.o0O0o.

Harry lay on his bed in his recently acquired room staring up at the ceiling with a grin on his face so big it was starting to hurt a bit. He didn't think he'd be getting rid of it anytime soon, even if he'd wanted to. How could he have ever thought today had gone torturously slow? It had flown by really; trying and failing to keep his mind on studying, losing a couple games of chess, lunch he had barely even picked at, a game of Quidditch and poof! Hedwig was back.

And really, how could he have doubted for a moment what was going to happen? Ever since Dobby had appeared in his bedroom his life had gotten better and better and now he was soaring so high he was looking down on the moon. 'Had it really not even been a week yet?' Harry thought to himself.

The image of what the little elf's life had probably been like during this time had the grin begin to slide off his face. He'd have to send a letter to Lichfield and see how the hunt for Dobby was going. It was Thursday, and if he hadn't been so distracted he would've realized he hadn't heard a word from the old man since he'd left Gringotts on Saturday.

Harry knew Lichfield would sort it all out. He didn't seem the type to let a little thing like not knowing anything about the people he was trying to find stand in his way of getting the job done. Still, giving the gnarled old wizard a poke in the side wouldn't hurt.

These thoughts were way too serious for Harry at the moment so he reread the letter that had given him the smile in the first place. It didn't take long, there was only one word: YES!

That had his smile back in place.

A short, quick knock! was all the warning he had before the door opened and a streak of red hair stormed in. Harry reflexively balled his hand around the tiny scrap of parchment as Ron came up short in mid-stampede when he saw the desk unoccupied.

"Harry, you in here?" his friend asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered, sitting up on the bed behind Ron and drawing his attention to him.

The voice of Mrs. Weasley chided from somewhere below them, "I insist you open this door and tell me what's going on! I'll blast the door–!"

"Why, what's going on?" Harry asked as he shut the door to block out the noise.

"I should be asking you that," his friend declared as if some great crime had been committed against him. "What is going on?"

"Oh, the game!" Harry exclaimed, his brain finally catching up. "How'd we do?"

"Lost spectacularly. Thanks for noticing we're supposed to be playing," Ron said sarcastically. "What've you been doing in here that'd have you throw your brain out the window when it comes to Quidditch?"

"Well–," Harry said, moving to flatten his unruly mop of hair with his closed fist before quickly changing direction to covertly stuff the note between him and the mattress, hoping his friend took the movement as some sort of shrug. "I've just got a lot of stuff on my mind," he said evasively. "You know I can't tell you everything that's going on."

"So it's just a bunch of stuff with Gringotts then?" Ron said uncertainly. "And what's with all the studying? You're supposed to be on my side against those bookish people."

"That's part of it," Harry evaded again. Since he had vaguely mentioned the issues in his letters it wasn't precisely a lie. It was just a part of what he was doing that was so small it was about the size of an atom. If Ron thought it was bigger than that– "And there's nothing wrong with being one of those bookish people, Ron," he said defensively, hoping he could find a way to angle the conversation away from their other best friend. "There's a lot to learn."

"And we've got plenty of time," his friend pressed.

"You have plenty of time," Harry said. "But for me it's different. If you want to know something you can just ask your mum and dad, or your brothers, but for me it's just me."

"You could ask them too," Ron said stubbornly.

"Yeah, but I can't rely on them forever–," Harry tried to explain.

"Well, why not?" his friend cut in. "What's wrong with my family?"

"Nothing, Ron, they're great," Harry said honestly. "But they're not mine. I'm not going to have your mum and dad looking over my shoulder my whole life just in case I have a question. If I'm going to do something then I'm going to have to figure out how to do it on my own."

"You've got me," Ron said.

"Now, sure," Harry explained. "What about in ten years when you're off looking after Norbert with Charlie, or in Egypt with Bill? We'll still be friends, but you could be off selling broomsticks in Timbuctoo for all we know. Who am I going to ask then?"

The stubborn look on Ron's face faded as he thought about what Harry said.

"I hadn't thought about that," he admitted as he moved to sit down on the edge of the desk.

Butterflies formed in Harry's stomach and started fluttering around as he remembered he had stashed Hermione's letters in the desk drawer directly below where Ron sat.

