A/N: Dear readers, thanks for sticking around. I discovered that after birthing a human being, you tend to have less free time which is why this update took so long. But I think I'm getting the hang of it now: I reserve more time in the evenings to write. Your kind words always keep me going. Enjoy!

Chapter 29

Harry's heart and head were pounding in sync from another bad dream. He sat up blearily, rubbing a palm over his forehead. It was early still, the shapes around him vague in the semi-darkness. On his way to the loo he conjured a Lumos to avoid getting his head bruised by a rafter.

Downstairs Fred and George were just starting on their porridge. Harry sat down and greeted them, floating a sausage from a nearby plate.

"Our chosen one up already! Sleep well?"

The sound echoed like a bell between his sensitive ears. "Fine," he murmured, touching his inflamed scar.

"Still hurts?"

His scar… he was forgetting something. A grim tableaux came back: Ron, getting tortured –

Gods. Fear dripped like acid into his ribcage.

He coughed, hands clammy. "The- the Dark Lord. He's… torturing Ron. Or was, last night. He send me a dream – well, a vision. I forgot-"

Utensils clattered. "What?" George – it was clearly George, he didn't know why he couldn't keep them apart yesterday – yelled. "Why didn't you-"

"I just realised, alright?" Harry gritted out when the noise spiked his headache. "It hasn't been long, we can still-"

The twins burst out of their chairs, hands trembling and gazes furious as they watched him. They looked ready to rip him out of his seat. Harry narrowed his eyes at the change, standing as well.

"You know where he's keeping him?" Fred uttered.

"The same place he's kept me over the summer. Don't know where it's at, I think it's under a Fidilius or something."

Fred went on to kick a nearby box, cursing.

George studied his brother. "You're sure the vision was real?" This time, he didn't need to add.

"Definitely." Their urgency was catching, making him say: "We've got to get Ron out of there, before he might- before it's too late."

George spat: "You think?"

Harry grimaced. Their animosity was back, but this time he felt it was well deserved. First Ginny, now perhaps Ron as well…

Fred conjured a Patronus, the animal transparent and hard to make out in the bright morning light.

"Go to Albus Dumbledore," Fred whispered to it. "Message: Ron's in danger, tortured by Riddle. At the same place where Harry's been kept during summer, location unsure. Standing by for further instructions."

The animal vanished. He turned back to Harry. "Do you know anything that can help us?"

"Snape will know where they are," Harry murmured in thought. The man had gotten access to the manor that one time, after Armando Moore had used his terrible scalping curse on Harry. Watanabe also had access to Voldemort's manor, but he was in no shape to help.

Well. Harry could just summon Snape., right? Then what? Make him help Harry? That was a laughable fiction. No, they had to find another way…

Fred's wand twitched and Harry regretted opening his mouth. "Why by Merlin's balls would we get Snape to help us?"

"That traitor?" George added.

"Never mind," Harry said listlessly. "He's keyed to the wards, but of course he'd just take us all straight to Voldem- Riddle."

"What exactly did you see?" Fred cut in. "How do you know it's not another lie?"

Harry considered that. "We'd better make sure, just in case. The details fit. Ron got summoned through his mark. The Dark Lord told him not to worry, because I would turn up soon. Then he put him under the Cruciatus. They're in the drawing room of the manor," he concluded.

Fred sucked in a breath.

"You just said you've been there, right? You can get us in," George said.

"I don't know how to Apparate." He took a deep breath around the panic, wondering whether the pain in his forehead was getting worse. "Wait a minute, I don't need to summon Snape. I can just summon Ron directly, now that he has a Mark."

Two sets of eyes went wide.

Oh shit, he thought. Me and my running mouth.

George said after a beat: "Summon him through the Mark? As in, like the Dark Dork tends to do?"

"Yes." He rolled his eyes when they stayed frozen. It used to be the twins loved that sort of skill. "And no, it's not something he taught me. I can just… tune in."

"Right now I don't care, sounds like a plan," Fred said briskly. "Let's wait for Dumbledore."

The patronus was back in the next minute, and still Harry could only make out its medium size and what seemed to be legs. George send it along with a similar message to his father. A minute went by, two. Then a flash of fire and Dumbledore was there, Fawkes on his shoulder with tiny cinders flying off its feathers.

The professor nodded at them all. He was wearing bright green today. "I wished we were meeting under better circumstances." And then: "Fred, George, your parents are on their way."

Harry was asked to relate his dream, which he did, glossing over the bit about Watanabe's condition. His scar spiked as he glanced at the man's blue eyes, so he gazed at Fawkes instead, who sat perched on a stack of boxes nearby. The bird cocked its head right back at him.

"Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted his stupor. "Does your scar hurt?"

Harry ground his teeth some more. "Yes, he's mightily pissed off."

"Fred tells me you have an idea as to how we can extract Mr. Weasley?"

Harry explained: "I could go back to Hogwarts, give the Dark Lord what he wants." He wouldn't have to fear for his life in that case, but that was about the only upside: that man's imagination for torture was boundless. "It's no guarantee that we'll get Ron back alive, though."

Fawkes was cleaning out a wing now. He went on: "Or I could summon Ron. Which solves the immediate problem of his torture." He had done it before, though not with Ron's Mark. He hoped the wards would still recognise him in that case. "Can't be sure but I think it'll work."

Albus seemed to take that in. "The first option I find unacceptable, for more than the reason you are mentioning." Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly – as you well know.

Harry felt vaguely ashamed in the silence that followed.

"As to the second option… I do recall a promise you made to me Harry, to stop borrowing that terrible curse of his."

He peered at Harry some more, who felt like an errant student again, cheeks growing warm from the way the twins were looking on motionless.

"You are no doubt aware of the risks of opening up your connection. However," and Harry's shoulders drooped slightly in relief, "I believe it is our best shot and since I am here to protect you, I shall suspend those objections this time."

The man went into action mode: "We shall move Mr. Weasley up here – the Fidelius should be enough to keep him out of Riddle's reach. Harry, you will have to start your summoning one floor down for that same reason."

Harry nodded. The man placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, words now only for his ears: "Which means you will also be at risk of possible tracking spells, since your signature is no longer hidden by the charm there. Are you sure you wish to proceed?"

He nodded again.

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't like exposing you to him, but the situation is dire and so…."

We need to get Ron back sane, Harry finished silently.

Albus turned around to address his familiar: "Fawkes, might I ask you to stand guard over Harry Potter here?"

The phoenix took his time cleaning his wing, then drifted over to land on Harry's shoulder by way of answer. It felt like a tiny furnace against his neck and cheek. Fred and George looked grim but energised.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said softly to the bird. Then to Harry: "He can pull you out from under the Fidilius if that becomes necessary."

Fred and George, wands drawn, led the way down onto the highest landing of the shop, where they stopped next to a display of love potions. The gaping space below spread some four floors downwards. Looking down Harry saw landings and stairs and all sorts of flashy merchandise.

Harry closed his eyes, blocking out their expectant gazes and the warmth seeping from Fawkes.

The network of Marks scratched at the edges of his mind, tangible if he focused hard enough. To practice, he tried to sense Snape because that Mark was so distinctive – like ice…

And yes, there was the steely presence he remembered, nudging back alert and waiting. The coldness of the connection soothed his scar a bit. Snape wouldn't think it was Harry threatening to summon him – he hoped.

He cut it off again, then focused on his memory of Ron's mark: it would tingle, not addictive like Nott's but supportive...

He caught onto something warm. Feeling much like a gambler, or perhaps a fisherman, he pulled hard on the little string of mind-magic.

A rush of fatigue echoed back at him – that didn't seem right-

His legs gave out. Someone grabbed his arm from behind to keep him upright. At the sound of a thud he opened his eyes.

A figure in shredded school uniform appeared from nowhere at their feet, making the floorboards groan. He was bleeding from several cuts, it looked like.

"Ron," Fred or George breathed, crouching down.

At that moment, Fawkes' warm feathers came down gently on his head. His eyes wanted to close again. Albus murmured: "Fred, George, take hold of my arm."

There was a slight squeezing of his scalp from the bird, then a burst of warmth and he lost touch with the floor for only a moment. When all was still again he found the energy to split his eyelids.

The five of them were back in the familiar octagon space on the top floor, back inside Fidilius protection, the remains of breakfast clashing with the panicky mood.

Ron floated above the wooden boards now. His scrappy outer robes had been removed to show a torn-up t-shirt underneath. Dumbledore conjured a ribbon of bandage which attached itself to the bits of torso that were bleeding, followed by a stretcher.

An alarm suddenly filled the silence.

"We've got company," George uttered, scrambling up and brandishing his wand.

Harry worked himself up to a sitting position, hoping whatever connection there might still be with Voldemort had lost the battle from inside the Fidilius charm. A gloved hand touched his cheek. He looked up blearily.

"Harry, you can cut off the link to Ron now," his old mentor's voice jolted him, tone urgent.

