The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301

Chapter Nine

They didn't finish at the theatre till after midnight and Harry was so tired he could have happily slept on the floor in the theatre again. As they walked out the stage door, Harry said, "I'm skiving off from Black Jack's tonight. I can't take another night there."

Annie said anxiously, "I dunno Jamey. Black Jack's going to be awful annoyed. He'll be mad enough we're late, never mind if we don't show at all."

Harry said, "I don't care if he's mad. I can't stand him. He's a right old villain and I want to get clear away from him as soon as I can." He went straight back to the loft, ignoring Annie's dire warnings of trouble and fell asleep, as he had every night since he had come to London, with his clothes on and his glasses still perched on his nose.

He dreamed again, but this time he was flying, not swimming. He soared over high hills and low valleys and he reveled in his freedom, in his flight. Mere gravity was nothing, and he wanted nothing more than to stay that way, free of the prison of his flesh, his daily struggle to survive, free of fear and rage and sorrow. The dream narrowed down. He had landed in a hidden place, a dark place, drenched in blood and something unwholesome and unnatural. The body, man, was lying on a stone platform. It was chained to the table, and though the eyes were open, there were no thoughts behind them. There was no soul, no mind housed in the emaciated thing of flesh. Its mouth opened and a formless, wordless cry emerged. Unlike even the lowest animal though, the sounds were utterly devoid of meaning. They expressed nothing. Not hunger, not fear, not the desire for escape. This was a breathing, organic machine, without a soul. Men surrounded the thing. Men in hooded black robes and masks. There was a huge stone cauldron, and one of them ladled out a thick viscous liquid, ruby red and shiny, with streaks of silver and green running through it. Though he was merely an observer, Harry thought with satisfaction, the blood potion: human blood, unicorn blood, dragon blood, and snake venom. The man forced the thing to drink, and it was alive to the extent that its swallow reflex functioned when its nostrils were pinched.

They brought in another body. This one was unconscious. From the shadows, a hooded man stepped forward and touched his wand to the girl's temple and drew a silvery substance from it, thoughts and knowledge. He touched the wand to her heart and drew forth a shimmering blue mist, energy and life. He touched the wand to her hands, each in turn, and drew forth a shimmery golden rope of light--magic. Then he turned the wand on the thing without a mind or soul, and poured the stolen thoughts into it, mind, energy, magic, each in succession. The unconscious girl stirred and tried to move, but she had no energy left. And when the wand issued forth the green light of the killing curse, her soul passed out of her body without resistance.

Harry was rudely wakened the following morning by the sounds of a volcanic fight.

Dave was shouting at Annie, "Where were you last night? Black Jack was furious. Madam Blavatsky didn't show again and there were two new card players that took the pot. And I got the blame."

Dave didn't listen to Annie's stammered excuses, but turned to Harry and seeing him awake, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up. The man's long hair was out of its ponytail and sodden with sweat and something else. He reeked of beer and sweat and fury.

Harry shoved him off angrily and said, "So what if we didn't go last night. So what. We're not slaves. Black Jack doesn't own us."

Dave swore at him and said, "As long as you live here, he owns you. As long as you live here, you go to the pub and earn your keep. Or you can get out."

Harry stared at him and said softly, "Maybe I will," and he was satisfied to see Dave panicking at that. It came to him that he was actually taller than Dave. He grabbed Dave by the shirt and said, "You keep your hands off me in the future and maybe I'll stay a bit longer and maybe I'll show up and play the cards and read the poor pathetic people's fortunes for the occasional hand out Jack Crowley will give me. Or then again, maybe I won't." He shoved Dave back away again and said, "If Black Jack wants to get some value out of me, and he'd better treat me with respect and pay me fair and square. You can tell him that. And you can tell him I might show up tonight to earn a few pounds, but if my other job runs late, maybe I won't." He added a final salvo into the stunned silence. "And if you yell at Annie like that or lay a hand on her, you will regret it. That goes for Nora, too." He shut himself behind the plastic curtain to wash and dress at the speed of light, and then stormed out dragging Annie behind him. Annie followed behind him in silence, as if she were afraid to speak lest she set him off again.

Harry slowed down after a bit and said ruefully, "I guess I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. I suppose Black Jack must've been really horrible to Dave."

Annie said, "Yeah. You haven't really seen him when he goes off. He's been really nice to you. Really nice." She shook her head and said, "I dunno, Jamey. I guess there's something about you that makes people go easy. Like he can tell you're too good for the likes of him."

Harry gawped at her and said, "Too good? I don't think I'm too good for any one. I've got a bad temper when people get on me and I make stupid mistakes, really stupid ones, because I don't listen to people who know better. And I can't keep my mouth shut when I should."
He thought, from the distant perspective of a year, how stupid he'd been to shout at Umbridge, for example, no matter for horrible she'd been. He should learn from McGonagall and Flitwick, who had handled the horrible poisonous toad with such perfect subterranean defiance. And Snape, even, who had apparently lied to her face without a qualm and supplied her with veritaserum that wasn't the real thing at all.

Annie said, "I thought you were wonderful. No one ever stands up to Davey, or to Black Jack."

Harry blushed and thought; well at least someone doesn't think I'm a total git. They were a couple of minutes late that morning, and Harry was afraid they'd be fired, but the Director seized them with anxious relief and said, "He's sick again today. I need you to fill in again. Just like yesterday. Just do like you did yesterday, and I'll see that you get paid something extra for the extra work you've put in."

Extra pay! Harry was thrilled. He might have enough squirreled away when this was over to get him to King's Cross-station, for the Hogwarts Express. And if he couldn't get on, then he would look around for somewhere else to go; somewhere away from Black Jack Crowley and his piratical pub. He smiled at the Director and said, "All right."

They started directly on rehearsals that morning. The Director had said that the time for classes was over, and they needed every minute of their time for making the play come together. He cast a sideways look of venom at his Hamlet, who was sitting wrapped up in a nubby blanket, and drinking from a silver flask he claimed held tea with honey and lemon. Harry could have sworn there was an extra ingredient in there was well, because as the afternoon wore on, the actor's face reddened and his eyes glazed into drowsy inattention.

The play went more soothly this time, partly because Harry had a better idea of where to go, and what he was saying, and partly because the other players had accepted him after yesterday's labors. Harry found different things caught his attention this time. The bit with the friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern really got to him. He didn't have to work his imagination very far to understand the abrupt change from the cheer of Hamlet's greeting to them to the boiling anger the lay underneath the sarcastic lines and the terrible hurt that came when he asked them to "be even with me" whether the King had sent for them.

He could easily imagine his own hurt and fury if Ron and Hermione showed up to visit and he were to find out they were there to spy on him instead. All the previous year's resentments boiled up when he thought of how he had been kept in the dark, how manipulated he had felt, and the lines came as if they were his own dark thoughts: "Why, look you, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; ... do you think I am easier to be played upon than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me-"

And from there, it was only the smallest jump to recall the rage with which he had attacked Bellatrix Lestrange, to feel the snake rearing up in him at the thought of vengeance, to say with all the bitter fury of the fool decieved, "Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on..."

By the time they had finished the first run through, Harry was wrung out, and his stomach was an empty hole, a bottomless pit that could not be satisfied. He felt as if he had poured out a lifetime of anger and hurt and fear and hatred in a few hours time and now was empty of all emotion. He had no clue how he would find the energy to repeat it in the afternoon and then go tell fortunes and pretend to see things in the crystal that night.

They started the afternoon run through after only a half hour break. Things went far worse than they had in the morning. All of the actors were getting tired, and Ophelia was getting on Laertes' nerves, making comments about his new hair do and his clothes being so yesterday's fashions. When they got to the scene where the players come on for the play within the play, the whole thing fell apart. Laertes had been whispering to the side with the actor who played Horatio--a snide fellow as unlike his play character as one could imagine. Harry really didn't like this scene at all. The Director had him lying down with his head in Ophelia's lap and she was annoying him by playing with his hair and making flirty comments every time they stopped so the Director could tell the Head Player to tone down the arm waving.
"Stop!" the Director yelled for the fourth time. "Can't you read the play! Even the characters have a better sense of acting than you do! Read it and weep. Do not saw the air with your hands!" The Director threw down his script while the Head Player turned red in the face and muttered something. "Been acting more years than he's been out of nappies"--it sounded like.

They started from the mimed part again, but this time, there was a new addition to the scene. When the player bent to mime pouring poison in the mime king's ear, a small black snake crawled out of his metal pitcher, and Ophelia screamed and flung her arms around Harry, practically strangling him. The mime king rolled away from it yelling, "Get it off me! Get it off me."

Laertes and Horatio were laughing in a corner, and the Director was yelling at the top of his lungs. The black snake reared back and lifted its head to strike and every one froze. Harry tried to unwrap Ophelia's arms from his neck and he could hear a small voice saying,
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Cold hard floor. No food. No food. Hungry."

Harry finally got the girl's arms off of him and reached out to stare at the snake. He held a hand out to it and tried whispering, "Come here, and I'll put you back where you can get some food." The snake tipped its triangular head at him and sighed, "food?" as it slid up his outstretched arm and tucked its head inside his sleeve. Harry said as casually as he could, "Erm, I'll just take him outside to the park."

Ophelia screetched and said, "It could be poisonous! You could die! How could you touch that slimy thing!" Then she sank into a dramatic faint.

The Director looked at him, his mouth open in astonishment and waved him out. Hamlet was laughing hysterically from the audience. "You should put that in. It's great, ' The serpent in the garden', it's perfect." He sat up suddenly though and said to Harry, "How do you know it's not poisonous?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him, "It's just a common garden snake. You can tell by its teeth. Posionous snakes have different teeth than regular snakes."

He walked out the stage door and whispered to the snake, "You know, humans really are awful aren't they. Sometimes I think they deserve everything they get."

