Chapter 61, everybody! And now the reactions to the book plot.

So originally when I was doing the writing ahead thing this would have been Snips attacking the fake Moody, but obviously that got canned. Moving on, Snips wears the cone of shame (AKA the Victorian collar) and the Doghouse is prepping for things…real talk, preparing for a thing, even if it's self-defense, really helps to kill the anxiety because then you know that you can take it. Oh yeah, by the by, Sirius is related to the Malfoys.

Gardengirl6, thanks for the review! YES go Kreacher!

Juxshoa, thanks for the review! Yeah Voldy tends to put a damper on things.

Slytherinsal, thanks for the review! Yes—great for getting somewhere quickly.

Harry Potter © 1997 J.K. Rowling

Sirius went from ecstatic at Harry's safe return to bombastic when he heard just what Kreacher did.

"You!" Sirius exclaimed, swinging Kreacher around. "You you you you brilliant elf you! You need a raise—foot massage—something!"

"Kreacher lives to serve," Kreacher said, looking abashed when he was put back down. "Also Kreacher feels he has been given reward enough of seeing the dark one humiliated in front of his servants."

"I agree that was a bonus."

"It does brighten an otherwise dreary day," Dumbledore agreed; currently they were all gathered in the Hospital Wing while Madame Pomfrey checked Harry over.

"I had had hopes," she said, irritated. "That after getting out of the tournament you wouldn't show up in here for the rest of the year."

"I did too, but this wasn't my idea," Harry said, trying to peer at a basket on the next bed over. "Is Snips okay?"

"Your familiar's distress was what alerted us to the situation," Dumbledore said. Madame Pomfrey paused her examination long enough to hand the basket over to Harry.

"We had to sedate him to keep him calm. Don't jostle him," she ordered, before going back to examining him. Harry nodded, looked at Snips to see that his left wing had a large bandage on it.

"What about Krum?" Harry asked. "He was acting weird and then when Karkaroff—I don't think he wanted to—"

"Mr. Krum is over there," Dumbledore said, indicating several beds over. "We have reason to believe that Karkaroff used the Imperius curse on him to make use of your acquaintanceship. Unfortunately, this leads me to having to ask you about your rather appalling day."

"I want names," Moody said gruffly.

"At least you have the bright spot of Kreacher blasting Moldy-Voldy off his feet," Sirius told him.

"That was the highlight of the day," Harry said, grinning a little before sobering. "So. We were hunting for scrolls for the scavenger hunt…."

What followed was Harry's best attempt at explaining everything that had happened to him, including who was there and where he thought 'there' had been (Moody was scribbling all this down and growling under his breath)—Dumbledore looked interested at the account of Karkaroff taking some of Harry's blood, asked to see the wound before Madame Pomfrey fixed it.

"Does it mean something, sir?" Harry asked.

"It might," Dumbledore said. "What it means, I am not sure of yet. Alas, dear boy, Madame Pomfrey will heal it up perfectly, but seeing as it doesn't seem as useful as my one scar, there should be no loss."

"You are not going to tell the London Underground scar story again," Madame Pomfrey said flatly.

"It does bear an uncanny resemblance, although its location makes checking it awkward. You were saying, Harry?"

Harry continued on, describing the cauldron and Voldemort coming out of it and monologuing before forcing him to duel—yes Gryffindor courage should have probably dictated he stand and fight instead of going yeah nope and dodging behind cover but as he reasoned, discretion was also the better part of valor.

"This is true," Dumbledore agreed. "Continue."

"Oh this is the good part," Sirius said, rubbing his hands—indeed, Harry was grinning as he told them how he had been fretting over the fact that he had no way to escape and no one knew where he was or how to find him before remembering Kreacher and calling for him. As he said, Kreacher blasting Voldemort and his followers clean off their feet was definitely the highlight of the day and quite possibly the week.

"Kreacher lives to serve," Kreacher said simply.


