In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 34: Bang
"Nice of you to say all that last night," Richard said during the next morning's jog, "Mum's—I think she's at the police station by now, researching your story."
"Bloody idiots—they want me to keep the secret of magic," Harry complained, "Yet, they're compelling me to blab about it!"
"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Richard asked.
"Beginning, the beginning?" Harry said, his eyes darted toward Richard, "Like how they murdered my parents and tried to kill me when I was a toddler? That beginning?"
"Blimey! You're alright?" Richard asked.
"Alright?" Harry said, "The fact that I wasn't killed made me a celebrity? And they keep trying to kill me? How all this—shit at school ties into it, I'm not sure, but I'd wager both my bollocks that it is!"
They stopped, Richard hunched over to put his hands to his knees. Richard's hazel eyes studied Harry.
"You've got a killer after you?" Richard asked.
"You got it," Harry said, "Always has been the story of my life."
"Lets get back to Mum," Richard said, returning to the run, "She is the police chief around here."
Harry jogged along.
"You don't understand," Harry said, "Here…here they're not here. At school, in their world…in their world, it's a threat, but here, it's Muggle territory, they won't be around here if it's kept a secret, me being here. I mean, I was sent to my Aunt and Uncle, I was raised by them, despite being an unwelcome reminder—my Aunt despised, hated, her sister, my mother, and took it out on me. My uncle, enjoyed helping her, prodding my cousin…lets just say, I'm not missing them either."
"So Jen's right," Richard said, "You've got baggage."
"Gia—it melts away around her," Harry said, "With her, I forget about the killer, the one who murdered my parents—though I can dredge up my mother's final screams—the one who gave me this scar while trying to kill me, he's still out there, biding his time."
"I…sorry I didn't realize," Richard stammered as they came to wait for the light.
"Be Richard, and we'll both be happy," Harry said.
Harry joined Richard, ran across the road.
"You're serious about this killer on the loose?" Richard said, "After you?"
"Yes, though killer is awfully simplistic," Harry said, as they ran along the trail, stream nearby, their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, "It's about choice, choosing to use one's abilities for good or not. They believe that magic makes us superior, to control everybody else; those that disagree, they kill."
"Your parents?" Richard asked.
"Yes," Harry said.
"And you?" Richard asked.
"Yep—tried to," Harry said, "The one leading them is less concerned about that, more concerned about the power it gives him. But, he's good, very good with—there's a spell that kills, instantly, no blood. I survived." His tone became dreary. "Congratulations, I'm a celebrity whether I fucking want to or not."
"Are you—are you safe?" Richard asked.
"Me—yes!" Harry said, "Them—it's why I have to stay quiet about being here. One word—they show up. It's why I've got Snuffles guarding Gia, it's in case they show up. Cross your fingers that they don't."
"I wish you'd let Mum in on this," Richard said, "She'd help you, she really would."
"I'm not allowed to divulge magic!" Harry said, "It's actually a serious offense to do so. Besides, they'd simply kill her too and move onto me."
"And we're running—unprotected," Richard said.
"They're not around because me being here, not at school, is a secret," Harry said, "They don't know, they won't know about it."
"Good luck," Richard stated.
They kept running.
"Any luck with the ski resorts?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Richard said, "Got one in mind. Has what you asked for—crowds. Also, a good skiing instructor—"
"Those?" Harry said.
"I got the impression you haven't skied before," Richard said.
"No," Harry replied.
"Good trails too," Richard said, "Family friendly—don't ski starkers."
Harry snorted.
"They've got honeymoon suites—bigger than normal suites," Richard said.
"We're not—" Harry started.
"Six could sleep comfortably," Richard said.
"True," Harry said.
They returned to 26 Oak St, entered. They went up the steps.
"Could write your Headmaster," Richard said.
"Sure," Harry said, "Need an envelope?"
"I need to make the reservation first," Richard said, "After Mum lets me borrow her credit card."
"I've got debit—" Harry started.
"Not good if you're worried about being followed," Richard said, "Pay cash, if you must, but they'll need a card to reserve. I'll use Mum's because my name will be on the reservation."
Harry went for the bathroom.
Ron and Hermione landed, their feet slipped. Ron's right hand tightly gripped her arm, restrained her from utterly tumbling in the middle of a large pile of letters. Her imbalance continued as her feet slid on the envelopes. Ron's left arm swung fast, steadied her by his hand clamped onto her sweater covered left breast. Even before she landed a good footing, her flashing brown eyes trained themselves onto Ron's. Ron's arm lurched back, which let Hermione's weight fall onto the table.
"What?!" Ron stammered as the table collapsed.
Harry loomed over her, pulled her back up.
"You grabbed—" Hermione started.
"Pardon me for trying to catch you!" Ron snapped.
"You saw what he did Harry!" Hermione whipped.
"I'm staying out of this." Harry turned back to opening the envelopes on his four poster bed.
"Some friend you are!" Ron snapped.
Bang!
A red Howler exploded with a series of expletives in a ladies' voice.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
HARRY POTTER
YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, BLURTING YOU–KNOW–WHO'S NAME AND SCARING POOR PEOPLE WITLESS TO A VANQUISHED ENEMY, PICKING PATHETIC PEOPLE AS FRIENDS, AND SCREWING A MUGGLE
"What's with your pile of post?" Ron asked Harry.
