Penumbra I: Falls the Shadow

by Skaldic Oresteia

Post-HBP. As Harry disappears on the Horcrux hunt, Ginny is left behind to find her own path in the war against Voldemort. On separate paths, Harry finds an unexpected ally, while Ginny faces repercussions for helping him leave. Meanwhile, the Wizarding World faces an increasingly bleak future as Voldemort unleashes a darker and deadlier power than anyone could have ever imagined.

11. 9: Unbreakable Vow

A/N: Apologies for the late update. My next update might be a tad late too, owing to both work and the coming Christmas holidays, but I don't think it will be very late. I hope to at least post the next chapter by Christmas.

Chapter Nine
Unbreakable Vow

"The lesson in caution has been well learned. But caution is one thing and wavering is another."
—J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Fellowship of the Ring"

"You thought, as a boy, that a mage is one who can do anything. So I thought, once. So did we all. And the truth is that as a man's real power grows and his knowledge widens, ever the way he can follow grows narrower: until at last he chooses nothing, but does only and wholly what he must do…."
—Ursula K. LeGuin, "A Wizard of Earthsea"

---

Working for Fred and George was every bit as fun as promised. While Ginny still harboured dreams of playing Quidditch professionally, however, she found that she wouldn't have minded working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for the rest of her life either. Though the shop generally wasn't as packed as it had been that first time she had visited the year before, Ginny found that she thoroughly enjoyed telling visitors about her brothers' products, and enjoyed learning about them even more. In her first few days at the shop the twins took it in turn between helping out the customers and training Ginny, but having grown up with them, and already being familiar with many of their products, she learned quickly.

It was an additional plus that a number of the customers were eager to talk to her her simply for being related to Fred and George, sometimes talking nonstop about how brilliant and funny they were. Ginny would regale these customers with light-hearted tales about the twins when they were children (Fred and George themselves sometimes contributing to these stories, though greatly exaggerating their own antics). Occasionally she even saw a few familiar faces in the shop. Lee Jordan was a frequent visitor, and she'd seen Angelina Johnson a couple of times, as well as Jimmy Peakes and Demelza Robbins from the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and Hannah Abbott. Assuming the idea actually came into fruition, all of these were people Ginny thought approachable for the new D.A., either because they'd been a part of it before, or because of their anger and vindictiveness about the Death Eaters. Jimmy and Demelza had been very shaken about Ritchie Coote's death, and both had talked about joining the new Advanced Training program that the Ministry was offering, once they came of age. Ginny had yet, however, to really start working on rebuilding the D.A., although she knew that Tonks would probably do all she could to persuade Kingsley to give it a shot. It was on her fifth day working there that she and Tonks finally found a time to discuss it, and therefore made arrangements for a meeting during Ginny's lunch break. As a result, for the first time since she was hired, Ginny had spent her shift impatiently looking at the clock, anxious to meet up with Tonks.

She also encountered a problem that neither she nor the twins had anticipated.

It was a slower morning than usual, so she didn't have much to occupy her until nearly an hour before her lunch break. A few customers approached her, including a girl Ginny vaguely recognised as a Gryffindor fourth year. The two foremost customers asked Ginny where they might find the twins' fake wands, and Ginny showed them to the display. Once she finished explaining that the fake wands could be custom-made to resemble one's real wand, the customers asked what life was like growing up with the twins. She quite happily answered, the customers chuckled and thanked her for her help, and they moved off to make their purchases. Ginny then turned to the younger girl, who had been hovering nearby, looking impatient. "Sorry that took so long. So, what can I help you with?" she asked.

The girl didn't answer immediately, instead giving her an oddly appraising look, which made Ginny suddenly wary. "You're Ginny Weasley, right?" she asked.

It wasn't "Are you related to the Weasleys?" or "You're their sister, right?", but who sheherself was. Ginny suddenly recognised the girl as part of Romilda Vane's school clique, and in a warning voice, she said, "Yeah. Why?"

She braced herself, and sure enough—

"Aren't you going out with Harry Potter?" the girl loudly demanded.

Ginny cringed inwardly as, unsurprisingly, everyone within earshot, unfortunately all in the shop, thanks to it being less densely crowded and noisy than usual, stopped and stared at her. Ginny's jaw tightened angrily, repressing a sudden urge to hex the girl, who stared back unrepentantly, waiting for an answer which Ginny wasn't inclined to give. The very last thing she wanted to do was publicly draw attention to herself and her past relationship with Harry, but she had no idea how to respond without doing so. Hoping he'd intervene, she glanced at George, who had looked up from the opposite end of the shop.

"Hey, Ginny!" a new, far more welcome voice suddenly interrupted. "How much are these Muggle card tricks?"

"Neville!" Ginny exclaimed, relieved. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George hurry over and take the girl aside, asking if she'd seen their new Wonder Witch products.

"Hi," Neville said, smiling cheerfully. "I ran into Angelina a couple of days ago, and she said you'd started work here. Came by to see if Fred had turned you into a giant yellow bird yet."

Ginny grinned, remembering back in her third year, when Fred had tricked Neville into eating a Canary Cream. "He wouldn't dare. I can now use my wand outside of school."

Neville laughed. "How's your summer going?"

"Eventful. My brother Bill got married."

"I know. I saw an announcement in the paper. I'm actually surprised there wasn't more fuss over it, given that he married one of the Triwizard Champions."

As he continued in his conversational tone, Ginny glanced around. The customers had mostly returned their attention to the products, although she thought she saw one or two throwing her curious looks.

"Thank you for that," Ginny said in a low voice. "I wasn't sure what to do."

"Aside from jinxing her?" Neville shook his head. "It was the least I could do. I'm actually a bit surprised that Witch Weeklydidn't do a big article about you, like they did Hermione back in fourth year, and thatwas mostly made up."

She winced at the thought as she led Neville to her normal spot at the cash register. "Thank God they didn't. I could have handled it, but it would have made Harry unhappy, and probably would have put me under the Ministry's scrutiny. Besides, I really don't fancy being sent Bubotuber pus in the mail."

"I'd forgotten about that," Neville said reminiscently.

Ginny sighed. "Anyway, I don't want to draw even more attention now that things have changed, and I didn't know how to respond to her without doing so."

Neville looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, things have changed? Did you two split up?"

Ginny glanced around again. "Yes and no," she admitted. "But I'm not sure I can explain"—

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry"—

"No," Ginny cut him off, "I'm not sure I can explain it here." She glanced at the customers again, and swore under her breath. "Idiot girl. People are still looking at me." She then looked back at Neville. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you, because I've got something to discuss with you. But not here." In a very quiet voice, so that Neville had to bend closer to hear her, she muttered, "There's a Muggle café just down the street from the Leaky Cauldron, the Table Café. I can meet you there tomorrow at about noon. Will you be there?"

Neville shrugged. "It's not like I really have anywhere to go these days."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Neville nodded and moved away. As soon as he was out the door, George joined Ginny at the cash register. She looked around for the girl who'd accosted her, but she was gone, and to her relief, the customers all appeared to have lost interest and had returned to their shopping.

"Little twit didn't actually have any questions about the merchandise," George muttered irritably. "Sorry she went at you like that."

"I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised by it," Ginny said quietly. "Harry and I didn't exactly try to hide it."

"Did that happen a lot when you two…?" George's voice trailed away, but he looked curious.

"Yeah, but once I got over my annoyance, I thought it was a laugh." She smirked as she remembered telling Vane about Harry's non-existent dragon tattoo. "It was so ridiculously easy to bait them. And Harry was used to it. But now…" She shrugged helplessly.

George looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then unexpectedly took her by the arm. "Come here. I want to show you something."

He led her towards the stockroom and shouted towards their office for Fred to take over for a few minutes. Ginny, who by this time was very familiar with the twins' merchandise, wondered what else he was going to show her, but rather than show her anything in the stockroom or leading her to the basement, he led her up the stairs into their flat, and to a room where she knew they kept prototypes.

As he closed the door behind them, George said conversationally, "I gather you've already got Neville on the scheme."

"I haven't told him what it's about yet," Ginny said, watching him pull a key ring from his pocket and cross the room to a large cabinet in the corner. "Just to meet me at that café near the Leaky Cauldron. Muggle London's a bit more secure than anywhere in Diagon Alley, seeing as you haven't finished setting up that bloody connecting passage yet."

"I know, I know," George said airily, going through his key ring. "Bill's working on it. We'll let you know when it's ready. Hopefully tomorrow or the day after."

Choosing a little brass key, he quickly unlocked the cabinet and pulled its doors open, before beckoning for Ginny to have a look with a dramatic flourish. She stepped forward curiously, and looked into the cabinet. It was a large collection of the hair clips, barrettes, and pins that she'd seen Fred looking at the day before. Under any other circumstances, she'd question why her brother was showing her hair stuff, but she knew Fred and George quite well.

"So what happens if I put any of those in my hair?" she asked.

"Why don't you try one on and find out? I promise it won't do anything to make you hex me."

Ginny was still watching George, particularly his carefully-neutral expression, with slight suspicion as she picked up a little sparkly blue clip from the shelf, carefully inserted it into her hair, and waited for something to happen. However, after a few seconds in which she didn't feel even slightly different, she looked at George questioningly, and realised he was looking at her appreciatively.

"Wow," he said. "Good thing you didn't look like that at Hogwarts, or you never would've got rid of Dean. You look a bit like Fleur, actually."

Ginny stared at him incredulously (and in slight horror). Chuckling, George pointed at a mirror on the opposite wall. Ginny turned, and to her surprise she saw a heavily made up girl with blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, instead of her normal reflection. Reaching into her hair, Ginny removed the hair clip, and her reflection instantly reverted back to its normal appearance.

"Instant disguises," George told her. "We invented them for the Order. I'm probably not supposed to show you these, actually, but I think you'll find them useful, under the circumstances. The women use hair stuff, the men rings and wristwatches. You know, everyday stuff that you probably wouldn't be asked to take off in a security check, but stuff you could put on or take off quickly if you need to. This way, if anyone causes you trouble again, or if you see anyone from school you think would, you could just slip into the back, put one on, and come out a different person. We could easily make it look like we have two shop assistants that work at different times."

"Brilliant!" Ginny looked admiringly at the other disguise clips, and picked up another.

"We've got all sorts of different looks in there," George said, "so why don't you try out a few until you find one you like? I'll head back downstairs. It doesn't sound like anyone's blown up the place yet."

He left, and Ginny looked back at into the cabinet. She then put the second pin in her hair, and looked in the mirror, and saw a girl with brown hair, olive skin, and hazel eyes. She then chose another. Trying them on was an odd experience, seeing herself with completely different looks, although she quickly noticed that most of them were only thin disguises. They changed her hair colour and texture, and her eye colour, how old she looked, her complexion, and how much makeup she was wearing; some even gave her a perfumed scent. But her face remained mostly the same shape, and her body weight and build also remained the same. In order to really hide who she was, she probably would have to pick something really striking.

Ten minutes later, after seeing herself with nearly every look she could have imagined possible, her eyes finally fell on a pitch-dark hair clip, and she wearily put it on, and looked into the mirror. She stepped back in surprise. The girl in the mirror had tanner skin, heavy black eye-shadow, gray eyes, and jet-black, curled hair. She could see that her face still had the same shape, but other than that, what she saw in the mirror looked nothing like her.

