The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301

Chapter Ten

"Do you think it's wise to involve Harry in this?" McGonagall asked. Really, Hermione thought. Why on earth would Dumbledore bring Harry into a chase for Lupin in his werewolf form? It would have to involve being outside the protection of the house on Grimmauld Street, and Lupin himself might be dangerous. She strained to see and hear what they were saying. She didn't like this one bit. There was no reason she could think of that they would include Harry in this and not herself and Ron. For that matter, there were more than enough Order members; unless they were worried about the spy. That would be a terrible problem if there was one. Other than Snape, anyway.

"He's going to be disoriented when he changes back at moonset," Snape answered. "Even then, he may be dangerous. We'll need Potter to help then."

"I don't understand," Harry replied. "How can I help? Not that I don't want to," he added hastily. "I just don't see why I would be more useful than Moody or Mr. Weasley or any of the adult members of the Order." Good for you, Hermione thought. Showing a bit of common sense for once. McGonagall nodded.

"Just look at him," Snape answered. His tone was strained very slightly. "He looks like James. He looks almost exactly like James. He looks so much like James it's uncanny."

"But I'm not him," Harry answered.

Hermione could see by the tensing of his body that he was ready to take offense. Another person, Snape again, confusing him with his father. And the very thing for which Snape hated Harry. It was bound to make Harry angry, she thought. Holding her breath, Hermione tried to inch closer, but stay in the shadows. She wanted to make sure they didn't leave without her.

"No," Snape said softly after the barest pause. "But your resemblance to James may be enough to persuade Lupin that you are him for just a few moments. And James was one of the few people who could reach him, communicate with him when he was in his wolf form."

Hermione saw that Harry had gone quite still, even though Snape hadn't mentioned the others, Sirius and Pettigrew, both dead. All of them except Lupin were dead, she thought. And she shivered and wondered how many of their friends would live through this terrible time.

"But," Harry said after a moment, "My Dad was able to reach him when he was in his animgus form. And I'm not an animagus. I've never even thought of trying to be, really."

"That's why Professor Mdgonagall is here," Dumbledore answered. "We shall all transform and search for him. And the sooner we do," he added, "the better. He's in or near Hyde Park and there are likely many Muggles there who may be harmed even as we speak."

"All?" Harry asked. "But, I don't see how that's going to help. I mean, Sirius and my Dad were very large animals when they transformed. And Professor McGonagall becomes a rather small housecat. I don't see how a housecat can handle a werewolf. No insult meant to you, Professor."

"None taken," McGonagall replied. "You make my point." Hermione was practically falling out of the bushes with curiosity. Dumbledore, an animagus? And did they mean Snape, too?

Harry turned his head and said, "You, Professor Dumbledore? What do you become?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "A bee," he said.

"A bee!" Harry said. "What will you do, sting him?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. But I can follow him and track him quite easily that way."

"And you?" he said to Snape, "You're not registered as an animagus. Hermione looked it up. She would have mentioned it if you were one."

"Neither was your father. Nor Black. Nor Pettigrew." Snape's tone bordered on hostile. Hermione supposed it must be a reflex, the hostility. As was Harry's impertinent reply.

"So, what?" he asked, "You turn into a bat?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Snape answered.

Hermione gasped, but that didn't matter as Harry said loudly, "You are a vampire!"

Mcgonagall snorted. Snape, however, said calmly, dangerously, "No. Not all bats are vampires. And it's very useful being able to fly." Hermione had an inkling of all the things Harry would have liked to say. Snape turning into a bat! She wondered if Lupin knew.

"So let me get this clear," Harry said. He was trying to be polite, but just a touch of incredulity had crept into his voice anyway. "You three are going-- a cat, a bee, and a bat-- and you're going to try to control an enormous, out-of-control werewolf? And I'm supposed to go along, and what, wave at Lupin and pretend to be my Dad? I'm not trying to be rude, but..."

The bright moonlight illuminated Dumbledore's face. His blue eyes shone, even in this serious situation, with amusement.

"We were rather hoping that you would transform into a larger beast. Like your father did. Your Patronus, after all, is a stag, as he was."

"But I'm not an animagus," Harry protested again. "And time is slipping away. I can take my motorbike and fly to the park. I expect it'll be just as much use if I use my wand, anyway." Dumbledore shook his head.

"Why do you think we are not going as our normal selves and using our wands? Werewolves are so dangerous because they are highly resistant to wand magic. Like dragons, it takes many to subdue one, and even then, the chances are that someone will be bit." Dumbledore looked at McGonagall and nodded.

She raised her wand and said, "Stand still, Potter. The animagus spell is very tricky, even when you know what you're doing. And more so when it's applied to someone other than yourself."

Hermione held her breath. She was waiting to see how Harry would look as a stag. And she really wanted to know what the spell was. It was an idea she had been toying with for sometime now. She was almost certain she had enough skill at Transfiguration now to try it. And, she thought, if Rita Skeeter could do it, so could she.

McGonagall waved her wand and a white light came from her wand. Harry stood, unchanged for a second, and bathed as he was in the light, he looked ghostly, as though he had moved beyond the present existence and was in the process of transforming into the next. Then the flash of light grew and like a computer picture he changed, morphing from the tall youth into a large form, but not nearly large enough to be a stag.

All three Professors stared in astonishment at the creature before them. The great golden-red bird hopped, and flapped its wings. It took off, soaring high and spiraling down again, then winging back up.

"I don't know why we didn't expect something like this," Snape said grumpily. "He breaks the rules in everything else he does. Why not this, too?" Then he transformed into a largish black bat and swept silently into the sky after the great bird. McGonagall replied to the air,

"Well, he was the youngest quidditch player to make the team in a century. I suppose we should have guessed he would fly." Mcgonagall leaped into the air and turned into a cat and continued her jump onto the archway and from there into the darkness. The bee buzzed along behind and Hermione was left in the dark, her head full of wonder and a wild surmise that she thought ought not to be said to anyone.

~~***~~

Edgar rubbed his eyes for the fortieth time that night. He was pouring over his report to the Prime Minister on the recent activities of the Riddle gang as the PM liked to call it. It was remarkably difficult to write a report that described the activities of dark wizards and their opponents in the Order of the Phoenix without once making it clear that everybody involved was really a wizard and everybody involved was doing real magic. He drank some more black coffee to try to wake his mind up and grimaced at the taste of the stuff. Like sweaty old socks.

The phone rang and when he picked up, the dispatcher downstairs said, "Sorry to bother you Inspector Bones, but I've got a guy down here that says he knows you and has information for you."

Bones rubbed his eyes once more and said, "What's his name?"

"Well, he won't say, that's the thing. Scruffy looking guy, too. Shall I tell him to go away?"

Bones heard a voice bellow, "You tell that Edgar I need to see him now! Hi, Bones, get your skinny bones down here. We got problems!"

The dispatcher said, "This one looks like a real loony, Inspector. I'd better call for help."

Edgar suppressed a laugh and said, "No, it's all right. Just one of my, erm, snitches."

He hung up and ran for the elevator hoping to get downstairs before Mundungus Fletcher could pull out his wand muck everything up by hexing everyone in sight. He strode out the door just in time to grab Fletcher by the arm and stop him from pulling the phone off its cord.

"Come on, Dung," he said, "let's get out into the fresh air where you stink less and you can tell me what's up without wrecking the poor Sergeant's night."

He dragged Fletcher along with him out the front doors of the Yard and onto Victoria Street. Fletcher's canny old criminal's eyes were showing white around the edges of his irises.

"The wolf's got out," he said. "He's in Hyde Park and you've got to keep your Muggle police away or there'll be a mess, there will."

"The wolf?" Edgar said. "What wolf?"

Fletcher said a word nearly as foul as his own stink. "Lupin. It's the full moon and his potion didn't work."

Feeling like an idiot, Edgar repeated, "Lupin?"

Fletcher roared. "He's a werewolf you stupid git! How is it a pure blood son o' the Bones family don't know a werewolf when he sees one?"

Edgar gawped at Fletcher and then snarled, "I've been a bit out touch, you know, since You Know Who murdered my pure blood family."

