'That's enough for the day, I think,' Albus said, more sharply than he usually would have towards Fawkes, but he felt unusually irritable this morning. 'You're getting a real sweet tooth.'

Fawkes cried a protest but backed off from the bowl of sweets as he had been told. That did not mean, however, that he was happy about it. Albus watched as he stared at his talons gripping his perch, refusing to acknowledge him any further. Albus sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration. He was not the young, energy-filled man he had once been, and had been through so much headache over the last weeks that a residual dull thumping was still present even after several potions. And now Fawkes, too, had to act up.

Zürich was a wholesale disappointment, but not an unexpected one. It would have been too much to hope for a different result given Fudge's famous stubbornness – which at times bordered on dullness – though it would not have been fair to pin the responsibility on him entirely. The Prussian Chancellor von Aachen, too, simply wanted far too much and was unwilling to budge on his demands, though Albus could at least understand why he would want to take such a hard-line stance.

It was well-known that von Aachen faced trouble at home. His campaign to reform the army, though obviously necessary to strengthen the corrupt and increasingly inept service in response to the increased unrest along the eastern border as a result of the civil war in Russia, had been deeply unpopular with the pure-blood elites, whose inherited posts in the army had been stripped from them and given to new holders promoted based more on merit. In a few rare, isolated cases, this had even meant muggle-born officers, something many such elites considered nothing less than a personal denigration. It made sense, then, that von Aachen would try to score flashy victories abroad to stoke domestic support. While that did not engender Albus to his belligerent and uncompromising attitudes in Zürich, he at least felt some sense of pity for the man – he had just been removed from the Chancellorship for his perceived failures at the conference and replaced with a relative unknown by the name of Erika von Adlerfels, from, of all places, the reformist camp. Albus did not think the unexpected choice was an accident at all, however. The conservatives must have believed that it would be much easier to control an inexperienced outsider than someone who knew how to play their games.

Everything was too new for Albus to make any sure judgements, but he was unsure he liked what he was seeing. Some of von Adlerfels's policies seemed quite reasonable, but others, especially her foreign policy, seemed to resemble needlessly aggressive posturing. The only thing he could be sure about was that Prussia was likely to remain an issue for some time to come.

There was a knock on his door. Severus had arrived. 'Please enter.'

The door opened and Severus walked in. It had been some time since he had last spoken extensively to him, and Albus was sure that Severus realised this very clearly. He had been putting off having this conversation for some time now, trying to understand the enemy better and perhaps waiting for anything to happen that might give him a better idea of what was happening. Nothing of much substance showed itself, however. There was, of course, the hypothesis, but the only evidence for it were several strains of rumours. Rumours that appeared to fit together, sure, but rumours nonetheless.

It was unwise, however, to sit around and marinate on his thoughts, especially in light of the news from Harry. He put faith in April's interpretation – it was in line with what he would probably have thought of the whole ordeal – but it would be foolish to rest easy on a guess, however sensible, and not prepare for the scenario that the threat may actually not be empty.

'Long travels?' Severus asked stiffly as he took a seat.

'Not awful,' Albus replied. 'Portkeys for dignitaries cause little fatigue, thank goodness.'

'Good to hear,' Severus said, not bothering to hide the fact that he actually cared very little. 'How may I be of service then, Albus?'

'Last year, naturally. We have not yet discussed it in depth.'

'Because you didn't want to.'

'That is true,' Albus affirmed, expecting such a statement. 'I wanted to learn more, gather my thoughts, before conveying them to you.'

'What are your thoughts, then? What have you found?'

'Very little,' Albus admitted truthfully. 'Voldemort, as usual, defies easy explanations. Nothing came of the search of Quirrell's belongings, either. Perhaps if we had been monitoring him earlier, we would know a little more, but as you know very well, I had wrongly suspected Septima for much of the autumn, and therefore, we lost the opportunity.'

'I never believed Septima was behind it,' Severus groused in an 'I told you so' way. 'The Dark Lord would not have chosen her to do his bidding. She was too obvious, and her contacts in high places who keep her employed would have immediately noticed if something were happening.'

'With hindsight, it is easy to say. I don't recall you being so sure all of last year.'