"How's it going Gin—bloody hell!" Fred had passed in the doorway, and had visibly jumped at the sight of her. "Blimey, Ginny! I mean, George told me you were up here trying those out, but blimey! I nearly hexed you."

"You should thank God you didn't, or I would have hexed you right back," Ginny said in amusement, still staring at her reflection. "But yeah. I look all…." But she couldn't quite think of a word to adequately describe the look.

Fred grinned. "You should wear your dragon-hide jacket and some leather along with it. You'd look like a rock star."

"I'm surprised you know what a rock star is," Ginny laughed.

"Why wouldn't I? Not like I don't go exploring Muggle London every now and then." He then looked at her curiously. "You like that one, then?"

Ginny nodded. "It's so beautifully not me, which is kind of the point, isn't it?"

So it was, and it worked perfectly. Ginny wore her new disguise for the remainder of her shift, and though she spotted a couple of familiar faces from Hogwarts, no one seemed to recognise her. They were able to continue business as usual, except without the attention that came with being Fred and George's sister. Once her lunch break started, Ginny put on her dragon-hide jacket, still disguised, and left the shop to head for the Table Café, where she and Tonks had agreed to meet up. A short walk later, as Ginny stepped into the comfortable establishment, she spotted the Auror seated with Remus, both clad in Muggle outfits, in a corner table. Ginny immediately made her way over, and drew up a chair without greeting.

Remus visibly started at the sight of her, but Tonks gave her an approving grin. "I take it Fred and George showed you their disguise sets. I might just steal that look. Easily done, since I don't need the hair clip."

"Well, it's good to know I can look you up in case I ever decide to skive off work," Ginny countered. "The twins are going to pretend I'm a shop assistant called Gwen Jones when I'm wearing it."

"Gwen Jones?" Tonks repeated, sounding disappointed at the ordinariness of the name. "So what prompted all this?"

Ginny cautiously drew her wand and pointed it at the rest of the café from under the table ("Muffliato!"), and then proceeded to tell them about the girl in the shop, the attention her questions drew, and the concern that it would happen again. Remus and Tonks were both frowning by the time she finished.

"Yeah, that's a problem," Tonks said thoughtfully. "You know, for all that bullocks about splitting up to protect you, Harry didn't really think about how public he was about dating you. Probably the first thing Malfoy or Snape did after they ran off was tell You-Know-Who."

Feeling rather vindicated, Ginny muttered, "I was thinking exactly the same thing."

"I understand where he's coming from, though," Remus said softly.

Tonks shot him a dirty look. "For God's sake, that's because you were full of the same codswallop for all of last year. What is it with you Gryffindor men and your nobility complexes?"

Remus chose not to answer, though he had the decency to look sheepish.

"Comes with the package, I guess," Ginny said. "They probably wouldn't be Gryffindors otherwise. Anyway, I assume you wanted to talk about the 'great idea' as Fred described it."

Tonks's earlier frown returned, and with an air of resignation, she said, "All right. What did they add to my plan?"

Ginny proceeded to tell her and Remus everything the twins had suggested. During the next couple of minutes, neither of them interrupted, but Ginny felt increasingly disheartened at their expressions, the longer she went on. Tonks's eyebrow got higher and higher, and Ginny knew she was sceptical but possibly would be more open to the idea. Remus, however, was frowning.

"I know it sounds mad," Ginny finished awkwardly. "But it's the best idea we've got."

"How very like Fred and George," Tonks said dispassionately. "I'm starting to think I'll rue the day I let them in on this."

"They were in on it before you were," Ginny reminded her. She was slightly disappointed. "So I gather you don't think it's a good idea."

Tonks glanced at Remus. "I suppose it's got potential. But not everyone in the Order will think so, and even I think it will take really careful planning and a lot of oversight. This isn't something the Auror office would ever do, I can tell you. At least not without very heavy background checks."

"You have to admit, though, it would be a good way to filter out those who aren't ready to fight."

"How many of the old D.A. are of age now?" asked Remus.

"About half, or two-thirds, I think."

"And how many of them do you think would willingly involve themselves in the actual war, even if they don't fully know what they're doing or what's going on?"

"No junior Auror knows everything their supervisors or the Ministry know," Tonks said unconcernedly.

But Ginny had an answer for Remus. "I don't know. But that's the whole point of this. Most of the old D.A. have training but no actual experience fighting, and experience is important. Harry's damn good, and the reason he's damn good is that he has actually fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But besides them, the only other D.A. members who ever actually went up against Death Eaters were me, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna. And Fred and George, I guess."

"And the ones who survived Death Eater attacks this past month," Tonks reminded her.

"But only about half of them made it out alive," Ginny said sadly.

"Two out of three, actually," Tonks corrected. "Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were in the D.A., right? You lost Justin, but the other two survived. Given that they were taken by surprise, the fact that they survived speaks volumes about Harry's training."

Somewhat cheered, Ginny said thoughtfully, "And they are loyal to Harry and to the rest of the group. They've been known to protect him and others at school if the Slytherins got too malicious."

Remus rubbed his forehead, obviously thinking about all this. "How about this? We don't involve them in the Order at all until you think they have sufficient training, and not until they're seventeen. Nobody is allowed to join the D.A. who is younger than sixteen, with the exception of any who were already in the D.A."

Ginny nodded acceptingly. "That sounds reasonable."

Remus looked pleased that she was fine with these stipulations. "If you're serious about this, Ginny, then I also think you should run the D.A. more surreptitiously than Harry did."

"Harry wasn't exactly public about it," Ginny said defensively.

"No, but from what Kingsley told me, Harry didn't really count on anyone betraying the D.A. when he and Hermione first started it," Remus pointed out. "He's always had that problem. He either thoroughly distrusts someone, or he trusts them completely, and in this case it completely backfired. Sure, that girl got badly jinxed for blabbing, but the damage had been done. The whole group was caught, not just Harry." He leaned forward and looked at Ginny very seriously. "You can't afford that risk. This isn't a matter of detention or expulsion from Hogwarts anymore. If the same thing were to happen to your new D.A., they could all end up dead."

Ginny was quiet. Truth be told, she had no response for this. She could tell that Remus was thinking about Peter Pettigrew, and his betrayal of the Potters to Voldemort. He had learned the hard way to be cautious with trust and—the memory of a ruined diary and splattered ink, the smell of blood, and the sound of dripping water came to mind—Ginny found that she thoroughly agreed with him. They had both learned the hard way.

"So what do you suggest?" asked Tonks. "You won't get many recruits if you make them sign a contract with an Unbreakable Vow or something of that sort."

"That's not exactly what I meant, although I bet Mad-Eye would have insisted on it," Remus interrupted. "And if things get really serious, we might have no choice. What I meant was that you'll need a Fidelius Charm, for a start, and I think you should restructure the D.A. to make it less knowable, even to its own members. It would be hard to betray the entire D.A. to Death Eaters if you don't know who's in charge of an operation, or who's leading, or who else is in it. Know what I mean?"

"But anyone in the old D.A. will know who was in it, even if I do restructure it like that," Ginny said, confused. "And anyway, how am I supposed to run an organisation where nobody knows who does what?"

"The Fidelius Charm could easily protect the names of the old D.A., with you or one of the twins as Secret Keeper," Remus said. "That way it would be impossible for any of them to betray their comrades."

"And the second problem?" asked Tonks, frowning. "She's got a point, Remus. You need communication in a group like this."

"I've had an idea about that. When Albus's letter said that the Order needed structural reform, I thought of this as a potential measure, but the problem is that we're too well known to the Death Eaters and to each other." Remus threw Ginny a sidelong glance. "But once we start bringing in new people, it could work."

"It sounds brilliant," Tonks said impatiently. "What is it?"

"In a sort of pyramid structure, with Ginny at the top of the pyramid, we'd have senior members of the D.A., probably from the old organisation, in contact with new recruits in groups of two or three, who they train in offensive and defensive magic," Remus explained. "The most senior members would meet up with Ginny regularly, but those in their charge would never be in contact with anyone outside their assigned group, and thus never know who else is involved. That way, if the Death Eaters ever captured or tortured anyone from the D.A., they wouldn't be able to betray more than a couple of people. If you have a warning system of some kind, like an enchantment on those coins you've got, their contacts could be warned and go into hiding while the rest of us set up a rescue effort."

"This seems really… complicated," Ginny said uneasily.

"We can iron it out if the Order approves of it," Remus assured her. "I'm sure Kingsley and Minerva and Aberforth would have some ideas. Anyway, in the Muggle world, lots of underground movements are organised in separate cells like this, but still function quite well. It's hardly impossible."

"Question," Tonks said suddenly. "We're counting on them trusting Ginny on account of her being Harry Potter's girl—don't look at me like that, Ginny, you and I both know it's true—so won't the new recruits have to know, or at least suspect, that Ginny will be leading it?"

"It might be beneficial for you to encourage that as a rumour, but not confirm it at first," Remus answered, with a somewhat mischievous look in his eye that reminded Ginny of Sirius.

"But that would mean she can't be Secret Keeper, because that would make her the obvious choice, especially if we encourage that rumour, and the Secret Keeper's identity can't be compromised, for any reason. Besides, if the Death Eaters or anyone else trying to disband the Order found out about the new D.A., they'd likely target Harry's closest friends for information, and Ginny's probably one of the first people they'd go for."

"Right, good point." Remus looked at Ginny contemplatively. "In that case, you'll have to find someone you trust completely, to be Secret Keeper. Not the twins, because they're too obvious. Same with Neville and Luna, since they were with you and Harry at the Department of Mysteries."

Ginny sighed. "Well, I'll have to give that some thought."

"Good." Remus leaned back in his chair. "Now you said that there's another part of this 'great idea'."

"Yeah, that." Ginny took a deep breath. "Fred and George think I ought to be inducted into the Order early, for any of this to really work."

She wasn't quite as nervous about their response as she had been about the twins' ideas for the D.A., but even so, she braced herself a little. Remus and Tonks were quiet for a couple of minutes, and just when Ginny was about to retract the idea, Tonks said slowly, "Well, normally the Order is restricted to people who have finished school. Except now we'll have to change that policy anyway, given that nobody's going to school at the present time."

"Yes, but it probably will simply remain restricted to people who are of age," said Remus. His frown had returned, and Ginny remembered how he had flatly squashed Harry's hopes of joining when he was fifteen.

Tonks had seen Remus's expression as well, and she argued, "I don't think there's any reason to keep Ginny from joining now, rather than wait until she turns seventeen next year. She's a Weasley, she's close to Harry Potter, and for those two reasons alone, she's in just as much danger as any of the rest of the Order. She lives at headquarters, and even if we bar her from meetings, I bet Fred and George tell her everything anyway."

This wasn't true, strictly speaking; Fred and George only told Ginny the things which they felt were silly to keep secret, but Ginny wasn't about to tell Remus and Tonks that, if it lay in her favour. She therefore let Tonks continue without interruption, "She knows how to fight and defend herself. I mean, she's faced fully-trained Death Eaters, what, three times now?"