A second tugging sensation now accompanied Ron's connection, and he yanked back, hoping it hurt. "They're Death Eaters," he muttered in case they weren't yet sure. Fred started warding the door some more while George took over treating Ron's wounds.

Dumbledore's glove tightened against his cheek. "Focus, Harry. You need to cut off your connection to the mark."

But how had he managed before? The pain in his scar was maddening, which didn't help his concentration.

After some more fruitless seconds he stumbled towards the stretcher. He pulled back Ron's right sleeve in order to touch the ugly tattoo. To his relief, the mental cord between them appeared in his mind, and it was suddenly easy to cut it off.

Harry fell back, exhausted.

The pressure on his scar eased. Warmth suddenly poured over his skull from inside out, like stepping into a hot shower. It was a feeling of rest and relaxation and his lungs seemed to be taking up twice as much oxygen.

"What is it, Harry?" Dumbledore cut through his introspection, apparently noticing a change. "Is he speaking to you?"

Of course it's him. There was an oily pressure against his skin, which Harry guessed could only be due to Voldemort's ongoing assault on his brain. He suddenly wished for some adrenaline to keep him alert, instead of whatever this lulling spell was. The twins were frowning at him.

"He's-" Harry said, searching for a way to describe it. "Happy about something? Or trying to make me fall asleep."

Dumbledore didn't respond, instead murmuring something that send a wave of heavy magic downwards, onto the landing they had just vacated. The Phoenix leader was not holding a wand: the man seemed indestructible. A shout could be heard in response.

"Good one," Harry grinned at him, then realised he shouldn't, but luckily his old mentor kept his gaze averted.

At that moment, silvery animals started pouring from the walls with returning messages, from various Order members. All this action and still he felt aloof. With the surplus of Voldemort's magic tingling over his skin, the urgency of the situation was slipping away from his thoughts.

"Fuck off,Riddle," he croaked, although luckily no one answered.

Dumbledore gave a light squeeze to his arm. Fawkes made a purring noise: he had landed on a nearby box, eyes fixed on Harry. On the opposite side of the room Fred and George were floating the stretcher upwards through the entrance to the attic, before going up themselves.

How much time had passed?

A scream sounded from the attic.

Fred fairly jumped back down the ladder, wild eyes finding Harry's. Then to Dumbledore he said:

"It's getting worse, the pain, I tried a numbing charm but… do you have any ideas, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head, appearing nailed to the ground with worry. "This is a mental pain. The mark is directly connected to the mind, which means only the caster can neutralise it."

Harry dragged himself to his feet and past Fred without a word. His fear for Ron woke him up as he climbed the ladder. Fred guided him towards Ron in the far corner of the attic, where the beams hung low.

George sat stroking his brother's sweaty hair back. He hesitated, then made room for Harry. The screeching was loud up close. He forced Ron's clammy hand which he'd curled around the Mark out of the way, before touching down.

From numbness straight to pain again, as the screaming stopped. It was hard to take. Someone caught hold of his fingers, which were scrambling wildly over the floorboards, then-

-nothing.

888

He couldn't figure out the wooden beams above his head. Something to his right had woken him: it seemed to be alarm in the shape of a piranha on the night-stand, yawning wide, terrible teeth. Then he realised he was still in the Weasley´s sleeping quarters and he hadn´t been moved, or abducted.

He sat up with a jerk. Ron.

He heard stumbling followed by the Weasley brothers hurrying to his side.

"How do you feel?" Fred blurted, sitting down next to him.

Harry shrugged. The terrible pain in his head was gone. Not for long probably, but he'd take this bit of luck. At the far corner of the room, Ron's form lay draped in shadows.

"Ron?"

"Out of it," George said, skin greyish in the low light. "We had to keep him under, because apparently Riddle knows when he's awake." He shook his head in stupefaction.

"Ronnikins the martyr," Fred murmured, staring at nothing. "He should never have gone back to Hogwarts in the first place."

"How'd it go with the attack?"

"Dad and Moody got here fast, they duelled on the landing below. This was sometime after you blacked out. The Death Eaters disapparated before they could catch them so we don't know who they were. They got some pretty heavy damage in at least."

George gestured downstairs, where they took seats around the little round table. As Harry sat down Fred came over with a tray full of English breakfast.

"You have an elf?" Harry asked.

"Headquarters does," George answered. "Having an elf is the safest way to smuggle in potions and other stuff nowadays."

Fred turned to him. "And speaking of potions… Madame Pomfrey was here earlier to check up on Ron – he's on Dreamless Sleep now." He dumped a small bottle next to Harry's plate. "And here's a pain reliever for you, in case your scar acts up again."