Fletcher said, "Sorry. But fact is, Remus is a werewolf. He keeps under control like by taking wolfsbane potion. Only tonight," the old man added grimly, "the potion didn't work. He changed and he wasn't in control, see. And he got loose. We tracked him to the Park, but we're going to need help with Muggle control, see."

Edgar felt a shiver of fright. Lupin, a werewolf. And he liked the man, too. "Who's handling the wolf, then?"

"Dumbledore," was Fletcher's succinct reply.

Edgar breathed out and said, “Okay. Let's go." He was really glad Fay hadn't been there tonight. He was pretty sure she was nowhere near ready to see a real werewolf in action. He wasn't sure he was himself.

August is high tourist season in London, and there were people strolling casually around the edges of the park even this late at night. The full moon hung in the sky huge and bright; here and there lovers embraced; dogs gamboled on their leashes, or chased after frisbees or thrown sticks in the nearly bright-as-day light. One of the dogs stopped abruptly. Its ears lifted up and a faint growl started.

"What's wrong, Duke?" the owner said. The dog laid its ears further back and the growl became a whine as another sound was raised: the howl of a wolf. Edgar could feel the hair on his arms lift and beside him, Fletcher spat on the ground.

"Where's Dumbledore?" he muttered. The wolf howled again and a commotion shook the bushes off to the right some fifty yards away. More of the dogs were growling and barking, but most were tugging at their leashes as if they knew something was there that a normal dog couldn't handle. Bones drew his wand and slid it up his left sleeve for easy reach. He decided he'd better start clearing people out of the park quickly.

"You'd best take your dogs home," he told several of the bystanders. "We've had a report something's escaped from the zoo. Quickly, now."

Responding, perhaps, to the authority in his voice, the people began drifting off out of the park. He kept scanning the edges of the trees toward where the howl had sounded.

"Where is he?" Edgar asked Fletcher. "We'll need back up. Two aren't enough to handle a werewolf on the rampage."

Fletcher shook his head uneasily. He had drawn his wand and he had abandoned his usual comic air for something else. For the first time since he had met the old man among the crowd that worked for the Order, he felt a stirring of respect and a sense that the man was a wizard of resource.

The bushes stirred again and with a howl, the wolf emerged. It was far huger than Edgar had expected and its eyes glowed red and vicious in its wolf face. A phrase floated through his mind, the snout of the werewolf differs from that of the ordinary wolf... The wolf was running at full speed, its legs a blur of motion as it charged an embracing couple.

Edgar yelled and drew his wand. Fletcher had already flung a stunning spell and red light flared from the end of his wand striking the wolf full on. The wolf reared and tossed its head, but other than changing direction to charge at Fletcher and Bones, it was entirely unaffected.

Edgar flung another spell at it, aiming for its snout. This one stopped the wolf briefly, bowling it over in a somersault that would have been humorous had the situation not been so deadly. The wolf howled again and was up and it leaped straight for Edgar. Its paws knocked into his chest and he could see its maddened eyes glowing and he could count each of the creature's wickedly sharp teeth as it opened its snout to bite him.

In the background, Edgar could hear the Muggles screaming, but he had no thought for them, or for the probable disaster that would occur when twenty odd Muggles reported seeing a genuine werewolf being fought off by genuine magic. The wolf stopped short of biting him as Fletcher had flung another spell right down its throat. It howled, and flung its head up, but it didn't move its great body off of Edgar, and Edgar was pinned down, unable to bring his wand to bear again.

He'd never been this scared since the night You Know Who had murdered his parents. Just as the wolf opened its mouth again, a great sound swelled from above and something plummeted down toward the wolf. The wolf reared again, ready to bite anything that move. In the moonlight, Edgar saw the great bird shoot down and its taloned feet caught the wolf on its flanks, throwing it off of Edgar. Not sure what the thing was, he nevertheless rolled away as fast as he was able. The bird trilled a peculiar song, one that Edgar recognized with surprise until he remembered that Dumbledore was coming.

The wolf snapped at the bird, but it had soared up out of the way and the snapping teeth caught only one golden tailfeather, which floated glimmering in the bright moon light. The bird turned and hovered just out of the wolf's reach and all the time it sang its trilling song as though somehow the song could reach the maddened creature's mind and soothe its magic-borne rage.

Another shadow soared out of the sky, this one black, with a small body and long wingspread. A bat. Edgar thought, this is a bit much. First a werewolf, and now a vampire? But the bat didn’t attack him or Fletcher. Instead, it flew in front of the wolf providing the wolf with another target. The wolf snapped again and nearly laid its teeth into the bat’s delicate wings. An eerie, almost soundless cry came out of the bat; it lifted up on a current of air and then landed on the wolf’s back.

The wolf reared and crashed backwards, rolling in a frenzied attempt to remove the winged thing from its back. Edgar was up in a second and he pulled Fletcher back away and tried to keep an eye on the wolf and the bat and look for his wand all at once. The wolf was up again too quickly. This time it struck with vicious speed at the bat and only missed because the great bird had struck again, knocking the wolf’s head aside and soaring back up again. The bat had stayed on the ground. It lay on its back, wings wide open and vulnerable. The bird, however, kept darting at the wolf, distracting it from the easy prey nearby.

Another shape streaked by. A small cat, he saw, and wondered what cat would ever come near a wolf of any kind. The cat pushed its head into the bat and shoved, turning it over. The bat’s wings fluttered and collapsed in, so that the animal was now almost as small as a squirrel or a larger mouse.

It felt to Edgar as if the struggle had been going on for hours, though he knew it was only minutes at most. But the wolf leapt unflagging and it seemed impossible that even the great bird could keep it from biting one of them eventually. Fletcher flung another spell at it. The light whooshed out of the old man’s wand and in its track, Edgar saw something else that dried up his mouth and made his pulse race. Police cars had begun to jam the street on the edge of the park. Sirens blared and blue lights added an extra dimension to the white glow of the moon and the red flash of the wizard’s spells.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Fletcher, stop. No wands! Muggles! Now!”

Fletcher yelled back at him and said, “That’s what you’re here for laddie. Order them away. Obliviate them. Whatever. I’ll take care of this here.” But the disaster was in motion. A bullhorn magnified an officer’s voice.

“Put your weapons down. Lay down, hands on your heads, and put your weapons down.”

Strangely, Fletcher ran toward the wolf again, and yelled as if the other creatures fighting it could understand, “Get the wolf out of here. Muggle police. Here.”

The wolf howled and a loud crack startled them all. Gunfire. A bullet whizzed by way too close for comfort and the bullhorn sounded again.

“Lay down your weapons. Surrender. Do not resist.” The cat hunched its back and hissed and slapped the bat in the face with its paw just as if it were a human slapping a stunned companion in the face to wake him up. The bat snapped and launched itself from the ground shooting right between the wolf and the bird. The wolf missed the bat again by millimeters and Edgar had to fling himself down as another bullet cracked by his head.

Fletcher, however, had misjudged the danger from the Muggle weapons. He had drawn his wand and was standing in full dueling stance, one arm drawn back and prepared for attack. The next bullet caught him high in the shoulder and threw him backward. The spell arced up and green light flared and fell fizzling down. The cat screetched then. Edgar had never heard a cat produce just that sound, but it was outdone by the howl of the wolf, which had smelled blood and was charging at its new prey. He flung another spell at the wolf, but it bounced off the wolf as if it were nothing. Policemen were approaching now, guns at the ready, garbed in full protective gear.

Edgar bellowed at them, “Stay back! Stay back! That’s an order, officers!” The wolf was still in full charge; but just as it was at the fallen wizard’s face about to bite, the great bird came falling from the sky one more time and this time, instead of knocking the wolf to the side, it seized the huge creature, three times its own size, in its long talons and lifted the creature into the air. The red-gold wings flapped and the bird soared upward with the wolf dangling from its feet.

An officer had knelt taken aim and another bullet cracked just as the bird quite suddenly disappeared from sight along with its still struggling burden. Edgar heard a faint buzz, like the song of a bee, but he ignored it. No doubt his ears were still buzzing from the gunshot.

Behind him and calm voice said, "Quickly. Grab this on my word."