She beamed at Ginny as she spoke. The corners of Remus's mouth twitched, but he continued to look somewhat indecisive. After a moment's thought, he finally told Ginny, "If Kingsley and Aberforth are willing to let you join"—

"Aberforth will be," Tonks cut in.

"…then I will be too," Remus continued, ignoring her. "But we must run it by them first."

"Fair enough," Ginny said, knowing that it was the best she'd get for that day.

Tonks waved her wand under the table, negating the Muffliato charm, and then stood to wave a waiter over. "Well, let's not just sit here chin-wagging," she exclaimed. "I'm starving."

---

In the time since hearing Grobschmied's story, Harry had spent a lot of time contemplating everything he had learned, though he, Ron, and Hermione hadn't really discussed it among themselves; perhaps they'd all found it a lot to take in. Harry hadn't fully trusted Grobschmied or Grimrook before, but at the same time, his gut instincts were telling him that at least their story could be believed, extraordinary as it was. However, he wasn't fully at ease giving his trust to the two goblins so easily. In the meantime, his recovery seemed to proceed very smoothly, and fortunately there had been no complications. Harry found that he was able to get up and walk around the upper floor with minimal assistance, usually only needing someone nearby to steady him when he was getting up or sitting down. Bending over made him light-headed, and he was hardly capable of running or heavy labour. As he discovered, getting dressed without passing out from dizziness was also tricky. Still, on the fourth day, Cecilia and Feidlenid began to encourage him to go outside for the first time.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all very aware that to move past the perimeter of the Grimrooks' brick fence would be to risk exposure by anyone in the nearby village who happened to be wandering through the woods. So far nobody from Aelyn Dionn seemed to have approached the property, and Feidlenid repeatedly assured them that to her knowledge, nobody in the village had anything to say about the house except that it had a bad feel to it, something they'd been saying for twenty years. Cecilia, however, was primarily worried about village children and the Laelitian priests and priestesses who sometimes searched the woods for herbs. Normally Harry wouldn't have been very thrilled with being cloistered in this way, but in his current state, he doubted he'd be able to wander any great distance from the property anyway.

Because bending over and getting dressed made him dizzy, Harry had to keep Ron nearby as he got ready to venture outside for the first time. It all seemed well until he got to the point where he had to get his jeans on, something that took several minutes longer than it normally would have. He swayed as he finally managed to button them, and Ron immediately steadied him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

"Got it on?" asked Ron. "Now sit down."

"I'm not some decrepit old man who needs someone to put his clothes on for him!" Harry snapped.

"No, you're just a stubborn git with a damaged heart who needs someone to make sure he doesn't make it worse," Ron retorted.

Rather than argue, Harry sat on the bed and put on a shirt and started buttoning it. As he finished, he asked "Did you read the paper this morning?"

"Hermione did," Ron answered, "but she says nothing's really happening right now."

"Exactly," Harry said, fitting on a fleece jacket. "Same as it's been for the past week. And same as it was before those attacks last week." He then put his belt on, and looked around. "Where are my socks?"

"Oops. Forgot about them."

"Never mind." Harry took his wand from his bedside table; he'd kept it there ever since Feidlenid cleared him to start using minor spells. "Accio socks!"

"It's only been a few days, though," Ron said, still thinking about the paper. "Could be that they're still gearing up for more attacks."

A rolled-up pair of socks flew in through the door and hit him in the back of the head.

"Maybe," Harry said, holding his hand out. "I can't put my finger on it, but I still feel like Voldemort's up to something really big."

Ron handed him the socks. Harry unrolled them and despairingly looked at his feet, knowing he'd have to bend down again. With a deep breath, he bent forward and tried to lift his right foot a bit to reach it, rather than lowering himself any further. A minute and two dizzy spells later, he finally managed to pull both his socks on. When he finished, he noticed that Ron was watching him with a strangely anxious expression, that he suspected had nothing to do with his condition.

"What?"

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. "So what d'you reckon he's doing?"

"I don't know. When you think about it, he didn't do a whole lot for most of last year, but you'd think the Death Eaters would've done a lot more killing once the Ministry finally admitted to his return."

"Well, it's not like they weren'tkilling people last year," Ron reminded him.

"Yes, but not on this scale," Harry said, thinking about the attacks the week before. Cecilia Grimrook had brought them a copy of the Daily Prophet detailing the violence, and even the Brockdale Bridge attack the year before had only a quarter as many casualties. The death toll was thirty-six wizards and eighty-eight Muggles. The additional thirteen Hogsmeade residents who had received the Dementor's Kiss brought the final casualty count (not including countless injuries) to one hundred and thirty-seven.

Ron was silent for a moment, and Harry used it as an opportunity to start performing the same operation with his shoes. As Harry worked, Ron spoke up again. "I suppose it's still too soon to guess at anything, but after last week, I thought for sure that the actual war was finally starting."

Harry nodded, but his heart sank at Ron's words. "Those attacks were aimed at me, though."

"That's bullocks, and you know it."

Harry threw him a sharp look. "Didn't you see the list of victims? Who he attacked? Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ritchie Coote, and half the residents of Privet Drive? A lot of them had some connection with me, and it was only a couple of days after I came of age!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't start feeling all guilty again. Maybe he targeted those people because they were connected to you. Doesn't make a difference. I reckon he mostly did it just because he could, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. It was mostly a gesture." When Harry didn't respond, Ron went on, "Look, he nearly got you at Godric's Hollow. He must have been furious when that failed. If drawing you out was his main motive for the attacks, he'd immediately do it again, wouldn't he?"

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, thinking this over. "All right, you've got a point. But it doesn't make this any easier." He looked forlornly at his shoes, really not wanting to bend down again. "I don't suppose you know any spells to tie shoes?"

"Mum would," Ron said. In a stern voice, he added, "The way I see it, you can either go through all that again, or you can swallow your pride and let me help you."

Harry couldn't quite believe that Ron had just offered to tie his shoes for him, and under any other circumstances he might have laughed out loud at the thought of how Ginny, Fred, or George might have reacted. Still, he didn't feel he had much choice about it, but he looked away as Ron bent down over his feet, not wanting to watch.

Once the whole humiliating procedure was over, and Harry had struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he did, he asked, "Talking of Godric's Hollow, do we know anything about that wizard yet?"

"Not that I've been told," said Ron uneasily.

Before he could say anymore, someone rapped on the doorframe, and they turned to see Hermione standing there, Cecilia just behind her.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Just about," Harry said.

"I'll show you the boundaries of the perception spells we put up. It's about an acre of land," Cecilia told him. "Once you know the boundaries, feel free to move around as much as you feel able."

Harry nodded, and Cecila and Hermione stood to the side to allow him through the doorway. There wasn't much more conversation for the next ten minutes as Harry slowly made his way down the stairs and out the back door, Ron, Hermione, and Cecilia close by in case he started to lose balance or got dizzy. Harry was quite pleased with himself that he managed to get out the back door without any assistance at all, but his mind still lingered on his earlier conversation with Ron.

Cecilia led the three of them around the garden, pointing out the extent of the four-foot brick walls and gates around the property. The walls were overrun with ivy, and the whole place needed weeding, but just being outside felt wonderful, even in the strange cold and the dampness from the rain the day before. After a couple of minutes, they arrived at a walled garden with an iron gate, which Cecilia opened and gestured for them to go inside. Once he was inside, Harry looked around with interest, thinking that perhaps Cecilia had been right that gardening might be a good way to regain some of his strength. The place certainly needed work. It obviously had been neglected for some years, although Cecilia probably had been making some effort at weeding it, but there was dead ivy that needed to be cleared, and some of the shrubs could be pruned. At this point, however, he only felt the energy to sit down on a little stone bench. All the while, his mind lingered on the ambush at his parents' gravestone.

Ron seemingly was thinking about this too, because he repeated to Hermione and Cecilia Harry's earlier question: "Do we know anything about that sick bastard who attacked us in Godric's Hollow?"

He and Hermione both looked at Cecilia expectantly, but she shook her head. "It's not exactly my area of expertise."

"But aren't your brother and uncle looking into it?"

The gobliness shrugged. "It's not as easy as you're making it sound. My brother has other clients at Gringotts besides Mr Potter which takes up his time, and much as he understands the urgency of the situation, Menger can't always cover for him"-

"Who?" asked Harry blankly.

"Cerdik Gadlak's son, a senior manager at Gringotts," Cecilia clarified. "We must have neglected to mention him. He's been part of this from the start." Seeing Harry's consternation at yet another stranger becoming involved in his affairs, she ruefully explained, "He's the most discreet person I know, and he's proven invaluable so far. He makes sure that Rok's activities and frequent absences from Gringotts go unnoticed. He also helped clean up the site at Godric's Hollow, so no one beyond our circle would know what happened there. I understand he was somewhat sceptical of the need to approach or involve you, but from what my brother's told me, the attack at Godric's Hollow made him see the necessity of our actions. Even so, discretion is essential, and if my brother is absent from Gringotts too often, others will notice, whatever Menger does to cover for him."

Harry grimaced. He hadn't yet made up his mind about the goblins' involvement, but he supposed, from this explanation, that Menger Gadlak's involvement was no more alarming than his father's. Slightly annoyed but also mollified, he returned to the original topic. "What about your uncle? Isn't he retired from Gringotts?"

"Technically yes, though he does still work on and off as a consultant there," Cecilia said. "While it is true that his absences are far less likely to be noticed than my brother's, so far his free time has been of little help in this matter."

"So none of you have learned anything?" asked Harry, disheartened.

Cecilia hesitated. "Not that I'm aware of, no. Last night Rok said something about necromancy, and that it's nearly impossible to find good information about it, but that's all I can tell you."

"Necromancy?" Ron repeated, sounding disbelieving.

Harry glanced at Hermione, bewildered, but she only shrugged."It's mentioned in Muggle fantasy stories sometimes, but I've never heard of it in terms of real magic."

"That's because there's no such thing," Ron said flatly. "It's just an old wives' tale to frighten kids."

"That's what I thought too," Cecilia said contemplatively, "until you encountered what you did. Laying that aside, if necromancy was just a tall tale to scare people, then why, as Rok has told me, is it a banned topic, both in goblin and wizard society?"

Ron and Hermione both looked taken aback. But Harry, with no idea what necromancy was, asked in mild irritation, "Are any of you going to tell me what you're talking about?"

"It's supposed to be a branch of Dark magic," Ron answered. "Everything bad that Muggles have ever associated with magic, you know, summoning spirits, five-point stars, demon worship, black masses, human sacrifice"—

"You mean black magic?" Harry asked in surprise. "You think that's real?"

Hermione snorted lightly. "Sounds like something the Quibbler would spread around."

"If it is real," Cecilia said, "I don't know if it actually involves any of that spirit summoning or devil worship nonsense Muggles dream up." As Ron and Hermione both looked satisfied, however, she added grimly, "But from what Uncle Grobschmied's said about his years tailing the Dark Lord, I think there's a whole branch of clandestine magic so evil that it makes what the Death Eaters do look like child's play. Look at Horcruxes. I doubt the kind of magic or the theory behind them came from nowhere."