'I believed it, but you did not believe me.'

'You expressed much doubt yourself,' Albus reminded him. 'You had said, and I agreed, that Septima's known beliefs made her a major suspect, until better evidence pointed to Quirrell. But I am not here to argue with you about petty things like who should have listened to whom – it would probably never have been significant whether we started monitoring Quirrell earlier or not, anyway. What is actually important is what we do now.'

'And that is?'

Albus reached into his desk drawer and pulled out Harry's letter, handing it to Severus. 'This, for one.'

He watched as Severus read through the letter, paying close attention to the expression on his face. He had to remember April – she had been Lily's close friend, after all. In a part of his mind, he knew that the mention of April had to give Severus some kick of motivation. It could be called emotional blackmail, but it would not hurt to remind Severus of his past, especially not now, seeing as the storm clouds seemed once again forming on the distant horizon.

Severus's expression was remarkably still as his eyes scanned down the page. When he finally finished, he looked up at Albus, face cautiously sculpted blank. He was, beyond any doubt, affected.

'So, Potter was threatened. Do you take this seriously?'

'It would be stupid to ignore it,' Albus answered.

'Pritchard – April Davis – said she didn't put faith in it.'

'She didn't put faith in it, but that does not mean ignore it,' Albus clarified. 'What if this was not an empty threat or an elaborate attempt to lure Harry away from Hogwarts, but actually real? It would be negligence to not act, not just for Harry's sake, but for the rest of the school. Preparations must be made, Severus, precautions must be taken.'

'There is certainly much we can do against a threat when we don't even have a hint of that threat's character,' Severus replied sarcastically. 'There is no way to compel a house-elf, as Potter and Pritchard found out for themselves. There is no way to track whose house-elf it was, and for all we know, there may be a thousand "Dobby's" in Britain. What do you suggest, then? Shut down Hogwarts? Upturn the entire country to find some vague threat?'

'There is no need for that attitude, Severus,' Albus rebuked. 'And there are certainly precautions that can be taken against an unknown threat. I have already taken many of them. Amelia Bones at the Department of Security, for example, already knows about the threat, and has assured me that the Enforcement Patrol and the Auror Force will all be on alert to mobilise and guard key locations in and around the school on a moment's notice. I will inform the staff of these developments shortly.'

'Then what is the point of this meeting, if you have already done all there is to do?' Severus asked irritably.

'Prepare for the future,' Albus replied. 'It should be obvious by now that Voldemort is not only out there, but actively planning to return. It is not a matter of "if" he will return, but "when". Have you ever read Sun Tzu?'

'Who?'

'Sun Tzu,' Albus explained. 'He was a general and strategist in ancient China. "Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win," he said. When the worst comes, be it tomorrow or in a decade, we must be prepared.'

Severus nodded and said nothing, signalling for Albus to continue. 'Let's speak frankly. You know the contents of the Prophecy, at least partially. Out of Harry Potter and Voldemort, only one can survive. I believe you now are as sure in your knowledge as I am of who must be the one to survive. Fate, however, only wills that it shall happen, but not how it shall happen. Harry Potter cannot be allowed to face whatever awaits him without preparation.'

'How?'

'He is still young,' Albus answered, 'and I cannot in good conscience train a school-aged boy for war – even in the intention of defending himself. As he grows up, however, he must be taught magic which will help him survive. He must also learn everything he could possibly learn about Voldemort, for magic can only help him survive, and only knowledge can help him prevail. To use another Sun Tzu quote, "if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."'

The look on Severus's face exuded more than a little scepticism. 'Do you have any objections?' Albus asked.

Severus said nothing for a long moment. 'You intend to entrust all that to a boy of such mediocrity as Potter?' he questioned finally.

Albus sighed – as many years as had passed, Severus was never going to truly leave the shadow of his younger years. 'We have no choice in this matter,' he replied slowly and rather sternly. 'Harry Potter must be prepared no matter what your personal feelings are. That aside, you must recognise that Harry is not his father. He is talented, hardworking, and achieves high marks in his classes. He is more like Lily in that regard. Would you not say so, Severus?'

A discomforted expression flashed momentarily over Severus's countenance before he beat it down, pretending that nothing had happened. Albus saw it, of course, though he did not make any mention of it – he did not need to. The meaning had been taken.