The snake hissed back, "I'm hungry snake-boy. Where's food?"
Harry sighed and put the snake down in a warm shady spot in the park right by a small hole that suggested there could be a mouse or a small rodent nearby. He thought to himself. I guess some snakes are smarter than others. Just like people. He wished for a moment that he was off in Brazil, away from every one in the world, just snoozing in a warm, hot sun with a full belly.

When he came back in Laertes bowed before him and said, "All hail the conquering hero."

To which Harry replied with annoyance, "Don't be even more of a git than you really are."

The Director covered a laugh with a quick cough and said, "Might we please finish up this run through. And if anyone, anyone, disrupts this show with another stupid joke, I will personally fire him and see that he never works again." That froze the smirk on Laertes' face and interrupted Harry's vague thoughts of a return joke.

They plowed through the remainder of the play and Harry felt as though he were masquerading in a masquerade. He had trouble getting the bits between Hamlet and his mother. The Director, despite the fact that Harry was merely a stand in, kept making him re-do those parts. He just couldn't get Gertrude. His image of his own mother was restricted to dementor induced recollections of her dying pleas for his life, and that flash in the penseive of Snape being defended by her. Nothing of that connected to the ripe beauty and earthiness of the character of Gertrude and the actress portraying her. He couldn't find the thing that allowed Hamlet to rage at his mother or remotely understand the by-play the real actor had with her. And when he thought of Aunt Petunia, with her pinched, sour indifference or Mrs. Weasley's warm fussing, he could find nothing that made the character real for him. The Director stopped them for the twentieth time that afternoon and gave every one but Harry and Gertrude a break.

Hamlet sat up at that and said hoarsely, "What is this? You're giving private coaching lessons to an infant stand in?"

Harry couldn't help agreeing. He would have liked to go home, if he'd had a home to go to. The Director said, "Seeing as how you haven't stepped on stage for the two most important days of rehearsal, I have to wonder whether you'll be able to perform the part at all. And we are on day after tomorrow." He glared fiercely at Hamlet and added, "At least Gertrude will be prepared, even if you are not."

They had another half an hour break at seven o'clock and then started and third run through. The Director said he would not stop, to keep going no matter whether someone forgot a line, fell down, or had the temerity to die. Harry was starting to feel like taking his O.W.L.s all over again would be fun by comparison.

This time, when he had to put his head in Ophelia's lap, she leaned over to him and whispered through her shining curtain of hair, "I think you're very brave," and kissed him surreptitiously on the cheek.

The Director, however, noticed, and said, "Oh, bravo," and "keep going." Harry was totally flustered by that and forgot his next lines altogether.

He was fairly rocking with weariness by the time they got to the graveyard scene, and the bit where he had to hold the skull really got to him. He felt as if would barf, and threw it back down with more force then necessary, so that the older man playing the gravedigger whispered, "Easy boy. You'll be getting nowhere if you break the props every time you come out."

Worst of all, when he jumped down into the "grave", he almost tripped and Laertes took advantage of that to fling him right back against the wall that served as the grave. For one moment, he felt as if he were back in the graveyard, with thirty Death Eaters circling him and Voldemort looming above him. He shoved Laertes away in a fury of panic and nearly drew his wand before he remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

After that, the rage was back, fueling him with a raw inexhaustible energy that carried him through the lethal sword fight to the final embrace with death. When he said his last lines, "The rest is silence," the rage had drained back out and the entire room was still as death itself, and Harry thought, perhaps it is peace. He left his eyes shut as the other actors finished their bits thinking, it should have been me, not Sirius; it should have been me, not Cedric; it should have been me, not my Mum and Dad.

When they were done, the Director said, "That last part was...wonderful. Every one. Get some rest and we'll start dress rehersal tomorrow at noon. Then on Thursday, be here at two for a final tech rehearsal and back stage no later than six for the seven o'clock show.
As they were leaving, he pulled Harry and Annie aside and said, "I've another show running in September. My funding just came through, and I'd like you both to audition."

Annie squealed and hugged the Director and then apologized profusely, but he smiled at her.

He looked at Harry and said, "Please, do try it. It's one of the Harry plays, my favorites."

Harry stared at him and thought he hadn't heard right. "Which ones?"

The Director said, "You know, Prince Hal? Henry the Fourth, Part I?"

Harry said, "Oh. We never read that one."

The Director said, "Pity. They neglect some of the best ones these days. It's always Romeo and Juliet so they can show Clare Danes swimming in a pool and call that education." He grimaced and added, "It's about Prince Hal, that's Henry the Fourth's son, who got to be Henry the Fifth. He's rather rebellious and runs around in taverns with a fat old comic villain named Falstaff and his crowd of low lifes. Lots of great funny stuff and a big roaring fight at the end between the King's forces and a bunch of rebels." Harry had a vision of a fat Black Jack Crowley playing cards and swilling whiskey as he fleeced all comers.

He said, "I dunno. I might, depending."

He was thinking through the numb fatigue that the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-quarters just might not open up for him. The Hogwarts Express went off on the day after the play finished its run and he was thinking, I ought to try the Leaky Cauldron again, the night before. I'll know then.

The Director saw something in his face perhaps, because he said, "You've done amazingly. The sword fighting alone is very fine, considering you started only three weeks ago."

Harry looked up at him surprised. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually said to him he'd done well. He said, "Thank you," and the glow of approval lasted all the way to the Black Jack, where he had another three hours of card playing and fortune telling to slog through.

Annie chattered happily all the way to the pub. "Another part! Can you believe it? We're on our way, Jamey. And you know what, I reckon the Director thinks you've got real talent."

Harry laughed and said, "Nah. You heard what he said. I did good at the sword fighting. But that's easy. Almost like..." He stopped himself just in time from saying flying. He wondered with a sudden ache when he would ever get to fly his broom or play quidditch again.

He collected himself and said, "But you know what, Annie. I think he really likes you. I think he would put you in for Ophelia if he could."

"You think so?" Harry nodded, and she said, "That girl, she is a pill. I couldn't believe how she acted over a stupid garden snake. And then making all that deal and kissing you in that scene."

Harry said, "Never mind. I don't think she'll be back for the next play. The Director doesn't think much of her, He only had to use her cause some family member gave him money."

Annie started to answer, but he broke off the conversation. They had come to the Black Jack and the pub was unnaturally quiet for the present hour. It wasn't closing time for the main pub yet, but the front window was dark and Harry felt a shiver of apprehension lifting the hair on his arms and creeping up his neck. He pushed Annie behind him and cautiously touched the front door. It swung inward and he could see there was light coming from the tiny side room and there were muted voices as well.

He entered slowly, but didn't call out. When Annie opened her mouth, he put a hand to his lips and stepped to the edge of the room as softly as he could. It was still a surprise, though, when a hand was clapped over his mouth and a huge, muscular arm was wrapped around his neck instantly immoblizing him. He heard Annie gasp, as he was swung bodily around and heaved through the room to be thrown into another, even larger thug, who likewise wrapped his arm around him. Harry tried to struggle, but the man was simply huge. Bigger even than Dudley and far more powerful.

He blinked watering eyes to see the face of the big angry man who had left the pub three weeks ago in a rage over Black Jack's cheating. From the corner of his eye, he could just see Black Jack sitting unnaturally still, and Dave standing motionless at the bar. The big angry man was pointing a very large gun at them all.

He said, "So, your thief in training finally arrives, Crowley."

Black Jack answered indifferently, "He's hardly mine. An occasional visitor and a mere neophyte. Not worth bothering with, if you take my meaning. Just a lost Gypsy boy looking for a place to cadge beers and earn a shilling or two."

Harry tried to think what to do, to say. But he could think of nothing.

The big angry man said, "Don't think you'll get out of it this time, Crowley. You've cheated my boss and me for the last time. The Lord of Death has passed sentence on you, and you'll find, it won't be a friendly one. Not friendly at all."

Black Jack replied, "What do I care if you put me out of my miserable life? Why, I'll be right grateful to you. But I see no need to sentence a mere bystander, who knows naught of the trade and has never been inducted into its secrets."

The big man said, "Oh, but I do. The mere bystander was skilled enough to mark every card and help you cheat me from my winnings." He turned on Harry now, and wrapped his large hand around Harry's throat and squeezed until Harry couldn't breathe and his vision turned black. He tried to struggle and the big man let go long enough for him to breathe a gulp of air before backhanding him across the face. Harry kicked at the man holding him and the big man hit him again in the ribs, so that he would have crumbled if the other man hadn't been holding him.
There was a cold metal thing pressed against his face. The big man was holding the gun to him and Harry froze trying to think how he could possibly survive this. He thought, who knew? He had escaped Lord Voldemort four times alive only to be killed in the casual slaughter of an ordinary Muggle gang war.

The big man laughed and said, "Are you afraid, Gypsy Boy? You think we don't know he's been here every night; shuffling the cards and helping you call the marks, Black Jack? You think we don't know that he's been reading the crystal and raking in the money from the pigeons with his Gypsy con?"

Black Jack said, "Ah, but what you don't know, is he gives value for their money. Gypsy Jack has the talent. Those eyes see right through you, and right into the future. You'd be wasting a rare thing, if you waste him with me." He smiled a secret smile, and Harry was strangely moved that the old villain was trying to save him.

The big man had started to sweat and Black Jack added, "Oh, yes. You'll be cursed indeed if you slaughter one with the talent. And I doubt your "Lord of Death" as he calls himself will be happy if he knows what you've wasted."

The big man cursed and said, "More of your bluffing. More games. Just another con, isn't it."

Harry made a decision. He was expelled already. He might as well be in trouble for something he'd really done, as for something his cousin had done. He said, "But I really do have the talent. And I suggest you back off and leave before I use it on you." Annie stared at him and Dave, too was standing with his mouth gaping. Black Jack cackled, a cold laugh that raised the hairs on Harry's neck and made him think of Voldemort.