Harry tried to picture what kind of magic would be darker than the Avada Kedavra curse or Inferi, but aside from Horcruxes, he couldn't. It was an unpleasant possibility, that he imagined none of them wanted to learn more about, if they could help it. That being said, it certainly sounded like the kind of thing Voldemort would delve into, so little as he liked it, he anticipated in the coming months and years he would have to explore all sorts of magic he'd rather not, if only to be able to counter the kind of power he now faced.

He sighed and leaned forward, closing his eyes as he indulged in these unpleasant ruminations. Spotting him, Hermione asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just got tired."

"Do you want to head back?" asked Cecilia, concerned.

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. I just need a minute. No need to make a fuss."

The others looked at each other, but said nothing. For a minute Harry sat on the stone bench, catching his breath. Then they heard Grimrook's voice from outside the wall calling, "Hello?"

"In the garden," Cecilia called back.

A few seconds later, Grimrook looked in through the gate. "Ah, there you are." He then came in, and Harry gasped as he saw the snowy owl perched on the goblin's shoulder.

"Hedwig!"

He joyfully held an arm out, and she fluttered from Grimrook's shoulder and landed on his outstretched arm. She nipped his ear affectionately as he drew her close, and his heart swelled; something about having her back made the prospect of recovering here for weeks far less bleak than it had previously felt.

"A happy reunion, then?" asked Grimrook, sounding pleased with himself. "It took us a while to locate her. She panicked when we took off with you and apparently has been looking for you for the past week." Glancing towards the house, he added, "Apparently we protected this place well, if even magical owls have trouble finding it."

Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers a bit, and then transferred her to his lap. "Thank you for finding her," he said to Grimrook sincerely.

"No problem," he answered. "It's good to see you feeling better. I've also been told to give you these."

Harry noticed for the first time that Grimrook was holding a brief case and a thick folder under one arm, which he held out. Harry accepted them and weighed them in his hands. They both felt heavy. He looked at Grimrook questioningly.

"Your new banking information," he explained. "Please look it over, and make sure we've gotten everything to your satisfaction."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who sighed in resignation. It looked like they were to spend another afternoon up to their nose in numbers and papers. In that moment, it felt only slightly more desirable than the prospect of researching necromancy.

---

"So it all looks good?" Harry asked an exhausted Hermione two hours later.

They were back in his sick room. Harry and Ron were both seated on the bed, the papers Grimrook had given them scattered all over the mattress, while Hermione stood nearby, gathering them in a more organised stack.

"They've been very thorough," she said. "I know that Grimrook said Gadlak has useful connections but this is incredible. They've truly made it almost impossible to track your movements through your money."

"Through these Swiss accounts?"

Hermione nodded. "There are three such accounts they've set up for you: one for your parents' fortune, one for Sirius's, and one for the dividends from your Muggle investments. They've even created a few false identities for you, different ones attached to each account. It also looks like Grimrook sold your investments under your name, and then re-purchased them under one of these false identities. That way Scrimgeour can't find out your banking information from those Muggle companies themselves."

"What kind of false identities?" asked Ron.

Hermione thumbed through the papers in her hands, then chose a document and handed it to Ron. He read out loud: "'Daniel Prescott, age 21, university student. Parents: Brian and Jean Prescott (deceased). No siblings. Brian Prescott died when Daniel was 15 (heart attack), Jean when he was four (car accident). Daniel was left with a lot of money and stock after his father's death. University education funded through trust money and scholarships.' Blimey. And this goes on for three pages."

Hermione held up the thick envelope Grimrook had handed them. "And this contains everything you need for these identities. Driving licenses, credit cards, passports, birth certificates… and there's also a note saying they're also working on university transcripts and even tax records. They've thought of everything."

"How the hell have Grimrook and Gadlak managed all this?" Harry asked, amazed. "It's only been a week since they first started."

"Well, it's clear that they know the system very well, both Muggle and wizard," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "It's almost like they have prior experience in doing something like this."

Ron was frowning too. "Mate, are you sure about this? This is really dodgy."

Hermione met his eyes. "You're still worried about their intentions?"

"Aren't you?" asked Ron.

The three of them looked at each other, each with uncertainty. Harry looked back at the papers on the bed. Goblins weren't normally supposed to enter the Muggle world at all, let alone have dealings with Muggles. For that reason, any wizard who encountered goblins with this level of familiarity with the Muggle world would find it suspect. On the other hand, he knew that Grobschmied had spent years tailing Voldemort all over Europe, and he knew from Voldemort's history that he didn't just wander in magical territory, which meant that Grobschmied would have either had to stay in the shadows the whole time, or would have had to pose as a human, maybe even a Muggle, perhaps for weeks at a time. It also would make sense for Grobschmied to pose as a Muggle in a world where, as he understood it, Grindelwald's followers were methodically exterminating any element of magical society they considered degenerate, including and especially goblins. That was more than fifty years ago, however, and the Muggle world had changed since then; and yet the goblins had clearly formed this false identity on the basis of the Muggle world of now, not the Muggle world of the 1940s. It led him to wonder if Gadlak and Grobschmied and the Grimrooks had actually been moving around the Muggle world for years, magically-disguised and under their own false identities, completely under the Ministry of Magic's nose.

Hedwig, nestled on the bed beside him, gave a soft hoot. The sound drew Harry from his thoughts, and after a moment stroking her feathers, he said, "They're really serious about helping us, aren't they?"

Hermione met his gaze. "I hope that truly is what this boils down to."

Harry stared at her for a minute, and then at Ron. "Grobschmied and his family know about the Horcruxes. He knows a lot about Voldemort's past that even Dumbledore never found out. It's surprising, and it does seem shady. I'd be an idiot not to be worried. But Ron, if at any time in his past Grobschmied saw or heard something that could lead us to one of the Horcruxes, I can't afford to disregard it. I can't afford to refuse to work with him."

"Fair enough," Ron said. "But it just seems a bit too convenient, don't you think?"

"Maybe." Harry thought for a minute, and finally he looked back at Ron. "He volunteered to take Veritaserum. If we had him do that, and it turned out that everything he told us was true, would you be satisfied?"

"Normally yes, except we don't have any," Ron reminded him. "It would be really easy for them to drink fake Veritaserum, so his saying that doesn't really prove anything."

"Not unless we made it," Harry said, looking at Hermione inquiringly.

To his disappointment, she shook her head. "Veritaserum takes a full month to prepare, and I doubt if I have the right ingredients."

This was rather a dilemma. Harry frowned in thought, trying to find some other way to ensure that Grobschmied could be trusted. The truth potion would have satisfied him, but without that as an option, he felt rather stumped. He sighed, ready to give up for now. It would have been ideal. And the only people he knew who he thought might have some on hand were Horace Slughorn and Snape.

That train of thought led him to an obvious solution, although one that was every bit as illegal as the falsified documents before him.

Meeting Ron's gaze, Harry said, "An Unbreakable Vow, then."

Ron slowly grinned approvingly, but Hermione looked horror-struck.

"I'd just make him vow to answer my questions truthfully," Harry added defensively.

"Would it work on a goblin?" asked Ron.

Hermione still looked shocked and disapproving, but she recovered enough to say, "As long as the Bonder is holding a wand, it will work."

"Well, that clears that up," Harry said, in a very forced matter-of-fact tone. "I'll tell them that I'll accept their assistance, on the condition that they swear, through the Vow, that they're telling the truth, and that they have no ulterior motives. All of them: Grobschmied, the Grimrooks, and Gadlak."

"And if they refuse?" asked Ron.

Harry smiled grimly. "Given that they have the same goals, and that I might have relevant information as well, I don't think they can afford to."

He looked closely at his two friends, gauging their reactions. Ron was still grinning, obviously all for it, but Hermione still looked extremely uncomfortable with the idea. As he looked at her questioningly, though, she nodded, seemingly resigned to it. "You're in charge, Harry."

---

If Ginny or the twins worried that someone who knew Ginny might see through her "Gwen" disguise, their fears were quickly put at ease. As anticipated, it was fairly easy for the twins to act as though Ginny were a different shop assistant when wearing it, and not even the regular customers, who had seen Ginny there frequently, appeared to have questioned it. The drawback, admittedly, was that younger customers seemed to find the look a bit intimidating, and some of them gave her a wide berth; but the twins would go to their aid, while Ginny helped out with the inventory and helping older, less impressionable customers. Nobody realised who she was, and so nobody bothered her about Harry again.

At least, not until the Aurors walked in through the shop doors.

At the time, "Gwen" had been by the till, telling a couple of customers the price range for the different Patented Daydream Charms, when she saw the brown trench coats and black trilbies of the Auror office, causing almost everyone in the room to stop their activities and watch them uneasily. It was hardly the first time Aurors had entered the shop (Tonks and some of her colleagues occasionally came in for a bit of cheer), but these clearly were on duty, and she didn't recognise either of them. But judging from their austere expressions, and their looking around the shop for something—or perhaps someone—Ginny thought she knew exactly what they had come for.

Sure enough, as soon as the two customers finished their purchase, both Aurors stepped to the counter, and the dourest of the two said gruffly, "We're here to speak with Ginevra Weasley."

Ginny carefully schooled her expression into what she hoped was a withering look. "She's taking a break right now, but I can go get her, if you'll wait here."

"No," the other Auror said sharply. "We'll wait in the back, if you don't mind."

Ginny looked at Fred, who was standing by the Wonder Witch products and eyeing the Aurors cautiously. But he gave her a subtle nod, and she said in a bored voice, "All right. Follow me."

When she left the Aurors in the back room with the Defence products, she then climbed the stairs and, once she was out of their line of sight, took off her disguise clip, and stepped into the prototype room, where she found George tinkering with some unknown object.

"What's up?" he asked her, seeing her expression. When she told him, he groaned, "Dawlish?"

"Probably." Ginny shed her dragon-hide jacket and tossed it onto an armchair. "I've left them in the back room. Fred didn't mind."

"They probably don't want to draw attention to themselves," George shrugged.

Ginny snorted. "Then they shouldn't have come here in full Auror uniform, looking like they were planning to turn the place inside out. Probably scared the hell out of the customers."

As she removed her earrings and a black leather bracelet she'd been wearing, George remarked, "Well, we all know that Dawlish's brain is about the size of a peanut. Here," he added, tossing her one of his old Weasley sweaters from where it lay on the other chair. "Put that on so they won't see you wearing the same T-shirt. It's been washed, I promise. And wait another minute before you go back down. You want them to think 'Gwen' actually did go off to find you."

"Right." Ginny checked her watch. "How long do you think they can keep this quiet?"

"What, that Scrimgeour's got a whole squad of Aurors looking for Harry Houdini?" Seeing Ginny's bewildered expression, he added, "Ask Dad."

Ginny managed a smile at that, and glanced at her watch again. After a minute, feeling that she'd left them waiting for long enough, she went back down as herself, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

As soon as she reached the bottom landing, where the Aurors were waiting, she asked, "You wanted to speak to me?"

One of them glanced at the stairs. "Where's that other worker?"

"She went home," Ginny lied. "Her shift was just about over anyway."