"Thanks," he said, wishing he could take some Dreamless Sleep himself, but it didn't feel right somehow to ask for it now. Harry's awareness of the unconscious occupant above their heads was like a tingle along his neck.

"It's my fault," he stated quietly.

Fred was spearing his strip of bacon several times. "It's not, it's that crazy son-of-a-bitch."

George said: "I know we were pissed at you after the raid on the Burrow-"

"Really, couldn't tell," Harry returned, deadpan.

George shrugged to concede the point. "Well, we had to get our heads around it, but we turned around. Because this would have happened eventually. Your Dorkship is already hunting down Hermione, now he's attacked Ron. Because he knew it would catch your attention."

Harry lowered his egg-speared fork back to his plate. Exactly.

Fred scoffed at his reaction, though Harry couldn't catch his gaze. "It's not all about you, you know. We're all gambling our lives here, for the war effort."

"Which brings us to the next point on the agenda,"George said in a rush. "Your housing situation."

"I should stay with Ron."

"Well, that's up to the Order, Harry. They're discussing his situation right now at headquarters. Dumbledore is going to propose the Draught of Living Death."

Harry sucked a breath, thinking back on his own confrontation with the potion, not long after the battle at Hogwarts. Voldemort had been so kind to reassure him his body would remain in one piece.

George continued: "Just until we can finish the bastard, of course. We're on board with it. Mum and dad will come here right after the meeting to say goodbye."

"He won't be-," he scratched his head. "It's not really living, you know. You can't even dream when you're on that stuff."

Fred's eyes flashed. "That's right, you've been through it yourself."

"You'll have to keep him under until Riddle's dead." Which might be close to never, come to think of it: if Harry was still speaking Parseltongue, if Voldemort was still sending him visions, could smother his mind from afar…

George tilted his head. "You can hardly stick yourself to Ron's forearm for the rest of your life either, can you?

Harry rubbed his hair back. George made quick work of his scrambled eggs, then went on: "The Draught is the best option for now, with the least risk. Think about it. Dreamless sleep is damaging to the brain in the long term, it's just too addictive. The same goes for painkillers. The Draught is just made for this kind of… hibernation."

Harry's mouth curled in self-derision. The current stakes made it tempting to turn himself in, but what was to say Voldemort would then spare Ron? Last night had addled his mind apparently, because before he'd never have considered making a deal with the devil.

"We'll just have to find a way to crack the mark," Fred spoke into the silence. "Bill could take a look."

"What if Ron doesn't want to be in a coma?"

"The pain will change his mind, won't it," Fred spoke grimly.

Subdued breakfast finished, Fred and George went downstairs to open their shop for the day, and he was left alone. After doing the dished by hand again, he went up to sit with his silent friend for a while. This became awful quickly and so he went around the octagonal room to study the orange stickers on the boxes he hadn't tried earlier.

Noise-cancellers one said, Un-reasoners another. He opened the flap of a box called overwhelmers cat. 2: inside there were round flasks with warning labels on them.

A flash of red in the corner of his eye had him draw his wand. It was Fawkes, his flaming tail caught by the two Weasley parents wearing dark-brown travelling cloaks.

Harry lowered it. "Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley."

"Harry," Molly said with deep affection, letting go of the bird to walk towards him. "Finally, I've been wanting to thank you once again for saving our family." She came up to him and after some hesitation stroked his hair, once. He had to bite his tongue not to flinch away.

Arthur Weasley stepped over with the same heavy emotion in his eyes.

"You're welcome," Harry muttered, ducking his head. He felt very much out of practice having this kind of fondness bestowed. This in turn made him feel remote from them. He braced for a hug but Arthur only squeezed a shoulder, then let go.

"Awful business with the Dementor," the man said in a way that reminded Harry of Fudge. "At least he's gone, the boys told us, you're rid of him now."

He had to give it to the man: it was hard to spot the question in that tone. Then he saw how tired the adults in front of him looked and nodded. "Yes, quite gone." If only these mind-things were that clear-cut.

"Good, good," Molly said, eyes crinkling. Apparently she was simply glad to see him. "How are you my dear?"

"Better than before," he settled on. "How are things at the Burrow, ma'am?"

"Quite all right, thank you," Molly said. "It's all being set to rights. Albus is a real gentleman, helping us out. Just a lot of ash floating around at the moment. Even after all the spells they come out of every nook and cranny. Oh well," she smiled at him again. "Nothing a good airing won't fix."

She walked over to the table, which now sported a second bottle next to Harry's pain potion.

"Is that the Draught?" Harry asked.

"That's right," Molly answered.