Edgar opened his mouth to swear. It was Dumbledore. The old wizard's white hair was disheveled and his robes were torn. Edgar had never seen him looking like that. He looked around for the others, but the cat and the bat had slunk off into the shadows.

"Fletcher," he said. "We can't leave him."

"No," Dumbledore replied. He waved his wand and the prone wizard's body flew toward them. Dumbledore seized him with one hand and flicked his wand to bring the round object soaring closer to him and Edgar. It was, Edgar's mind noted with a distant hilarity, a frisbee. As the police approached near, Dumbledore said, "Portus!"

A blue light struck the Frisbee and Dumbledore said, "Now!"

Without thinking, Edgar obeyed and the park dissolved in the howl of wind and color that was the by-product of a portkey journey. They arrived in the middle of a wild garden. From a dark shadowy corner, what sounded like the whine of an animal had changed into the sobs of a human in despair. Clouds were drawing in and the bright sky was now darkened over. Moisture blanketed the air in a warm smothering blanket, and the heavens opened up in a storm of thunder and howling rain.

"Get him inside, quickly now" Dumbledore said. "And get some wolfsbane in him, fast." A scuffling sounded and Edgar saw that a door had opened.

From the door, Molly Weasley's voice called out, "Get in out of the wet. Come on then."

Dumbledore bent down and picked Fletcher and carried him into the house. Edgar was astonished that the old man had the strength for such a feat. He followed the old wizard in through the kitchen to the great room where Fletcher now lay on the leather couch. Behind him, Snape and McGonagall were trying to bring Lupin in, but Lupin was struggling and weeping and they could not keep hold of him. The man’s gray eyes, normally so calm and rational, were hugely dilated, and he struck out at the air and slapped away anyone nearby.

Edgar waited till Lupin’s back was to him, then he caught him from behind, passing his right arm up under Lupin’s arm and around the back of his neck and forcing him to his knees. “Easy now,” he said softly.

“What are you doing?” McGonagall asked.

“He’s quite disoriented,” Edgar replied, “like someone who’s had a bad reaction to narcotics. He needs to be controlled until the effects wear off.”

“Hold him there,” Snape said. The Potions Master returned to the kitchen and came back out with a smoking goblet. He held it out to Lupin, who shook his head and tried to pull away.

“Hold him,” Snape said sharply, and Edgar pulled back on Lupin and held him in place on his knees, hoping the man wouldn’t go into a frenzy again. Snape caught Lupin by the jaw and forced the contents of the goblet down his throat. Lupin choked and shuddered and then collapsed down weeping again.

“Where the hell is Potter?” Snape said. “We need him now.” Edgar tried to puzzle that one out.

“Oh, my,” McGonagall said, “I forgot, he doesn’t know how to change back.” Lupin flailed about again; distracting him from that peculiar exchange and at a glance from Snape he pulled the weeping man – werewolf – to his feet and guided him to a chair in the kitchen.

“Stay with him,” Snape said. “I need to see if Dumbledore needs help with Fletcher.”

***

Hermione hovered on the edge of the group in the great room. Mrs. Weasley had followed Dumbledore in and the two of them were working on the downed wizard. Fletcher’s ginger hair was plastered to his head with rain and he reeked, both from his own usual smell, from wet, and from blood.

“He hasn’t been bitten,” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“No,” Dumbledore answered. “No one was. He was shot. The Muggle police showed up and Edgar was too busy keeping Remus away from the Muggles in the park to stop them from acting.”

Hermione had a sneaking feeling that something was out of kilter here. Dumbledore was back and she could hear Snape and McGongall and Bones trying to deal with Lupin. But where was Harry? She slipped away from the others and nearly gasped out loud when McGonagall said in answer to Snape’s question,

“Oh, my. I forgot, he doesn’t know how to change back.” McGonagall opened the door to the garden again and peered out into the howling storm. Snape brushed past her to go help Dumbledore and she saw that the Inspector was too busy dealing with Professor Lupin to be of any help to McGonagall. McGonagall stepped out into the garden into the rain and Hermione followed her.

“Potter!” McGonagall called. “Harry! Where are you?” Her words were torn away into the wind and Hermione began to be terribly afraid.

“Did he come back?” she said to the Professor.

“Yes, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replied. “And go back into the house now, before you catch your death out here.”

“I can stand it if you can,” she replied. McGonagall looked as though she would have liked to take a good few points off at Hermione’s defiance, but she clamped her lips together and said, “Very well. I expect he’ll tell you everything anyway. If he hasn’t simply flown away.”

The garden was pitch black and the wind and the rain howled, whipping their clothes about them. Hermione pulled out her wand and said, “Lumos,” and the wand lit up. But its light barely picked out the path a few feet in front of them.

“Where would he have gone?” McGonagall asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered. Then curiously, she asked, “How much can one think, reason, when one is in an animagus state.”

“How do you know that?” McGonagall said sharply.

“I saw you change him,” Hermione admitted. She waited for the professor to get past her annoyance and answer.

“It depends on the person and the animal he changes into,” McGonagall answered reluctantly. Her distress was evident in the way she rolled her R’s.

“I’d think he’d look for shelter, then,” Hermione said thoughtfully. But as she thought back on Harry’s restlessness and dislike of the House, she couldn’t help worrying that being in the other form, he might have shed the stubborn chain of responsibility that kept him going and doing and enduring where he would have liked to flee.

She turned her steps toward the folly that stood at the center of the garden. If anything was sheltered enough to keep out the rain, that would be it. She almost missed him at first because it was so dark. Then the light of her wand picked out a red-gold shimmer. The bird was huddled in the furthest corner of the folly, its head tucked under one wing, and the glimmer of its feathers was dimmed as they were drooping with the wet.

“Potter!” McGonagall said, but he didn’t move.

“Harry,” Hermione cried. The bird lifted its head out of its wing and blinked. In the small light of her wand, green eyes, jewel bright regarded her and she saw with surprise, a lightning shaped line showed above the bird’s eyes, exactly where the scar would be in his human form.

With a flick of her wand, McGonagall changed him back. The bird expanded, lengthened and wings changed to arms, taloned feet to booted ones.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to that,” Harry said peacefully. He was sopping wet. His jet black hair was flattened for once, but his eyes were what gave Hermione pause. Behind the round glasses, they were quite utterly calm and bright and yet altogether remote as if he was somewhere else altogether and only the body and a piece of his thinking, feeling part remained.

‘You aren’t hurt?” McGonagall asked.

“Not at all,” Harry answered politely. “I’m quite fine really.” He did not, however, inquire about Lupin’s welfare, and that made Hermione more worried than ever.

“Well…why did you stay out in the storm, then,” McGonagall asked. Hermione could see that now that she knew Harry was okay, the wet and her temper were getting the better of her. She supposed it must be much worse to be standing around in a veritable hurricane when you were seventy or so than when you were nearly seventeen.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want everyone to see me like this,” Harry said calmly. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and thought with surprise, he knew everything then. Being in bird form hadn’t changed his thinking at all. Had it? McGonagall also paused. A flash crossed her face, a combination of approval, appreciation, and then something that was rather oddly like fear.

“You’re quite right about that,” she conceded. “How long were you planning on staying there if we hadn’t come for you?”

“As long as necessary,” Harry replied. “In fact, you came a bit too soon. I was having a very nice nap.” His eyes were still jewel bright and retained something of the bird as he added, “No dreams at all. And I couldn’t feel Voldemort at all.” He tipped his head thoughtfully and said, “Perhaps you could teach me how to do that myself. I think it would be quite useful.”

McGonagall said stiffly, “I think you have enough ways to get into trouble, Mr. Potter, without adding this one to the list.”

Harry smiled and said, “It’s a rather good way of getting out of trouble, too.” Then shaking himself as if he could get rid of the water drenching him, he strode quickly toward the house leaving Hermione and McGonagall to stretch to keep up.

***

Harry really was very sorry to have to change back so quickly. The transformation was a strange process, only a little less odd than changing into another person under the influence of polyjuice potion had been. But this, at least, didn't make one feel nauseous. He slipped into the kitchen and was grateful for the warmth of the fire. Then, he immediately wished he were back out in the rain with his head under his wing.