'He is too young to learn about all that just yet, but more importantly, too unprepared' Albus said, taking advantage of Severus's momentary unbalance. 'We must prepare him now so that one day, he will be able to prepare himself.'

'You said a moment ago that you did not wish to prepare him for war.'

'And I stand by that,' Albus replied. 'That does not mean, however, we should ignore teaching him other useful skills. How maintained are your Occlumency and Legilimency skills, Severus?'

Severus raised his eyebrows. 'You intend to teach Potter Mind Arts?'

'Answer my question and I will answer yours.'

'Well maintained,' Severus answered.

'Good,' Albus said. 'Yes, Severus. I do intend to teach Harry the Mind Arts.'

Severus's eyebrows shot up even higher. 'Do you seriously believe that Potter is capable? Even if he is the wizard that you make him out to be, he is only twelve, and – '

'And the perfect age to begin,' Albus interrupted. 'Anna tells me that Harry has a penchant for Eltrys. The Mind Arts are similar to languages in principle: the earlier one learns them, the better one masters them. If I recall correctly, Severus, you began your study of Occlumency at the age of fourteen, not much older than Harry is now. He is ready to begin, Severus. His showing this year against Quirrell makes me more than confident in his ability to control his magic.'

'If you believe so,' Severus said with an indifferent shrug. 'Who shall teach him? You?'

'No, Severus. You.'

Severus looked taken aback. 'You want me to teach Potter the Mind Arts?'

'Yes, Severus,' Albus said. 'Believe me, I would rather not delegate this task if I did not have to, but given my other duties, you can see that I cannot make for a reliable and consistent teacher, something that you know is important at this early stage of development. You are also more fluent than I am at the Mind Arts, Severus, and I think you know this by now, too. I believe that you are the best choice available.'

Severus's eyes darted around the room, and Albus knew that he was searching for an out from teaching James Potter's child. 'There is no better option for Lily's son,' he emphasised, knowing that it would bring him around. And it did.


Harry received a reply from Dumbledore that very day, and its contents were very much what he and April had expected. Dumbledore had acknowledged the warning, and given him a few bits of advice on staying safe, but admitted that there was little anyone could do thanks to the vagueness of the information that they had been given and voiced his agreement with April that he should caution against taking Dobby's words at face value.

He had also sent letters to Hermione, Neville, and Anna, telling them about what had happened, and they had replied with words of caution. Neville's letter also corroborated Dumbledore's perception, advising him to not take Dobby's warning as fully reliable unless more evidence arose that could back it up.

Despite the assurances coming from all sides, however, there was still a small uneasy feeling buried deep in him which he could not quite eliminate. He wanted to trust Dumbledore – he did trust Dumbledore – but somehow, perhaps because of what had happened in May, he could not do away entirely in his mind the possibility that something might happen again right underneath Dumbledore's nose. He did not tell anyone of his fears, however. He did not want anything to possibly jeopardise his return to Hogwarts. It was where he belonged, and even in the unlikely event that something did happen, he would feel better standing by his friends in danger than hiding himself away somewhere safe, knowing that those whom he cared about were in peril.

In the meantime, however, the summer continued its onward march towards the first of September. Harry had begun receiving the Daily Prophet, thanks to Hermione's gift, and spent a good amount of his free time in the mornings reading through it. Many of the articles went over his understanding of the magical world, but the majority of the headlines he could comprehend. The headline on one of the first issues he had received, for example, told of the replacement of the Prussian Chancellor von Aachen by a woman named Erika von Adlerfels. The next day, the Prophet ran a story about a man named Gilderoy Lockhart, who was supposedly some kind of adventurer and writer, becoming the new Professor of Defence of Dark Arts at Hogwarts – Harry hoped he would be better than Quirrell, though that was not exactly a high bar to clear.

The most pleasant surprise came a week into August with a letter from Neville. Thanks to his grandmother's clearer schedule, he had finally been allowed to invite Harry and Hermione over, though unfortunately, Hermione was still in France with her family, something that she did not seem to be enjoying as much as Harry would have expected her to.