The big man glared at him and said, "He's taught you well, he has. You're a canny liar as well as a thief and a cheat." He raised the gun again and said, "Beg for your life, Gypsy boy."

Harry had snuck his fingers to his waistband and had wrapped them around his wand. He said, "I don't beg for my life from anyone. Not from your Lord of Death, not from you, not even from the great and terrible Tom Marvolo Riddle."

When the big man's eyes went flat and cold, Harry drew his wand and cried out the disarming spell. The big man was thrown back to the floor and the gun flew high in the air. The thug holding him had started to squeeze his neck again and Harry grabbed hold of his hand and pulled on it. The man screamed, a high, shocky scream and let him go. The man's hand was raw and red and shiny as if it had been stuck into a fire.

Harry had just time to see the silver thing flying at him and to catch it one-handed as he would a snitch. He looked at the knife the third thug had thrown and banished it into the dartboard with a flick of his hand and wand. The thug saw Harry's wand pointed at him and realized he ought to flee, but too late. Harry stunned him as he turned, and the pub was silent again, but for the blubbering of the thug with the burned hand.

Harry surveyed them all and said, "Well, I did warn you."
Dave had picked up the gun. He said hoarsely, "What did you do? It's doesn't work. The trigger's...melted."

Harry shrugged and said, "Erm, yeah. Well, unfortunately, that's what magic does to machines you know. It just stops them working. Harry looked thoughtfully at Black Jack and said, "I don't hink it's a very good idea if that lot leaves here remembering what happened. I'd hate to see them come back for you and kill you when I'm not here."

Black Jack frowned at him and said, "You're going?"

Harry nodded. Annie protested, "But the play. You have to do the play."

Harry said, "I'm not leaving them flat. I'll finish the play, and then I'm going."

Black Jack said, "But laddie, you were just getting good with the cards. Why, with a little more training, you could be a master, like me."

Harry smiled at the old man and said, "I think that is a very rare compliment, indeed. And I am very grateful that you stood up for me and tried to protect me." He sighed and said, "I don't belong here. I have to go back. And you have to know, if I stayed, I'd put you in danger."

Black Jack said, "Come on, laddie. You're way too young to have enemies that are half as bad as mine. And way to young to have any enemies as bad as I am meself."

Harry said, "You don't understand. You see this scar on my face?" He swept his hair off his face to show them a good view of his lightning scar. They were all staring. He said, "I got that when I was a year old, when the most evil wizard in the world killed my parents and tried to kill me. He's been after me ever since, and he doesn't mind who he kills to get to me." Harry had no word for the emotion that was reflected in their faces--fascination, fear, who knew?

He added, "I don't want you added to the list of the victims. I thought I'd escape it, but I can't." The big man was stirring and Harry could see he was going to try something. He pointed his wand at the man and immobilized him. Then he did something he'd never tried before. He said softly, "You won't remember any of this. You won't remember that Black Jack cheated you at cards. You won't remember that he's a rival. You won't remember the boy who marked the cards. You've never seen me and you've never been to the Black Jack before you won a nice pot tonight." Harry pointed the wand at him and said, "Obliviate." A red light flashed from the wand and caught the man in the face. Harry swept the money off the card table and counted it.

"That's sixty pounds you won, and nobody cheated." He slid the money into the man's pocket. Black Jack moaned softly at the lost money, but Harry silenced him with a look. He repeated the memory spell on each of the two thugs. Unfortunately, he had never learned any healing spells and the only one he knew, for mending broken arms, was the one Lockhart had used that removed his bones.

He added to the thug, "You scalded your hand at home before you came," and he repeated the memory spell on that one just for good measure. The three thugs wandered out the door whistling happily over their winnings, and Harry collapsed on a chair with his head on his hands shivering in relief and despair. Now he had really done it. He had used magic so blatantly that no one would excuse him. He was expelled for sure now, and the Hogwarts Express was bound to leave without him September first. Harry sighed there was only one thing left to do and he really shrank from it, however necessary it might be. He pointed his wand at Black Jack and Dave and said "Obliviate," twice in quick succession.

When it came to Annie, though, his hand shook and she said, "Don't make me forget. I don't want to forget you, even if you have to leave."

Harry said, "You won't forget me. Just this bit here. Where I used magic."

She said, "I won't tell. And I want to remember all of it."

Harry tucked his wand back in his waistband and said, "Right. Let's go. I don't know about you, but I can't face another card or another look in the glass tonight."

The next morning, Harry felt only slightly guilty when Dave couldn't remember the word for soap or shampoo and kept waving his hands in frustration every time he tried to say he what he needed to wash his hair. He felt nothing but relief, however, when Dave stared at Harry's new bruises and said, "What have you been getting up to at that theatre? Looks like they treat you rougher than the old Krays did their disrespectful customers."

Harry said, "Erm, I fell off the platform last night. I was dead tired the last run through and I, erm, tripped, when I had to do the jump part."

Nora looked blearily at him and said, "You'll have to get some new cover up. Mine's about gone and I don't think it covers you so good any way."
Harry looked to Annie for help. The last thing he needed was to get sacked from the play just when they were due to get paid. She said, "Never mind. We can stop at the chemists and get some that's better."

Harry handed Annie the money he had taken from his small cache so she could buy the cover up. There was no way he was going to buy a girl thing like make up himself. He felt that morning that they were quite lucky to be alive, so he splurged on rolls and pastries from the little tea shop, and they sat on the bench in the park laughing about Ophelia's scare with the snake the day before.

Annie said, "Did you, you know, use you know what, when you got the snake up?"

Harry looked away. He had been afraid to use magic, not just because of being expelled, but also because he had been afraid, deep down, that he wouldn't be able to any more. He said, "Not really."

Annie said, "It sounded like you were talking to it. You hissed right at it. It was really weird, and then the snake just came right to you."

Harry said, "Erm, well, haven't you ever made meowing sounds to a cat? Some animals respond to that, when you imitate their sounds."

Annie said admiringly, "That's ever so clever. I would never have thought of that."

Harry said, "Yeah, well just don't think you can do that to a tiger or something. It's one thing to do that with something harmless. If it's dangerous, just run."

Fortunately, Harry was able to skulk about in the background that day. The real actor was back and Harry found himself impressed with him all over again. The actor ran through the performance and never missed a word. Every line was perfectly clear and every action followed with precision the emotion or thought behind the lines.

He did certain things very differently, some of which Harry found explained parts he hadn't understood and some which made him squirm with discomfort. The part he liked the least was when the actor and Ophelia kissed in the big confrontation scene. Harry just couldn't help it: he said, "Eugh!" from the back behind the curtains where he was watching. Annie was standing next to him and she started to giggle so that Harry had to clamp his hand over her mouth to keep her from making noise and getting them in trouble.He also managed to slink through the first two performances without the Director noticing how messed up his face was and even managed to enjoy the part where he got to fight with the sword and swing across the stage as if he were on a boat in the pirate scene.

On the last day, they were to perform the play in the park for a free noontime performance. It was the thrity-first of August and tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would leave from Kings Cross station propmptly at eleven am. Harry packed up his trunk with a beating heart and took the trunk and Hedwig's empty birdcage with him to the park. Nora cried when they left and gave him a big kiss. She didn't know about the brawl in the pub and Dave, of course, couldn't remember.

Dave took offense that he was leaving and said, "Just as I expected. Too high and might for the likes of us, aren't you Prince Jamey."
Harry said with far less annoyance than acceptance, "You're not as much of a prat really, Davey, as you sometimes act. I'm going to try to go back to school and see if they'll take me back."

Dave said, "School? School? I knew it! You're not eighteen at all, are you?"

Harry said ruefully, "No. I'm sixteen."

Dave said, "Oh, gawd save me from runaways. What'd you do, Jamey? You get in a fight and get expelled?"

Harry said, "Yeah. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what happened. But I'm going to see if they'll reduce it to a warning and try to finish. I want something better than this." He waved at the bare, dusty warehouse and the bare, lumpy mattresses, and said, "And you should, too."
He looked at Dave again and at Nora and said, "You saved my life, you know, taking me in. I won't forget it." He picked up the trunk and empty birdcage and walked down the four flights of stairs without looking back.

When they got to the park, the Director seized Harry and Annie and said, "Where have you been? I need you right now!"

Harry said, "We're not late, are we? It's barely eleven o'clock."

The Director said, "No, no. But Hamlet and Ophelia aren't coming. They left a message they're eloping and they've gone to Las Vegas to get married!"

Harry said, "Las Vegas? Where's that, in Spain?"

Annie said, "No, you idiot. It's in America."

The Director said, "Who cares where it is. THEY'RE NOT HERE AND WE HAVE A PLAY TO PUT ON IN ONE HOUR!" Harry and Annie both jumped back a good three feet in one go. The Director said, "Take your things over there to the big dressing room. You two have to go on. You're the only other ones who've rehearsed those parts."

Annie said, "Really? I get to be Ophelia!"

The Director nodded and said, "Yes, luv. You'll be brilliant. Now scoot."

Harry, however, was still standing there. He said, "You can't be serious. Me? Do that part? I don't even know the whole thing by heart, really. You'd be better off letting one of the others that's a professional does it. Some of them really know it."

The Director said, "You rehearsed. They didn't. It doesn't matter, at this point. I'll be off to the side and I'll feed you the lines if you forget them." He added, "You've got to. You can. Just do what you've been doing in rehearsal, and you'll be fine."

Harry swallowed back down the cheese roll he'd eaten for breakfast and said, "okay," except it came out more like a croak.

The Director took a closer look at him and said, "Wait a minute? What have you been doing to your face? You haven't got into a brawl again, have you?"

Harry nodded and felt better. He thought with relief, oh good; he'll have to pick someone else.