"Imagine what it'd be like if you suddenly had to go and live in the muggle world," Harry suggested, continuing to talk to keep his attention away from the letters.

"You mean like if I were a Squib?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"A what?"

"A Squib; a person with magical parents who can't do magic," Ron explained. "I told you mum's cousin was an accountant or something, didn't I?"

"Oh," Harry said, at a loss for words. "I just thought he liked math." He shook himself out of that reverie. "Okay, say you're a Squib and you have to go live in the muggle world. But when you get there you realize that you don't know anything. Not how they dress, what they eat, how they move about, not how the lights work–"

"Isn't that all done with ecklestricity?" Ron asked, looking somewhat scared.

"E–lec–tris–i–tee," Harry corrected him. "And no, there's a bunch of different stuff they use. You could use electricity to power a stove to help you cook, or it could use a fire in there that's powered by gas, which is not to be confused with gasoline – which muggles use in their car to make it go, which is also called gas, or petrol. And then there's diesel for the really big trucks, which they also call lorries–"

"That's just confusing," Ron said dumbfoundedly. "Are you making that up?"

"Nope," Harry replied. "Every bit of it's true. And that's just the beginning. I haven't even mentioned what school is like, what subjects there are, different jobs you can get once you graduate – how are you going to make money if you don't know what you're good at?"

"Blimey," Ron said, looking in horror at the future. "I'm gonna be hopeless. I don't know any of that stuff."

"You're gonna be fine, Ron," Harry chuckled. "You're a wizard, remember? You're not going to live there."

"Wha–? Oh, right," Ron blushed. "How'd you ever learn all that?"

Harry shrugged. "I grew up there and you pick it up as you go. You probably know more about the magical world than I'll learn in seven years at Hogwarts, and you've got your family to fall back on."

"I never thought of it like that," Ron admitted, shaking his head. "Maybe you do have a lot to learn." Suddenly he scoffed at something. "Fred and George had this ridiculous idea–"

"–Well, they are Fred and George," Harry said.

"Yeah, but this one was really far out there," he explained. "They thought you might be up here writing to some girl."

Harry could have groaned. After all his hard work confusing Ron he was going to be exposed by Fred and George because now there was something they could pick on him about there was no way they were going to let up on the idea. They'd tried to have a go at him the first few days he was here by coming in and fainting on his bed whenever he looked at them, at least until he had turned it around and asked them if he should leave so they could have the room. Harry didn't know how he was going to get out of this one.

'If they're going to pick on you,' the Harold part of him said. 'They might as well pick on you for something you've done rather than something they think you've done.' It had been the first time the Harold part had said anything since it had told him to ask Hermione out a few days ago, and that had worked out well so far.

'Yeah,' the Harry part of him agreed. 'If you hide it now they'll make fun of you for the idea and then make fun of you some more when the truth comes out.' He would just have to grit his teeth and do it.

"Actually, Ron," he said embarrassed. "I kinda have."

"What? Who?"

"You know who, Ron," Harry said, remembering what Hermione had told him in her first letter. "It's Hermione."

"Oh, her. That's nothing then," Ron said with a wave. "You've never looked at her twice."

"I asked her to go out with me," he countered.

"And why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked, the stubborn look returning to his face.

"Why didn't you tell me she liked me?" Harry shot back and it looked to him like it scored a direct hit to the gut.

"Oh," a somber-looking Ron said, the pink coloring coming back into his cheeks. "She told you about that."

"Well, yeah, it kind of came up," he said. "That's why I didn't tell you I was writing to her in the first place. I knew you didn't really like her that much."

"Who said I didn't like her?" Ron demanded.

"You did. You kept calling her mental and said she was nosy."

"Well, she was being nosy," Ron defended himself. "She thought I had you hidden under my bed or something."

"Oh, right." Harry had forgotten that part.

"Is she the real reason you're doing all this?" Ron asked, gesturing to the books on Harry's desk. "I'm starting to think she's a bad influence on you."

"I happen to think she's a good influence on me," Harry said defensively. "But I'd be studying either way, Ron. Everything I said before was true. Hermione and I both have a lot to learn if we're going to make it in the wizarding world."