Harry had asked if Tracey could tag along, for a part of him felt a little bad about leaving her to her own company for the entire day. Neville had agreed, and that Friday, on her way to meet with a client, April escorted the two of them to the Longbottoms' by Floo, which Harry was now quite acclimated to using.

They arrived in a small, bright room. Several paintings hung on the walls, though surprisingly to Harry, none of them were moving. Torches burned along the walls, adding unnecessarily to the light that was already streaming through the windows anyway. There was, however, nobody here, and the door at the other side of the room was firmly closed.

'Are we at the right place?' Harry asked, confused at the reception – or lack thereof.

'I think so,' Tracey replied.

'But there's nobody here.'

'I don't think anyone's supposed to be here yet,' Tracey said. 'A lot of families that I've visited with mum and dad have a room outside the main house for guests to arrive. Daphne's and Pansy's houses have one.'

Sure enough, after about a minute of waiting, the door opened – intriguingly out onto the grounds – and an elderly woman entered. She was wearing formal-looking robes, rather reminiscent of what Harry had seen at the Davises' ball several weeks ago. She was wearing a large, pointed hat, which was decorated with what resembled a stuffed bird of prey. There was no mistake that she had to be Neville's grandmother.

'You must be Harry Potter,' she said as she approached Harry. She put out her hand, and Harry shook it. 'It is a great honour that magic has willed us to meet.'

Harry blinked, his heart skipping a beat. He had heard that formal greeting before – Lucius Malfoy had given it to him at the ball, and suddenly, the memories of that unpleasant conversation came into his mind. He quickly flushed them, however, reasoning to himself that it must simply be the standard greeting used by wizards, and composed himself enough to repeat the geeting, though after a certainly long and awkward pause. Augusta, though, did not seem to see anything objectionable, and Harry quickly decided that if it was good enough for her, then it ought to be good enough for him. After greeting Harry, she turned to Tracey and repeated the ritual with her. Tracey's greeting seemed much more fluent than Harry's – perhaps she was simply more practised at it than Harry.

'Welcome to our home,' Mrs Longbottom said once the pleasantries had been exchanged. 'Please follow me. We will go up to the main house.'

Augusta started out through the door, and Harry and Tracey followed her. Outside of the little building into which they had arrived, Harry was surprised to see…nothing…around them. Around them were rolling, grass-covered hills, but no sign of a house or any sort. Wizard houses had to be different, Harry was sure, but invisibility seemed a stretch.

After about a minute of walking, Mrs Longbottom suddenly stopped and turned to them. 'If I may?' she asked.

Harry cocked his head in puzzlement. 'May what?'

'The enchantments, Mister Potter,' Mrs Longbottom said. 'You must be recognised by them to enter the premises. I would like to ask your permission to imprint you into the enchantments.'

'Uh…sure,' Harry replied, before quickly realising that perhaps that was the wrong tone to take. 'I mean…you have my permission.'

'Thank you, Mister Potter.' Mrs Longbottom then raised her wand, pointing it at Harry's chest. For a moment, he was a little scared by the positioning of the wand, but told himself quickly that there was nothing to worry about – Neville was trustworthy, and so should his family be, he thought. He watched as Mrs Longbottom twirled the wand once. The tip of the wand glowed red as she did, before quickly extinguishing again.

Mrs Longbottom next turned to Tracey and asked her the same question before performing the spell on her, too. After that was done, she turned around and raised her wand into the air. Two red orbs of flight arced through the air before disappearing with a flash. Suddenly, before Harry's eyes, an iron fence began to appear out of thin air, followed by gardens beyond, and finally, a large, old stone house.

'Now, finally, an actual welcome to our home,' Mrs Longbottom said. 'Please follow me.'

Harry and Tracey followed Mrs Longbottom towards the gates. She waved her hands once as they approached, and the solid iron disappeared. As soon as the three of them crossed the threshold of the fence and into the gardens, the gates reappeared and closed again behind them.

The gardens were not large – though still certainly a few times larger than the one at Number Four, Privet Drive – but they were quite well manicured. Flowers, both familiar- and strange-looking, lined the main stone path up to the house, and trees behind them provided shade over them and the lower windows of the house. Aunt Petunia, who had always been fastidious about gardening, would probably have a fit of excitement if she found herself here, Harry thought – or perhaps, actually, she would not, due to the magic surrounding them on all sides.