Hermione sorted over several envelopes, her head shook. "These are not just for him—"
"All of us," Harry said, "Though some of it is horribly misspelled—"
"This one's properly spelled Harold," Ron said as he held one addressed to Harold Plotter.
"Who's Rupert Grint?" Harry asked as he turned another over.
"Hell if I know," Ron said.
"This Emma Watson must be—" Hermione started.
"Like I should be familiar with this Daniel Rad…cliffe!" Harry quipped as he threw one into the rubbish bin.
"I don't get it," Ron said.
"Plenty of letters to clarify their beef with us," Harry remarked as he pointed at the mess cluttering the floor, "Dunno, hundreds, maybe thousands, I haven't counted."
An owl flew in with a Howler addressed to "Roland Weasley", it exploded open with a deep man's voice.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
ROLAND WEASLEY
STAY AWAY FROM HARRY POTTER, YOU ARE UNFIT TO CALL YOURSELF A FRIEND!
Hermione's mouth opened, but not before another Howler arrived, addressed to "Dirty Beastly Slut",
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
MUDBLOOD GRANGER
YOU WHORE, LOVE POTIONS AGAIN!
"Every point of yesterday's article is in the Howlers," Harry said, "And the other assorted mail—except—" Harry handed a letter to Ron, and kept one for himself, which he read aloud.
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Harry Potter
Copies of your emancipation papers were received yesterday; this makes issues of adoption moot.
We remind you that this matter could have been avoided if you had properly notified the Ministry of this earlier, in a timely fashion.
We duly recommend you clean up your behavior as detailed in the Minister's article in yesterday's Daily Prophet.
Todd Hamlin, Ministry Legal Affairs
"Obvious given that I did everything right," Harry said, "Including a solicitor!"
"You didn't want your guardian Snape—" Ron started.
Harry lightly punched Ron's stomach in time for another Howler burst open; the male voice bellowed out at Ron.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
MUD FUCKING BENDER! BURN YOUR WAND!
Ron shrugged before he opened his letter. He read silently.
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Ron
The Ministry has graciously offered me a position in the new Auditor General division, I get to be an Auditor! I start next week. They offered 2500 Galleons per year, plus performance bonuses; more than the paltry sum they were giving Dad; may Azkaban teach him a lesson or two. Can you believe it? Me? An Auditor? If Mum and Dad had brains, they'd be proud.
I heard about your game Saturday, excellent start; but only if you can get your name separated from Potter; a disgrace! I mean, saying You–Know–Who's name in public? Reckless, irresponsible, or fear–monger come to mind; and those are the good terms. Asshole, bigot, and jerk are the mediocre ones. The Ministry is completely confident that You–Know–Who is dead, and your so–called–friend has the gall to call the Ministry wrong; even a poll taken yesterday shows that eighty two percent of the Wizarding community agrees that You–Know–Who is gone! I suggest you tell Potter that when you break off your friendship with him; which I know you'll find a sensible and reasonable course of action.
It said in Sunday's The Daily Prophet that you're intent on continuing relations with that Mud Blood Granger. BREAK IT OFF NOW! She's not worth the damage to your reputation or your potential Quidditch career. I know it's hard to tell somebody you're dumping them, but give it a break! Muggles don't have feelings anyways, that'll make things easier. There are plenty of Pure Blood witches in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff without having to go to Slytherins. Speaking of this, I found an interesting young witch in Cornwall, too young for me, but just right for you; I've invited her for Christmas so you can meet her.
I know, breaking off your friendship with Potter is tough to do, but do it! He's misled the entire Wizarding community about the identity of his girlfriend; for that he should be ashamed and remorseful. Even had me fooled into thinking she was a Mudblood witch refusing Hogwarts; but a Muggle? This tarnishes ever Wizard in existence! CONVINCE POTTER TO SPLIT UP!
Write, correspond! I've sent many letters without a reply.
Percy
"That arsehole!" Ron snapped.
"Interesting that he was given a position," Hermione said, while reading over Ron's shoulder, "No offense, but your family name is a pariah—"
"What about—?" Ron started to demand before being cut off by a bright flash of light and a large pressure wave.
BOOM!
A letter in the pile exploded, a blast that not only sent the other envelopes flying, but also threw Harry across the room. Head against the corner of Finnigan's four poster bed, Harry collapsed like a rag doll to the hardwood floor, blood oozed from new gashes and cuts. Ron, meanwhile, just enough time to push Hermione down as he spun around and dropped, used his back to shield them both from the flying paper.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled. Harry though, remained motionless.
Ron and Hermione bolted over. Hermione felt Harry's neck, conjured up a stretcher.
"He's got a pulse," Hermione stated as Ron heaved Harry onto the stretcher.
"Given Harry, this won't be the last time," Ron said as he and Hermione carried Harry out of the dormitory.
Ron and Hermione trotted fast, alternating between running and a brisk walk. No agreement was required to be had, both Ron and Hermione were focused on Harry, still motionless though breathing on the stretcher, to the Hospital Wing as fast as they could. As they entered, Madam Pomfrey was already out of her office, tending to the contents of a cabinet.
"Pomfrey!" Ron bellowed as they entered the Hospital Wing, "A loyal patron awaits!"
"My goodness!" Madam Pomfrey said as she rushed over, pointed to a bed.
Ron and Hermione set the stretcher down.
"Will he—" Ron started.
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she moved her wand over Harry.
"Explain yourselves," said Professor McGonagall said as she entered.
"An exploding letter," Ron said.
"We got a deluge—one of them—" Hermione said, "Will he be—?"