Lupin was seated in a chair at the table back in his human form and he was sobbing uncontrollably, a weird keening cry that raised the hair on Harry's neck and left a tightness about his throat and chest.

He knelt and took Lupin's hand in his own and said, "Don't! It's not your fault." Lupin shook his head and raised it to stare at Harry. The gray eyes no longer shone red; instead, they were huge black holes with only a strip of gray circling between the black and the reddened whites.

"Of course, it's my fault, James," he said. "It's always my fault. I could have hurt you. I could have hurt them. I'm a monster. I nearly killed him - Snape, you know. He doesn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that."

Harry heard Snape draw breath beside him, but he cut in quickly. "It's Harry, Professor. Not James. And it isn't your fault. Someone tampered with your potion. Can you remember?"

Lupin shook his head again as though he was trying to clear it and he stared at Harry with a confused expression on his face. Then he shuddered and said, "Not James. I thought you were James. That's the problem. Everyone thinks you're James. Even Snape thinks you're James."

Lupin's face contracted and he stared up at Snape, who was hovering off to the side.

"You did it, didn't you?" Remus said to Snape. "You gave me the potion. You were the one who could have tampered with it most easily. You made it. And it would be the end of us wouldn't it? I'm the last of the four. And you'd have your revenge at last."

Harry didn't look at Snape. He couldn't. He kept his eyes focused on Lupin, whose face was now contorted with hate. "It wasn't him," Harry said calmly. "He was the one who brought Dumbledore. He was the one who helped stop you from killing those Muggles. He risked his life to help you."

"That's what he wants you to think," Lupin answered. "Then when you're not watching, he'll get you, too. He hates you as much as your father. Maybe more." Lupin stood up and faced Snape. "Deny it, if you can!" he snarled. Harry rose, and this time, he looked at Snape, waiting for his answer.

"Why should I deny it?" Snape said softly. "No matter what I say, you'll not believe me."

Harry was startled by the concentrated venom in Snape's voice. For a moment, the two older men stood staring at each other, eyes locked in a wordless challenge, their hearts and minds closed to anything but their mutual loathing.

"Stop!" Harry said. "This has to stop!" The calm feeling he had while he was the bird had deserted him. Now he felt too much all at once. Fury at the two men for their perpetual hatred. Fury at Snape for hating his father and him. And terror because what was happening was out of control and more dangerous than Lupin's rampage. This thing could devastate the Order. And who knew? Turn Snape back away from their side to Voldemort's. The two men stared at him now with one mind.

"Fool," Lupin said. "You think because he works for the Order he will help you in the end. In the end, his hatred will win. And you know and I know and he knows that once you become Voldemort's, you're his forever." Lupin continued to stare at Snape with fury and he added, "Let him deny that, if he can."

"I don't believe that," Harry said. "I won't." Snape stared at him now.

"Is it possible," he asked, "that you are even more foolish and blind than your father?"

"Why?" Harry answered. "Because I refuse to believe you were the one who tampered with the cup."

Snape inclined his head, but said nothing. "Why are you saying that?" Harry asked.

He shoved his hand on Lupin's chest to keep him from leaping at the Potions Master. "Why?" he repeated.

"Your father," Snape said, "met his death refusing to believe he had been betrayed by a friend. Will you meet yours because you insist on believing good even of your enemy?" Harry stared at Snape searching his black eyes for the thing he needed: the truth; the heart of the matter.

Finally he answered, "Yes, if necessary."

The two men both looked shocked and Harry hastened to say the thing that needed to be said. "I refuse to believe," he said softly, "that a man can't change. I refuse to believe that you would have wasted your efforts so many times to help me, however nasty you were in other matters, if you were still truly on Voldemort's side. I refuse to believe that Voldemort's evil is truly more powerful in the end than your conscience. I refuse to believe" he added more softly still, "that once you are his you must be his forever. Because if that is true, then I am lost and done for."

He held their gaze for one moment more and then he left. He walked as quickly as he could through the kitchen and through the hall to the stairs and then he took the stairs three at a time until he made it to the solitude and sanctuary of his room.

***

Hermione had stood watching them too shocked to say a word. And beside her, even McGonagall had been silent. Now the Professor stood forward and shook her finger at the two men, who had turned to regard each other once more with unaltered loathing.

“This is how you behave yourselves! Grown men, teachers, at each other’s throats like schoolchildren!” McGonagall’s tirade, however, was cut off. Unfortunately, Hermione thought afterwards, because both of the men had flinched slightly at being lectured by the formidable Transfiguration teacher. For the first time, Hermione appreciated quite fully how great an influence a teacher had on her pupils; and why, perhaps, Dumbledore remained, of all people, the one Voldemort ever feared.

The Inspector, Bones, had moved suddenly to take command of the room. He had drawn his weapon, only it was a gun, not a wand. Hermione froze in disbelief and laid a hand on McGonagall’s arm to stop her forward movement.

“Don’t move!” Bones said, and no one did. He had that thing, the authority, borne of his position, which men obeyed.

“Now,” he said calmly, “you will tell me, and I will have the truth, why you say he is one of You Know Who’s.” He held the gun pointed steadily less than a foot from Snape’s head.

“He was a Death Eater at one time,” Lupin answered.

“Was?” Bones said. “That’s not what you just said. You accused him of working for HIM now.” Snape regarded the gun coldly as if it were no more than a toy and Hermione thought how strange it was that even after he had seen Fletcher badly wounded by gun, he still seemed to regard the weapon without sufficient consciousness of its danger.

“If you want to know who I work for,” Snape answered coldly, “ask Dumbledore.”

“Put that thing down, Mr. Bones,” McGonagall said. “I would never think of it, a wizard of your family, using Muggle weapons.” But Bones did not relent.

“He stands accused of being a Death Eater. How do I know that he was not one of the men who was there and killed my father, my mother, my family. I will have justice. If he is one, I will have him and I will arrest him for murder.”

His gray eyes were focused and cold and Hermione thought, how odd, he looks like Malfoy now. What was even more peculiar to Hermione was that Snape eyed Bones just as if he wanted to give him detention and take a hundred points off his house, whichever one it was. Teachers! She thought again and considered how she was to get around the table and the man with the gun to summon Dumbledore. That thought was cut off, however, by a cry that rang from upstairs. Harry! She thought.

And she, like everyone else, was stunned when he reappeared, apparated, with a near silent pop, right into the center of the kitchen, half a foot above the large trestle table and then landed awkwardly knocking over a cup of butterbeer in the process.

***

Harry’s appearance was a shocking as his having apparated there. Before, though he had been wet and bedraggled, he had been perfectly normal, or as normal as one can be after having been transfigured into a bird, fought a werewolf and had to lecture two of his teachers to keep them from killing each other.

When he had left the room, he had been, quite simply angry. Now, he was obviously distraught beyond measure. He must have been about to wash up after having been drenched in the storm. He was still clutching a towel in one hand and his glasses were off. And he had already stripped off his sodden t-shirt so that all he wore were his jeans and boots. His face was devoid of color and his green eyes were huge and full of horror. The lighting scar stood out clearly on his face, as did the pink slash across his chest and he was breathing quickly as though he had been running hard.

“Voldemort!” he said, “he’s in the Ministry! Killing! He has to be stopped!” Bones head turned, though he did not lower his gun, and Hermione could see him wondering what new madness this was. Snape, however, pushed the gun aside and stepped forward.

“Shut him out, Potter,” Snape said, “You must shut him out.”

Harry turned to stare in his direction and he shook his head and said, “No. He has to be stopped. We have to hurry. He’s killed too many already.” His body shivered slightly as though he’d been struck and he pulled his wand out from the waistband of his jeans. Hermione felt everyone in the room go still.

Snape said very quietly, “Potter! You must shut him out. Build up the wall in your mind or…”

“He’s in a room I’ve never seen before,” Harry said. His eyes were fixed on nothing, but seeing something he ought not to have been able to see. “It’s full of parchments and big bound books, like a library or something and he’s got Fudge cornered.” He breathed in and took a step forward on the table, crouching slightly, like a large cat stalking its prey.

