually," Dumbledore said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Dolores Umbridge won't be your problem at all." Sirius looked at him incredulously, then put the pieces together.

"No," he said, as Harry looked between them.

"With Lord Voldemort returned, the Ministry needs its Aurors available," Dumbledore said, "not teaching counter curses to twelve year olds. At least, that's what Lucius Malfoy said, when they were deciding which role Dolores would take."