"He'll survive," Madam Pomfrey said, "Cuts and lesions are superficial, but he's got a concussion, so it'll be an hour or two until he wakes up. A letter? I thought all of his post was screened for that."
"It depends on the strength of the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall replied, "We'll have to change that."
"Understood," Madam Pomfrey said.
"Best for you two to get to class," Professor McGonagall said, her eyes flickered again to Ron and Hermione.
"A few moments for us to get our stuff—" Hermione started.
"Out of the question until Professor Lupin checks your dormitory," Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Tonks will understand."
Ron and Hermione left the Hospital Wing. They climbed the steps to the third floor.
"Should we go back, tend to Harry?" Ron asked.
"Class," Hermione muttered.
They came to the classroom, entered, where the were missing, with the benches arranged into a circle with Professor Tonks standing in the middle.
"Excuses are another name for failure," Professor Tonks said, "I presume Mr. Potter uninterested—"
"Professor McGonagall—" Hermione started.
"Take your seats," Professor Tonks said, "Empty handed mean your essays are late, inadmissible."
Hermione's jaw dropped, Ron escorted her to the only open bench, between Susan Bones to one side, Neville Longbottom to the other. Ron sat on the bench next to Susan Bones.
"Not everybody is so forgetful," said Draco Malfoy, passing his essay over.
"Five points to Slytherin," Professor Tonks said.
Draco Malfoy grinned a bit more.
"Shadow of the golden child grows dark and stale indeed," Finnigan remarked.
"Ron," Hermione whispered.
"If you had read the fifth page of this morning's The Daily Prophet, what would you know?" Professor Tonks asked.
"Nothing but arrests," said Susan Bones.
"Please, elaborate," Professor Tonks said.
Susan read.
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=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Peddler Nabbed in Muggle Swindle
Con–artist Milton Colpy was once again busted running an illicit shipping business tricking muggles into paying for overnight delivery using magic for transportation. Colpy was caught offering six hour freight shipping from Liverpool to Australia, an unheard of speed for muggles, setting up a grave risk of the discovery of our world.
"Can you all understand the dangers of mixing muggle business with magic?" Professor Tonks said, "Instant transportation—unheard of, even with their fastest of machines. We can beat 'em without relying upon anything that fouls the air!"
"Seems fine," Finnigan said, "Just don't get caught."
"Easier said than done when you get trapped into a lie to cover it up," Professor Tonks said, "And page one—you've all read—"
Hermione shook her head.
"Then read instead of spending all morning fraternizing!" Professor Tonks snapped.
Draco Malfoy smiled.
"Page one," Finnigan's voice boomed out, "I don't see the big deal, the Church assassinations happened way before I was born."
"The church assassins were fraternal twins that you did not want to meet," Professor Tonks said, "One a witch, while his squib brother was talented in talking you up into handing over all your possessions before his sister would send a killing curse your way. As you–know–who rose to power, she was lured into becoming a Death Eater. At her initiation, she violated and murdered her own twin, grounds that allowed the Ministry of Magic to execute her once they caught up with her."
"No demeantors kiss?" Macmillan asked.
"Old news," said Susan Bones.
"Desperate times, desperate measures," Professor Tonks said.
"Desperate measures?" Finnigan said, "You know who died years ago!"
"Says so right here," Justin Finch–Fletchley said, as he pointed to an article, "The The Daily Prophet wouldn't print lies."
"Treating any source of information as gospel is a perilous thing to do," Professor Tonks said, "Any single person giving an odd statement—such as You–Know–Who being responsible despite witnessing their demise, should be treated with skepticism and doubt."
"Likely a diversion," Finnigan said, "He likely placed the bet, likely fouled those results, to conveniently make them the only ones able to field those positions."
"Then you do not know Harry," Ron said, "Not really!"
"Neither do you!" Finnigan said, "Just what are you kissing for him to let you leach off him?"
"Friendship, do you need Gryffindor courage to be a friend?" said Harry as he entered, three book–bags strapped over his shoulder, bandage on his right temple. "I know their loyalties, what about yours?"
"With your fists to my face?" Justin Finch–Fletchley asked.
"Open your fucking minds!" Harry said, "That Voldemort found a way to cheat death shouldn't be a surprise! I watched him reincarnate his body—he's back!"
"Stop your nonsense!" Draco Malfoy said, "My father knew best, it stopped fifteen years ago."
"Exactly," Professor Tonks said,
"Then you're a bigger fool than I imagined," Harry said to Professor Tonks.
"You're out of—" Professor Tonks started.
"Nymphadora," said Professor Lupin as he advertised his presence, "May I have a word?"
"Dismissed," Professor Tonks said.
Quickly, the students stood up, most left. Ron, though, simply stood.
"Ron, Hermione," Professor Lupin said, "Your dormitory—it's good now."
Professor Lupin escorted Professor Tonks to her office. Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the classroom.
"Do NOT call me by my first name!" Professor Tonks said as Professor Lupin reached for the tea kettle, "Especially in front of the students."
"After embarrassing them for receiving a letter bomb?" Professor Lupin asked as he poured the tea.
"That's impossible," Professor Tonks said.
"You know as well as I do that the mail ward for Harry relies upon the strength of the Headmaster," Professor Lupin said, "Which is under attack."
"You're certain that's Potter's excuse?" Professor Tonks asked.
"He was knocked out by the first one," Professor Lupin said, "His friends took him to the Hospital Wing, four more arrived after they had done so. Quite ordinary, something a first year could competently brew with common ingredients."