“My god,” Bones said quietly, “he’s Seeing something, isn’t he? But is it now, or the future?”

Snape answered, ”It’s now, and he has to be stopped. Harry, you must shut him out!”

Harry looked at Snape again and his eyes seemed to focus back for just a moment. Then he shook his head and said, “No, Percy’s there. He’s going to kill them both.”

“Who’s going to kill my brother?” Ron asked. His freckled face was nearly as pale as Harry’s and both he and Ginny must have had heard that last bit as they had both drawn their wands.

“Voldemort,” Ginny whispered. “How else could he know?”

“We have to hurry,” Harry repeated and he raised his wand to do something, but Snape shouted at him, “You cannot disapparate from inside this house! Do not try it!”

“Then we’ll be too late,” Harry, said. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them again and said, “I have to try.”

But instead of disapparating, Hermione saw that his eyes had gone cloudy and vague and she had a moment of piercing terror when he shouted, “Voldemort! Here I am!” His holly wand shot out a flare of red and gold sparks, so great was the effort of whatever he was doing.

Dumbledore had come in and assessed the scene in one glance and he fairly flew out the front door after Snape said, “You Know Who has attacked the Ministry. It appears he’s got Fudge and Percy Weasley cornered in the Hall of Records and this blasted fool’s gone and tried to attack him with his mind.”

Snape added one more time, “Potter. Break it off! Stop now!” And when Bones moved to catch hold of Harry, Snape held him back. Harry turned to look at Snape and his whole face had changed. His breathing had calmed and his eyes were a piercing green and his voice was cold and amused and not at all like Harry’s.

“Well, Severus,” he said smilingly, “We see where your loyalties lie, do we not?”

Snape replied coldly, “But you have always known where they were, did you not? No one can deceive the Dark Lord.”

“You will die, of course,” Harry said calmly, in the voice that wasn’t his, and Hermione had never, ever in her life been so horrified. Not even when Harry had stabbed Voldemort and run himself through on the Dark Lord’s poisoned blade. Ron pushed Snape aside and jumped on the table, so that he stood facing Harry directly, and again Hermione was struck by the difference between the two.

“Another Weasley,” Harry said in the voice that wasn’t his, “I know just what to do with you.”

“How odd,” Ron said, “that’s almost exactly what the Sorting Hat said to me.” Harry tipped his head and laughed and as he laughed, Ron struck him silently with the disarming spell, so that the holly wand flew off into a corner. The green eyes opened with fury, but before Harry could move, Ron smacked him so hard across the face that he fell back and off the table into a heap on the floor. Harry shook his head and made a noise of protest. He sat up with one hand pressing the lightning scar and he had begun to breathe hard and fast again.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he said in his own voice once more.

Ron extended a hand and pulled Harry up again. “From you, actually, mate.”

Harry stared at Ron and shivered and said, “There’s something to be said for boxing after all. I ought to have paid better attention to Dudley’s lessons.”

“Stupid git,” Ron said. Then he hesitated and asked fearfully, “Percy?”

Harry wrapped one long-fingered hand over his eyes and said, “I think…I think he’s all right. I’m pretty sure Dumbledore got there in time.”

Then he wrapped both arms around his too lean middle and said, “I will not be sick.”

~~***~~

By the time Bones returned to the Yard, the sun was rising and he was beyond tired. Fay was waiting for him in his office and had barely time to warn him before the Super called him in.

"I thought you had things under control!" Masters raged. "You assured the PM that your lot could handle things. Now we've got the press wanting to know what's going on and whether we've been invaded by aliens and just what in the bloody hell is going on!"

Bones said perfectly calmly, "A wolf escaped from the zoo."

Masters cursed and said, "You know bloody well that no bloody wolf escaped from the zoo."

A knock sounded on the conference room door and a technician poked his head in. "We've got a copy of that tape, Sir."

Edgar's stomach did a flip-flop. "What tape?"

"The one that some enterprising tourist with a home video camera took in Hyde Park tonight," Masters answered.

The technician came in and stuck the tape in the video player. The moment it began to roll, he knew he was in terrible trouble. The picture of the wolf was clear and sharp and terrifying and amazingly, so were the shots of Fletcher attacking it with his wand. The wand's flaring magic showed up as a fiery light--something a Muggle could easily confuse with a science fiction laser.

The entire fight had been captured. It was shorter than Edgar had remembered and even more terrifying. Nothing phased the wolf and from a muggle standpoint, of course, the bird and the bat were even more inexplicable. Worst of all, there was at least one clear shot of Edgar himself pointing his wand and shooting off a spell at the wolf.

"How the devil do you propose to explain that?" Masters said. "And I expect you to do so promptly at two this afternoon. The PM's called a meeting and he wants you and Kray there and their Minister has said he's bringing his people with him."

"Their Minister?" Edgar asked.

"Yes," Masters answered. "This Fudge fellow, or whatever he's called. He says he's bring his chief advisor. Bumble something. And some whiz kid. That kid that was in your reports last time. He's bringing them." Edgar managed to control his temper until the door to his office shut behind him and Fay. Then he cursed and kicked the guest chair halfway across the room. Fay was watching him anxiously, her blue eyes narrowed in thought.

"What was that thing, Edgar?" she asked at last.

"A wolf," he answered.

"A wolf? There's no such thing as a wolf that large anywhere outside of fiction. And what was the bird thing? No one can identify that either."

Edgar sat down and pulled his tie loose and rested his face on his hands. He had to get a hold of Dumbledore again quickly and figure out just what they were going to say.

"Are you going to answer me?" Fay asked.

He looked at her and knew only the truth would do. "It was a werewolf," he answered at last.

"That's ridiculous," Fay replied. "That’s just..." But she stopped. She had seen all too much magic in the past year to be able to brush off what he had to say.

"A werewolf?" she repeated. Edgar nodded his head.

"But...that's a man, then, who turns into a wolf?" Edgar nodded again.

"Yes." He grimaced. "He's a nice chap really. Someone tampered with his potion --medicine--that he takes to keep it under control."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he answered. "And I'm not at all sure what this Fudge fellow is up to. Our friend Riddle attacked his offices tonight just after we got the wolf under control. We think that was a diversion, to draw people away from the Ministry and confuse us."

She stared at him and said, "Edgar, you used magic tonight. It's right there on the tape."

He shrugged. "Yes, well. The PM knows what I am. That's why he appointed us to his department, if you recall."

"We're supposed to be managing this," she answered. "We're supposed to be keeping things secret, as I recall."

"I know. But Riddle, it seems, has other plans, hasn't he?"She was quiet a moment, but her blue eyes were intense and he knew she was adding things up in her clever brain.

"The whiz kid Masters was talking about," she asked, "that was the Potter kid, wasn't it?"

Edgar frowned. "I'd guess so," he answered.

"Why is he in this, then?" Fay asked. "He wasn't involved tonight. So why bring him in?"

Edgar frowned. "I don't know what Fudge is up to, frankly. He's incompetent and weak, I can tell you that. He's bringing Dumbledore to cover his mess and the kid is a kind of extra, I guess. A sacrifice he can throw the PM to take the pressure off for a bit. You know...here's the wonder boy who nearly beat the villain last time. He's all yours, he'll fight the monster for you...You see."

"I expect he will, too" Fay said slowly. "He's a bit too brave for his own good." She regarded Edgar thoughtfully and said, "You don't suppose they'll think of getting the poor kid some decent clothes, do you? It's a bit weird that their star pupil is always dressed in the worst fitting rags."

Edgar thought back through the events of the evening. He couldn't figure out what the kid had been doing. He had showed up from the garden and he'd clearly been out in the rain.

Then he had gone up after trying to stop Snape and Lupin from attacking each other and reappeared, apparated and he'd had some kind of vision. He had a bit of explaining to do, Edgar thought grimly. They all did. There were just too many things he did not understand, and the kid's attack on Riddle from right there in the kitchen--or so Snape had said--had been something Edgar had never seen. As had the way Riddle had spoken right through the kid's mouth. He had to be a seer of some kind, Edgar thought. That was the only explanation.