***
The Director had known it. The sneaking ache in his gut had told him something had to go wrong. The final rehearsal had been too good. The two evening performances had been smoother than he had expected, if less than inspired. Now he was faced with the final performance before the biggest crowd with two novices in the leading roles. The girl, he thought, would be fine. Ophelia wasn't that large of a part, and the girl was a trouper. And, he thought hopefully, her pleasant earthiness would be the explanation for Hamlet's attraction. The mysterious element that was implied in the script, but never stated outright. The kid, on the other, hand, who knew? He had been astonishing in rehearsal, so right for the part, and yet, the kid had no real motivation, no real taste for the acting itself. And in some ways, he lacked the ego altogether. The last exchange said so, that oh so telling, me?
The Director took a closer look at the kid and said, "Wait a minute? What have you been doing to your face? You haven't got into a brawl again, have you?"

The kid nodded and looked relieved, like he'd been given a reprieve from a prison sentence. The Director wasn't letting him get away with that. He said, "No matter. You'll need better make-up, that's all. Get dressed and I'll find some decent greasepaint to cover that mess up. The audience won't even know it's there."

The kid fairly gulped and said, "Erm, what do I wear? All I have is the T-shirts you gave the extras." The Director swore. He would make sure that so and so never worked this town again.

He said, "You need something black. Have you got anything? If necessary, I can lend you a black cowlneck, but it's wool. Way too hot."

The kid said, "I dunno. I might have a shirt I can use."

The Director said, "Just dress quickly. Then come back so I can cover up that bruise and give you and Annie a few last directions." He clapped the kid on the shoulder and said heartily, "You'll be fine."

The kid gave him a knowing look that meant, yeah right, thanks for the lie, but said nothing.

The Director took a look at the kid as he dragged reluctantly out of the caravan the park had provided for the dressing rooms. He thought, oh god, just give me a miracle. Let him play the part as perfectly as he looks. The kid had got on a black satin shirt that the Director would never have expected from the fresh faced public school boy. He slung it on and left its tails hanging out over a pair of jeans that were a tad too short and so worn the denim was closer to white than blue.

The worst bit were the trainers, which had holes in them, and looked as though the soles were starting to peel off. The Director thought, what's the name of the Uncle? He couldn't imagine any kid, not even one who liked grunge wearing a pair shoes that bad if he had a choice.
The Director said briskly, as he patted the greasepaint over the kid's bruises, "All right, you'll do." He didn't bother to suggest that the kid try to tame his hair. It was wonderful as it was.

He looked at kid critically, and was horrified to see that there were bruises on kid's neck, as if someone had tried to strangle him. He thought, let that wait for later, but promised himself he'd get the kid's whole story, the real one, and get him somewhere safe after the performance.

He dragged the kid and Annie to the side and said, "Listen. I want you to do the pantomime of Hamlet saying good-bye to Ophelia. You know, the bit she describes in her big speech?" The kids both nodded.

He said, "I'll tell you when. Just do what it says in the speech. You say good-bye to her, to romance and all that, but without words."

The kid nodded and said, "I understand." Then he said dryly, "It's one thing I won't have to speak." The opening music was playing.

The Director said, "Just do it. Don't think at all. Just do it." But the kid wasn't listening anymore.

***

Harry felt oddly detached from himself as he walked out on the stage. It was similar to the feeling he'd had when he faced the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament. But here, he felt as if he were no longer Harry at all. He was a mask, on top of a mask and completely concealed behind the greasepaint, and layers of identity. On top, was the person he had to become for a few short hours. And under that, was the person he had begun to inhabit in real time, James Black, the teenage runaway with no home and no prospects but what he could invent for himself. There was the other layer, the next fictional character, Gypsy Jack, the card sharp and psychic con man, flashing cards and reading palms for the poor benighted souls who'd entered the netherworld that was the Black Jack. And somewhere beneath all of that, there was Harry, buried deep. There was the Harry who was the put upon orphan boy, teased and tormented by his Uncle, Aunt, and cousin. There was Harry the schoolboy, who worried about his O.W.L. results, which he'd never received. And there was Harry Potter, the legend, the Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Would Kill, or be killed. He surrendered himself to the latest layer, the character, and hoped fervently, that for a few hours, he could leave behind the Boy Who Must Kill, for the man who loved death more than life.

***

They were minutes into the first scene the kid had to do when the Director knew he had been blessed with a miracle. The kid had walked out on stage, and the thing that he had shone through. Charisma, charm, courage, that something extra. The adolescent slouch was perfect. The cutting wit, sniping away at his elders and imprisoners. He knelt before the ghostly father and swore his revenge as seriously, as genuinely, as any actor the Director had ever seen. And he spoke of death as Romeo spoke of Juliet, with a pent up longing for another world, a dissolution, that made the Director's hair stand on end.

And the goodbye to Ophelia was otherworldy. The kid, Hamlet, simply stared at her with longing and sorrow and when he took her hand and kissed her cheek and then both hands, it was as if he were saying goodbye forever to childhood, to love, to hope, and to life. He drifted off and when Ophelia ran sobbing to tell of it to her too worldly father, the Director wept for them both, for the loss of all innocence.

The Director had seen smoother performances. Words articulated more professionally. But they paled beside the miracle that unfolded here. The audience laughed in the right places and wept in the right places and they were all for Hamlet. Here was the incarnation of the character, the Director thought. A soul who couldn't tell if he desired death as his lover, the consummation devoutly to be wished, or fought against it, took arms against it, and by opposing, triumphed. His horror and hysterical laughter when he realized he'd killed Polonius instead of Claudius raised the hair on the Director's arms, and the final, joyous clash of swords had the dazzling fire of the born hero. And the end, was utterly quiet, perfect silence. It was a full minute before the audience started to clap and the Director thought, if I die today, it won't matter, because this thing we made was as pure a piece of magic as the world will ever see.

***

Harry hid in the caravan for a bit when the thing was over. For just a while there, he had been someone else and he liked it just fine. He stepped out of the caravan thinking he'd give Annie a hug and get a meal with her before he tried to get a taxi to the street where the Leaky Cauldron held his fate. The Director was coming over, but he was still surrounded by the other actors and well wishers and nobody seemed to recognize Harry. He had changed back into his sloppy old T-shirt and had thrown one of his Weasley sweaters over it, as the day had grown cold with intimations of Fall chilling the air.

Harry had stuck his hands in his pockets and was whistling Greensleeves when he heard the voice. The voice of his dreams, or was it nightmares. Hugely loud, so that every one stopped and stared, Mrs. Molly Weasley was yelling: "HARRY POTTER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? NO NOTE! GONE WITHOUT A WORD! EVERY ONE OUT LOOKING FOR YOU, THINKING YOU'D DIED! HOW COULD YOU?"

***

Molly Weasley could feel it, the percolating, bubbling stew of anxiety, guilt, grief, and anger was rising rapidly inside her. A stranger walking by should have seen a sign posted warning: DANGER. RABID MUM. APPROACH AT YOUR OWN RISK. The mass of Muggles occupying the park where her quarry was did nothing to soften her already teetering temper. For four solid weeks, they had heard nothing. For four solid weeks, the boy who was as dear to her as her own son had disappeared without a word and she had been frantic--her worst nightmare, coming true. Over and over, she had pictured him dead, as she had seen him last year, in the shape the boggart took to make real her darkest fears. There had been the notes sent to everyone, pleading for release from the Dreadful Dursleys, as she called his horrid Aunt and Uncle, and then nothing. Hedwig had come back with their answers stil tied to her leg, hooting in distress. He was gone, disappeared, and without an address, or a magic location, not even a post owl could find him.

She thought, I knew it, I knew it. We delayed the answers, for good reasons, reasons that were better unthought of, but they had been delayed, and he had gone. For four solid weeks, he had done no magic. They had tried to track him, but he had faded into the mass of humanity, his magic hidden and unused. For four weeks, they had watched everywhere. She had thought he would show up at the Burrow any day, slinking in with his Invisibility Cloak, and hopeful--no-- certain of his welcome. But he had not come. She had thought he might show up at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius' home and the Order's headquarters last year. But he had not came. They had alerted Tom at the Leaky Cauldron to keep an eye out for him. But no one had seen him. The only hope they'd had was that You Know Who had not dropped his body some place very public for all to see and mourn and tremble with terror at the sight.

Now, they had found him. The Ministry had detected major magic three nights ago in a Muggle place where no wizards ever went. There had been a lot of milling around and everyone thinking You Know Who had been at it again, but there hadn't been any bodies when they visited the scene. There was just a Muggle pub, with lots of Muggles, dark and smoky, and full of desperate characters. But no wizards. And no one had ever heard of Harry Potter. It was Ron who'd had the clever idea that it might, just might have been Harry. And they had gone back to ask if anyone had seen a boy with jet-black hair and green eyes, and the skinny old man with the vampire-like face had directed them to the park this afternoon where, he said, they could find a Gypsy boy with green eyes to tell their fortunes.

So here she was, fighting her way through too many Muggles, trying to tow Ron and Ginny and Hermione along with her, and hoping, hoping, that he really was here. She had pushed her way through the staring crowd, which was sitting or standing, hypnotized by some Muggle entertainment. The people had glared at her, whispering, you're ruining it. It's brilliant and you're ruining it. But she didn't care. She pushed her way through and saw him. There he was, on a raised stage, fighting with another Muggle, a tall blond man. They were fighting with swords and the tall blond man stabbed him in the arm. Harry shouted something, there was blood on his arm, and he flung himself back at the man attacking him with fury. There was some confusion. For just a moment, Harry had both swords. Then he threw one to the other man and attacked anew and killed him! Just like that. Killed the other man. Then he went after another man. One richly dressed and shouting at him, poured a bowlful of wine down his throat. And then he died. He sat down and told the man next to him--"I die." The man's name was Horatio. She thought, panic stricken--I've just watched it. It's my worst nightmare. I did nothing and he's just died. The other men left laid his body on a pallet and carried him off stage to the solemn beating of a funeral drum.