"I'll apologize to you," Professor Tonks said, licking her lips, "Maybe something special tonight?"
"You know why that's out of the question," Professor Lupin said, cup to his lips, "This is as far as I'll go." He sipped the tea.
Harry went to the second floor, stepped onto the ascending stairs, and entered the Headmaster's office.
"Good morning, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, motioned to the chairs by the fireplace.
Harry knew the Headmaster would be just as effective sitting behind the desk, however, customs were customs. Harry stood next to one as the cane tapping carried Professor Dumbledore over.
"Have a seat," said Professor Dumbledore.
Harry sat as the Headmaster did.
"Your refusal to learn Occlumency with Professor Snape endangers us," Professor Dumbledore stated, "Whether or not Mr. Tom Riddle is aware of how you knew of the bet, that is immaterial to the fact that he will find out, and your mind will be an open book to him, waiting to be read, unless you've prepared. Severus is more than capable—"
"Not with him," Harry stated.
"You astound me with both a sense of maturity yet ignorance to the fate that would await you, your friends, when he succeeds at penetrating your mind," Professor Dumbledore said, "It's not a question of if, but a question of when Mr. Riddle finds out, exploits it."
"I know," Harry said, "It's why I've asked Richard to select the destination for next week's trip, so I don't know it, so Voldemort can't find out. Once Richard knows, he'll write you."
"Alas, a brain on one hand but not the other," Professor Dumbledore said, "It is wise to mitigate against threats you could otherwise prepare to defend against."
"Not with Professor Snape," Harry stated, "You, for instance—"
"I would quickly be compromised to Tom Riddle, through you," Professor Dumbledore said, "It's simply out of the question."
"Find somebody else," Harry said, letting his loathing of Professor Snape come to the forefront of his mind, "Not him."
"I wish you'd get over your animosity to Severus," the Headmaster said, "I will not be around forever, and he is more than capable of guiding you—"
"Not him," Harry repeated, "He can't help but take his hatred for James Potter out on me, he and I—we can't work together, ever."
"A piece of advice," Professor Dumbledore said, "Like you, Gryffindors have a certain knack for forgiveness, it's what keeps our world from falling apart. Which is good because grudges are nasty things to bear."
"Talk to Snape about that—first," Harry said, "If he can bring himself to…" he paused and clasped his hips "…to kiss my arse, maybe then, we can start, but until then, he can piss off. What about Professor Lupin, does he know Occlumency?"
"When I said it's regulated, I meant it," Professor Dumbledore said, "I'm only aware of three outside the Ministry with such knowledge, myself, Severus, and Mr. Riddle."
"What about inside the Ministry?" Harry asked.
"The few interrogators that know it are cursed to forget it every day," Professor Dumbledore said, "Even the material I lent you, was officially destroyed."
"Maybe there's others, like an unregistered animagus is more common than a registered one," Harry said.
"At least for that, you'd find the book in the restricted section," Professor Dumbledore said, "A handful more are aware of the topic, but they cannot assist. As practicing against Mr. Riddle is out of the question, nor myself, that leaves Professor Snape."
"Then I will have to take my chances and hope Voldemort doesn't find out," Harry said.
"Your disregard for your own safety, for everybody's safety, astounds me," the Headmaster said.
"Nothing is safe," Harry stressed.
Professor Dumbledore's twinkling eyes fixated onto Harry's, tried to decipher Harry's mind.
"If you've got nothing else," Harry said, "I should get myself to the library, catch up."
Harry grabbed his bookbag, left the office. A short walk later, Harry entered the library.
"It's important," Hermione said to Ron, across the table, his blue eyes strained at her chest before they skirted back up to her eyes beneath her bushy hair, "Because it's not like The Daily Prophet suddenly decided to dig up old news."
"It was a problem, big problem," Ron said, as Harry came to stand next to the table, "During his rise—they couldn't tell ordinary threat from the big threat."
"But it's like everybody's trying to cover up the truth!" Hermione said.
"Business as usual, then," Harry said.
"Yeah, but it's not right!" Hermione snapped.
"There's always been thieves," Ron said, "Killers, that sort."
"Enough to give everybody a history lesson?" Hermione asked, "Do we really need to know why an assassin would be drawn to You–Know–Who?"
"It's…" Harry touched the itch of his scar. He caught a glimpse, a flash, of a memory from before his time, of a woman who knelt before the Dark Lord, the corpse of her fraternal squib brother. Pride with a glint of despair. "Complicated, for everybody, their initiation is…personal to them."
"Harry?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Harry retorted.
"Liar," Ron said as he glanced at Harry's eyes.
"What Harry?" Hermione asked.
"I'm late for Madam Pomfrey," Harry said as he moved fast, for the door.
"That's this afternoon," Ron said, as he followed Harry out of the library.
"Then lunch!" Harry snapped.
"Good," Ron said, "Wait for Hermione."
Harry paused long enough for her to catch up.
"I was—" Hermione started.
"Harry's hungry," Ron said.
"I never said that," Harry said, "You go on ahead, meet you up there."
"We'll come with you," Ron said.
"It's lunchtime, you're undoubtedly hungry," Harry said.
"And so you should be too," Ron said.
"Let it go, Ron," Hermione said.
"No," Ron stated.
"I'll be up shortly," Harry said, "Just have to talk to…talk to…" He searched for names. "Hagrid."