They stepped up to the front door, and Mrs Longbottom placed her hand on the doorknob. Just as with the main gate, the heavy, antique-looking wooden door disappeared right in front of them. Behind the room was a high-ceilinged room, with walls of bare stone. Scarlet curtains hung before the tall, cathedral-like windows, and the floor was covered in patterned carpeting, at the middle of which was a large, stylised letter 'L'.

'Azwejdtjanckex!' Mrs Longbottom called. There was a soft popping sound, and to Harry's shock, a house-elf appeared right in front of them. This elf, however, was not wearing rags like Dobby had worn, but rather a clean, scarlet towel. There were also no visible wounds on its body.

The house-elf bowed in Mrs Longbottom's direction. 'What may Looky do for Mistress?'

'Please bring our guests some tea and biscuits,' Mrs Longbottom replied. 'And then trim the bushes in the gardens. They're getting a little overgrown.'

Looky bowed again. 'At your service, Mistress.'

The elf disappeared in a pop, leaving Harry to stare at the spot where it had disappeared. The Longbottoms had a house-elf. He did not know what to think of that, nor what he should think of the Longbottoms for it. Neville was a good person, and he assumed that so should Mrs Longbottom be, but their family owning a house-elf, even if Mrs Longbottom obviously treated her elf with respect and care… Even knowing what he knew from April about the conundrum of house-elves, he still somehow felt a kind of unexplainable incongruity between the Neville he knew and Looky's presence.

'Are you all right, Harry?' Tracey asked, snapping Harry out of his trance. She and Mrs Longbottom were both looking at him now. Both looked a little concerned, though it appeared from Tracey's expression that she had an idea as to what Harry was thinking about.

Harry quickly nodded. 'No problem,' he answered. 'I…uh…I was just fascinated by…uh…Looky disappearing,' he added quickly, spinning a story.

'Looky did not disappear in the strictest sense,' Mrs Longbottom said. 'Looky disappearing would imply that he's still there, invisible. What he actually did was disapparate – instantly leaving one place and appearing in another.'

Harry nodded. 'Where did he go?' he asked, trying to make natural-sounding conversation.

'To the kitchen,' Mrs Longbottom replied. 'I had asked him to fetch us some tea and biscuits. I thought we should go out into the gardens, have some tea, and get acquainted.'

Harry nodded again. 'I…yes…that sounds like a great idea.'

Mrs Longbottom walked surprisingly quickly for a woman her age, Harry thought, as they made their way through the house and into the rear gardens. The rear gardens were much larger than the front gardens. The main path was lined with shading trees, but other than that, the space was far more open. Small, hedge-lined paths departed from the main thoroughfare, circling around fountains and pavilions. Further away from the house, Harry could see what appeared to be a Quidditch pitch – though one much smaller than the one at Hogwarts – complete with sets of three hoops on either side, many metres from the ground.

'Neville has spoken quite a bit about you,' Mrs Longbottom said to Harry as they walked.

'He has?'

Mrs Longbottom nodded. 'Neville thinks quite highly of you, and from the stories he has told me, I am rather impressed, too. I think your mother and father would be proud of who you are today.'

Harry did not know how to respond to that statement, though he was certainly touched by the comparison of him to his parents. Instead of saying anything, he simply smiled at Mrs Longbottom, who gave a small smile in return, and they continued their walk.

They finally arrived at a large glass pavilion, located near the end of the gardens, close to the rear fence. Mrs Longbottom waved her hands at the doors, and they magically slid open. To Harry's joyous surprise, Neville was sitting inside on one of the wrought iron benches. When he saw Harry come in, he stood up, and with an uncharacteristically restrained smile on his face, he strode over towards Harry, his right hand held out.

'Good to see you, Harry,' Neville said, shaking Harry's hand. Harry noticed that he was wearing robes that looked oddly formal – certainly much more formal than anything worn at Hogwarts and closer in stature to the suit-robe hybrids that Orville wore. 'I hope you've had a good summer.'

Harry nodded. 'It's been good. And you?'