He rubbed his hair back hard to keep from saying something like: shouldn't Ron have a say in this, though?

Mr. Weasley gestured as Molly took the bottle and climbed the ladder. "Want to say goodbye as well?"

"What about the others? And Hermione?"

"The twins and Hermione already said their goodbyes last night. You were still out of it. We advised the others not to come," Arthur said, sounding like he was trying to remain calm. "You see how he is now – it's no use having everyone around for that. We'll just have to keep reminding ourselves that it's alll temporary, of course."

Harry nodded, feeling like something was blocking his airway. Upstairs they crouched down on cushions around the stretcher-turned-comfy yellow bed. Arthur pulled his son into a seated position with an arm around his shoulder, bottle at the ready, then glanced over at his wife sitting across from him.

"Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley was stroking Ron's limp hand. She put it down and brought out her wand. Harry took up a place near the end of the bed, feeling quite the interloper.

"Wait, I have a painkiller somewhere," Arthur was patting his robes, then found another green bottle. Harry wondered who was brewing potions for the Order now that Snape's skills were no longer accessible.

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at her son. "Ennervate."

Ron twitched and twisted on the stretcher. A low moan of pain quickly grew to a startling yell as Ron curled around the offending arm.

"Shhhh," Mr. Weasley whispered, stroking back his hair. "Ron, dear, everything will be all right. We are going to give you something against the pain."

With a tap of her wand against the bottle, Harry guessed she spelled it directly into his stomach. Ron trembled in his father's arms. Then he saw Harry.

"Hey mate," he whispered hoarsely, no voice left, between gulps of air. "You made it out… I'm glad…"

Harry smiled. "All thanks to you."

The mark wanted to take energy from him again, a pull just below his skin at the edge of awareness. He focused back on Ron and was startled to see Arthur crying quietly.

The man whispered: "Son, here's something else for the pain. This you have to swallow yourself."

"Just as long as it isn't one of Snape's," Ron joked weakly, raising trembling hands to gulp the stuff down.

"It's probably Hermione's," Molly said. It wouldn't taste half bad, Harry remembered, just roots and spices.

Soon after, Ron sagged in his father's arms, who sniffed before carefully lowering him to the bed.

888

That night Ron's perpetuated clueless state kept Harry awake long after the blue lights had drifted back to the ceiling. Ron's parents had taken their son away, to where Harry didn't know.

It had irritated him at the time, he realised now: Ron's screams. Not like a proper friend would react, or anyone who wasn't a madman. No wonder when he was specifically searching out that connection to Voldemort or the horcrux, whichever it was. But then when they had put Ron under the charm, hadn't he felt awful?

He must have nodded off at some point, because next he woke up inside the Hogwarts kitchens. It was a cosy scene: the heart was stoked high and Nagini lay at his feet, looking content. There were no elves around. He knew at once it wasn't a normal dream.

"Time to come home, Harry…"

Voldemort spoke from his mouth. He tried to jerk away without result. He was not surprised to see spidery hands instead of his own gripping onto a leather sofa, could even feel the warmth from the fire.

"Using my powers against me, Harry, Harry…" The man gave a subtle shake of his head. "I have granted you life. This is how you repay me?"

Nagini raised her head to regard him, draped over his robed feet.

"I've got a castle full of your friends; I can keep this up indefinitely."

His thoughts flew reckless, out before he realised Voldemort might hear: You'll torture them?

"That reprieve has passed. The next one will die instantly. You may decide who."

I can't, he pleaded to himself. About now would be a great time to wake up…

"Will it be the mudblood Thomas? Or Ms. Lovegood? It would be a shame if she never got her belongings back, would it not?"

Voldemort put on a smile at Harry's bafflement. "Forgotten your guard already, I see."

His mind wouldn't shut op, with a litany of I can't, how can I….

"And we were getting along so well, you and I."

I didn't know. He carefully thought of Moody extracting him, only Moody, in case the man could see.

Voldemort stood suddenly, walking towards the wall which held all kinds of kitchen utensils. One of the large cauldrons higher on the wall was made of metal and dimly reflected the man's countenance.

"Truly? If that's so, I could be merciful," the Dark Lord said, seemingly looking right at him through the reflection. "Floo from where you are now to the Headmaster's study and you will be granted access to the castle. Don't, and it will be a body in front of the Weasley's shop for each day you don't show up. I think that's only fair, don't you?"

There was a pause while Harry heard rather than saw Nagini move, impatient for a petting. Voldemort's tone turned irate: "You will submit to me, you conceited brat."