Ron still didn't look too happy. Harry didn't get it. Why was he being so resistant to the idea he and Hermione might get along on some deeper level? It wasn't as if–

Suddenly everything clicked into place. He had never asked Hermione about the awkward conversation with Ron she had mentioned in her first letter. With everything else going on there was simply so much to talk about he'd forgotten about it. But now – It was a possibility he hadn't thought about before, and not one he'd thought even remotely possible in a thousand years.

"You don't, er – like Hermione, do you?" Harry asked.

"I just said I don't dislike her," Ron said.

"No, I mean, you don't like her like her, do you?" he clarified.

Ron's ears suddenly became so red they threatened to burst into flame.

"Y– N– It's–," his best mate stammered. "Well, I don't know!" Ron looked like he deeply regretted ever coming through the door.

"How do you not know?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"It's jus–," Ron floundered, looking for something to say. "I dunno. I mean, she's a girl, and she's there–," he said before petering out, as if realizing he didn't have anything else to go on.

'That's it?' Harry marveled at the situation. 'The hundreds of reasons to like Hermione boiled down to: She's a girl and she was there?' What about how she runs off to the Library when she just has to know something? Or the way she goes 'OH MY GOD!' in her letters? And the little –smile– she includes when she's being a little flirty and how it makes him want to see what it looks like in person? There was so much more to Hermione than just being there.

"It's not like any other girl talks to us. And, I don't know," Ron said, finally grasping at straws. "She screams like mad when it comes to Quidditch."

Harry thought he knew why Hermione hadn't brought this up either, this really was getting awkward.

"You didn't – you know – tell her you liked her, did you?" he asked Ron.

If Harry had thought it was awkward before, the look on Ron's face made it ten times worse.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Ron asked. "I mean, there she was going on about her friend and how much she liked him. You'd been up in the hospital wing for days and I was right there. What was I supposed to think?"

And with that the lights came on in Harry's head and the whole thing turned around.

"So you thought Hermione was trying to ask you out," Harry clarified.

"Well, yeah. Wouldn't you?" Ron asked. "I mean, growing up, we all knew muggles did things backwards, so why not this?"

"So you said you liked her because you thought she was saying she liked you," Harry summed up.

"Exactly!" Ron agreed.

"And then she said it wasn't about you at all," Harry burst his bubble by taking the next logical step.

A shadow passed across Ron's face.

"Yeah," Ron said sourly. "It was a lousy thing to do."

"So you didn't tell me because?" Harry prompted, trying to keep his irritation at his best mate under control.

"Because I wanted to get back at her!" Ron explained. "It was a dirty rotten trick. She deserved to pay for what she did."

"She didn't mean to trick you, Ron," Harry said, his insides warring between being angry on Hermione's behalf and actually seeing it from Ron's point of view. "She probably didn't even know you'd take it that way."

"How could she not know?" Ron asked in absurd mockery of his own earlier question.

"Because she's a muggleborn," Harry said, finally seeing a way out and hoping the muggleborn thing could finally be a good thing for once. "You said yourself that muggles do everything backwards, so how could she be expected to know what a wizard would think about something like that?"

Harry waited with bated breath as his best mate seemed to give it his full attention and he swore on his potentially-Slytherin grandparents if everything somehow worked out with his two best friends he'd never say anything bad about Slytherins again. 'Except for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle,' he added to himself. 'And all those other idiots like them. And Snape; definitely Snape.' The potions master had earned his spot as pride of place on his list of detestable Slytherins.

"I didn't think of it like that," Ron said finally. "You two are just so good at everything that it's hard to think of you as muggleborns. Or, I don't really know what to call you," Ron said scratching his head, "not a wizard-born, that's a Squib."

"Muggle-raised?" Harry offered.

"That works," his friend nodded. "You two could probably write a book about all this stuff. 'Harry Potter's Muggle-Raised Guide to All Things Muggle.' Nuts like my dad would buy out the whole printing."

"Don't say that to Hermione," Harry chuckled, "or she might actually do it."

"Yeah," Ron smiled. "That's one mad girlfriend you got there, Harry."