He seemed to accept this answer, and then the other—who, she presumed, was Dawlish—beckoned for Ginny to take a seat in one of the chairs she'd drawn up for them, as though he owned the place. Gritting her teeth, Ginny sat down.

"Miss Weasley," Dawlish began, "we're here to look into the disappearance of Harry Potter, and we wondered if you could answer a few questions."

Trying to sound as sincere as she could, Ginny said, "I'd be happy to."

Dawlish's scowl seemed to deepen. "It has come to our attention that at the end of July, Mr Potter left your family's home and has not been seen, nor heard from, since." He waited for a response, but when Ginny remained silent, he continued, "We know from multiple sources, that you are close in age to Mr Potter"—

"He's a year older than me," Ginny corrected.

"We also know that you were in a relationship with him."

Ginny merely looked at him impassively. The other Auror, who she supposed was Williamson, a senior Auror Tonks and Kingsley had mentioned who usually worked with Dawlish, said in a more conciliatory voice, "Miss Weasley, we must ask if Mr Potter has indicated to you, at all, where he went and what his activities are."

"I have no idea," Ginny said truthfully. "He didn't tell me anything."

"Did he say anything to you about his plans, or did you suspect anything?"

"No."

"Nothing?" Dawlish asked sceptically. "You're asking us to believe that he didn't even tell his girlfriend anything?"

For the first time, Ginny was not accepting so much as glad of Harry's decision at the funeral. "We split up at the end of the school year," she said coolly.

"That doesn't mean you don't know anything," Dawlish said in exasperation. "Did you break up on bad terms?"

She was silent.

"Why did he end the relationship?"

Seriously annoyed, Ginny snapped, "Excuse me, but I wasn't aware that my love life was part of your investigation, sir."

She saw the back of Dawlish's neck turn red. Williamson, catching her tone and expression, said hastily, "Of course not. We apologise, Miss Weasley."

"Very well." Dawlish sounded put out. "Did he say anything to you while you were going out?"

"No," she said again.

"Were you aware that he was meeting regularly with Albus Dumbledore?" asked Williamson.

"Yes," Ginny said slowly, "but I was under the impression Professor Dumbledore was simply teaching Harry advanced Defence. He is one of the Death Eaters' main targets, after all. It made sense. I didn't question it."

"Of course," Williamson said placatingly. "But he did stay at your house until the night of his disappearance. Did you ever hear him say anything to anyone, if not to you?"

"No. He was very closed-mouthed about it. Just ask anyone in my family. None of us suspected a thing until he was gone."

She could see Dawlish's growing frustration as his face turned increasingly scarlet. "Miss Weasley, you're being most unhelpful," he growled. "Even if Mr Potter told you nothing himself, we know that your brother Ronald went with him, as did Hermione Granger, who our sources tell us was your best friend. Even if you were no longer in Mr Potter's confidence, do you expect us to believe that neither your brother nor your best friend told you anything?"

"Yes," Ginny said firmly, "because they didn't. They're Harry's best friends too. They wouldn't have told me if Harry didn't want to tell me."

As they found themselves locked in a silent staring contest, Ginny could tell that Dawlish didn't fully believe her. She almost felt sorry for him, but any sympathy was quickly overwhelmed with irritation that Scrimgeour had put Dawlish and his squad up to this. But she wouldn't budge, so it was now a matter of when the Auror did.

Williamson finally intervened. "She doesn't know anything. There's no point in persisting."

Dawlish hesitated, and finally broke his stare to look at Williamson for a moment, before finally saying to Ginny, "We have nothing more to ask. Just so you know, Miss Weasley, there could be serious consequences if you have hidden anything from us. It is for your own safety as well as Mr Potter's."

"Dawlish!" Williamson snapped. He then looked at Ginny and softened his tone. "If you ever have anything you'd like to tell us, you know how to contact us." He handed her a card.

"Thank you for your time," Dawlish grunted.

He didn't sound thankful at all, but nonetheless he turned abruptly and left, Williamson trailing behind, shooting Ginny an apologetic look. Once they were gone, she exhaled, and leaned back against the wall, hoping, though not quite believing, that this was the last time she'd hear from Dawlish or any of the Aurors on this matter. Her thoughts then strayed back to Harry, and not for the first time, she found herself wondering the same thing as the Aurors: where was he? How was he doing? How far along had he come in whatever mission Dumbledore required of him? She suddenly felt an overwhelmingly painful desire to at least speak to Harry for a moment, but the impossibility of that was equally painful. Feeling suddenly drained, Ginny leaned her head against the wall, her eyes closed. She refused to cry, even though she wanted to.

That was how George found her half an hour later, and putting a hand on her shoulder, he asked if she was all right.

She shook her head. "But I will be."

"Were they that bad?" he asked indignantly.

"Not really," Ginny assured him. "They were just annoying. It's the whole damned situation that's killing me."

George looked at her sympathetically. "Go home, Ginny. You've only got an hour left before the shop closes anyway. We can do without you until then.

Ginny nodded gratefully, and forced herself to straighten and head back up the stairs to gather her things. Once she had her jacket back on, and her disguise clip concealed in her pocket, she moved slowly for the twins' fireplace and reached into their box of Floo Powder.

If she thought the evening couldn't possibly get more unpleasant, the chaotic scene she found in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place when she stepped out of the fireplace in the sitting room proved her wrong. The first thing she became aware of, once her head stopped spinning, was yelling and the sound of running feet. Nobody was in the sitting room, but when Ginny stepped out into the hall, she almost ran headlong into her mother, who hadn't noticed her at all, instead running to the front door and holding it open. The hall was full of people, including her father, Tonks, and Remus, who was restraining a flailing Dobby, who was sporting a growing goose-egg on his forehead, likely self-inflicted, wailing something about, doing "everything Professor Dumbledore's nurse instructed."

Ginny's heart sank, but before she could ask what happened, the answer slowly came down the stairs: Charlie, Madam Pomfrey, and Andromeda Tonks carrying a stretcher down the stairs, a wide-eyed and pale Luna close behind them. As they passed by Ginny, she caught sight of Luna's father, and she almost recoiled in horror. Mr Lovegood was convulsing in his stretcher, tied down with straps and blankets, emitting guttural moans. A yellowish liquid, mixed with blood, trickled from his tear ducts and from the corner of his mouth; his face was waxen, and his eyes were wide and glazed with pain.

---

The next morning Harry, in compliance with Cecilia's orders for him to get some light exercise every day, went out into the garden to plant some bulbs. It was one of the rare occasions when Ron and Hermione weren't with him; Hermione had offered to help Cecilia clean the house up and fix up a leak in the ceiling that had appeared after the previous night's rainfall. Ron had initially wanted to accompany Harry, but gardening wasn't really his thing, and Harry wanted time to himself. Therefore, as soon as he made it down the stairs without falling or stumbling, he told Ron to help Hermione and Cecilia.

Once he was outside, trowel in hand, he took a moment to look around. It was again cold, but not as severely as the rest of the summer had been. The sky was slightly overcast, but looked like it would soon clear. If he had recovered more of his strength he might be tempted to poke around the woods a bit, and if he hadn't gone underground he'd even consider going to visit the village, but at the moment both were out of the question. He knew from talking to Cecilia and her brother (when he was around) that the entire region, which had not one but two goblin communities, had been magically concealed from Muggle view, and somewhere there was a border with Muggle repelling charms to prevent anyone stumbling upon Aelyn Dionn and the other settlement, which he understood to be on the other side of the woods. He also knew them to be somewhere in Nottinghamshire, as Cecilia had mentioned that the woods were a large remnant of Sherwood Forest, magically concealed from the Muggle world and thereby protected from expansion and housing development.

When he arrived at the garden, he found Feidlenid bending over an herb patch, a pair of secateurs in her hand. She gave Harry a passing greeting, and once she was satisfied that he had made it over without any difficulty, returned her interest to gathering thyme. Harry quickly found the patch of earth near the stone bench where Cecilia wanted the bulbs planted, and got on his knees and began digging. The pair of them worked in silence, the only sounds being the scraping of Harry's trowel and the clipping of Feidlenid's shears. Harry was quite adept at gardening; his aunt had made him keep her garden in perfect order since he was quite small, from the moment he was old and coordinated enough to hold edging shears. He was therefore very familiar with working in summer heat, gardening gloves on, moving aside worms or swatting away wasps. As he remembered all those chores in his aunt's flower patch, however, it suddenly occurred to him that throughout the summer, Harry had seen and heard few insects and spiders, and even fewer birds: insignificant enough to the lives of humans, that most who even noticed would simply brush this oddity off. But after what he'd encountered in Godric's Hollow, he knew better than to make optimistic assumptions about these things. His unease grew.

When he had a few of the bulbs planted, he leaned up and brushed dirt off his hands. Feidlenid had moved on to cutting sprigs of lavender and gathering them in a wicker basket. Harry watched the priestess work for a few minutes, before he asked, "What do you do at the temple?"

Feidlenid paused and looked at him, mildly surprised by the question. "You are interested?"

"Just curious."

She shrugged. "The priests and priestesses have much work. We study. We pray. We go out to the wood, gather things for potions. We make potions when the villagers ask. We care for the sick and hurt. We conduct dasnaigh in the temple."

"And you take care of the village dead?"

At this question, Feidlenid put her basket down and sat on the bench, watching him carefully. "You ask about your parents?"

Harry nodded.

"You haven't seen them yet?" she asked sympathetically.

"No," Harry said quietly. "I wasn't ready."

"Do you want to see them?"

Harry started, feeling uncertain—and even mildly panicked—at the thought.

"They are no longer—what's the word in your language? No magic. There's no magic in them," Feidlenid assured him. "Only magic to keep them from rotting until you know what to do with them."

"I know they're no longer Inferi. Grobschmied assured me of that."

But even though he knew that whatever enchantment had been placed on his parents' bodies was gone, Harry still felt somewhat averse to seeing them. He could not explain it. He preferred to think of them as he saw them in his family album—alive and happy; but the one time he got out his album in the past week to look at pictures of his mother and father, the moment he laid eyes on the first picture, he found himself hyperventilating, the edges of his vision darkening as he remembered that same face, twisted with malice, just before she tortured him. He then threw the album back into his rucksack and refused to look at it again. If he could hardly look at them in a photograph now, he had no idea how he was supposed to look at their bodies in real life.

Feidlenid was watching him closely. Taking note of his pale face and the trembling in his hands, she said sadly, "He attacked your spirit."

Harry blinked. "Sorry?"

"Your parents are your motive, yes?" She didn't need him to answer. "At least in part. You were very young when they died, too young. You cannot remember. But you admire them. They saved you, so you want to save others. This is why you fight?"

Harry swallowed, but managed a soft, "Yes."

"The Dark Lord knows this," Feidlenid explained. "So he struck it. He attacked your motive. Perhaps he thinks you will now remember them with fear, not with love. You should not let this happen."

Harry looked away, as his throat suddenly became very painful and his eyes began watering.

Not waiting for a response, Feidlenid finished. "You must face them. It was not your mother and father who tried to kill you."