888

Waking up the parseltongue words still echoed, his foggy mind awash in agony. The intensity was such that he could do nothing but focus the burning tissue of his scar. At some point he felt someone shake his arm, which he'd curled around his knees.

He uncurled after a while to find the blue lights shimmering close to something on the night stand: the pain reliever potion. Sitting up would worsen his nausea, and so he rolled to the side. Carefully he felt for the stopper in the semi-darkness. It was the familiar multifaceted shape also used in the Hogwarts Infirmary. Harry took a slow sideways sip, then another. He would save the rest for later.

He waited. The pain gnawed some more, then dulled. Harry fell back to the mattress. The potion helped to still his shaking fingers. He had to talk to Dumbledore – Dean and Luna were in immediate danger.

What was the point of it all when Voldemort could just pick a different friend each day? Saving one classmate would just mean the death of another. He had no doubt Malfoy had gotten a good look at who Harry hung out with on a regular basis. He did not think to consider they would become targets in an instant, so relieved to once again be among allies.

Dean Thomas would be up first, because of his Muggleborn status. Deep down Voldemort didn't care for purity of blood, he knew, but no Auror would come after him if Dean went missing; there would be exactly no one holding him back from killing the boy.

It was probably late, since he couldn't hear the twins at the breakfast table. Was it all worth it, he wondered hysterically as he went about dressing – in the same clothes as yesterday; trading Tom Riddle for Voldemort in his dreams? All he knew was this escape was definitely not worth the sacrifices they had already made for him.

He was met downstairs by a more than welcome sight. "Hermione!"

Her bushy hair was next to his cheek in an instant. He tensed against some kind of reaction from Riddle that never came: of course, things were quiet on that front now.

He smiled into her arm. She was holding him tight and it was the best, purest feeling in ages. Eventually she broke off to study him at arm's length. It was strange seeing her in blue wizarding robes, without her Hogwarts garb on.

She didn't comment on his eyes. "How are you, Harry?"

He squeezed her arm. "I'm grateful you guys got me out, but I can't really stay. Look what happened to Ron. He's, he'll…" he really didn't want to explain.

"Riddle happened to Ron," Hermione said as if to correct him. "This is what he wants you to think. Come on, let's sit for a moment."

Hermione would have to be his voice of reason. As he explained his vision to her, she became whiter by the second.

"Whatever you're thinking of now Harry, talk to Dumbledore first," Hermione stressed, coming closer to wrap her arm around him. "Don't let him convince you that you have no choice in this. There is always a choice."

Suddenly his eyes were damp. "Only bad ones in this case," he muttered.

She was already sending her otter Patronus to find the former headmaster. Harry regarded her with his head in his hands. "I don't know if we should involve him, 'Mione, what if he tells me to stay? What am I going to do?"

Hermione shook her head, pensive. "I know it's the Dark Lord but he can't really expect parents to accept their children getting killed on a whim, or the classmates of their children. It would cause a panic, just when he's painting himself in the press as a rational ruler."

Harry watched her through his fingers. "That's fine in theory and all, but the man is going to kill someone tomorrow."

They fell into a panicky silence, which Hermione broke with a whisper: "I've been meaning to ask… Is you-know-what gone?

Harry laughed, rubbing the tears from his face. "Yes, let's catch up while we still can. It's good to see you too, Hermione."

This earned him a punch to the shoulder.

"All right, all right. He's here, and at the same time he's not." He grinned, knowing his answer would irk her to no end.

"Really."

Harry clenched his hands together, wanting to get this over with: "So they all know, huh?"

"They all know what?"

"The Order. That I'm a - you know." It was still weird saying such sensitive information out loud.

Hermione frowned. "Wherever did you get that idea?"

Two tea cups sparkled into existence along with scones. Harry took a fortifying sip and a bite of the scone, which already held a delicious blob of clotted cream – he might as well, since he'd probably be in a dungeon by this time tomorrow.

He swallowed to say: "Huh. Maybe they were just talking about my link to Volde- Riddle, then."

"It's still top-secret information, Harry. Only you, me and Dumbledore know about it. Well, and Ron." Hermione looked down at her sleeves. "I miss him already," she added quietly.

Harry lowered his head on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"So," she shook herself, "I don't understand, did Dumbledore's plan work or not?"

"I think it worked in a way. It's hard to explain."

"Have you managed to… subdue him?"

"Dumbledore did, actually." He pointed his half-eaten scone at her for emphasis: "I can really recommend a Dementor treatment whenever you feel like some soul-searching."

Hermione laughed. "Gods, that's horrible."