Harry smiled. Even once her answer arrived he had never thought of her as that. The fact it was a smiling Ron who dubbed her his girlfriend seemed to make it official in some way.

"Oh, and um–," a rather chagrined Ron said. "Sorry for not telling you. It really didn't have anything to do with you. Well, that did, but not – you know."

"I know, Ron," Harry smiled, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Maybe things would turn out alright after all. "I'm sure Hermione will apologize when it's explained to her."

"Yeah," Ron scoffed. "And then Snape will ask for your autograph."

A pair of quick knocks had his door open again and see a smiling Fred and George enter.

'Oh great,' Harry thought miserably. 'Why did it have to start now?'

"What are you two grinning at?" Ron asked.

"It's Percy–," George said, smiling like they'd found a cache of Christmas presents.

"–He's got himself a girlfriend." Fred said, reveling in the reveal.

"He can join the club then," Ron said. "Harry's got one too!"

Dinner that night was a lively affair. It wasn't a party, but it certainly felt like it. With Percy's big secret out of the bag most of the attention was focused on him, and of course this mysterious Penelope. Aside from a few congratulations, and pats on the back from the twins, Harry was largely forgotten. He found it odd to be in anyone's shadow, especially Percy's, but it was a feeling he'd be glad to get used to. At least then it'd mean he was just being treated like a normal person.

Besides the occasional barbs from his brothers, it was left to Percy to do most of the talking; he had to be constantly prompted by his mother though or he'd stop. Mrs. Weasley wanted to know everything about Ms. Penelope Clearwater: who she was, where she was from, how they met, what her parents did; the works. It was a point in her favor that she was a fellow Prefect, even if she was a Ravenclaw.

"So when are you two seeing each other? Have anything planned?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Um–," Percy didn't seem to have an answer.

"What about you, Harry, and this girl of yours?" she inquired.

"Yeah, who is it anyway?" George asked.

"It's the Japanese bird in your year isn't it?" Fred asked.

"That one's Chinese and a year up," George corrected him. "Name's Ching, I think. Jo Ching?"

"Hey," his brother defended, "I don't care who she is. All I know is she's been eyeing him since he got made Seeker last year."

Harry sat there getting more embarrassed by the moment. He didn't know what he was expecting once the spotlight finally hit him, but this certainly wasn't it. How many girls had he been oblivious to last year?

"Are you two mental?" Ron asked. "It's Hermione."

Ginny seemed to curl into herself.

"You know," Fred said to his twin. "We should've bet on that. I never thought Harry'd have the guts to approach her."

George nodded. "She's way too scary for me, and we grew up with mum."

His mother shot him a look promising harsh treatment should he ever find a girl he liked.

"She approached him," Ron said wisely. "Muggles do things backwards."

"Yeah? How do muggles do it?" Fred asked Harry.

"George! That's not appropriate," Mrs. Weasley chided.

"I only asked–," the boy tried to defend himself.

"I know what you asked, and I know what you meant."

"Then why'd you yell at me for?" the other twin asked affronted. "Fred said it. If you want to get onto me, do it for what I say." Then to Harry George shot a quick, "So how do muggles do it anyway?"

"Both of you, up to your room, now!" Mrs. Weasley commanded in a tone which left even her husband looking like he'd be glad to leave too.

Fred and George wisely retreated to the soothing explosions that always seemed to come from their lair as Mrs. Weasley tried to calm herself.

"Since you mention it," Harry said while fighting a blush once the twins were out of earshot. "Hermione did mention wanting to meet up at Diagon Alley the Wednesday after we get our letters."

Mrs. Weasley looked to her husband.

"It should be this weekend," Mr. Weasley said looking glad he could be helpful. "Dumbledore should be back by then."

"Oh, wonderful," Mrs. Weasley beamed. "That'll give you two a chance to walk about with Percy and this Penelope," she said to Harry. "You look after him, Percy, I'll keep the others occupied so they don't embarrass you two."

Now it was Percy's turn to look embarrassed though he tried to cover it by eating. Ginny seemed to sink even lower until she threatened to slide under the table completely. Ron seemed to be the only one to take all this as a matter of course.