~~***~~

Harry sat in the Ministry of Magic limousine and fiddled with his Gryffindor tie. He stole a nervous glance at Dumbledore, but the elderly wizard was sitting quietly beside him staring up at the ceiling and Fudge was sitting bolt upright and looking everywhere but at Harry.

Dumbledore had returned sooner last night than they had expected. Percy was fine and was likely to receive a medal for protecting Fudge during the attack. And Voldemort had left, disapparating away as soon as Dumbledore had arrived. Harry had thought that was heartening. If Voldemort was too afraid to confront Dumbledore, then he had not regained as much of his power as they had thought. Or so Harry tried to encourage himself.

When he had remarked on that to Dumbledore, however, the old man had given him a sharp glance from his blue eyes and said, "I suspect he got what he came for."

Harry frowned, and Fudge, had asked the question he wanted to. "Well, he came to kill me, didn't he?" Fudge had said nervously. "Stands to reason. Kill the Minister, make the greatest amount of chaos you can."

This sounded quite reasonable to Harry, so he was startled when Dumbledore had replied with another question.

"What were you looking for, Cornelius?" Fudge had drawn himself up and said, "Just doing my job, Dumbledore. A minister has lots of paperwork to do. A great deal of administrative work."

Dumbledore had bowed his head courteously, but Harry could see that the Headmaster believed Fudge had, well, fudged. He made a mental note to ask Dumbledore just what was in the Hall of Records and why Voldemort would be interested in it. It occurred to him that Voldemort might have thought there would be another record of the prophecy that Harry had broken, or a record of who had made the prophecy.

He kept quiet and thought that ought to be asked later as well. The truth was, Fudge made him nervous. After the Minstiry's concerted campaign to discredit Dumbledore and portray Harry as an attention-seeking nut, Harry was disinclined to believe anything the Minister had to say.

Dumbledore turned to Harry and said softly, "Let me do the talking. And if they ask you questions, try to be as brief and simple as you can." Harry swallowed and nodded.

The Ministry limousine threaded through traffic with uncanny ease, jumping in front of other cars where no space appeared. It rolled up majestically in front of a whitemarbled building and the driver hastened out to open the door for Fudge. Harry followed Fudge and Dumbledore up the steps and wondered what the Muggles there were going to think of the two wizards. Both were wearing muggle clothes.

Fudge had got on an old fashioned looking suit with a tapestry vest that matched his lime green bowler hat. Dumbledore's suit was quite perfect. It was a deep charcoal gray with pin stripes. He also wore a bowler hat, but his was black and would have looked right on any banker in the city. But nothing could disguise the length of his silver-white hair and beard.

The secretary and the guards in the building foyer, however, hardly blinked at their entrance. Each of them had to step through a weapons detector like they had in airports though. Both Harry and Dumbledore sailed though without a beep. But Fudge was a different story. The detector sounded a high alarm as he walked through and the guards stopped him and waved their "wands" over him, which Fudge didn't like at all.

He would have protested loudly but for Dumbledore's soft word of caution. One of the guards reached into Fudge's pocket and came up with a leather bag that jingled. The guard opened the bag and poured out its contents. Gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze Knuts spilled out on the desk. The guards' eyes popped open at the sight of the gold, but having determined no weapons were involved, they returned the coins to the bag and handed it wordlessly back to Fudge.

The secretary, a gentleman who was dressed as Fudge and Dumbledore had imitated, seemed to know who they were, and he led them up a set of marble stairs and down a paneled hallway to a room of the kind that would impress Uncle Vernon for life. Dark mahogany wood paneled the walls and an enormous gleaming table with claw feet and matching chairs dominsted the room. The walls were hung with portraits of men in ancient dress. One of these even had a crystal ball on the table beside him as well as an armillary for measuring the movements of the stars. Unlike the ones in Hogwarts, these didn't move or talk.

Bones and Kray were there and Harry noticed that they were both dressed in what looked like their best. He also saw that Bones' face was drawn and tired, and he suppposed that the Inspector might not have slept at all the previous night. Harry couldn't blame him. He hadn't slept at all himself, though he had gone upstairs and bathed and gotten into bed to satisfy everyone's anxious fussing. But when it came to sleeping, he had been afraid. Each time he started to doze off, he had forced himself back awake, determined that he would not provide Voldemort with another opportunity so soon to seize his mind.

He had known the risk when he had done it, and he was pretty sure it had been worth to distract Voldemort from murdering Fudge and Percy. But the brief moments in which the dark wizard had overmastered his mind stayed vividly with him. For that short time, they had been one. Harry had thought Voldemort's thoughts and felt Voldemort's feelings and the thing left him feeling tainted and unclean.

It was the third man in the room who gave Harry pause. The man sat, not at the head of the table, but in the middle. His jacket was off and he was sipping tea out of a cup of fine bone china. He did not have his pinky raised like Aunt Petunia, though. On the table before the man were three legal files. A slim one had the name Cornelius Oswald Fudge on the label. Another fatter one had Albus Dumbledore on the label. And the third, the fattest one of all, had Harry James Potter on it, and that was the one that was open.

Fanned out were records from National Health, Little Whinging Grammar School, the Greater Surrey Police Department, The Greater Surrey Department of Social Services, and the Metropolitan Police Authority. It was quiet astounding really, he thought, that he, who had spent practically half his life in a cupboard under the stairs, should have such a thick set of official paper on him.

The man stood up and his glance in took each of them in turn and he said in the plumy voice that was quite famous all over the world, “Welcome, gentlemen.” He shook each of their hands in turn and said their names as he did, “Minster Fudge, Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter.” The Prime Minister sat and gestured for them to follow.

“Well, gentleman,” the Prime Minister said, “what are we going to do about this Riddle fellow? He has got to be caught and quickly, before he completely compromises the structure of our societies. And if he is not caught, you must understand that Her Majesty will have to take measures. It may be necessary to take the manner of your governance under advisement.”

These words were said quite politely, but the threat there was open. If Voldemort weren’t stopped quickly, wizards would no longer be left to operate freely and in secret. Wizards would be incorporated into the greater society and they would not like it, Harry thought. Not one little bit. Harry could not help wondering why he was there. Fudge, after all, was the Minister of Magic. Dumbledore was the Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot and of the International Confederation of Wizards and Headmaster of the most prestigious school of wizardry in Britain, in all of Europe. And who was he? Harry James Potter, A seventeen year old who had yet to pass his N.E.W.T.s.

“We are taking measures,” Fudge answered testily. “Our aurors – police you know – are constantly tracking him and Professor Dumbledore has a special force that is dedicated especially to opposing HIM. And so far, I don’t think there has really been any event that would truly compromise our secrecy.” Dumbledore gave Fudge a quick unreadable glance before cutting in smoothly.

“Not yet. However, we would be doing everyone a disservice were we to minimize the extent of the threat. Voldemort, it appears, has cut loose of all bounds and constraints. Unlike every dark wizard for centuries before him, he has shown himself willing to attack any target, and as the Prime Minister has said, he threatens the very structure of our society. We must, therefore, work together to contain his threat.”

The Prime Minister looked approvingly at Dumbledore and said, “We understand each other then.”

“Just a moment,” Fudge said. “What do you intend to do, then?”

The Prime Minister said softly, “It has gone beyond the bounds of secrecy now. We shall have an internal bulletin circulated to every police station in the nation for tracking the whereabouts of this Lord Voldemort as he calls himself. And they will be given permission to use extreme force, if necessary.”

"Now wait just a moment," Fudge said again. "I think this can still be handled like we did the last time. Place an announcement on the news announcing that a dangerous prisoner has escaped and to just call into a hotline. I'll have my aurors manning the hotline, and we'll respond immediately."

"The last man, Black, was never caught, was he," the Prime Minister answered.

"He was innocent anyway," Harry blurted out, forgetting where he was and who he was speaking to. It still burned him up when people acted as though Sirius had been a Death Eater.

"Was he?" the Prime Minister asked. Harry nodded and wished he had stayed silent. The Prime Minister was now regarding him, or rather assessing him, as though he were a horse about to be sent to the races. He blinked and tried to give as good an imitation of being a mild mannered ordinary schoolboy as possible; which he was anyway, he reflected.