There was a dead silence. The whole breathing mass of people were as one, mourning the loss of him. Then, unbelieveably, the people began to cheer. They shouted and clapped enthusiastically and some people whistled. It was the most barbaric thing she'd ever seen. She was just about to draw her wand and hex them all, when the men came back on stage. There were women, too, and then he came. He walked out and the audience cheered, and he smiled with absolute sunny happiness at them all. She shrieked the first time out loud in sheer fury, but no one knew, because the people around her making such noise.

She turned to see Hermione clapping, too, and saying to Ron's question, "It's a play, silly. It's Shakespeare I think. I didn't know he could act like that. Did you know he could do that? And did you see him with that sword!"

And Ron said, "What kind of a stupid git is he? What's he doing here? What's he thinking of?"

Ron sounded just as furious as she was, and Ginny, she couldn't tell lately with Ginny. They pushed forward, but the people had disappeared off the stage and he had gone with them. Vanished, again. She would have to kill him. It took a while to struggle through the throng. Eventually, they saw him again. He had changed into a sloppy old T-shirt and was wearing one of her sweaters, that she had knitted for him with her own hands.

He had stuck his hands in his pockets and was whistling cheerily, as if he hadn't vanished and scared them all and left them terrified for all those weeks. She felt the pressures of the last weeks rise and could no longer contain them. She fairly screamed: "HARRY POTTER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? NO NOTE! GONE WITHOUT A WORD! EVERY ONE OUT LOOKING FOR YOU, THINKING YOU'D DIED! HOW COULD YOU?"

The momentary sunniness washed out of his face and left him absolutely colorless, as if he had bled to death and was only standing up because he was frozen that way forever. She opened her mouth to yell some more, to give vent to the fury, but had to pause at the sight of his face, his eyes. He was thinner than she'd ever seen him. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes were shadowed with weeks, perhaps months of sleeplessness. There was a faint sweat dewing his forehead, and she saw with shock that he was wearing make-up, but it failed to cover up either the lightning scar or the black bruise that marked his cheek high on the bone. There were more bruises on his neck, but the thing that scared her the most was the look in his eyes. He didn't hang sheepishly. There was no apology, no sneaking happiness at the sight of them, his friends. His eyes were remote as green glass, and he looked, if anything merely surprised that they were there.

Then his eyes changed, took on fire, and next to her, Ron said under his breath, "uh, oh." Harry said with an ice cold calm that was worse than if he'd yelled: "You, are asking me, where I've been? When I wrote, begging for help. I wrote, asking to get out of there, and no one answered. Where were you all, when I needed help? And what, exactly, did you expect me to do when I tried calling the Knight Bus and it didn't come. And I hitched a ride on a lorry and went to the Leaky Cauldron and I couldn't get in. They shut me out and didn't answer. And I went to the Ministry to try to see Mr. Weasley, to tell you where I was, and I couldn't get in and no one answered. And how was I supposed to contact you when Hedwig never came back. It's been four weeks, and nobody came. Nobody answered. And what was I supposed to do, when I had no money at all and couldn't get to Gringotts to get any. What was I supposed to do, and why was I expelled without even a hearing? I didn't even do any magic, and they expelled me.
"I didn't go around beating up the neighborhood kids and shoplifting and bringing the police in. Dudley did. I can't help it the police came and searched me and searched my room and saw all my things, my wand and books and broom, and they didn't even know what they saw, and I get expelled. And what was I supposed to do when Dudley tried to blame it on me and the police didn't believe him and they took him to the station to cite him and I could see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were going to blame me and they were going to throw me out, so I left. And I couldn't tell anyone because Hedwig was gone already with my earlier letter, and never came back. I didn't know that, that they even take your owl when they expel you; only they didn't snap my wand. But I suppose they must have thought if they left me that, maybe eventually when Voldemort finds me I'll be so fortunate as to survive him and kill him off for them, even though I'm expelled and can't go back to school and haven't even taken my NEWTs. And where was every one when I had to sleep on the bench in the park and try to find work so I could get money to eat and I had to work in a pub with thieves and card sharps and read people's palms to scrape up some money just to eat." He paused then, and shook his head as if he had no more words to say, and said, "Why? Why was I locked out like that?"

And the last part was the worst, because the ice was gone from his voice and he sounded bewildered, abandoned, hopeless. Peripherally, Mrs. Weasley was aware that there were Muggles listening and a man and a girl were coming toward them.

There was a brief silence and then Ron, bless him, Ron, who the sensitivity of a rock, said, "What made you think you were expelled you stupid git? I thought you get the Daily Prophet. Don't you read? Didn't you read the safety guidelines, in case of attack?"

Harry jerked back, as if Ron had actually slapped him and said, "Yeah, I got the paper. But I was a bit more preoccupied with worrying that I was having dreams again and wanting to know what to do about it. I was a bit more preoccupied with trying not to get murdered by Dudley's gang or arrested by the police. So yeah I read some stupid thing about locking your doors and calling the Ministry, but what good is that anyway? Like a locked door is going to stop Voldemort if he comes after me? And I don't remember there being anything in there about the Knight Bus not running and all."

Hermione said tentatively, "It was in the Prophet, the day after the Ministry was attacked. They had a lockdown. Everything was locked down and nobody was to go out until the Ministry said it was safe." She wouldn't have thought it possible, that he could get any paler than he had been.

He rubbed his face with his hand and stared at this hand as if it belonged to someone else and said, "The Ministry was attacked? Again? When?"

Mrs. Weasley answered, "It would have been a few days before your birthday. The same day you wrote those letters to us. I told them they ought to answer you right away, but the Ministry, the Ministry had stopped the post as well, so we didn't get Hedwig back out until your birthday, and you were gone when she got there." She saw that the fire in his eyes had been quenched, and he looked on the edge of collapse.

He said, "But was anyone hurt? Was anyone...killed? And what were they after again? So soon? They didn't get what they wanted last time, and that's gone, they can't..."

Mrs. Weasley said wearily, "There were two aurors killed. No one you know. But they were after the Death Eaters that were caught last June. All of them got out. And the Ministry was on fire and it was just chaos." She saw she had reached him and said, "I shouldn't have yelled like that. I was that worried. We were all terrified that you..."

She broke off, because the Muggles, a man with curly hair and a beard, and a girl with round eyes had come up and the man said, "Who are you? Are you the Aunt? If you are, then let me tell you..."

Harry cut him off and said, "She's not. My Aunt that is. These are my...friends."

The girl said, "Some friends. Where were they when you came up looking for them?"

Ginny said frostily, "Who are you?"

The girl with the round eyes glared and said, "I'm Annie. I'm the one that found him sleeping on a park bench and gave him a place to stay and found him a job here. And now he has a chance to do something and be somebody, be famous." She broke off because Ron had turned red and was laughing. The girl rounded on him and said, "Here, there's no call to laugh at that. You saw him up there, they all loved him. He was great!"

Ron was still laughing and Mrs. Weasley was starting to worry, what if he won't come back? Ron spluttered, "You think you're going to make Harry Potter famous..."

The girl said, "Harry Potter? I don't know who you mean. This is James Black, and he's going to be very rich and famous. So you go away and let him alone. He's had enough.."

Mrs. Weasley saw Harry's face soften with something like affection and embarrassment as well.

Ron said, "James Black? No wonder no one could find you. You changed your name. We should have figured that one out." He turned to the girl and said, "Don't you worry about him. He's got two bank vaults full of money. He's already as rich as anyone could be and the last thing he wants is to be famous."

The girl looked hurt and puzzled and the man looked, not surprised, but disappointed.

The man said, "Well, of course he changed his name. That's why he hadn't got an Insurance card. It would have had his real name on it."
The man turned to Harry and said, "Didn't want to be found, did you? You aren't really in trouble with the police, are you? And you're not really eighteen, either, are you?"

Hermione said, "He wouldn't have an Insurance card yet anyway. He only just turned sixteen."

The man threw up his hands and said, "Sixteen year olds. You need parental permission for them to work a job like this."

Harry said, "I don't need permission from anybody. My parents are dead and so is my guradian."

The man looked gratified and said, "So, will you come back for the September run, then?" Harry looked astonished at that and some of the color slid back in his face.

Mrs. Weasley was putting a stop to that nonsense immediately. "He's going back to school where he belongs is what he's doing. And he's still underage and I am his new guardian."

She turned back to Harry who said, "I don't need a guardian."

She thought, oh my, I've lost him, but she snapped back, "Well, of course you do. Sirius appointed me. He left you everything. Everything in his vault and the house, too. And he appointed me guardian...just in case." Before he could open his mouth to protest, Mrs. Weasley said, "Where are your things? We still have to take you shopping. You need books and clothes. And my goodness, you've grown again and your elbows are sticking out of that sweater. And you need feeding up something awful."

He just stood there, wordless, and she thought, what will I do if he won't go? But he pointed to the big Muggle mobile van and said hoarsely, "My trunk and Hedwig's cage...they're in there."

She motioned to Ron to go get it and saw his face change again as he said, "I'm not expelled? I'm really not?" And then he added with horror, but I used...the other night, I... Are you sure, I'm not expelled?"

She smiled at him and said, "We guessed there must have been extenuating circumstances. And we weren't sure that was you, after all. But thank goodness, you did. It's how we found you."

He had started to shake, she saw. Worry shivered through her again as he said, "I was going to try again anyway. I had enough money saved up, to get a taxi to King's Cross tomorrow. So, it's really all right?"

Mrs. Weasely nodded and threw her arms around him in a great hug and the worry didn't ease until she felt his body relax and saw the look of relief on his gaunt, tired face.