"Dumbledore's been gone?" Harry asked, trying to appear only mildly curious about what the old man's been up to.

"A very busy man for someone his age," Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly. "I would've thought he'd settle down to a nice quiet life when Arthur and I left school. Goodness knows he deserves it," she explained. "Then, of course, came all that You-Know-Who business, and a string of incompetent Ministers," she shook her head. "The poor man hasn't had a break in decades. Such a shame."

"He's been in Geneva for most of the week chairing the latest meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards," Mr. Weasley said in an aside to Harry.

"Well, it was a great meal, as always, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he excused himself from the table. In no time at all he was back in his room, back on his bed, and back to staring up at the ceiling trying to figure out what he was going to do.

Harry felt the stirrings of a kind of nervousness he'd never felt before, and it had nothing to do with the chance to see Hermione just days from now. Dumbledore was coming back. It'd been a kind of happy thought in the back of his mind for the last several days that with whatever was going on at Gringotts and all their plans, Dumbledore either didn't seem to notice or simply didn't care and that was why he hadn't heard from them.

With the headmaster out of the country, the lack of any money from his account and nothing from Gropegold when he came back would probably be impossible to ignore. Dumbledore would come for him, of that he had no doubt. His letter to Lichfield suddenly seemed all the more important. He'd definitely need as much protection as Gringotts could offer. An entire goblin army guarding the Burrow would only slightly lessen the anxiety he was starting to feel.

With the way Gringotts had been so far though Harry could already hear Barchoke's voice saying no. 'We're a bank, not Goblin Armies Я Us.' That idea was going to go nowhere, even if he asked, which only left one thing he could do: run and hide.

'Where?' the Harold part of him asked. 'In a cupboard under the stairs? If Hagrid could find you last year then Dumbledore could find you now. You can't run.'

Harry knew he was starting to panic, but when you're facing down Dumbledore, who wouldn't? Even Lord Voldemort was afraid of Dumbledore. He doubted the Weasleys would be much of a shield if it came down to it, and really, how much protection could a rental agreement with people he hardly even knew, which wasn't even signed, and he didn't even have yet provide against a wizard who had beaten one Dark Lord so badly the next one to come along wouldn't even go up against him?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the plan Barchoke had sketched out on their way to see Hammerhand. Lichfield would draw up a rental agreement with the Weasleys and get it to him in plenty of time so he could convince them it was for real. The fact it wasn't here yet was troubling, but maybe he was just being thorough. All Harry had really needed to do was find something the Weasleys wanted so he could offer it in return, and that was supposed to have been an easy part.

While Ron had always made his family come across as poor in his whinging, what Harry hadn't expected was for them to be so happy being poor. Ron's grousing about it seemed the extent of their hardship, so he really didn't think they'd even consider taking money for something they were already letting him have for free.

Once he got the agreement signed and sealed though the Ministry would have to recognize it. They had always recognized contracts sealed with blood and magic, it was one of the bedrocks of their society, or so Barchoke had said. If Dumbledore wanted to stop it because he was his "guardian" and Harry was underage, then the whole abandonment thing would get dragged into court because of it. If Dumbledore tried to remove him by force, then Lichfield would get the Ministry involved and the whole abandonment thing would get dragged into court because of it.

If Dumbledore showed up before the agreement was signed, then he'd probably be toast. His kind old grandfather routine would probably have him Dumbledore his way through the Weasleys and get them to give him to him, or at least send him home. After that, who knew what would happen to him, or even if he'd ever be seen again?

Harry heard a slight rustling of wings and felt a weight settle on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Hedwig staring down at him. It had been the longest he'd been in the room without writing a letter, reading a letter, sending a letter, sleeping or studying so she was probably wondering what he could possibly be doing.

He sent her off back to her usual perching place on top of the wardrobe and got up. That letter wasn't going to write itself. As he sent Hedwig off into the night he realized he could've sent off another letter to Hermione; their conversation had just sort of stopped once there was the question to ask. As he saw Hedwig fade away though Harry thought it'd probably be some time before he'd be able to concentrate on anything as pleasant as Hermione, at least until he could be sure he'd be safe at the Burrow for a while longer.