'Nothing to complain about.'

'Good to hear,' Harry replied, finding the imposed formality awkward, but supposed that relevant wizarding customs demanded it, and so went along.

Neville turned to Tracey and put out his hand. 'Neville Longbottom,' he said. 'It's an honour to finally meet you.'

'It's an honour to meet you, too,' Tracey repeated the still to Harry uncomfortably formal line.

There was a strange moment of silence after the greetings were exchanged, to which Augusta quickly put an end. 'Shall we?' she asked, gesturing at the benches.

The four of them sat down around the centre table, and they had barely gotten settled when a soft pop sounded in the pavilion. Looky had reappeared, holding a tray with a teapot, four teacups, and a platter of biscuits. Carefully, she set them down on the table, poured an almost exactly even amount of tea into each of the cups, bowed, and quickly popped away without another word.

They slowly sipped the tea, which was quite good, though Harry still did not know what to think about the house-elf who had just brought them tea and the Longbottoms, but he also supposed that the tea had already been made, and it would be stupid – not to mention undoubtedly strange to everyone else – to let it go to waste while contemplating a question that he was not going to have an answer to anytime soon.

In any case, the conversation was far more of an immediate discomfort. It should not have been, for it was simply about the past school year and the summer so far – and Harry had enough practice on how to talk his way around any more sensitive segments from the end of the year. Yet the way in which it was conducted reminded Harry of the first time he had met Orville, with how Mrs Longbottom was clearly 'in charge', and was far more concerned with learning about Harry, and to a lesser extent, Tracey, than was talking about herself. Neville did not talk much, either, simply listening to the conversation while sipping his tea. He did not think Mrs Longbottom was actively trying to make him uncomfortable – quite the opposite, with her evidently approving comparisons of him to his parents – so Harry supposed that perhaps it was just another wizarding custom for formal first meetings.

Thankfully, the formality ended soon after the teapot was emptied, and Mrs Longbottom 'dismissed' them to their activities while she returned to her work. Neville led Harry and Tracey up to his room, which was located at the top of a rather steep and claustrophobic set of spiral stairs. The room itself was quite large, though much like the rest of the main house, quite dim. A four-poster bed rather resembling the ones in the Hogwarts dormitories stood in the middle, between two windows. The room was very clean and tidy – much unlike Neville's space in the Gryffindor dormitory – tidy to the point that there were almost no decorations except for one poster of a Quidditch team named Puddlemere United and one picture of a mother and father, holding a baby, standing on his nightstand.

'I'll need to change out of these robes,' Neville said in an obvious tone of complaint. 'If you wouldn't mind waiting outside for a minute.'

Harry and Tracey consented to stand outside the door while Neville changed. When Neville opened the door again, he was wearing robes much closer to what he wore around Hogwarts than the formal wear he had had on. Harry noticed that something else had changed, too. The picture on the nightstand was gone.

'What do you want to do?' Neville asked before Harry could consider inquiring about the picture.

Harry shrugged, throwing a glance at Tracey. 'I don't know…I don't know what there is to do here.'

Neville considered this for a second, scratching his head. 'Well…there's Quidditch, I suppose. I haven't been able to play all summer because…well…I was busy and there was…nobody to play with.'

'Quidditch?' Harry asked with a gasp of horror at the thought of participating in that airborne carnage.

'That's just an idea,' Neville said quickly. 'The field here is nowhere near as high as the one at Hogwarts, our brooms are slower, and there's cushioning enchantments on the grass if you do end up falling. Oh, Gran also doesn't let me have live Bludgers.'

'I…okay…maybe…' Harry replied hesitantly. What Neville was proposing sounded a lot better than the full, unfettered version of the aerial blood-sport, but Harry still was not exactly certain he wanted to partake in it.

'But if you don't want to, that's okay,' Neville added at Harry's unsure tone. 'I'm sure there's something else.'

Harry looked in Tracey's direction again, and judging by the look on her face, she seemed much more eager about the Quidditch idea than he was – slightly excited, even. 'What do you think?' he asked.