"Good idea," Ron said, "Lead the way."
"Ron?" Hermione asked.
Harry had recognized the determinism in Ron's eyes, decided it was the best way to resolve it, and went down the steps. A cold breeze blew across them as they left the castle, crossed the grass beneath fair sky, over to the familiar hut.
"'arry," said Hagrid, hauling a large bag of oats over his shoulder, "Nice of 'eh to visit. Come in."
They entered.
"Seemed a better place to study," Ron said.
Harry glanced at those blue eyes, could tell Ron was now hiding his determination of earlier.
"Sure," Hagrid said.
"Lunch?" Ron asked.
"Be a few," Hagrid replied.
"Thanks," Harry said, as he got out his notes and books from his book bag, laid them on the table.
Hagrid left. They studied while they waited, before Hagrid returned.
"Staying out of trouble?" Hagrid asked.
"Fine," Harry replied.
"Yeh went—" Hagrid pointed to Sunday's The Daily Prophet with Harry's picture on the front. "Could've told me first."
"Sorry," Harry said, "Security, you know."
"Professor Dumbledore didn't want anybody blowing it," Hermione said.
"We figured it best not to tell you," Ron said, "Fewer people who knew, the better."
"Like this morning, I got caught by a really bad letter," Harry said.
"Did you get the lunch from the House Elfs?" Ron asked as his stomach growled.
"In a jiffy," Hagrid replied.
"We got a deluge of letters today," Ron said, "Some of them—beyond Howlers, exploded. Luckily, Harry's experienced here."
"Yes," Harry curtly replied.
"Shouldn't of happened," Hagrid said.
"Welcome to my life," Harry said.
Pop!
"Dobby happy to help Harry Potter," said the House Elf, as his fingers snapped, and food appeared on the table.
"See, lunch," Ron said as he reached for a toasted ham and cheese sandwich.
"Thank you very much," Hermione said to Dobby.
Pop!
"Perhaps you can help," Harry said, the topic nagged at him, "Why would people suddenly be interested in assassins from before the dark times?"
"Not sure," Hagrid said, "Big fuss over nothing, if you ask me. Sure, Knockturn Alley bustled for ages before Minister shut 'er down. Nobody lived in fear before You–Know–Who rose to power."
Harry glanced at Hermione.
"It makes the Ministry seem incompetent," Hermione said.
"So, it wasn't them," Harry said, "Somebody had a beef."
"You don't work for 'em," Hagrid said.
"Pity the fool who does," Ron said, gloomily.
Harry glanced at Ron, knew the issue; the Ministry who happily threw Mr. Weasley into Azkaban for being broke over a destroyed house.
"Eat," Ron said to Harry.
"I'm not hungry," Harry said as he stood.
"Would it help if I sat on it?" Ron asked.
"No." Harry snorted, stood next to the fire, facing the heat.
Harry flinched, a searing pain, a Cruciatus Curse, and he touched his scar.
"What?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Harry said, as it occurred to him that Ron had witnessed it, "Just a hot ember."
"What'd you expect?" Hermione said, "You're standing next to the fire."
Round and clear crystal, smooth to the touch, all in a line.
Harry glanced up at the glowing orb on the ceiling of the greenhouse, soaked his fingers in the warm water, rubbed his scar before he moved onto the next smooth pot.
"What is it?" Ron asked, filling in dirt around the roots while Hermione held the blooming tomato plant in place.
"Nothing," Harry muttered.
"I don't get it," said Wayne Hopkins as Professor Sprout came back in, "These are normal muggle plants."
"As food must be grown, it's good to have fruits and vegetables at all times of the year," Professor Sprout said, "As far as these plants know, it's currently summer."
Crystal flew against the wall.
Crash!
Harry dropped the pot as his scar flared up.
Thud! Crack!
Soil spilled, blended in with the dirt floor.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seven month dies." [OotP, Ch37]
"Harry!" Ron quipped.
"Nothing," Harry said, defensively, "Sorry, clumsy."
Green flash, the Unspeakable crumpled to the ground while a long oak wand was snatched and used to open the door.
"Nothing," Harry repeated as he braced himself.
"Class dismissed," Professor Sprout said, "Which leaves something for those in detention."
"Wait," Ron said as his hand gripped Harry's arm.
"Why?" Harry asked as the greenhouse cleared out.
"Ron?" Hermione asked.
Ron's blue eyes twisted, watched the door as the others, including Professor Sprout, left.
"What'd you see?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Harry lied.
"Lets go home," Hermione said.
"Fine," Ron said, slipping her a Portkey.
Hermione vanished.
"You?" Harry stammered.
"Helping you keep your appointment," Ron said, escorting Harry out of the greenhouse.
"It's supposed to be PRIVATE!" Harry snapped.
"Bollocks!" Ron said, "It's me coming along."
"I mean it," Harry said as they moved along.
"Liar," Ron said.
They went up the steps.
"It's always different," Ron said as they entered the Hospital Wing.
"Good afternoon Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Weasley. This way Potter."
Ron followed Harry over to the bed.
"Cooperate or she'll give you a full examination," Ron threatened.
"Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey snapped.
"Thank you," Harry said to Madam Pomfrey as she ran her wand over him.
"Any symptoms?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"Yes," Ron said, "He's been rubbing his forehead, a lot."
"Ron!" Harry snapped.
Madam Pomfrey aimed her wand at his head.
"Checks out," Madam Pomfrey said, "Definitely."