***

Harry shook with relief when he realized he hadn't been expelled. He was going back to Hogwarts and he hadn't been deserted. He pushed back the thought of the Death Eaters on the loose again and flushed with embarrassment at his stupid outburst when Ron came back with his trunk and birdcage.

Ron gave him a little punch in the shoulder and said, "You know Harry, trouble really does follow you around doesn't it." He added thoughtfully, "You know, between me and Fred and George and you and Bill, I reckon we could give that Dudley and his gang a good bashing, don't you?"

Mrs. Weasley said, "Ron Weasley! If I catch you brawling with Muggles, I will..." Harry shook his head at her to stop. Annie and the Director were right there and they had heard much too much. Well, Annie knew everything, anyway.

She said, "Muggles? I don't like the sound of that word. What's that mean?"

Mrs. Weasley started to say something, but Harry said, "Never mind. It's just Mrs. Weasley's upset with me and all."

He pulled Annie off to the side and said, "Listen, Annie. You were really great and I...I think you should leave Dave's right away. Don't go back there. And don't go back to the Black Jack, okay?"

Annie's round eyes were tearing up and she said, "How can I? I have another gig here next month, but that's not enough to live on and get my own place."

Harry looked at the Director and said, "You'll help her, won't you?"

The Director said, "I might be able to help find a place in a hostel. Just a room mind you, but it's quite cheap."

Annie was still looking scared and lost and Harry felt really bad. Then it came to him, what he could do. He took the trunk away from Ron and opened it, and fished out all the Muggle money he'd stashed away to get him to Kings Cross and to pay for somewhere else if he couldn't get back.

He handed it to Annie and said, "Here, you take this. I don't need it and you helped earn most of it."

Annie said, "No. I can't take this. I'm not a charity case. And besides, you sweated blood for that, working in that pub when you didn't want to. You could buy yourself some clothes, some new shoes."

Harry said, "Annie, I have more money than I can spend in my life, I just couldn't get to it, because I couldn't get into the bank when I ran away. I want you to have it."

He pushed it in her hand and she said, "But, where will you be? You have to at least give me your address so I can write you. So I can tell you when I'm on and you can see me."

The others were trying to tell him not to. He knew that. But right now he didn't care. He knew, more than ever, how important friends were. He fished out a piece of parchment and wrote on it, Harry Potter, c/o the Weasleys, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole. He handed it to her and said, "There. My school's not on the regular post, it's way up north. But you can send it to Mrs. Weasley and she'll forward it, okay?"

Annie looked at it and said, "So you're not really James at all?"

Harry smiled at her and said, "Oh, but I am. James is my middle name. James was my father's name. I'm as much James sometimes as I am Harry." Annie threw her arms around him and kissed him. He didn't mind at all.

The Director watched them walk toward a long emerald green car and thought, there goes my Prince Hal. I'll just have to go for a different play. He looked at Annie and thought, the Tempest?

~~***~~
Edgar sat in his office trying to force some order on the chaos. He had barely been in for days as the minute he and Fay had returned from York, they had been called off that case to join a team dealing with the latest and most vicious organized crime war they'd seen in ages. It had originally been Graves's case, but there were six men now assigned to it and it kept getting bigger.

There had been eight deaths so far and one beating that was so nasty the victim's head had four skull fractures and his right ear had been nearly taken off. What they knew so far, was that the most powerful crime group had been encroached on by a new crime lord, who had welded together many small groups to create a new and very alarming challenge for supremacy of London's trade in drugs and vice. The new crime lord was known by the name "the Lord of Death," which Graves had said reminded him of some bad forties pirate movie. It had taken days and days to question witnesses and to try to pry information out of them, as many of them were criminals and members of one of the rival gangs themselves. Edgar thought sourly, so let them exterminate each other. It's just like letting the rats fight it out with the jackals. They were all scavengers, living off the lives of their victims, and poisoning the city as they went.

He plowed through his messages and saw that Superintendent Hoskins from Great Hangleton had left an urgent message over a week ago. He cursed and dialed the station there, hoping that the Superintendent was there as late as Edgar was. The communications officer (read receptionist) told him to hang on and then transferred him without a word of warning. Hoskins was rather short with him, seeing as how Edgar had been sent in to his territory and then had apparently dropped the case without a farewell. Edgar had to explain the situation with the crime war before he could find out why Hoskins had called and what was so urgent.

Hoskins said abruptly, "We've had another very strange incident here."

"Not another one?" Edgar asked. The body count in the Hangleton area was too high already given its relative size and distance from any large city.

Hoskins said, "This is even stranger. I'm not sure I'd believe it if I hadn't seen it myself." His voice sounded troubled over the phone and Edgar wished he were there to see the thing for himself.

Hoskins said, "You recall the Riddles? The ones who died fifty or so years ago?"

Edgar said, "Yes. Go on."

"Their graves were desecrated," Hoskins said. "The son, Tom Riddle and the father, Marvolo Riddle, both of theirs were dug up and all the remains have been removed." Edgar nearly dropped the phone. His hand had gone numb and his face felt paralyzed.

Hoskins said, "Bones? Did you hear me? I said, their graves were dug up. What do you make of it, after all this time?"

Edgar said slowly, "I don't know, Hoskins. I don't know." He thought hard and said, "Did you check out the grounds, find any prints or things to connect to who might have dug them up?"

Hoskins said, "Of course."

Edgar thought more. "Did you go to the old house? Have you checked out the premises since we were there?"

Hoskins said, "Yes. There was nothing. If it hadn't been for Nancy Bell, I would have thought it was kids, or occultists. But this is too odd coming on top of Nancy's death, and it being their bodies, if you take my meaning."

Edgar said, "Listen. I'm not going to get back there for a while. I still haven't been to look into that third girl's death in City of London. And we've got this little war going on that could turn out to need the military coming in before we're through." He drummed his long fingers on his desk and continued, "Could you do some extra checking? See if any one shows up at that house again? I've got Sergeant Kray checking out the past owners since the Riddles died. I want to know what possible connections there are between any of these things."

Hoskins said, "I can try. Problem is, I'm short handed myself, and so I'll have to ask the vicar to keep an eye out. He was the one who alerted me to the desecration."

Edgar said, "Didn't he hear it, when it happened?"

Hoskins replied, "No. He was out of town visiting his sister. There was no one within several miles to hear what was going on."

Edgar said thoughtfully, "That suggests someone knew he was gone and waited until the opportunity was ripe."

Hoskins said, "Yeah, it does. Gives me the willies when I think about it."

Fay snapped her fingers in his face to catch his attention. He had been so absorbed trying to chart out the various pieces of the puzzle to see what pattern they made that he had never heard her knock. "What's that?" she asked, tipping her head to try to read it upside down.

"I'm trying to chart out all the bits we know from Nancy Bell's and Margaret Miller's deaths. Look at this. They were both witches, or had some kind of talent. They both died without any marks or injuries or apparent cause of death. They were both young girls and they died within weeks of each other."

"Over here, you can see the other connections--the Riddles were killed in the same manner, or died. But we have an eyewitness who talks after over fifty years and says she saw them..."

Fay interupted, "Says she saw them killed by a teenage boy who claimed to be Tom Riddle's son using a stick that shot out a green light. Instead of witches now, it sounds like aliens." Edgar didn't contradict her. Fay went on, "Bryce was accused, then cleared, and fifty years later, he dies in the same mysterious manner." Her blue cat's eyes narrowed as she took in his last notation, "The Riddles' graves were opened up and their remains were stolen?" She sounded utterly incredulous and Edgar could hardly blame her. He didn't get that bit himself at all.

Fay added, "Now this sounds like some Grade B horror film. Frankenstein or Dracula. When do we get the vampires, on the next corpse?"

Edgar said, "God forbid," just a little too forcefully.

Fay looked at him and said, "When did you sleep last? Or eat?"

Edgar looked at her in surprise and said, "I had coffee awhile ago."

She said, "You'll have an ulcer if you keep that up." She stretched and said, "I'm starving myself. Why don't we grab some food and pretend we're normal human beings who get to eat a meal when we're hungry instead of coppers on duty twenty-four/seven."

Edgar said, "I can try to pretend I'm normal. I don't always succeed I suppose."

Fay laughed and said, "You know, E.A.--god, that sounds so silly, Edgar. I didn't realized you had a sense of humor under there until just recently."

Edgar said very solemnly and with the straightest face he could manage, "Neither did I, Fay. Neither did I." It took more than a second for her to laugh again. She had the most delicious laugh.

~~***~~

On the way to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry thought longingly, that if he could just have a proper bath, a decent meal and go to sleep in a real bed with real sheets and be warm, he'd never complain in his life again. Now that he was back with his friends, as he had wished, he found himself short of words, as if his experiences had made him a stranger all over again.

There was an awkward silence, until Ginny said, "I hope you're not going to do that thing you did last year."

"What thing?" Harry asked.

"You know, where you alternate between clamming up altogether and yelling at all the wrong people. We are your friends. You might at least act like it." Ginny answered.

Harry frowned and said, "I know that. I'm sorry I yelled, okay. You didn't deserve it, I know. I just..." He stopped there because he really didn't know what to say and he was really tired. He got out of having to finish that because they had arrived at the pub.

This time, the door opened right up and Tom the bartender spilled the drink he was pouring as he said, "Bless my soul. It's Harry Potter."

The pub went silent and still and then the whisperes started. Harry tried to ignore them as he said, "Hello, Tom." He should have been used to it by now. But for weeks, months, he'd been a faceless nobody and it felt like the very first time he'd come all over again. At the far side of the pub, he thought he heard someone say, "Well, thank Merlin for that. Now something good will happen."

Harry came near to fleeing when he heard it. He thought, they don't all think I'm going to rescue them miraculously, do they, now that the Ministry admits Voldemort's back? Tom thrust a rag into another man's hands and ushered them toward the back to show them to their rooms and a private parlor. Mrs. Weasley bustled about and asked Tom for a hot meal as fast as his cook's wand could shoot it out. He bowed back out and it was only minutes before they were all seated at the table and Harry was devouring hot soup and roast chicken and potatoes as if it were the last meal he'd ever eat.