Harry inhaled deeply. Though he rationally knew everything she said to be true, some dark horror seemed to be screaming at him to cut the conversation short and return to his bedroom. At the same time, he was disgusted at himself for allowing Voldemort to manipulate him in this way, to put conflict between his feelings and his reason. You should not let this happen. Harry knew that what she said was no different from what Ron or Hermione or Ginny would have said to him, but somehow, in her foreign accent and odd inflections and occasional pauses as she tried to think of the correct English word, this goblin priestess before him managed to articulate exactly what was happening to him now, and he knew she was right.

Therefore, a few minutes later Feidlenid opened a padlocked cellar door near the house and gestured for Harry to go inside. Harry hesitated, and then clambered down the concrete steps, his hand on the wall, until he finally stepped into the room below.

It was very dark and cold, and he could barely see anything except for an odd, shimmering light just in front of him. Harry shivered a little, and zipped his jacket closed. He then pulled out his wand and muttered, "Lumos."

The tip of his wand lit, and as soon as it did, he caught sight of a gas lamp just above him. He reached up and turned the little nozzle, and when he heard and smelled the gas streaming out of the lamp, he quickly lit it with his wand. The room immediately lit up, not just the lamp above him, but every lamp in the room, obviously enchanted to light at the same time. And there, lying side by side on a table in the middle of the cellar, lay the bodies of Lily and James Potter, enveloped in the thin, shimmering light he'd seen when he entered. Harry fought back the impulse to dim his wand and immediately retreat back up the stairs, instead forcing himself to move forward and look at their faces. The goblins had closed their eyes and positioned them with their hands over their hearts. There was also no sign of any damage done to stop the attack. Feidlenid had done her job well. They now looked like they were merely sleeping.

Harry moved so that he was positioned to look directly at his mother's face, and managed to stammer, "Hi, Mum. I… I never got to do this before. Hardly know what to say." He glanced around the room for a second. "Looks like Feidlenid's been taking good care of you, until I decide what to do."

He momentarily felt stupid, talking to her corpse as though he expected her to open her eyes, sit up and respond to him. She was gone, and his father was gone. He'd had sixteen years to get used to that reality, and yet here he was, staring at them as though they had only just died, talking to them like he was visiting a comatose patient in a hospital, the way Neville did with his parents. What should be done with them, anyway? He hadn't thought much about it, not wanting to think about what had occurred at all, if he could help it, but they could hardly keep them in here forever. He didn't want to put them back in the graves at Godric's Hollow; though he doubted that Voldemort, now that his trap had failed, would take the trouble of bewitching their bodies again, he didn't want to even allow the possibility. But he also wasn't sure if he wanted his parents to be buried in Aelyn Dionn. It didn't quite feel right.

But then, none of this felt right. He knew enough about death and decay to know that there should be very little left of his parents' bodies, that they shouldn't be lying before him in perfect condition. They looked so right, but it felt so wrong, just as their sudden appearance and their vicious assault felt wrong, and he couldn't quite reconcile any of it in his head. Seeing them untouched by decomposition was yet another bitter, horrific reminder. Unable to look any longer, he turned away but still remained where he was, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. Without looking at them, he then whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. You shouldn't have had to die for me. And I'm sorry for what Voldemort did to you two weeks ago." Frustrated, he added, "I'm doing all I can to stop him, but now he's doing things that shouldn't even be possible. And I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to fight this?"

A few more tears escaped him. It was true, though. Apart from his brief conversation with Cecilia about necromancy, he hadn't spoken much with any of the goblins or with Ron and Hermione about what had happened, but he knew from what little Ron and Hermione had told him, and from what he'd occasionally overheard them say in their own conversations, that what had occurred was far more disturbing and dangerous than the bodies' perfect reconstruction. It had been made plain to everyone that they were not ordinary Inferi. He'd heard that they didn't stop their attack even after Grimrook had killed the necromancer—or whatever he was—and the goblin accountant had to take them out as well, "kill" them all over again, as though they'd somehow been brought back to life in truth. For the first time in his life, he didn't want believe that that actually was the case, not only because of the terrible implications it might have for magic and for life as a whole, but also because it would mean that his parents had tried to kill their own son.

The truth of Feidlenid's warning then hit him. Even if Voldemort had again failed to kill him, the nature of the attack could still demoralise him, tainting what little memory of his mother and father he had, tainting everything he'd ever been told about them, and leaving him without the motivation he'd previously had. A voice that sounded both like Ginny and like Sirius seemed to scream from somewhere within his head, "Don't you dare let him get to you like that!".

It wasn't them, he thought determinedly. No matter how it might have looked, no matter what horrible, unknown sorcery I saw, it was not Mum and Dad who attacked me.

"I won't," he whispered to himself angrily. "I won't let him do this to me. I won't!"

He then found the strength to look at them once more. In that moment, a strange feeling came over him, but it wasn't a bad feeling. It was both pleasantly cool and warm at the same time, and both soothing and powerful, wonderful and sorrowful, and it seemed to envelop him and settle in his heart. It reminded him of phoenix song, but it felt subtler, quieter, far less overt and yet far more powerful. He suddenly felt so loved, so reassured, and so comforted that it felt almost like a hug. Harry shivered, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel this astonishing and yet indescribable sensation which he found so reassuring, and somehow he began to believe that he could successfully follow the difficult, unknowable path before him all the way to its end, and survive.

It was almost as though, in some shape or form, Lily Potter really was there in the room, embracing him.

When he left the cellar, he found a concerned Feidlenid waiting outside for him. For a moment they looked at each other. Then Harry declared firmly, "I'll find a way. I don't know how, but I'll find a way to end this."

The gobliness gave him a gentle smile. "You will be all right."

She said this with such assurance and faith that Harry felt both humbled and strengthened. He also knew in that moment what his first task would be. "I've decided what to do with them," he told her.

Feidlenid glanced at the open cellar door and nodded grimly. "I shall begin preparations immediately."

If Harry spent the rest of the day in subdued silence, neither Ron nor Hermione made mention of it, though Harry thought he did spot them sending him concerned glances occasionally. After he gave Feidlenid his instructions, the priestess had returned to the temple to gather needed supplies. She'd told him that a day or two would be enough for her to make the preparations, and in the meantime, he sat down with Cecilia to discuss the best place for a second Potter funeral, given what he intended to do. Cecilia hadn't been at ease with it ("We can't do this in the back garden, and you know it's not very surreptitious."), but in the end she decided that the best way of going about this was to find a clearing deep enough in the woods that, especially in the late evening, was unlikely to be intruded upon.

Ron, possibly in an effort to cheer Harry up, began engaging him in games of chess or Exploding Snap, but Harry found that his heart wasn't in it. Perhaps because of his mood, or perhaps because of his condition, he found himself becoming tired by the time Cecilia and Hermione served dinner. He also began to develop a headache. Finally, about halfway through dinner, Harry pushed his plate aside and declared that he was going to bed, a decision Cecilia resolutely seconded.

"I was about to send you up anyway, now that you've got some food in your stomach," she said. "You look dead on your feet."

To Harry's mild annoyance, Ron and Hermione chose to accompany him up the stairs, though it was becoming increasingly unnecessary, but he supposed they were concerned with his growing state of exhaustion. If he were perfectly honest, his fatigue mixed with his headache were causing him to feel slightly disoriented. Once he was in his room, Ron and Hermione left him to himself, though hesitantly, leaving only when Harry promised to call them back if he needed help. But this too was unnecessary; Harry simply took his shoes off and slid into bed without changing into his pyjamas. Once his head was on the pillow, he quickly drifted into a deep sleep…

He was planting bulbs in Cecilia's walled garden, feeling rather listless, but when he put his trowel down and went in for lunch, he spotted a gnome running across the grass and towards the Burrow—though it looked more like the Shrieking Shack, he noted. A strange, growing feeling of impatience grew within him. He was certain that there was a something important hidden somewhere in there, but somehow the further Harry wandered into the dark, dusty interior of the house, the farther away it seemed to be. He looked around, and then he spotted the trapdoor to the passage, and cautiously lifted it. Instead of a stone passage, he saw a metal pipe sloping down into the darkness, but without hesitation, he climbed in and slid down, and after a long while zooming down the slimy, filthy pipe, he came out, and ran down the passage, the floor of which was littered with bones. A moment later, he was in the Chamber of Secrets. His impatience grew. They're late. If those pathetic excuses for wizards botched this operation, there will be hell to pay.He looked around the Chamber, but where Slytherin's statue should be, he instead saw a small house. Kilkenny. Ballyragget. A man he didn't recognise, middle-aged with thinning, auburn hair and rectangular glasses, seemed to float within his imagination. As he neared the house, he saw a heavy black door, and he opened it and stepped inside the revolving room in the Department of Mysteries. Then, choosing a locked door, he waved his hand in front of it and it magically flew open. Nothing lay on the pedestal.

The fools should have had the initiative to seize the artefact when they had the chance.

Harry's forehead erupted with white-hot pain, and he yelped and sat up in bed, his eyes watering as he pressed his fingers to his scar. He bit his lip, rubbing the tender skin roughly, but instead of ebbing away, like it normally had done in the past, the pain intensified, to the point where he felt himself starting to hyperventilate.

—He escaped you? Voldemort's voice suddenly sounded in his head, cold but alarmingly calm.

—My Lord, he was gone by the time we got there, someone's voice stammered fearfully.

His eyes tightly closed, Harry saw blurred image of a cowering Death Eater, his hands raised in submission and pleading,

—And how could that be?Voldemort snarled. A trained Death Eater, evaded by a goblin-loving archaeologist?

—No! no, please! I—

—Crucio!

An agonised scream ripped through Harry's head, and he felt his scar explode with a fresh wave of burning pain. His stomach lurched and he doubled over, sure he was going to be sick. The pain intensified again, and Harry closed his eyes and balled his fists into his lap, willing it to stop. Wave upon wave of burning rage built up in his gut. Somewhere, Voldemort was exceptionally angry. Eventually the sound of Avery's screams began to fade, and Harry heard nothing further, but it was some time before his scar stopped burning. He didn't know how long it took, but when the pain finally eased, he relaxed and lightly ran his fingers over his scar. It remained hot to the touch, but his whole forehead felt numb. Still, it was unmistakeable this time. Voldemort's attempts to block Harry's access to his mind were failing.

On and off since he first awoke in his sick bed in the Grimrooks' house, Harry had felt slight throbbing in his scar, but the pain was so slight that he initially had thought he was imagining it, or that he was simply remembering an old pain, as he knew sometimes happened with severed limbs or an old surgery. His scar had, of course, flared up right before the attack in Hogsmeade, but with no further pain since then, he'd wondered if that had been a fluke or a one-off. But this time he had to put aside all doubt. Voldemort was extremely angry, so angry that he had seemingly lost control, and projected his anger into Harry once more.

The nausea faded, and Harry slipped out of bed, still rubbing the scar, the pain now a dull ache. He then looked at his wristwatch, which lay on his bedside table. It was nearly six o' clock in the morning. Voldemort was enraged about something, and his Occlumency shields had failed. Both were alarming. He had once believed that his seeing flashes of Voldemort's thoughts and experiences could prove useful, but Dumbledore had clearly not thought so, assigning Snape to teach Harry Occlumency lessons. It hadn't worked well, and Harry soon learned why Dumbledore hadn't want Harry using that connection. Voldemort at some point had become aware of the connection and had used it to lure Harry into the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius had died as a result.