"I thought I was done for, it got right in my face." He shivered. "But my patronus protected me from a lot of it, I think. Tom, he thought I had a death wish. That I was insane to risk my soul like that. Can't say he's wrong. Then I blacked out."

Hermione explained about her new work for the Order, making potions. After finishing his scone he felt queasy. Around 10 minutes must have passed when Dumbledore appeared in the Weasley's octagonal room, phoenix in tow. A third tea cup materialised and after a warm greeting Albus took a seat. Fawkes flew to one of the higher stacks as if on the lookout.

Hermione was silent; Harry was also considering how to break the news. Dumbledore's sudden sigh came first. "By the looks on your faces I gather you have more news from Tom."

"Professor – sir," Harry said, straightening hastily, "He's not going to stop after this, he told me he's going after Luna and Dean next. Every day I don't return it will be one of my friends killed."

"Yes, I rather thought he might."

Harry stared, then noticed the man's gloved hand, blue with orange finger-pads this time.

"I understand your concern. As this situation is dreadfully similar to the last war, I have planned for this contingency before I left the school. Any student at Hogwarts is able to escape from the castle safely if only he or she wishes so. I have also put other protection measures in place – I'm sure you understand I cannot go into detail." He peered over his half-moon glasses at a spot on Harry's arm. Harry nodded, thinking of the man's reassurance long ago: You will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me.

Hermione looked ready to ask for proof, but held it in.

"This might be difficult, but we cannot alert whomever you think is in danger, Harry, because it will in fact hurt their chances. Now as to Ronald's case," he spread his palms, looking grim. "I failed him. I did not realise his mark would interfere with our safety precautions."

"We understand, sir," Harry told him, since what he really wanted to say was something like "Why didn't you, if you're so brilliant?"

"On a different note, I am quite pleased with the distraction we have managed to create this week, one that's keeping the Ministry rather busy at the moment. This has now captured Tom's interest as well."

Hermione looked at Dumbledore sharply then, which Harry puzzled at until their mentor replied: "I command your vigilance Ms. Granger, however this is no longer sensitive information as of this morning. And I believe it will do you both good to hear."

He continued after a sip of tea, gaze on Hermione this time: "As Ms. Granger might know already, our people have retaken the Department of Mysteries. They have managed to put up a time-warp charm on a small but strategical part of the Ministry."

Harry squinted sideways at Hermione whose mouth had fallen open. She asked: "You mean you've stabilized a black hole?"

Albus inclined his head, eyes twinkling. "You are as astute as always. A tiny one but quite effective."

Her cheeks took on a gleam as well – Harry wisely choose not to disturb her thoughts.

"You are telling me sir, that you have managed to slow down time in the building?"

Dumbledore munched on a scone before answering: "Just the lower floors and the courtrooms, as the new employers are now experiencing."

"It's only been recorded in theory," Hermione murmured. "They must have been working day and night on this."

Harry ventured: "Sounds dangerous, didn't we learn in third year not to mess with time?"

"Oh, it is," Hermione agreed. "The boundaries of the time warp are a great unknown still – I mean the vacuum or bubble of space in which time has slowed compared to the outside." To Dumbledore: "Did our people manage to get out in time?"

"Even better Ms. Granger: the other way around."

Hermione beamed. Harry wondered if this might be the actual reason for his painful scar.

"Everyone who worked on this is safe. Only the agent leading our team has chosen to remain," Dumbledore went on. "He is already quite ancient."

Hermione nodded like this made sense. To Harry the whole conversation had turned into a foreign language. "I hope I can talk to you about this more later, sir," she said glancing at Harry.

His hands fluttered against his tea cup. "What happens now, Professor?"

Dumbledore folded the fingers of his gloves in front of him. "Now Harry and I will take our leave. We will go to the safehouse." To Harry: "It's also under my Fidilius."

Harry felt a bit strange leaving right away. "Will I be able to talk to the twins later? I have to thank them for letting me stay here."

"They are not privy to this location, though perhaps Ms. Granger would like to confer this message?"

"Yes of course. Don't worry Harry, they'll understand.

Hermione grasped his hand when they all stood. "This is good," she half-whispered. "You will meet even more familiar faces there."

He smiled at her assurances. It was hard to get out of emergency mode, though. "Sir, you are sure about this? All my friends will be safe?" he asked the old headmaster. When spoken out loud it sounded far-fetched.

"Alas, my confidence comes from experience, dear boy. We have extracted students from sudden deadly situations a few times too many. Well then, do you have all your belongings with you?"

He glanced around, but he'd only had his wand on him when he'd gone up to the Huffinclaw party. "Only the painkiller." He went to get it from the attic, then asked when he got back:

"Sir, he told me he would… put the bodies in front of the shop. Should we- shouldn't Fred and George come with us?"