Sitting through finals and the final task was surreal in the aftermath of that incident, especially with Dumbledore's announcement—that Voldemort had returned, and unity would be ever more important in the coming years.

Most people were baffled and appalled at that statement and there were more than a few arguments over whether or not it was true—Harry really had to struggle to keep from getting angry at people not believing him, was happy to give an account to Luna and baffled to give one to a Mr. Q. Quillby, although Luna's article beat out the Prophet's by a few days and was the lead article in a deluxe edition of the Quibbler discussing Death Eaters and potential wild theories—Harry's favorite was that Voldemort had declared Dumbledore his archnemesis because Dumbledore still had a full head of hair and a distinguished nose at his age, while Voldemort had neither. The article's conclusion was that dark magic resulted in a hard life not unlike Muggle drug use, which an earlier issue had likened to evil potions designed to do harm.

Karkaroff was in the wind and the Durmstrangs were without a headmaster when they headed back, which concerned no one on the ship—apparently Karkaroff had been singularly useless on the trip there, Krum informed them, still stiff and awkward around Harry. They had talked, Harry had told him he bore no ill will towards him, but Krum was still horrified at what he had been made party to.

"We're definitely going to have to write him often," Hermione said as they waved the Durmstrangs goodbye.

"How often?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at Hermione.

"Often enough that he knows we don't think he's a bad guy."

Ron made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, prompting Harry to remind him "A professional Quidditch player wants to be your pen pal," which mollified him a bit.

The trip back home was strange, mostly because he was having to remind himself that he was not going back to the Dursleys this year, he was going to be next door to Ron and that was a bright spot in the weirdly dark end to his spring. Seeing where he was going to live with Sirius and Remus almost done, seeing the Burrow so close, made a lot of that go away, as did having a big black dog sleeping at the foot of his bed that night.

Remus, meanwhile, encouraged him to talk about his frustrations the next evening, reasoning that trying to bury it all would just result in him exploding, "And that's just not fair to Kreacher," Sirius agreed.

"You have to remember that a lot of people did live under the shadow of You-Know-Who," Remus told him over hot chocolate. "That was a very dark time for everybody—people were dying or just straight-up going missing, no one knew who to trust…the idea that he's back is not going to be one people take a shine to, even if it is in their best interest."

"But—" Harry gestured fruitlessly, feeling like they had chased this topic in circles (finding out that Quillby had gotten fired that morning also didn't help matters). "Isn't it better to know and be prepared? Constant vigilance and all that?"

"How is Moody doing?" Sirius asked.

"So apparently he's taken this month's issue of The Quibbler to heart and doing that whole survivalist thing that the Muggles are perfecting," Remus said. "Last I saw him he was in a ghillie suit that was threaded through with demiguise hair."

"So technically you didn't see him."

"Technically I did not."

Harry wasn't seeing the humor in this, which the adults took note of. "Listen," Sirius said. "Just because the rest of the world isn't being proactive doesn't mean everyone isn't—there's a lot of us getting ready, and I'm thinking we start spending an hour or two each day working on defensive spells and the like."

"Really?" Harry asked, brightening.

"Yes. Remus did most of the lesson plans, to be fair, most of the Weasley kids will be taking them too for Molly's sanity—not sure if you can talk Luna into it but we might as well try to get the whole neighborhood in on it."

"So at the very least, we have a game plan," Remus told him. "You can't control the world, Harry, but you can at least take care of your corner of it and hope the ripples have a greater effect."

"So that's a chunk of the summer planned," Sirius said. "And head's up, there'll be a couple of weeks you spend at the Weasleys' while we take care of the furry little problem—"

"Understandable," Harry said, nodding.

"And I'm sure Remus will want to knuckle down on you for homework—"

"This year is your OWL year, you'll want to knuckle down," Remus told him.

"Hermione's already told us," Harry assured them.