.o0O0o.

The waxing gibbous hung happily in the sky as the man in the moon smiled down upon the kindly old grandfather of the wizarding world and Albus Dumbledore smiled merrily back at him. It had been such a joyous week doing good works that not even his still-missing statements could get him down when he was surrounded by the warm glow of hearth and home that was the Three Broomsticks on a Friday evening. They were probably up at Hogwarts anyway so there was nothing to worry about.

The jaunt up from the village had been a spritely one; the grass was springy, the breeze cool and refreshing, and the stars twinkled down in their multitudes. He even paused a moment to wave to the Giant Squid who made its home in their highland loch. How the creature could possibly survive in such an environment, much less live so long, was still a complete mystery, even after a hundred years. But, Albus conceded, such was life.

Hagrid had a roaring fire going in front of his hut, bathing the grounds in its warm glow. More light spilled forth from the grand doors of the school which were open wide to welcome its beloved headmaster back home. The candles twinkled like the stars above in the great hall, torches now dim after the evening meal, and Albus thought he saw the slim slinking shadow of Severus Snape slip silently down to his dreary dungeon den. The teachers, the organs and tissues of the Hogwarts body, were returning at last and soon the school would be revived and ready to go for another year.

'So much Good,' Albus thought. 'So much Good yet to be done.'

This last week had seen a great deal of work for the Greater Good done, it was true. Almost single-handedly he had relegated the magical plague gnawing its way through central Africa to a conference for developing magical nations, giving the area a second chance to pull together in a pinch and form lasting bonds of friendship through shared adversity and loss.

Halting the relief efforts for the victims of a conflict with a band of Giants in eastern Turkey which had seen the deaths of almost 80 muggles earlier this year was also absolutely essential. Though he sympathized with their loss, the sad proposal had been connected to the authorization for the wizarding community there to root out their Giant population once and for all while the Giants deserved a second chance. Hagrid himself had proven to him that all their burly brethren truly needed were nice warm hugs and a cup of cocoa and all would be well.

Handling the impassioned plea by the Bulgarian Minister for I.C.W. Peacekeepers to be sent into his country to stop the ongoing conflict there was his pride and joy though. The country finally had a symbol they could rally around in the form of a young Quidditch sensation named Viktor Krum. Albus wanted to give the magical peoples of his country a second chance to see the error of their ways on their own and come back into fellowship with each other, and so he'd shuffled the matter off to a relatively unimportant subcommittee for Southeastern European International Magical Cooperation for further study and review.

In the magnificent week he'd been in Geneva, absolutely nothing had been accomplished. The Greater Good would provide after all. Anything else would be to show doubt and sow division, grave offenses which made the Good feel sad.

Albus almost felt like dancing as he made his way to Professor McGonagall's office. Indeed he would have, but sadly that particular skill was one he lacked any real talent in. When the jolly old man arrived at the Deputy Headmistress's office he found the door open and a kindly light shining forth.

He peeked in to see stacks of envelopes all around her desk as she shifted one envelope after another from pile to pile after a light tap of her wand. The warm glow in his chest grew with the knowledge that he hadn't missed the Mailing. Aside from the Welcoming Feast, it was his favorite time of the year.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, everything going well I see," he said to his hard-on-the-outside-yet-creamy-in-the-center Head of Gryffindor House. Albus made the mental note to refresh his candy stores for the upcoming year sometime soon. It wouldn't do to run low on Lemon Drops, someone might actually want one this year.

"I trust everything worked out for the best in my absence?" he asked.

"Sadly no," she said wiping a tear from her eye.

"There, there, Minerva," Albus said coming around to put a comforting arm around his Deputy. "Whatever could be the matter?"

"It's the children, Albus. The Hopefuls," Minerva sniffed into a tartan handkerchief. "I fear Hogwarts must break its word to them. I didn't know whether to write them or visit them in person to explain but – just the thought of those poor children's faces when they learn they won't be able to attend–."

The soft old Scot blew her nose in almost comedic fashion, and new tears made her eyes reflect the candlelight that lit the room, much like her feline animagus form did when on the prowl.

"Fear not," Albus said kindly. "I'll see what I can do."