Hermione unexpectedly answered: "They are supplying the Death Eaters with protective gear."

Harry took a step back, feeling like he just got slapped. Hermione bent a little towards him. "Harry they have to, Mulciber is pressuring them, threatening to kill Mr. and Mrs. Weasley if they don't. It's also the reason I think that they're not being tortured like- like Ron was. At least we know what they're making, right, which is strategic for us."

Her eyes were urging him to understand. Well, he was one to talk: things were no longer clear-cut anywhere. "Sure," he said. Hermione giving him a tight hug. "I'll come to visit," she told him.

Fawkes flew to Albus, who caught hold of Harry's sleeve.

He felt a thrill at getting to vanish like Dumbledore always did. And it was stunning: flames from Fawkes leaped around them, all colours of orange; the world turned sideways though the both of them stood quite still, then it swirled back up to reveal breezy weather, a quiet countryside and the delicious smell of nature after a storm.

He saw a sprawling country house that looked like it had evolved over more than one century. To their left a garden, where unruly rose bushes were bending over their borders; to the right of the building he could just make out an orchard. The lawn looked in need of a cut.

Albus said as they set off towards the building: "This is Minerva McGonagall's house, Harry. It's also one of our safehouses, a meeting point and in your case, a place for recuperation.

As they drew close to the mansion, old-stoned and homey, out the door came Hagrid. Dumbledore smiled at Harry's floored expression.

"Harry! Yeh're all righ'? Come sit, sit." Hagrid gestured busily at a bench and two chairs on the lawn, making him realise they had arrived in the back garden.

Harry went up to greet him and was pulled into a quick hug.

"Great to see you, Hagrid," he grinned.

"Good morning Hagrid," Dumbledore said, cheerful. "No time for a chat, I'm afraid, we're a tad ahead of schedule. I have to show Harry his room. There will be plenty of time to catch up in the afternoon."

Up close Hagrid's eyes crinkled down at him: "Ye'd like ta go for a walk after lunch, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said, marvelling at all this normality. "See you then."

Inside, his mentor showed some of the amenities as they passed them – an old English kitchen, a long hallway with lots of wooden doors, then up a flight of stairs and a soft-carpeted landing to another door, which the wizard opened to reveal a simple but cosy bedroom. It had a large window, bookcases with odds and ends and it smelled of something spicy, probably coming from one of the large hanging plants next to the window.

It was hard to think of his grim talk with Voldemort in the lightness of this space. His attention must have drifted off, because Dumbledore touched his shoulder to say:

"How do you feel?"

The man's calm gaze steadied him. He shrugged, glancing at the glass and a little courtyard beyond. "Relieved for my friends. But I'm afraid of tonight, going to sleep and having to talk to him again, he'll be furious."

"I will let the elf put some Dreamless Sleep potion in your room. We shall discuss a more long-term solution as well as some other things later today. In the meantime, please practice closing your mind once each hour, to get used to the feeling of a quietness."

Harry didn't have the energy to tell him they'd tried this before, and it had never worked. "Right, I will, sir."

The Phoenix leader pointed to a small clock on the night stand: "I'd like to ask you to remain in your room for the next hour, Harry. You see, I meant to pick you up later in the day and I have an appointment in a few minutes. You are not to be seen by this visitor."

"Yes, sir." He rubbed a hand over his scar and the intensifying burn there.

Albus took a glance at the bottle still in his hand with a slight frown. "You may take two sips of this every six hours. You can ask Hagrid for more of the painkiller if you are out, although we'll have to think of something in the long term to deter the pain." At Harry's nod Dumbledore gave a smile then took his leave – Harry noticed his familiar had already flown off somewhere. "Try to relax a bit, Harry, and we will talk further in the afternoon."

When the door closed Harry looked longingly towards the bed, then sat down at a nearby desk – getting hoarded by a Dark Lord apparently drained the rest out of one's sleep. The potion started working, dulling the pain. Rubbing his fingers over the wooden grain, he jumped when a note appeared:

"Welcome to my home, Harry. Please find your belongings from Hogwarts near the nightstand. I've also taken the liberty of enclosing notes of last and next week's class schedule and homework. I hope to see you again soon.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall.

"That's nice of her," Harry murmured. If only he could worry about homework from now on.

The Dark Lord would hardly stop when he couldn't get at his friends; the only question was where his thoughts would lead him to next.

A/N: Dumbledore still has some tricks up his sleeve ;). Please let me know what you think!

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