"So, I'll live?" Harry asked, sarcastically.
"That's not in doubt," Madam Pomfrey said, "Unless you're foolish and endanger yourself, yet again." She poked at his shirt. "Take it easy and get something to eat, I'm not clearing you for Quidditch unless you do."
"We're done here," Harry stated as he took the steps for the door.
Ron whispered with Madam Pomfrey before he gave chase, caught up with Harry at the door. They left the Hospital Wing. A handful of paces and a voice sneered from behind.
"Psychiatric advice Potter?" Draco Malfoy sneered, "Did a letter get to—?"
"And just—" Harry turned around to face the blonde haired creep. "How do you know—?"
"Haven't you read?" Malfoy said, "You're the wanker I know you to be—hanging around this beastly tramp—"
"Do not insult—" Ron started.
"Belt up and bugger off—" Harry snapped at Malfoy. Harry didn't need Legilimency to read Draco Malfoy's hatred toward him.
"And turn my back on you—?" Malfoy said.
"You fag," Ron retorted as his hand grabbed the crotch of his trousers, "Go and hump your warted knob into Goyle's—"
SMACK!
Malfoy's right fist crossed Ron's left jaw, a moment after Oliver Wood rounded the corner just behind Malfoy.
"Twenty five more points Malfoy," Wood said.
"So, he's got you fagging too?" Malfoy took a step, whispered to Harry and Ron, "This ain't over."
Malfoy's shoulder bumped Harry's hard before he left. Oliver Wood, however, had his eyes on Ron's face, touched the jaw.
"Alright?" Oliver Wood asked.
"Ta," Ron replied.
"It was suggested I might find you around here," Oliver Wood said, "Can you come with me Weasley?"
Harry followed Ron. Ron glared.
"You insisted on following me," Harry quipped. Also, they only had one Portkey between them, as Hermione had the other.
"Better to talk in here than in the corridors," Oliver Wood said as they entered the ground floor office.
Pennants now littered the walls. An entire wall devoted to the house teams of Hogwarts, dominated by Gryffindor colors, with some inclusion of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherins. Moving pictures of the house teams covered most of the past two decades.
"You've decorated," Ron stated.
"I spent enough time here, seemed wise," Oliver Wood said as he closed the office door, "Had the chance this morning."
Harry's eyes, though, moved onto the other walls. One had many professional teams surrounding the window; it too was dominated by Puddlemere United and Appleby Arrows colors. Harry ignored the wall with the door between the cases of tightly packed school brooms. Instead, Harry focused on the large portrait hanging third wall, the one that Oliver stood in front of, behind the large oak desk, above the crates of Quidditch balls that lined the juncture with the floor. A motionless Madam Hooch stood watch by her broom.
"Commission was just finished," Oliver Wood said, turned toward it, "Like it?"
Despite the painting hanging there, it didn't blot the memory coming back, the one from June when Goyle Sr. uttered the deadly curse, the flash of green light as Madam Hooch dropped to the floor, the swarm of demeantors that forced a hasty retreat.
"Her death was so pointless," Harry muttered.
"So death should have a point?" Oliver Wood asked as he sat down behind the desk.
Ron sat down in one of the chairs to the left.
"I mean, people get old and it happens," Harry said as he leaned against the desk, "But being killed for being an irritant—nothing heroic, no good reason to the sacrifice—Death Eaters treat it so casually, blimey!"
"I judge her by the life," Oliver Wood said, "I'd be concerned if her death didn't irk you."
Harry breathed.
"Definitely," Oliver Wood said. "You enjoyed Saturday's match?"
"It was definitely fun," Ron said, "However, we've already got a Quidditch team in Gryffindor."
"It never hurts to get a taste of professional Quidditch," Oliver Wood said, "I mean, you're sixth years now, and after you're done with your seventh year, you're out of here, finished with Hogwarts. Then what?"
"Dunno," Harry said as he turned around, studied the large Puddlemere United picture next to the window. "You ran your head against a wall, just so we had to play?"
Oliver Wood snorted.
"Better than the rumor that you arranged it," Ron said to Harry, "Because it did seem convenient."
"I hadn't heard that one," Oliver Wood said, "Now, somebody did knock me out, but I didn't get the face, knocked me out cold, so the need was genuine."
"It was strange that there was nobody else qualified," Harry said, wondered how much the Headmaster had to do with it.
"Even the accusation of doping is automatic," Oliver Wood said, "It stripped the coaches from hiring replacements for those positions. As you practiced with us on Halloween, you could be anointed as backups."
"Lucky," Harry quipped as he turned back around.
"Your efforts were definitely appreciated," Oliver Wood said as he slid a Gringotts key across the desk toward Ron. "Your pay is in vault number 2034, don't spend it all in one place."
"You should've seen his face in Meyer's office," Harry said.
"I heard," Oliver Wood said, "Even your post–game interview was an eye opener."
"Post–game interviews happen all the time, right Ron?" Harry said, wanting to avoid the topic. A quick glance to those blue eyes, and Ron understood.
"Yes," Ron said.
"Seemed there was little left to chance," Oliver Wood said, "You spoiled somebody's plan—"
"While this has been pleasant," Harry said as he bowed, "If you'll excuse us—"
"Thought practice was canceled," Oliver Wood said, eyes upon Hary.
"And what to you think we want to do with our newly found time?" Harry asked.
"Girls," Ron stated, "And playing with our todgers."
Oliver Wood snorted. Harry went for the door, Ron followed.