He noted that Bones looked as though he wanted to speak, but had thought better of it. And he felt beside him, Dumbledore had tensed, though his face remained serene as always. Fudge, however, looked as though he was about to pull a coin from someone's ear.

"And what is your opinon of the matter," the Prime Minister asked, as though Harry were an equal to Fudge or Dumbledore. Everyone was looking at him and Harry felt as though he were an utter fool. Dumbledore had told him to stay quiet and as usual he had let his temper get the better of him.

"I agree with Minister Fudge," he said quietly, and he felt that Dumbledore was utterly astonished, although still the elderly wizard said nothing. Fudge, however, swelled up slightly, and smiled as though his trick had come off quite unexpectedly.

"Why is that?" the Prime Minister asked curiously. Harry shrugged.

"It's all well and good to warn the police, but they should, if anything, be told to avoid confronting Voldmeort at all costs. Because you'll simply end up with lots of dead policemen and the thing you're afraid of will happen all the sooner."

"What makes you think that trained policemen with machine guns can't bring this fellow down," the Prime Minister asked. Harry had started to sweat. How much was he supposed to say about what Voldemort's powers were? Dumbledore had admitted the threat. Fudge wanted it contained. Would he be in trouble for saying too much now? Dumbledore said nothing. Neither did Fudge.

Harry met the Minister's intent gaze and answered, "He can disarm anyone. He can probably do something big enough to prevent all of their weapons from working at all. And he will kill anyone who gets in his way, no matter whether they are innocent bystanders or not...I've seen him do it." Fudge had twitched at Harry's answer, and he thought, I am in trouble now. But he didn't have time for Fudge just then.

"But you've fought him, haven't you?" the Prime Minister responded. "You defeated him, didn't you? Or so Minister Fudge here has told me."

"I didn't have any choice," Harry answered. "And besides, he's still alive and he's more powerful and dangerous than ever. I don't think that qualifies as defeating him."

"But you think he'll have to be killed in order to defeat him?" the Prime Minister pressed. Harry shivered. He wondered whether Fudge had mentioned the prophecy to the PM. He hoped not. Especially since Fudge would have no idea of the true contents of the prophecy. At least, Harry hoped he didn't. Dumbledore remained silent and tense beside him and Fudge also said nothing. Finally, Harry raised his eyes back up from his hands and met the Prime Minister's gaze.

"I don't know for sure. I mean, that's not the kind of thing you can know with a certainty." He swallowed and plowed on, hoping he could make them all understand. "Voldemort, you see, has no conscience anymore. He has deliberately extinguished it. He believes, absolutely, that the only good in the world is his own desire and that nothing else matters. Even if he weren't a wizard, that would make him deadly dangerous. I think...I think he will have to be killed because he himself will permit no other outcome in his defeat. He would never surrender to another authority. And he can never be...contained."

Harry knew that he had said far more than Dumbledore would have wanted him to say. The Prime Minister sat quietly for a moment, and Harry could see that he was reviewing every piece of information he had, weighing it, and setting it on the scales of decision.

“What you have said confirms my decision. If he cannot be contained, then he must, if necessary, be eliminated. For the nation’s security. For everyone’s security.” Harry wanted to reply, but Dumbledore gave him a glance that said, don’t.

“But,” Fudge said, “The wording of your bulletin must not say that HE is a wizard. Any references to magic will need to be cut out.”

“Then the officers will not be appropriately warned of the suspect’s danger, Minister Fudge.” Dumbledore had cut in again. His comment was uttered most respectfully, but Harry saw that Dumbledore was looking burdened again, and angry. The Prime Minister was watching the two men and again Harry could see the wheels turning in his clever mind. Only, Harry thought, he didn’t have enough of an understanding of the subject to make a proper decision. He looked at Bones and saw that he was on the verge of speaking, but could not seem to make up his mind which side to take. Perhaps it was because he was unsure to which person in the magical establishment he owed allegiance. Or perhaps he simply was so used to using muggle weapons and force that he thought they might be successfully employed against Voldemort. Harry couldn’t tell.

Dumbledore added, “I believe that we must do more than pretend to work together. We must truly cooperate or Voldmort will cause such damage as this nation has never before seen.”

“Then that means an end to the Statute of Secrecy,” Fudge said coldly. “And we have already agreed that must be preserved at all costs.”

“Then what is your solution, Minister Fudge,” the Prime Minister asked quite courteously. “Can you tell me that you or one of your people will be able to dispose of this threat?”

Fudge looked at Harry and said, “Yes. That’s why Potter is here. He’s already defeated HIM. We have drafted him into the Order of the Phoenix. With Professor Dumbledore’s assistance, I am sure he can defeat HIM permanently.”

Harry felt altogether sick. So that’s why Fudge had dragged him along. And he thought furiously, Fudge had known, had expected Harry to play right into his hands, and to blurt out unpalatable truths. And now what could he do, refuse to fight?

Bones cleared his throat. “I appreciate your confidence in Potter’s talents, Minister Fudge,” he said, “but it would not be fair to mislead the Prime Minister here. Potter was nearly killed in his last encounter with Riddle and Riddle survived to regain his powers and his followers. And he has moved into acts of pure terror that are greater in scope than those he formerly used. I think it grossly unfair and unwise to place all the burden and expectation of defeating Riddle on a seventeen year old who hasn’t even finished school.”

Dumbledore stirred beside him and Harry thought the elderly wizard was going to lose his temper altogether. He was, nevertheless, profoundly grateful that Bones had stuck up for him.

Before Dumbledore could speak or Fudge, the Prime Minister turned to Harry and said, “You have already said you are willing to fight when you joined the Order. Are you still willing?”

Dumbledore stood up then, but Harry answered first. “Yes, I’ll fight him. I think we are all fighting him. But I think we all have to understand what we are fighting.” He frowned and looked at Dumbledore, who again looked hugely weary. After only a second though, the old man nodded his head fractionally and Harry went on. “The Minister thinks that because I have been lucky enough to escape Voldemort, I must be so again. And I can’t say that because I don’t believe it.” He paused seeking the right words because he was terribly afraid that what was happening here was what Voldemort wanted, expected somehow, only he couldn’t see it, exactly where the trap must lie.

“I think, sir,” he said to the Prime Minister, “and I don’t mean to be rude or anything…I think that you really don’t understand what Voldemort can do. You’re mostly worried that he’ll get so far out of hand that non-magic folk will learn of our existence and things will change. But, you see, I don’t think you really have an idea of what magic is or what Voldemort can do with it.”

“Then enlighten me,” the Prime Minster answered.

Uncomfortably, Harry shrugged and said what had to be said. “You’re still thinking of Voldemort as a kind of illusionist. Like one of those shows on TV where the performer claims to read your mind or makes tigers disappear. But all of those things, they’re tricks. Or you think of him as some medieval conjuror that uses herbs and nostrums and the credulity of the superstitious to gain influence over his victims. Voldemort’s power is real. He kills with it. And no gun can defend against it.” A flash of disbelief crossed the Prime Minister’s face. Perhaps, Harry thought, no matter how many reports he read, no matter how many secret files, he really didn’t believe that magic even existed. He looked at Bones and Dumbledore and even at Fudge waiting for one of them to say something, so that it didn’t all depends on the word of a badly dressed seventeen year old.

“All I’ve really seen so far,” the Prime Minister answered carefully, “are reports from Inspector Bones, and a video of a wolf and a broken window at Harrods. I set this up, with Bones, because we have certain procedures in place that go back for centuries and I have to abide by them. But so far, I don’t really have any reason to believe that this Riddle isn’t a gangster who dresses up his act with magic to increase the fear of his victims and his opponents. So as far as I’m concerned, the police can take care of him just like any other gangster. And if you people want to keep after him and be of some help. That’s just fine.”

Harry looked at Fudge, who was turning fuchsia and was utterly speechless at the implication that he and magic and all wizards were really just nonsense. Dumbledore looked at Harry and shook his head. This was worse than trying to get Uncle Vernon to cooperate. Uncle Vernon actually knew that magic existed. He just liked to pretend that it didn’t.