'I…well…I wouldn't be opposed,' Tracey said timidly. 'It's always seemed fun to watch, but…there's not really much opportunity to play Quidditch in London. But if you don't want to, Harry…'

'Maybe I can…watch you for a match?' Harry proposed, trying to find a compromise between not wanting to deny Neville and Tracey something they wanted to do and not quite being ready to take to a broom himself. 'And then…join later?'

'Sure, if you're sure,' Neville replied, a smile beginning to come over his face. Harry looked over at Tracey, and she was also trying and failing to hide a grin.

Not a moment's wait later, Neville started dashing down the stairs, Tracey behind him and Harry bringing up the rear. They ran out into the gardens and made a beeline for the Quidditch pitch that Harry had seen earlier. Neville dashed to a shed underneath one of the goal posts – indeed lower by far than those at Hogwarts at no more than two stories off the ground – swung open the door, and grabbed three brooms from it, handing one each to Harry and Tracey and keeping the last one for himself. With a now-practised ease, both of them mounted their brooms and took off.

Perhaps because of the safety precautions of this Quidditch pitch in comparison to the one at Hogwarts, or perhaps because of the fact there were only two people playing, the whole thing did indeed look far less dangerous than inter-House games at Hogwarts. There was no Golden Snitch nor Bludgers, and only one Quaffle which Neville and Tracey were taking terms throwing at or blocking from the goal posts.

They seemed to be having fun, and after a while, seeing that the chances of any of them being injured were probably low, Harry found the courage to join them. He got onto his broom and slowly, carefully rose off the ground.

'Tired of sitting on the ground?' Neville asked, catching the Quaffle and stopping on his broomstick.

'I'll give it a try,' Harry replied, straightening himself on his broom. 'This can't be that much harder than the games we played in Flying lessons, can it?'

'You'd be surprised,' Tracey said, panting.

'You two can play against me,' Neville proposed, grinning. 'Even if you won't be very good, I think she still needs all the help she can get.'

Tracey gave Neville a dirty look, but Neville had already begun his flight and did not see it. The year of training in Flying lessons meant that none of them were the timid and clumsy fliers of the year's start, but there were still relative good and bad fliers. Neville obviously leaned towards the first camp, while Harry, though not terrible, was certainly far less practised than Neville was. Tracey's skill, meanwhile, was somewhere in between.

After some warming up, Harry's flying improved noticeably, though he soon realised that his flying was far from his worst handicap. Neville was far better than either him or Tracey with the Quaffle: his throws were more accurate, his dives for the Quaffles while on the defensive were better predicted and yielded more successes, and his dodging of Harry and Tracey's defence was more fluid and tricker to counter. They were not keeping score, but Harry was sure that Neville was scoring close to twice the number of hoops that he and Tracey together were managing to score.

Despite being handily beaten, Harry was still enjoying the change of pace from the closed streets of Diagon Alley and London, and by the look on Tracey's face, so was she. As they played, both Harry and Tracey improved, and combined, they began to close the skill gap with Neville, enough to force him to change his tactics slightly to put them again on the back foot. He even started to enjoy the game somewhat – though most definitely only this version, as he still had no desire to have anything to do with the Gryffindor Quidditch Team except to watch it play from time to time.

After a while, they all grew tired, and decided that it was time for lunch. Neville led them into the dining room, which hosted a long, wooden table with enough room to seat at least twelve or fourteen people, and Looky appeared to bring them some sandwiches. Just as earlier, Harry found himself in a pensive, discomforted stupor at the sight of the house-elf, wondering about all the difficult questions that Dobby's visit and the conversation with April had opened.

'Everything all right, Harry?' Neville asked. 'Did Looky do something that made you uncomfortable?'

'Oh, no, everything's fine,' Harry replied before adding quickly, 'just not used to Looky appearing and disappearing like that,' to affirm again that there was no issue. Discussing house-elves over lunch did not seem quite appropriate, and in any case, he did not know what there was to ask to clear up anything, nor what he even wanted to clear up.

'Okay, well, if there's anything you're uncomfortable with, let me know,' Neville said, taking a drink of water from his glass. 'Gran likes things a certain way, and that sometimes makes people uncomfortable.'

'There's nothing,' Harry answered, 'but I…I'll let you know if something comes up.'