He let the others talk and said little. They were all talking about classes and Harry realized wearily that he still had no idea if he'd even gotten one O.W.L. His eyes were drooping with fatigue and his scar had begun to burn more intensely. Lately, the ache was constant, but he had grown used to a muted complaint. Since he had stepped over the threshold of the wizards' pub, the ache had sharpened again and all he could think of was wanting to sleep and hoping that he wouldn't dream for once.

Perhaps Mrs. Weasley had noticed his fatigue. She hurried them all off to bed with instructions to be up extra early as they had to go to Diagon Alley first thing to buy Harry's supplies. The night was no different though than the last night or the night before that. He fell asleep in his clothes with his wand clutched in his hand and his glasses tipping drunkenly down his nose.

Molly didn't feel nearly as relieved as she thought she would now that Harry was back and under her eye. She had watched his awkward silences and the way that he had eaten-- voraciously at first, but far less in the end than Ron had, or even Ginny--with a renewed anxiety. She hoped Dumbledore would get there soon, before Harry collapsed from what looked like fatigue and what she suspected might be something much more. Dumbledore had still not arrived before they finished the meal, so she sent them up to bed with firm instructions not to talk. She crept up the stairs and listened. Ron and Hermione and Ginny were whispering, but not Harry. She bypassed the girls' room and reminded herself to yell at Ron in the morning.

She knocked softly at Harry's door, but got no answer. The drum of anxiety quickened its pace. She opened the door gently and said, "Harry, dear?"

The moonlight shone on his face and the fire and candles were still burning merrily. He was sprawled on the bed still in his clothes with his wand in his hand and his glasses tipped down his face. He didn't wake, but stirred uneasily in his sleep, and made a soft sound, as though something pained him.

"How long has he been like that?" Dumbledore asked quietly from the doorway.

She said, "They just came up a little while ago. He hasn't been sleeping long." Dumbledore moved quietly into the room and bent to look more closely at the boy. Dumbledore touched the bruise on Harry's face. The boy stirred, but didn't wake.

The elderly wizard said, "Molly, did he say how this happened?"

She said, "No. He made a reference to having been in a fight with his cousin. Part of the reason he left. But that was four weeks ago and this looks fresh. Only a few days old."

Dumbledore said, "Did you ask if there's any more?" Molly felt her heart squeeze tighter.

She said, "No. It was touch and go whether he'd even come back. I didn't want to push him."

Dumbledore looked astonished. "I've never known you not to push when it was important."

Molly said, "Yes. But sometimes, you can lose their trust altogether if you do." She sighed and said, "Albus, I'm very afraid this has been a mistake of the first order, not answering him immediately, especially after last year. If you could have seen his face...he tried to get the Knight bus...he tried to get into the Leaky Cauldron...he tried to go to the Ministry to Arthur, and he got no response anywhere. He thought, you see, that we had all abandoned him for real. He thought he'd been expelled and no one cared." Her voice shook as she said, "Sometimes, things can get to be too much to bear, even for the bravest of us."

Dumbledore nodded wearily and said, "Yes, I know." He waved his hand and the fire jumped higher as he bent over to look closer. He placed his hand on the boy's head, and felt his pulse. The old face looked cold and angry as his eyes traced the bruises that showed at his neck and as he gently lifted the oversized shirt to expose the damage on the boy's thin body. She was more than shocked. There were bruises again on his abdomen, and she was sure from the swelling that he had bruised or broken ribs. His ribs stuck out, and though he'd eaten less than two hours before, his stomach was hollow, as if he had been starved. She thought of the wad of Muggle money he'd flourished. The money he'd been desperately saving to try to get him back to school even though he thought he'd been expelled.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the swollen, bruised area and said softly, "Emendo," and the bruises faded as the swelling disappeared and whatever damage there had been was healed. Dumbledore repeated that with the bruises on his cheeks and on his neck. All Molly could think, though, was that the harm to his spirit would take far longer to heal. Longer than they had, perhaps, now that the Death Eaters were free again.

***
There was someone sitting in the corner of his room when Harry woke. He had his wand pointed at the person in a flash, and then realized in horror that he was pointing it at Dumbledore. He was so embarrassed he dropped it altogether and he could feel the heat burning his cheeks as he muttered, "Sorry, sir," and bent to pick it up.

Professor Dumbledore said, "No need to apologize. Professor Moody would be proud of your ready vigilance."

His blue eyes were twinkling and they no longer avoided Harry's gaze. Harry was glad of it and worried at the same time, in case Voldemort could read something through him. He ran a hand through his hair and said, "Erm, yeah, but Professor Moody would have attacked you first and looked later."

Professor Dumbledore chuckled at that and Harry couldn't help blurting out, "Erm, Professor, should you be, erm, looking at me? You know, because of Voldemort and all?"

Dumbledore sobered a little and said, "I fear I made some major errors last year, and that was one of them." He looked at Harry with grave concern and said, "You said it was happening again. Will you tell me about it?"

Harry nodded and took a breath trying to gather his thoughts to tell it right. "I've been having dreams about an old man being locked in a cell, like a stone cellar, and they keep torturing him to make him do something, but he refuses, or does it and messes it up. and then they..." Just thinking about it made him feel sick again. Harry said, "I can't tell if it's real, that's what's so awful. I don't know if he's doing that to try to trick me again, or if it's something else, you see. Something real."

Dumbledore said, "I don't know, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility that Voldemort might be trying to deceive you again." He added bleakly, "He certainly was successful last year, because I failed to tell you what you needed to know."

Harry looked at his hands, the hands he thought, that might someday be the hands of a killer, and said, "If I had listened, if I had done what everyone told me to do, if I hadn't behaved so rashly, Umbridge wouldn't have had the reason she needed to get you thrown out of the Headmaster's position. And you would have been there when I thought Sirius was in trouble and you could have..." he stopped there, because it didn't bear thinking on.

The same bitter thoughts that had tormented him all summer. Dumbledore had taken the blame, but Harry knew, felt deep down, that the blame was really his. The blame and the shame. Harry looked back at Dumbledore and was startled to see something like tears sparkling in the old man's eyes. He was even more ashamed to realized he had caused such terrible distress to his friends, to everyone, by running away so preciptately.

He swallowed and said, "And I haven't learned either. I took off and just floundered around like a great fool because I was so angry with Dudley and Uncle Vernon and they make me so miserable. I should have waited for you to answer. I should have known better."

Dumbledore said gently, "From what Molly Weasley tells me, you had cause to do so. And you didn't know that the entries to the wizard world would be locked down. That decision was made after the attack. I believe you left before the Daily Prophet would have arrived telling you that."

Harry shivered a bit at the remembrance of his terror and despair when he had thought himself locked out, expelled forever.

Dumbledore asked urgently, "Harry, when you left, did your Aunt actually tell you to leave, or did you go on your own?"

Harry said, "What difference does it make? I can't go back there. They'll have blamed me for what Dudley did, like they always did." He added, "I'm never going back there. Never."

Dumbledore said, "Harry, this is very important. Did your Aunt actually tell you to leave?"

Harry said, "No. I left before she could. I just didn't want to face it, the scene when they got back from the station." He looked at Dumbledore and added, "I was afraid, you see, that I'd lose my temper altogether and curse them, and the Ministry would have good reason to expel me and snap my wand if I did that." Dumbledore looked so relieved, Harry had to ask, "But why does it matter?"

Dumbledore answered, "Do you remember I told you that you have certain protections by virtue of your living in your aunt's house? So long as you spend a certain time each year there, that protection, which comes from your mother's sacrifice is renewed and strengthened. So as long as you were not actually rejected and thrown out by your Aunt, you can still return and benefit from that protection."

Harry said fiercely, "I don't care. I don't want to go back there. Ever."

Dumbledore sighed and said, "I'm sure you don't. But, you must. That protection is one small thing that has helped you survive Voldemort's attacks. You are nowhere near so strong yet, that you can afford to give up that protection, no matter how difficult and bitter it is for you to bear it."

Harry felt again the bitter resentment welling up. He said, "I don't see the difference. Voldemort is still stronger than me. He's still going to kill me. And if the prophecy is true, what's the alternative? I will kill him. And what good is it, if I defeat him, kill him, only to become him? That's what I'm most afraid of."

Dumbledore said harshly, "You will never become him. If only because you can say that. If only because you do fear that."

Harry shook his head and said, "You don't understand. I wrote you, not just because I'm having the dreams again. I wrote you because sometimes I'm feeling myself be him in the dreams. I feel like he's eating me up alive from inside, and in the end, whether he kills me, or I kill him, it will make no difference. Because there won't be anything left of me. The only thing left will be him. Do you see?"

A knock sounded at the door and Ron poked his head in to say, "Mum says you need to get dressed and eat so we can get going. You need robes and stuff still and we only have an couple of hours to get it done before the train leaves." He poked his head in further and seeing
Professor Dumbledore sitting in the corner said, "Sorry, Professor. I didn't know you were here."

Dumbledore smiled at Ron and replied, "We can talk more later."

Ron started to leave and then poked his head back in to ask, "Professor, can I ask you a question?"

Professor Dumbledore said, "That is a question. However, what is it you wished to know?"

Ron said in a rush, "I wanted to know if Harry's going to be able to play quidditch again this year now that What's Her Name is gone, and is there...that is, there isn't going to be an Inquisitor any more is there, and are we going to actually learn Defense Against the Dark Arts so Harry doesn't have to teach and he can work his Occlumency lessons instead?" he added, "Not that it was bad because we all did really well on our OWL in Defense."

Harry stared at Ron. He couldn't believe his friend had got the nerve to ask all those questions, those particular questions, of the Headmaster.