"Good," Sirius declared. "Then all that's left is planning around all the non-Sirius serious stuff and taking a few moments to laugh at poor Snips." This with an indication at Snips, whom Madame Pomfrey had put in a Victorian collar due to his recently-developed habit of gnawing at his left wing. Snips growled at him—"Come off it, if our roles were reversed you'd be taking the mickey out of me."

Harry laughed at Snips pondering this and apparently agreeing—

Looked as sharply as the rest of them at a sharp knock on the door.

"Are we expecting someone?" Remus asked.

"No," Sirius said, standing and tugging his wand out. "Wand out, Harry, get behind Remus, got an emergency portkey above the mantle—"

"We have a what?" Harry asked.

"We started taking some safety precautions after the whole graveyard incident," Remus told him, wand out as Snips darted to Harry's shoulder. "It'll take you to London—dangit Sirius where's that paper—"

Sirius waved slightly at Remus for him to be quiet, peering through the blinds—opened the door—

Stared dumbfounded at the little collection on the front step. "Cissy."

"Sirius," Narcissa Malfoy said, Draco Malfoy on the step next to her, Buckbeak and Dobby behind them. "May we come in?"

"I'll say yes, mostly because I'm curious as to what prompted this social call," Sirius said, sounding as confused as Harry felt. "Is it just you? No nasty surprises?"

"Just the one, but I doubt you can call it that when you've spent the last decade dreading it."

Remus glanced between them, looked at Harry.

"Harry, why don't you show Draco there the side yard where he can station Buckbeak," he asked. "We can transfigure a stable for him later."

That felt like a dismissal to Harry—glance at Snips, who flew up to the rafters, went out on the steps and bowed to Buckbeak (who returned it) before turning to Draco. "Come on, it'll be around this way."

"Good. In the meantime, tea."

Harry was dying to know what on earth they were going to be talking about, knew that Remus had suggested this particular yard because it was out of range of the Extendible Ears the twins were working on. Reached it, finally at least addressed one of the things he wanted to.

"So I guess you're staying over for a while?" Harry tried.

"Maybe," Draco muttered.

Harry and Dobby exchanged glances, Harry finally turning his attention back to Draco. "So what happened?"

Draco grumbled for a long while, Buckbeak nudging him frequently to try to get him in a better mood. "Mother left father," he said finally, starting a circuit around the yard to walk Buckbeak. "I came home to find all my stuff packed, all her stuff packed, and her telling father that she wasn't going through all that again, certainly wasn't risking her son, and if he thought anything of us he'd feel the same way." More dark muttering. "It didn't take a genius to figure it out."

Harry could guess. "I saw Mr. Malfoy at the graveyard," he said. "Voldemort mentioned him by name."

Draco, meanwhile, flinched slightly at the name but said nothing else for several paces.

"It's not like it's a surprise," he muttered finally. "Father was always going on about what he calls the glory days…after second year it didn't seem so glorious. And then he didn't really approve of Buckbeak, certainly doesn't approve of me not living up to the family legacy." Snort. "Not sure I want to anymore."

"Nobody said you had to," Harry pointed out. "That's just what your dad wants, not what you have to do."

"Dobby has mentioned this, Mister Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "But Master Malfoy does…leave an impression…." Suddenly started slamming his head against the nearest wall, startling Harry. "Bad Dobby bad!"

"Oh leave off it!" Draco snapped. "There's no point in punishing yourself over that—that prat anyway!"

Harry suddenly felt that maybe he and Draco had startingly similar upbringings after all—something about the way that both Draco and Dobby reacted to the concept felt uncomfortably familiar to what he experienced with the Dursleys.

"Well," Harry said, mostly to fill the silence—wasn't sure what to say past that. "If you guys stay the summer we can play Quidditch—we just have to stay below the treeline. And there's a movie theater in Ottery St. Catchpole—I bet you've never seen a Muggle movie."

"If we even stay," Draco muttered.

"I have the feeling you will."