'Surely the money from Gringotts would have arrived by now,' Albus thought. Perhaps it was something as simple as forgetting to sign one of the transfer orders. 'Even I can make mistakes after all.' He almost chuckled at the thought but knew it would do nothing to cheer his longtime work acquaintance. He would have to remember to have a good chuckle later.

If such an unlikely event were to happen though it'd just be a matter of moments before the funds started flowing again. 'As fast as a Fawkesian flash,' he thought.

"I do hope you have better luck than I did," McGonagall said. "I did what I could to fill your shoes when you were gone but could only scrounge up enough in donations to cover a year of tuition for a single student, and that's without providing any means of support for the supplies themselves."

"I don't suppose any mail came for me while I was gone?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"Just the normal Ministry owls," she said as she returned to her work.

A small tendril of worry started to burrow into his heart, leaching away the life and warmth within as his face showed concern for the first time. Could something be wrong at Gringotts? Not even the havoc caused by Tom's reign of terror had ever caused this kind of disruption in them issuing their monthly account statements. Perhaps he would have to pay them a visit, just to make sure.

With tap after tap of McGonagall's wand bright green ink appeared on envelope after envelope showing the name and current location of each recipient. Albus picked up one of the completed stacks and started leafing through them.

"Unless they decide to spend the night somewhere they weren't fifteen minutes ago those will still be right," she said as if wondering why he was still there.

"Of that I have no doubt," he said jovially. "Merely looking so I can recall their smiling faces."

"Their faces won't be smiling when Halloween rolls around and the Feast has to be cut," the Scotswoman said, back in her normally clipped tone. "And the teachers won't be smiling when salaries are slashed. Gilderoy Lockhart may try to quit if that happens, contract or no," she finished derisively.

His deputy never saw the Greater Good at work. How could it not be in everyone's interest to expose the man for the fraud he is? And what better way to do it then to place him in a position of power and authority over children eager to learn? That those children must first buy copies of every one of his books as reading material and sacrifice a year of their Defense education to give the incompetent man this chance to hang himself was simply the price that must be paid. Albus could not abide frauds.

At last Albus saw the name he sought amidst the group of Second Years and smiled as he saw the address. This had to be the Greater Good at work. Where there was a problem, the Greater Good always provided. If something was wrong at Gringotts, then Harry was the answer. How lucky it was he was at the home of the Weasleys.

"You have the letters to the Hopefuls handy?" the kind old man asked, placing the Second Year Mailings back on the desk.

"Yes, they're right here," McGonagall said, handing him three thin envelopes. "I think I should visit them myself instead. It's the right thing to do," she said sadly.

"Give me a couple of days to see to them," he said softly as he pocketed the envelopes. "I'm sure something can be done. A few days may see a world of difference."

"Of course," Minerva said. "If you think it's best."

The kindly old grandfather of the wizarding world bid her goodnight and made his way up to his room, making sure to stop off by the Owlery along the way.

.o0O0o.

The fluttering sound of hundreds of wings filled the night sky as the massive stream of owls left Hogwarts for parts unknown. Tomorrow people the width and breadth of the country would wake up to their much anticipated Mailings. It would be like Christmas to them.

Up in his tower, Albus smiled. He had always loved the sight of all those owls winging their way off to all points beyond but it had been years since he had directly contributed to the yearly event. He had so hated to change things last year but it had been necessary; today though it was different. Giving the owl on his arm one last stroke on the head he sent it off into the night with a thin letter of its own to deliver.

Where there was a need, the Greater Good provided, and everything worked itself out the way it was meant to be.

.o0O0o.

AN: When I started this, I wanted to do a Dumbledore that had never been seen before, or at least one I've never seen before. Taking his hands-off, everyone gets a second chance, and Greater Good ideologies to their furthest extremes the scene of his return to Hogwarts formed in my mind, with all the glowing depictions of how much Good he had done at the I.C.W. I must admit, the first thing out of my mouth when it happened was, "Holy crap, he's a monster." While a deeper philosophy on life and the workings of the universe has developed out of it, his actions certainly make him seem like a monster, even if he doesn't see it.

Thanks for reading.