"Wait!" Oliver Wood said.
Harry and Ron paused.
"Game against Chudley Canons on Saturday," Oliver Wood said, "I can score you some tickets—if you can persuade the Headmaster—"
"Deal," Harry said.
"Enjoy your evening," Wood said as he reached for the pile on his desk, "This essay…"
Ron opened the door, pointed for Harry to go first, which Harry did.
"Making sure Wood checks out your wood?" asked Draco Malfoy, from nearby while leaning back against the stone wall of the corridor.
"You've got nothing better to do than follow us around?" Harry asked.
"In your dreams," Malfoy sneered, "You think you're hot? Even a ten sickle hooker would get more action on Valentine's day than you would."
"Sit and spin," Ron stated.
"Deck him again," Harry said to Ron.
"And get suspended?" Malfoy asked.
"It'd be worth it," Ron said.
"No he's not worth it," Harry said, tugged on Ron.
Ron spun around, bent over, dropped his trousers, and mooned Malfoy.
"Disgusting," Malfoy stated, rapidly left.
Harry and Ron turned, went down the corridor, and entered the cleaned out remains of the Dragon's Nest.
"It's—" Harry started, his hand reached into his book–bag, to the pocket that only contained his wand.
"Hermione's got it," Ron said, pulling the Hogwarts Pin and the fourteen inch walnut wand out of his bag, activated it.
Harry held on, felt the customary jerk behind the naval.
"Should've given her yours," Harry said as it whisked them away from Hogwarts.
"Yours was more convenient," Ron stated.
"She'd have to—" Harry started as they landed, in the familiar light yellow bedroom, with Ron's Puddlemere United robes tacked to the wall. Hermione was already laying in her knickers on her bed, reading a book. His eyes, though, focused onto Ron's blues. "This isn't Gia's—"
"You're just full of tidbits on You–Know–Who," Ron stated as he put his Portkey and wand back into his book bag, before he put it onto the floor next to Hermione's. Ron quickly pulled his jumper off, unbuttoned his shirt and removed it.
"It's common knowledge," Harry protested.
"Wagers? Professor Snape?" Ron said, "Some people are going to think that you are You–Know–Who."
Ron pushed Harry into sitting on the bed.
"I'm not!" Harry protested. Ron now towered over him, blue eyes bearing down, trying to probe. Harry fixated his eyes on Ron's nipples to avoid the snooping.
"Difficult to prove otherwise," Hermione said, "Is your scar—?"
"All … day … long," Ron stated.
"Am not!" Harry quipped.
"How many times, Harry?" Ron demanded as he cinched his belt a bit tighter, "Do I need to spell it out?"
"Just flashes and stuff," Harry admitted, "It's not worth bothering over."
"So, you'd rather just politely ask You–Know–Who?" Ron said, while lacing his voice with sarcasm, "Might be a bit tough to get him to answer his owl post."
"Just a bit," Harry snorted.
"So, what is he up to?" Ron asked.
"Don't think it works quite that way," Hermione said, "Does it?"
"No," Harry quipped.
Hermione moved, sat next to Harry. "What have you seen? Anything could help us … people, any tidbit you've gotten."
"Like Voldemort torturing over failed bets?" Harry stammered, "It's not like a diary or anything. I'd rather forget the Cruciatus Curses, thank you very much!"
"So, don't worry about everything," Hermione said, "Get what you can, write it down, maybe it'll make sense later.
"Like I'd be telling anything new you don't already know," Harry said, "I mean, he's got the prophecy—"
"What?!" Hermione stammered as she got off her feet, her eyes joined Ron's in a mutual glare at Harry.
"We didn't know that," Ron said.
"Earlier, during Herbology," Harry remarked, casually.
"It's serious too," Ron said, "It's not like he can just walk in—"
"Like it'll really change his mind about killing me," Harry quipped.
"Prophecies are guarded at the Ministry," Ron said, "That implies—"
"It changes a lot," Hermione said, "You're now a major obstacle, not just an irritant—"
"An irritant?!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes darted at hers.
"To him and be proud of it!" Hermione said, the desire to be obstinate seeped through her mind.
"You're calling me—" Harry protested as he leapt to his feet, his rage focused upon the red haired arsehole in front of him.
"She's right, Chap," Ron said, "You put him into a ten year holiday—"
"YOU'RE SIDING WITH—" Harry yelled.
"Calm down," Ron said, his right hand tried to push Harry back onto the bed.
"I AM CALM!" Harry protested.
"You and I—" Ron grabbed Harry's hand, pulled toward the door. "We're going for a drink, Mate."
"Me?" Hermione asked.
"It'll be too rough," Ron stated.
Though they were both shirtless, Harry kept his glare at Ron as he let Ron pull him out of the house into the modestly cool evening. A strong gust pulled along the thickening clouds above.
"I'm sorry," Ron said, "Sometimes—I love Hermione, just that you and me—we guys talk shit better."
"True," Harry admitted.
They focused on the sidewalk, the cars passed them by, and they came to the White Horse, entered.
"No shirts no—" A burly barman behind the counter, first glanced at Harry and Ron, before surveying what was obvious, a nearly empty room, "What'll be your grub?"
"A pizza for him, and two bitter pints," Harry said as he laid down a twenty pound note.
"You don't have—" Ron started to reach for his own wallet.
"On me," Harry quipped.
"I meant it," Ron said as Harry carried the two bitters over to a table, "You didn't have to pay."