—The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse…

Harry didn't know why he suddenly remembered Snape's words at that particular moment, but their meaning suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. If Snape's speculative words proved to be true, then the connection not only was a potential liability: it jeopardised everything. He has realised that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return.It made it possible—perhaps likely—that Voldemort could explore the connection, possibly even find out that he knew about—

But Harry stopped that thought before it finished forming. If the barriers were weakening, if his connection with Voldemort had started to reopen, then he had to do whatever it took to stop him from finding anything about Harry, his location, or his intentions. After a moment's hurried, panicked thought, Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed and tried to stand up, but a sudden dizziness—likely from getting up too quickly—caused him to sink back down. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Harry seized his wand from his bedside table and pointed it at his rucksack.

"Accio!"

The rucksack flew towards him. Harry ducked it and seized once of its straps—the force of the Summoning Charm and the weight of the bag causing him to lurch to the side a little—and he immediately opened it, rummaging within its magically-expanded interior, until he had found what he was looking for: Dumbledore's chest. In his condition, lifting the heavy chest was a trial, but he ignored the second onslaught of dizziness and the sudden pounding of his heart, until the chest lay on his bed next to him. He then opened it and looked at the Pensieve within.

He then took up his wand again and pointed it at his temple. Exprimo memoriam, he thought, concentrating on a key lesson with Dumbledore, in which they discussed the Horcruxes and possible places where Voldemort had hidden them. He deposited it into the basin, and the moment he did, the memory vanished from his conscious thought, almost like closing a book or turning off the television. He placed his wand at his temple again. Exprimo memoriam. A memory of a cavern containing a basin full of phosphorescent green potion and a lake full of Inferi… Exprimo memoriam.

On and on he went, depositing memories into the basin, and occasionally pausing to concentrate on Voldemort, trying to discern if the connection was still open, if he could tell what he was feeling at that moment, but getting nothing. After half an hour, Harry finally leaned back in the chair, feeling exhausted but satisfied, and yet disheartened at this new setback—as he ought not to review those memories, nor discuss their contents or their mission, until he was absolutely certain that Voldemort couldn't access his thoughts in any way. There was nothing for it—he either would have to bite the bullet and find a way to learn Occlumency, or find a way to shut down the connection between them for good. One he had never been any good at, which meant hours and hours of frustration and emotional and mental strain, and was still chancy—even if he became adept at Occlumency, he could slip up. But he didn't know if the other was even possible.

He sat there for a long time, staring at the swirling, silvery mass in the Pensieve. Now that the more immediate crisis had been temporarily resolved, he felt more at leisure to consider what he'd just heard through the connection. Everything that had come through had been so frenzied that he had trouble recalling the details. But he was certain that someone had escaped from the Death Eaters, someone Voldemort really wanted either captured or killed, and there was something about an artefact….

The sound of activity in the kitchen downstairs drew his attention at that moment, and realised that he'd have to inform Ron and Hermione about this. This caused him to grimace; he didn't relish the thought of Hermione nagging him to close his mind, but he knew that for all their sakes, he would have to learn how, and that delaying would do no good. He therefore inhaled deeply, then—more cautiously this time—he got to his feet and slowly made his way out of the room and down the stairs. When he entered the kitchen a minute later, he found Ron at the table, eating some bread and jam, and Hermione with her nose in a book.

Seeing Harry, Ron swallowed his food and asked, "How're you doing, mate?"

Rather than answer, Harry bid Hermione good morning, and took a seat. Before he could start to tell them what had just occurred, however, Cecilia appeared in the hall outside, muttering something to herself in Gobbledegook. Harry hesitated, still unsure how much he was willing to trust their goblin hosts with. Therefore, more to find something to talk about than anything, Harry looked at Hermione's book, and did a double take when he saw the title.

"Where'd you get a copy of Magick Moste Evile?"

Hermione glanced up at him, then looked back at the page. "I told Cecilia I needed a copy, and Grobschmied got one and brought it over the other day."

"I thought you couldn't find any useful information from it," Harry said.

"I'm not trying to find out about Horcruxes," Hermione said. "I'm trying to find out more about what happened in Godric's Hollow."

Harry winced, though he was uncertain if he was tensing at the mention of Horcruxes—he'd have to hide this memory in the Pensieve as well—or at the mention of the attack. It seemed paranoid, but nonetheless Harry paused, trying to focus on the connection, for the smallest hint that Voldemort could have detected that. But when there was no change, he relaxed a little and asked with forced calm, "Any luck?"

"Unfortunately not. 'Magick Moste Evile'," she snorted contemptuously. "More like 'Magick Moste Evile the Author Knows Nothing About'."

Ron snickered, but Harry asked in a disappointed voice, "It truly doesn't say anything at all?"

Hermione turned to a marked page. "Well, it's mentioned in this chapter on Inferi: 'The raising of Inferi and golems, while considered to be a branch of the wicked art of necromancy, is a limited practice. True consciousness can neither be created by mortal hands, nor remade in the bodies of the dead. All recorded attempts to summon spirits and converse with the dead have failed. We believe this to be impossible.'" She turned to another page. "And here: 'Magic is, to our knowledge, an impossible power to create artificially. This is why those without magical ability cannot be made into wizards, and why no Inferius or golem can perform spellwork.'"

"But that wizard in Godric's Hollow somehow managed it."

"Exactly." Hermione shuddered. "There are a lot of absolutely horrible spells described in this book, but I haven't found anything that fits what we saw there."

Harry sighed. "Well, I guess that puts us back to square one, then. Was there anything else?"

Hermione turned to a page closer to the beginning of the book. "There's a brief history of Dark Magic here, but the book doesn't really describe necromancy. The only thing of interest I found was this: 'We can find few details of the Skuldic, Mazazuu and Sha'etemmu necromancers, except that all were declared an evil abomination and eradicated by order of the Wizards' Council in the year of our Lord 1235.'"

"Cecilia said it's a forbidden topic," Harry said contemplatively.

"And apparently impossibly difficult to research," Hermione said, frustrated. "But we've got to! What if we encounter that again?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who returned his helpless expression. Before anyone could think of anything further to say, however, they heard the front door suddenly open, and a moment later Rok Grimrook appeared, a newspaper rolled up in his hands, looking agitated. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all started at his sudden appearance, but recovering first, Hermione asked, "Why aren't you at work? Has something happened?"

"Menger gave me an hour off," Grimrook said. Looking at Harry, he said, "I'm glad to see you doing better each day, Mr Potter. But before you get too comfortable today, you should see this."

He unrolled the newspaper and showed it to them. To Harry's disbelief, there was a large photograph of himself, along with the headline: "WHERE IS HARRY POTTER?"

Ron quietly swore, but Harry took the newspaper from Grimrook, and cleared his throat before reading out loud: "'The death of Albus Dumbledore was a disturbing turn of events, which left the Wizarding public with great unease about the outcome of the continuing crisis. The late Hogwarts Headmaster was widely credited as the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared. With Dumbledore gone, and the Ministry of Magic in disarray, the hope of the Wizarding World rests now upon Harry Potter, commonly called "The Chosen One." Mr. Potter, who, at the age of one, survived an attack by You-Know-Who, has escaped his parents' killer at least three times since then, which suggests that he has become You-Know-Who's primary target. His history, along with the skirmish last year with Death Eaters inside the Hall of Prophecy, has led many to conclude that Mr. Potter is fated to defeat You-Know-Who personally.

"'Unfortunately, that hope may have been snatched away. Mr. Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, disappeared from the home of Arthur Weasley on the night of his seventeenth birthday (July 31st), and no one has seen or heard from him since. The Weasleys have been close to Mr. Potter since he first entered Hogwarts, where he was close friends with their youngest son Ronald. Neither Arthur nor Ronald Weasley were available for comment.'"

"What, they got that Harry left but not me and Hermione?" Ron asked, confused.

"Hush," Hermione cut him off.

Harry continued: "'A Ministry spokesman assures the Wizarding public that the Minister of Magic has put every effort into locating Mr. Potter, but refused to disclose more information, leaving the public in doubt of the circumstances of his disappearance. Is there something sinister in it? Did the followers of You-Know-Who finally catch up with him? The Minister of Magic clearly doesn't think so. In fact, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour's actions before and since then suggest that not only is Mr. Potter alive, but that his disappearance may be the result of a long hostility to the Ministry of Magic. In an effort to hide this alarming turn of events, Minister Scrimgeour assigned a squad of Aurors with the task of tracking down Mr. Potter and bringing him back.'" As he read, a name in the next paragraph caught his eye, and he looked ahead. "Damn it!"

"They won't find you here," Grimrook said reassuringly.

"It's not that!" Harry said angrily. "Listen to this! 'On Tuesday last, a source in Diagon Alley, who wished to remain unnamed, witnessed two Aurors questioning Ginevra Weasley, age 16, the youngest of said family, for Mr. Potter's whereabouts. Miss Weasley, we have since learned, spent the last few months of this past academic year at Hogwarts in a close relationship with Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley has denied knowing how or why he has gone, or even that she currently is in a relationship with him, but their closeness was confirmed by her classmate Romilda Vane, who stated, 'They were very close. I don't doubt that she knows everything about him.'"

"That stupid bitch," Ron snarled.

"It gets worse," Grimrook warned. "Keep reading."

"'While some might question the veracity of Miss Weasley's statements, the Aurors did not see fit to question her further. But even if Mr. Potter's girlfriend cannot tell us anything about his disappearance, Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, can suggest one possibility. Three weeks ago, in an effort to demonstrate the mutual cooperation between the Chosen One and the Ministry of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour invited your Prophet reporter to the Ministry of Magic, where, we were told, Mr. Potter would make an appearance. Minister Scrimgeour was true to his word: Mr. Potter did appear there that day, but instead of showing good-will, he and the Minister appear to have quarrelled. In fact, Mr. Potter made it very clear to the Daily Prophet that he was only at the Ministry to obtain his Apparation license.

"'The enmity between Mr. Potter and Minister Scrimgeour dates at least as far back as last Christmas. The reason for the feud remains unknown, but it all appears to have culminated in this latest quarrel, in which Mr. Potter seems to have taken the most offence. In fact, he disappeared that very night. Did You-Know-Who finally find and do away with the Chosen One? Or did Mr. Potter, having had enough of his discord with the Ministry, simply abscond from the war and from the Wizarding World? Either way, it does not bode well for the rest of wizardry. 'If our hopes rest with him, his disappearance casts that hope in doubt,' an anonymous commentator from the Dark Force Defence League remarked. 'Without him, what are we left with?'"

Nobody spoke for several minutes. Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, who looked as stunned as he felt. Ron broke the silence first. "There's going to be an uproar."

"How the hell did the Prophetfind out?" Harry demanded. "Scrimgeour's not stupid enough to tell them!"

"Oh, come on!" Hermione snapped. "You read it. Someone, most likely Skeeter in her beetle form, overheard the Aurors interrogating Ginny. She's probably been buzzing around the Ministry, trying to dig up something ever since those attacks last week. You know she'd do anything for sensation, no matter who gets hurt. I bet she was hiding under the Aurors' collar or something."