Professor Dumbledore, however, had the twnikle back in his eye. "That was several questions at once. But, yes, Harry may play quidditch again this year if his head of house agrees, and no there will not ever be an Inquisitor again so long as I live and after that if I have anything to do with it, and you don't really think I'm going to tell you who the new teacher will be before we arrive, do you?"

Harry had heard the first answer and that was the only one he cared about just now. "I can play again? I'm not banned forever?" he asked hopefully.

Professor Dumbledore looked searchingly at Harry and then smiled. "Yes, you may play again and you are not banned. In fact, everyone of those decrees has been repealed at last week's meeting of the Wizengamot. I believe I will suggest to professor McGonagall that regualr doses of fresh air and exercise are essential to your health. I am sure she will agree."

Harry was so happy he nearly missed Ron's next statement.

"That's great, Professor," Ron was saying. "Fantastic. Because Harry's the only one left on the team that's played for more than a year, we're going to need him to be Captain of our team."

Harry took a deep breath. He hadn't thought that far. Only moments ago, he'd been worried about going back to Hogwarts at all. Only moments ago, he'd not been sure he'd be allowed to play on the team. He saw, without surprise, that Professor Dumbledore had stopped smiling. The elderly wizard's face was calm and unreadable.

He steepled his fingers together as he did when he was thinking and said, "As to that, I fear..."

Dumbledore hesitated, as he rarely did, and Harry finished the sentence for him. "I'm not a suitable choice for being Captain, am I?"

It hadn't really been a question and Harry had not kept the bitterness out of his voice, not altogether. He added, "It's a big responsibility, and I haven't exactly shown the best...judgment, have I?"

Dumbledore sighed and said, "That is not what I meant to say." He looked at Harry again, as if he were trying to read Harry's feelings. Harry tried to keep his face as calm and unreadable as Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore continued, "You are right that it is a responsibility, but it is not one that you cannot handle. At any other time, I would leave this matter to Professor McGonagall and I have no doubt that she would choose you." Harry was silent. He saw that Dumbledore had made the decision, as he had chosen not to make Harry a prefect. Just one more thing he would miss out on, and all because of Voldemort.

Dumbledore said, "As Ron mentioned just now, you must resume Occlumency lessons. And that will take time away from both your studies and your time for Quidditch." Harry looked at his hands. He shook his head. He did not want to go back to those lessons.

Professor Dumbledore said urgently, "Harry, this is not something you can ignore. From what you have told me this morning, I believe the matter is more urgent than ever. You must learn to block out these dreams."

Ron made a sound, as if he would say something, but Harry said, "I know that, sir. But Snape..."

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected.

Harry nodded. "Professor Snape won't want to teach me." He looked up at Dumbledore and added defiantly, "And I don't want him either."

Dumbledore replied, "That is one mistake I will not repeat, although I believe it would do you both a great good were you able to resolve this antagonism between you."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "What makes you think I can resolve anything with him? He hated me from the moment I stepped foot in Hogwarts, just because I look like my Dad. It doesn't matter what I do, he can't see me any other way. And I...I don't know what could change my feelings now." He added bitterly, "If he hadn't...if he hadn't spent all last year cutting down Sirius, then Sirius might not have..." He couldn't say it. Sirius might not have needed to prove himself, to do something. He might have been persuaded to wait, and then he might have lived.

But Dumbledore was shaking his head. "Harry, you must know, you must, that nothing could have kept Sirius away once he realized what danger you were in. Sirius made that choice because he cared for you. You were the closest thing he would ever have to a son."

Harry looked away. He wanted to simply shrivel up, to melt away, and to disappear. It all came back to his own foolishness. Snape had been right, hadn't he? He had brought Sirius to his death by his own arrogance and rashness. He had never really even tried to learn Occlumency. He had been so arrogant, thinking that if he had a line into Voldemort's actions, that he could help somehow. He had not listened to any of the people who were older and wiser. He had allowed himself to be duped by Voldemort and it had caused enormous harm that could not be repaired.

Harry looked back at Dumbledore and said, "If Snape, Professor Snape, won't teach me, then who will?"

"I will," Dumbledore replied.

"But, what about Voldemort?" Harry asked. "What if he sees things, things about the Order, through my eyes?"

Dumbledore said, "That is a risk we'll have to take. And I believe there are ways to minimize it." He added, "I will expect you to work at this as hard as any of your other studies. You will meet with me every Wednesday evening after dinner and every Saturday morning after breakfast."
Dumbledore looked at Harry and at Ron. "So you see, there is very good reason why the Quidditch Captaincy will have to fall to someone else. It is likely that you will miss practices on account of your lessons."

Unexpectedly, Ron was the one who protested. "But sir, we could work around it. The team would all be happy to work around it, to let Harry be Captain. He's the best player we have."

Harry thought, I don't deserve this. He summoned up a smile and said, "The team shouldn't have to work around it. And even if I am the best player, that doesn't mean I would make the best Captain." Harry spied a tiny smile tugging at Dumbledore's lips. Ron, on the other hand, was staring at Harry.

"It's not fair," Ron said, "You should have it."

Harry said, "This isn't about being fair. It's fair if I get to play. But we need a Captain who's good at strategy, at seeing the other team's moves before they make them."

Harry turned to Dumbledore and said, "I think it should be Ron. He's the best chess player in the school. That makes him best for something like this. He should be the Captain."

Dumbledore smiled and said, "I quite agree."

Ron simply stared. "But that's...that's..."

Harry said, "I think it's bloody brilliant." He didn't even bother to apologize to Dumbledore.

"WHERE ARE YOU, RON WEASLEY? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GET HARRY UP! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" Mrs. Weasley's voice preceded her up the stairs. She broke off abruptly upon seeing Dumbledore in Harry's room.

Dumbledore rose and looked at his watch and said, "Indeed. Time will pass us all by, if we aren't careful." He smiled at Harry and Ron and said,
"I trust you will both conduct yourselves...responsibly on the train coming up."

Mrs. Weasley said, "They will."

Harry and Ron both backed up away from her. She swept forward, pulled out her wand and gave it a wave at Harry,

"Scourgify!" she said. Harry gaped and that was a mistake. He felt a wave of tingling wash over him, and he swallowed down a taste of...soap?

He glanced down and saw that the clothes he had slept in now looked cleaned and pressed and his hair, which had been matted to his head, now stood up in all its usual unruly mess.

She glared at him and said, "Desperate moments call for desperate measures. Well, at least it's clean." She sniffed and seemed to be repressing the urge to flatten his hair.

"Quickly now. We must get to the store and get your clothes as soon as possible."

"What about my books and school things?" Harry asked.

"I've already taken care of those," Mrs. Weasley said.

"But, how?" Harry asked.

"Well, I took your letter from school this morning and sent Hermione and Ginny to pick up your new books while they were getting their own." Mrs. Weasley answered.

Harry stammered, "But, but what about the money and all, and I don't even know what I'm taking or if I passed any of my OWLs." Mrs. Weasley held up a small key.

"I used the money from Sirius' vault that he left you. And your class list came along with your OWLs." She handed him a piece of paper and beamed. Harry looked at the letter with his scores from last year's exams. He skimmed past the letter part to the grades and saw:

Astronomy - A
Care of Magical Creatures - O
Charms - E
Defense Against the Dark Arts - O
Divination - D
Herbology - A
History - D
Potions - E
Transfiguration - E

Harry couldn't believe it. He had gotten OWLs in every class but Divination and History. He looked again. E in Potions? He'd never done that well in that class before.

He grabbed Ron and said, "I got an E in Potions! I passed Potions! Can you believe it?" Ron nodded.

Then Harry said, "I guess that means I can take the full course for being an auror!" He said more grimly, "And Snape will just have to live with me for two more years, won't he!"

Harry said, "And you? How did you and Hermione do?"

Ron smiled."I got an OWL in every subject but Divination. And Hermione, she got all OWLs. She passed every one. She got an O in every single class. Every one!"

Mrs. Weasley felt her heart squeeze tight at the mention of the dreaded word: auror. She knew, how well she knew now, how dangerous that job was sure to be. And how much more dangerous would it get before things got better? She also knew that she could not protect them, the young ones, much longer. How miserably they had all failed already. She could hardly bear to look at Harry's thin frame and sunken face. She couldn't think which was worse, the desperate anger and sorrow and hopelessness she had seen in his eyes yesterday, or the new excitement and pleasure that he would get to study subjects to prepare him for even more danger. And Ron would follow him into that danger no matter what. And Ginny and Hermione too.

She managed, she thought, to keep those feelings off her face, as she hustled them about Diagon Alley, hurrying the witch at Madam Malkin's to find uniforms and robes that fit Harry. She had them wrap up several immediately, and arranged for the things that needed alteration to be sent by owl as soon as they were done. She chivvied them on, bustling past the Longbottoms-- who were just coming out of Ollivanders-- with a wave.
At Platform 9 and Three Quarters, she nearly burst into tears. She hugged each of her four charges in turn and reminded them to eat their sandwiches before the Chocolate Frogs, to study hard and to be good. She whispered to Harry at the very end, just before the train took off,

"I think Dumbledore might let you come to us for Christmas this year," and was pleased at the sudden happiness that lit his face.

As the train was starting to pull away, huffing the first preliminary chug of its engines, Harry said softly, "Mrs. Weasley. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have, really."

She was, quite literally, astounded. It was a given in the Weasley family that people yelled and the others yelled back and every one knew that being yelled at didn't matter, because they were all family. She thought of it as FAMILY with a capital F, if she thought about it at all. She said, thinking something like that, "I yelled first. You scared the living daylights out of us all." She added, "Don't worry, dearie, it's all in the family."
She couldn't interpret the expression on his face as the train suddenly pulled away and his answer, if any, was lost in the piercing whistle of the departing train.

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