Lunch was uneventful after that, and after they had eaten, they did not return to Quidditch, all fatigued by the morning. Instead, they opted to continue to sit around the table, talking about their summers – though it was mostly Neville and Harry doing the talking, Tracey being rather quiet the whole time. They also played some games of Exploding Snap, something that Harry was, once again, bad at, something that resulted in a few burned hairs and the room smelling a bit like ash.

'It's not all that bad,' Neville said of his time spectating the Ejwent Asztyrajom. 'If you tune out all the legal language, ignore all the random procedures and traditions, and ask someone who knows something about Eltrys about all the terms they use, it can be pretty interesting.'

'How so?' Harry asked, still unable to picture how sitting in a courtroom for hours at a time could be fun at all.

'You hear about all the goings-on of the elites,' Neville said with a hawkish grin. 'Not the stupid gossip, just the illegal stuff that they get up to.'

'Such as what?'

'Well, Lucius Malfoy, for example, is in some deep trouble right now – or rather, has been in trouble for a few weeks recently,' Neville answered, his smile growing wider and wilder. 'You know, Draco's dad. You won't hear about this in the Daily Prophet, because he pays big sums to have the matter shut up, but he's in trouble all the same.'

'What did he do?' Harry asked, excited at knowing some compromising information on Draco's father.

'So recently, there was this law passed in the Ejwent Dexmot and approved in the Zehwolt,' Neville explained eagerly. 'Now, nobody thought this law would actually get approved, so I don't think anyone getting in trouble right now seriously prepared to hide some of the more open shady things they were doing. Basically, the law gave the Department of Security power to inspect the finances of the members of the Ejwent Zehwolt. Ron's dad's the one that was behind this one, actually.'

'Really?'

Neville nodded. 'Arthur Weasley works in the Ministry. I don't know his exact position, but he's got some power. Well, anyway, his law passed, and Security carried it out, and what do you know? Two of the members of the Ejwent Zehwolt took large bribes from Lucius Malfoy and Parnassus Parkinson – that's Pansy Parkinson's…uncle…I think. Both of them resigned, and Malfoy and Parkinson are now on trial for bribery.'

'Will they get in trouble?' Tracey asked, surprising Neville and Harry with the breaking of her long silent spell.

Neville shrugged. 'They have good legal counsel, and Fudge, who's one of the three judges, is openly sympathetic to Lucius Malfoy. It's going to be expensive and very bad for their public image if it gets out, though. Right now, it's not going very well for them, though – the other two judges aren't Lucius's cronies, and they're pretty determined that the evidence is solid. Gran says their tactic now is to delay the decision for as long as possible and minimise the charges, maybe wait for something big to happen in the news before giving up and taking the guilty verdict so that they won't get as much coverage. Personally, I wouldn't mind as long as they get in trouble. Lucius Malfoy deserves to get punished for at least one thing he's done.'

'What do you think they'll get sentenced to?' Tracey followed up.

'Gran thinks at least a major fine,' Neville said. 'They can probably absorb it, given their wealth, but the damage to their social positions, especially Malfoy's, will be pretty bad. Of course, if they end up going to prison for it – not for long, and definitely not Azkaban, mind you, but prison nonetheless – it'll get even worse. He'll be discredited for years, maybe even forever. He'll lose all his positions and never get them again.'

Harry exhaled. 'That bad?'

'Oh yeah,' Neville affirmed. 'It's not likely that that'll happen, but it's possible, and I'm sure they know it, too. That's why they've been fighting it so hard. All of Lucius Malfoy's friends, too, are scared and are trying to do whatever little they can to get him off as lightly as possible. They know they'll be next in line for whatever happens to Malfoy and Parkinson.'

They moved on from the topic not long after that as their conversation shifted towards more whimsical topics. More quickly than Harry had anticipated, the day was drawing to a close, and April arrived to bring Harry and Tracey back home. They said their goodbyes, Harry receiving a pat on the back from Neville, and Tracey a slightly awkward wave.

'I hope Lucius and Parnassus get what's coming for them,' Tracey said quietly to an unexpecting Harry when they arrived back in Diagon Alley. 'Maybe that'll show…'

She did not finish her sentence, but Harry thought that he knew well towards what – or rather, whom – her thoughts were directed.