They went to opposite sides of the table. Ron sat first.
"Yes I did," Harry said as he sat. "Certainly, you had a reason—"
"Got that right," Ron said, "You seemed ready to explode."
"You called me an irritant," Harry quipped as he sipped.
"Blimey yeah!" Ron sipped at his bitter. "How many times have you stopped his plans for world domination? Half a dozen? Dunno about you, but if I were bent on world domination, I'd certainly find meddlers to be irritating. It's a not an insult, but rather a compliment there, Mate." Ron smiled.
Harry snorted, returned a grin.
"Pizza's ready!" came the holler from the barman.
Ron stood and went for the bar, returned with the pepperoni pizza. Ron sat.
"I take it that Dumbledore peddled his favorite subject for you to be learning?" Ron asked.
"Yeah," Harry replied.
"Not tonight," Ron said, "Useful though, you can tell a lot."
"I know," Harry replied.
"Now," Ron said, "Percy's bloody wrong." Ron nibbled on another pizza slice. "You're a good friend to have, but we're in this mess together—"
"You'd be safer without me," Harry stated. He knew this to be true, because Voldemort's punches were aimed toward Harry, without concern to those near Harry, a desirable consequence to Voldemort.
"Quit that nonsense—this isn't the first time Percy's tried to boss me around." Ron sipped on his bitter. "All the prophecy did was change the motive for killing—"
"You mean Vo—" Harry started.
"Not here, use He," Ron stated, clearly aware of their muggle surroundings. "Lagers."
Harry finished off his bitter while Ron went back up to the bar. Ron returned a moment later, carrying two large mugs with handles.
"Way I see it," Ron said as he sat back down, "We're fighting them, heck, even lost my Mum, but that's the nature of the fight, we lose the people we don't want to lose. My family's already known for being in this fight, whether its knowing you or not. However, you've got insight, real insight into the other side. Can you really blame me for wanting that information? Maybe it'll stop our troubles, or spare somebody. Can you understand this?"
"Suppose so," Harry said, not used to thinking it from anybody else's perspective but his own.
"I'd rather not lose anybody else," Ron said, "Sure, I hate my brothers, sister, but I also love 'em more; you love 'em more than you hate. They're simply irreplaceable and I don't want to lose more of my family, which now includes you, Hermione, even Gia. That's why what comes to your mind is important, it gives us an edge that he doesn't know about."
"Dumbledore thinks its only a matter of time until we lose that edge," Harry said, his eyes focused again on those pair of nipples across the table from him.
"I'd like to help, as best as I can," Ron said, "As a friend to a friend, one with a killer after him."
"He's wanted me dead for years," Harry quipped, "It's not like he's succeeded."
"Not it's for lack of trying!" Ron exclaimed, "He only has to succeed once."
"Why thank you for that cheer!" Harry snapped.
"Eat," Ron shoved the last two slices at Harry, "Gotta be fed—need me to sit on that for you?"
"No," Harry said.
"It'll be cold before Gia has a chance," Ron said.
"You're going to be like this?" Harry asked.
"Me, Hermione, we're putting our lives into your hands," Ron said, "Count on me to watch yourself, because you're not trying."
"Meaning?" Harry demanded.
Ron leaned forward, his red armpit hair showed, as he took a slice, picked off a slice of pepperoni, and held it up in front of Harry's mouth.
"Do we have to do it this way?" Ron said, "I can, if you want, shove this into your mouth, or you can eat it yourself."
"I'm full," Harry lifted his mug.
"You haven't ate a damn thing," Ron said, "Like you said, killer after you. So your plan is to drop dead before he catches up with you?"
"No," Harry snapped.
"Fine, then eat," Ron said.
Harry took the pepperoni slice, ate.
"There, done," Harry said.
"More," Ron said, "Because even Madam Pomfrey agrees more should go—" Ron reached forward, poked into Harry's stomach. "Here. Half a slice?"
Ron took the fork and knife, cut the slice of pizza in half, on the table.
"Better?" Ron asked.
"Loads," Harry grumbled, realized this was one determined wizard he was facing as the pizza slice began to levitate. "Before they spot ya!" Harry grabbed the slice, held it in his fingers.
"You do need the strength," Ron said, "Because he shouldn't have gotten the prophecy in the first place! Entire thing?"
"Yes," Harry replied.
"Given that Trelawney is now dead, it wasn't from her telling him," Ron said, "How much did you see?"
"A crystal ball, one of many," Harry said.
"There's always a copy at the Ministry," Ron said, "It requires either you or him to walk into there—you haven't visited there recently, have you?"
Harry glared at the blue eyed sixteen year old boy sitting across from him.
"Didn't think so," Ron said as he picked up his mug, held it to his lips, "So how did he get—"
"His plant at the Ministry," Harry blurted.
Blue eyes scowled, glared.
"That's serious, very serious," Ron said, "Have you told Dumbledore—?"
"Like I tell him everything!" Harry replied, "Besides, the plant at Hogwarts might find out—"
THUD!
Ron's grip had already released, his mug had already hit the table top, the suds spilled over.
"I knew you'd make a scene!" Harry snapped.
"Do you realize the bloody hell of it all?" Ron said, "Dad's mentioned the trouble that stirred in the Ministry in the first war—with people in Hogwarts—tomorrow, we're going to talk to—"
"Do we have to?" Harry pleaded.
"Yes." Ron leaned over the table. "You hate it when stuff is kept from you."