Harry looked at the article again. She had a point, though he couldn't imagine how Skeeter could get away with tailing Aurors. Surely that wasn't legal. Still, his eyes lingered on the passage about Ginny, and the words leapt out at him: denied knowing how or why he has gone, or even that she currently is in a relationship with him… some might question the veracity of Miss Weasley's statements…

"Harry?" Hermione suddenly asked, looking at him warily. "Are you all right? I mean, I know it's going to cause an uproar, but"—

"Skeeter's made it look like I've turned my back on the Wizarding World, and she's implied that Ginny was involved," Harry cut across her. "I thought you had that bitch on a leash!"

Hermione looked both angry and apologetic. "There was no mention of us leaving with you, but if she got her information by listening in the Aurors, she probably knows that I'm gone too. She probably figured it was safe to return to old habits."

"Ginny will probably have to lie low for a while, though," Ron said, worried.

Harry's heart sank further, but he also became extremely nervous, both for Ginny and for the rest of the Wizarding public.

Seeing his face, Hermione quietly said, "She'll be all right, Harry."

Harry looked back at her, and shook his head fervently. "Voldemort isn't going to believe for a solitary minute that I simply deserted. If he thinks that Ginny, or any of the Weasleys, knows where I am…"

"The Order will protect them," Hermione reassured him.

He nodded, but icy fear still clawed at his heart.

"I don't know what will happen now," Grimrook suddenly interjected, "but for what it's worth, she's been doing fine for the past couple of weeks, as far as I'm aware."

The others looked at him in surprise. "How do you know that?" asked Harry.

"She showed up at Gringotts a couple of weeks ago to get full independent access to her vault," Grimrook said unconcernedly, but seeing their questioning looks, he added to Ron, "She started working at your brothers' shop. Didn't I tell you that?"

"No," Harry and Ron said in unison.

The goblin blinked. "Oh. Well now you know." He then spotted the teapot lying on the table, and looked in it. Seeing it full, he took an empty cup and poured himself some tea. After a moment, he continued, "I didn't make a point of watching her, mind, but I make note all the Weasleys' appearances at Gringotts, just in case."

"D'you…" Harry began, but then he stopped, and changed his mind before he even finished the question. But when Grimrook looked at him expectantly, he said, "Never mind. I was going to ask if you'd be able to get a message to her, or something, but that's not a good idea."

Grimrook looked at Harry for a long while, and shook his head, his expression regretful. "You're right, of course, and I'm very sorry. I wish I could, but both the Ministry and the Death Eaters will be keeping a very close eye on her now. If they get the smallest indication that she's in a suspicious correspondence with the goblins, or still worse, that we have..." He stopped, and looked at Harry awkwardly.

"That you have me?" Harry finished the sentence dourly, but Grimrook had only said what he himself had already realised. He had no intention of giving Voldemort even more reason to go after Ginny.

"I am sorry," Grimrook repeated.

"Never mind," Harry said. His acknowledging this, however, somehow made him miss Ginny far more acutely, and he looked downward, suddenly feeling very depressed.

"If it makes you feel better," Grimrook said slowly, "I can see if we can't keep an eye on her, and maybe look into adding extra protection to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes without anyone noticing."

Harry simply nodded, then looked back at the paper. As much as he worried about Ginny, however, he had faith both in her and her brothers, and he at least was confident that they would know to go to ground as best they could until the fuss died down. He also knew that all the Weasleys were very capable of protecting themselves and each other, and that they were probably making plans in response to the article at that very moment.

It wasn't long after that, that Grimrook returned to the bank, leaving the other three to contemplate what they had just read. For a while, no one spoke. Ron then slowly grinned. "So she's working at the shop? Fred and George and Ginny all in the practical joke enterprise together… that's terrifying."

Harry suddenly gasped and winced. Ron and Hermione both looked at him.

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione cautiously.

Harry swallowed, and looked at them. "I need to tell you something." As he spoke, he raised his left hand and rubbed his scar.

Ron and Hermione gave each other significant looks, and then Hermione asked him, "How long has it been hurting you?"

"How did you know?" asked Harry, surprised.

"When we first brought you here, when Feidlenid and Cecilia were treating you, they noticed something visibly wrong with your scar," Hermione explained. "It had gone all red and swollen, and was hot to the touch. We thought it was going open up again, actually."

"You're lucky you were unconscious, mate," Ron said darkly. "It looked like it hurt like hell."

"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Harry.

"Because you didn't," Hermione said. "You didn't give any indication that it was bothering you, and since you were unconscious when it was acting up, we weren't sure if you were aware of it. We didn't want to bring it up until you did."

"So, go on then," said Ron. "How long?"

Harry hesitated. "It first hurt just before we left Hogsmeade." Seeing their exasperated expressions, he added defensively, "I thought it might have just been a one-off, and anyway, after the attack started it wasn't the first thing on my mind!" Hermione rolled his eyes, but Harry cut her off before she could scold him. "Anyway, it still throbs a bit on and off, but until this morning it was so slight that I thought I was imagining it."

"And this morning?" asked Hermione. "What happened?"

"It woke me up," Harry admitted. "Voldemort was seriously angry with Avery. It sounded like they were trying to capture someone, but whoever it was got away."

"Who?" asked Ron.

"Dunno," Harry said after a moment. "But it felt like he wanted something from this bloke, and he wanted it really badly."

"And now?" asked Ron. "What set off your scar now?"

Harry thought back. "Amusement. It wasn't clear, but I think he's both angry and amused by something. If that makes sense."

"Harry," Hermione started in a firm voice, and he braced himself. "You have to start closing your mind."

"Hermione"—

"Before you say you're lousy at Occlumency," Hermione cut him off, "you realise that we don't know how much Voldemort can access yourthoughts? We can't take that risk! It doesn't matter how hard or uncomfortable it is, you have to try!"

"Hermione!" Harry raised his voice, and she fell silent. "I already know all that! I just spent most of this morning putting memories containing compromising information into the Pensieve to hide them from Voldemort, and yes, that means I can't put them back or look through them or discuss them until I can do Occlumency, and that also means that we can't continue this mission until then. But don't you see? Snape wasn't a good teacher! Now that we know his true loyalties, do you really think he was actually trying to teach me? It's not that I don't want to close my mind, it's that I don't know how!"

That brought Hermione up short. Harry could see her thinking frantically, and then she said, "Maybe you can learn independently. There's got to be something, a book, or"—

Someone cleared their throat, and they all looked up to see Grobschmied standing in the doorway. He also held a newspaper in his hand, probably having intended to discuss the article with them like Grimrook had, but his expression told them that wasn't his intention now.

"Er, how long have you been standing there?" asked Harry.

"Long enough," the goblin replied in a faint voice. "I'd heard rumours that there was a magical connection between you and Voldemort, but I didn't expect them to actually be true. You say it's of a nature akin to Legilimency?"

Harry said nothing, but Grobschmied didn't appear to need him to. The goblin looked at Hermione.

"If I might offer some advice, Miss Granger, as good as it is that you place such faith in books, unfortunately Occlumency is a skill that has to be actively taught and practiced. I'm sure there's a treatise somewhere that explains the theory, and perhaps looking it over would lay a good foundation, but it won't help much with the practical skill." As he spoke, he moved into the room and tossed the paper on the table. He then took a seat across from Harry, lacing his fingers, and watching Harry closely. "Everybody's mind is unique. There is no method of Occlumency that can comprehensively suit everyone, because everyone's conscious and subconscious mind is as unique as their fingerprints. Every Occlumens studies with a Legilimens, partly to learn what technique best suits them, partly to test that technique." At this, he added thoughtfully, "Makes one wonder who taught Voldemort."

"So basically we need to find someone skilled enough at Occlumency and Legilimency to teach me," Harry bit out, "but who also is someone I can trust enough to allow into my head?"

Grobschmied nodded. "You'll never learn it effectively otherwise."

"And where are we gonna find this person?" asked Ron sceptically. "You saying you know someone who can be trusted with the knowledge of the Horcruxes andteach Occlumency?"

"I do, actually," Grobschmied said, a strange smile stretching across his face.

"Really? Who?" asked Hermione.

"Me."

They all looked at him, nonplussed. After a moment, Hermione said, "I didn't know goblins could learn Occlumency or Legilimency."

Grobschmied rolled his eyes. "Whatever Snape might have led you to believe, Occlumency is a form of discipline, not a branch of magic. It's more a mental skill than a magical one. There are even Muggles with enough mental and emotional self-control to hide their thoughts from a Legilimens. And goblin magic has its own form of Legilimency, though it doesn't involve wand-waving or incantations. It may be different from human Legilimency, but that won't make any difference if Occlumency is what you're trying to learn."

"So youcould teach me," Harry said slowly.

Grobschmied nodded.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and could tell they were thinking the same thing he was. Harry wasn't going to study with any Legilimens unless he could trust them, but he still hadn't made up his mind about Grobschmied. He couldn't delay this any longer. It was time to find out where these goblins truly stood. But Grobschmied had observed Harry's hesitation, and his exchanged look with Ron and Hermione; he'd also seen Ron's determined expression, and Hermione's discomfort and resignation, and realised what they were all thinking.

Grobschmied sighed, looking troubled and thoughtful. "I thought it might come down to this." His eyes then snapped back to Harry. "Your hand, Mr Potter," he said, so sharply that Harry started.

"Sorry?"

"Your hand," Grobschmied repeated. "Hold it out."

Harry, too stunned to do otherwise, did as requested. Grobschmied reached out and grasped his hand. He then looked at Hermione. "Take out your wand."

Hermione's eyes widened as she realised what he intended to do, but she drew her wand as requested.

"Mr Grobschmied," she said nervously, "you don't have to do this."

"I rather think I do." Grobschmied looked fiercely determined. "I can tell you intended to do something like this anyway. It's all right," he added, his expression softening. "I understand, Mr. Potter. You've put blind faith in too many people who betrayed you. So did your parents and Dumbledore. You won't allow that to happen again, and I wouldn't want you to. You need to be absolutely certain that you can trust me. And I? I'd feel much better about all this knowing that you do."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gaped at Grobschmied, stunned at how he had pinned them so accurately. Of all the possibilities that Harry had considered of how best to approach Grobschmied about the Unbreakable Vow, he had not once imagined the goblin himself stepping forward and volunteering to take it without them even bringing it up. It stunned him how determined Grobschmied was to prove himself, going to such extremes, readily taking such a huge gamble. This wasn't a simple thing. This was a life and death situation, and it made no sense for Grobschmied to take that risk.

Not unless he truly was on their side.

Harry swallowed, and then slowly pulled his hand away. He then looked at Hermione, and nodded to her. Looking thoroughly relieved, Hermione put her wand away.

Grobschmied looked surprised, but not disappointed or angry at his decision. On the contrary he looked both tired and relieved, and slowly smiling, he said, "I think you and I finally understand each other, Harry Potter."

After a short silence, Harry said, "All right. I'm ready to listen. Tell me what you have in mind, and we'll decide from there. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Grobschmied agreed.