Once again, Bones cut in and said, “Sir, respectfully, Riddle is not just a gangster.”

The Prime Minister looked at him rather kindly and said, “I appreciate your hard work in this, Bones. I know Riddle killed your parents. I don’t doubt that he’s a dangerous criminal and a killer. But you must see that I can’t run Her Majesty’s government based on centuries old superstitions. I’ve followed the letter of the law as it stands. But no one has shown me any reason why it should continue to stand.”

“Seeing is believing, then?” Harry said quietly.

Fudge looked alarmed and Dumbledore said, “No!”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “It’s not as if he doesn’t know about magic. He’s the person assigned to deal with it. But he can’t if he thinks it doesn’t exist.”

The Prime Minister smiled cheerfully and said, “So why don’t you show me then. A card trick or two? You’re quite good at them according to your file.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore and said, “It would be better if you showed him.”

“He will not,” Fudge said furiously. “The Head of the Wizengamot will not do magic for Muggles like some stage conjuror.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes were briefly furious and then terribly amused. But Harry got the point. He shrugged and drew his wand, which of course, being made of wood, had entirely escaped the weapons detector on their entrance. The Prime Minister looked surprised and then also terribly amused, but that didn’t last long.

“Nox,” Harry said and the lights went out. He lit his wand and the golden light flaring from the end of it illuminated the surprise on the Prime Minister’s face.

“That’s quite good,” he said. “Do you have some kind of digital radio in there that cuts off the electrical circuit?” Harry sighed and tried to think of something suitably obviously magical enough to break through the man’s prejudices.

However, before he could do anything further, the guard came bursting into the room and said, “The whole building’s lost power, sir. We tried to call but the phones are down, too. If you don’t mind, we’d like for you to come down to the basement level in case we’re under attack.” The guard looked at the light coming from Harry’s wand and said, “Good thing someone had a torch. Quite the scout, aren’t you?”

"The whole building?” the Prime Minister said. “Put it back,” he said to Harry.

Harry shrugged again and flicked his wand. The electric flickered and came back on. Dumbledore was looking utterly blank and Fudge was looking utterly furious. The guard, however, had realized that Harry was the source of the disturbance and he pointed his gun and said, “Hands up!”

Harry went quite still, but Fudge stood up and said, “You call this cooperation!”

His angry tone caused the guard to transfer his attention to Fudge and Fudge complicated things by trying to draw his own wand. The gun swung toward Fudge and Harry saw the guard begin to squeeze the trigger. Harry instantly fired off a disarming spell and the gun flew out of the guard’s grasp into a far corner. Realizing that things were now progressing toward a major disaster, Harry banished the gun so that it landed directly in front of the Prime Minister.

Deliberately, he pocketed his wand again and held up his hands. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Minister Fudge doesn’t get guns any better than you get magic, sir.”

The Prime Minister picked up the gun, checked it out and then dropped it again. “It’s not working now,” he said far more calmly than Harry would have expected.

“Erm…well, magic has a way of doing that, you know.”

The guard had moved in the interim and he grabbed Harry and threw him against the wall. “Do you want me to arrest him, sir?” the guard said angrily. Harry closed his eyes and waited. Just what he needed, now, to be arrested for attacking the Prime Minister.

“No,” the Prime Minister said slowly. “Let him go.”

“But, sir,” the guard protested, “he attacked you. He…”

“He works for me,” the Prime Minister said. “He was just giving me a small demonstration.”

“Oh. Really?” the guard said. “Special Forces, then? He looks too young. But that’s a handy weapon, he’s got.” The guard looked as though he’d say more, but the Prime Minister interrupted him. “Very handy, yes. Everything’s fine here. You can return to your post. And, thanks for your quick thinking.”

Harry breathed in again when the guard released him and waited for someone to lay into him; but no one did. The Prime Minister regarded Harry with fascination and said, “Very handy, indeed. What else can you do?”

“Enough,” Dumbledore responded. “And the point he was making is what Voldemort can do.” The Prime Minister looked very thoughtful now.
"He can knock out an entire building's power?" He tapped his slender fingers on the table and asked, "Could he knock out a larger facility?" Harry waited for Dumbledore to speak or Fudge, but again, neither spoke.

He shrugged and said, "If he knew where to hit, very likely. Or blow up gas lines, or interfere with the water supply. It wouldn't take very much, if you knew enough about how those things work. And Voldemort does, I bet, because his father was a...wasn't a wizard and he grew up in an ordinary orphanage."

"He could create acts of terror...by magic. Like the IRA, you're saying."

Dumbledore spoke now. "Yes."

The prime Minister said coolly, "Very well, we shall compromise. A bulletin will be aired on the news as we did with Black. But we shall also have an all points bulletin in which our police will be warned the man may have black market weapons and to approach with caution and mark the location, but not to attack. They will be instructed to call in our Special Forces, who, of course, will be you, coordinated by Inspector Bones and Professor Dumbledore." Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or more worried than ever.

The Prime Minister, however, wasn't done yet. "Be warned, gentlemen. If Voldemort does pull off a major attack, I will have to rethink my position on this. And I will expect your cooperation. All of you."

Dumbledore bowed and walked out. Harry followed without waiting to see if Fudge was coming. He never wanted to see Fudge again in his life, if he could manage it. As he and Dumbledore walked back into the sunshine, Harry said quietly, "I've mucked things up again, haven't I? I acted like a perfect prat. Again. And Fudge was counting on it, wasn't he?"

Dumbledore looked keenly at Harry and said even more quietly. "I don't know, Harry. You spoke from your heart. You told the truth. It may be that you have been wiser than any of us. But...I fear that you have given Fudge what he wanted..."

Dumbledore broke off then because Fudge had followed them out. Fudge eyed Harry in a curiously proprietary manner and said, "You seem to have grown up quite a bit, Harry. You did well."

Fudge swept into the limousine without speaking to Dumbledore and Dumbledore, after a momentary hesitation, said, "I must go. I shall see you later."

The elderly wizard disapparated silently, so that Harry shook his head and wished he might do the same. He got into the limousine and was left to simmer in silence. He wished it was Fudge who had disapparated. He would have liked to ask Dumbledore a hundred questions. He would have liked to ask Dumbledore what exactly was in the Hall of Records. And he wasn't going to ask Fudge, because he knew he'd never get the answer he wanted.

***

Fudge waited for Dumbledore and Potter to go and then smiled unctuously at the Prime Minister. "I see you are impressed with Harry. He's a talented lad. Very talented. I think you can rest easy knowing he's ours. He'll take care of our problem, I assure you. It's his destiny, really."

Bones felt his stomach turn. Fudge was even weaker and worse than his father had always contended. He noted that the Prime Minister wasn't too impressed with Fudge.

"I appreciate your hopes for the boy," the Prime Minister said, and the irony in his tone seemed to go right over Fudge's head. Fudge bowed and left with a jauntier stride than when he'd come in.

The Prime Minister followed Fudge's exit with his eyes, and he waited for the Minister to stroll out of earshot before adding,"They've offered up their knight as a sacrifice, haven't they? Let's hope he's as good as they think he is. Let's hope he's as good as he looks."

"He's better," Fay said. It was the first thing she'd said since the meeting began and Bones jumped slightly. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows and said, "Really? Now that would be extraordinary. What makes you say that, Sergeant Kray?"

"I've seen him in action," she answered. Then her blue eyes sparked and she added, "And it's a bloody shame that a kid of his age has had to be in action already."

The Prime Minister merely regarded her thoughtfully and did not reply. But Bones had a word to say himself. "Begging your pardon, sir," he interrupted. "But if you wanted a demonstration, why didn't you just ask me?"

"I wanted to see what they would do, Inspector. And besides, it was quite interesting to see the relationship of the Minister and the Professor. They don't see eye to eye at all."

"You do realize," Bones said, "that Fudge will send the boy to his death if it will placate you and keep him in power a bit longer." The Prime Minister looked quite tired then. Almost as tired as Dumbledore had.

"There were boys younger than Harry Potter who died in the battlefields of the Somme to defend this country, Inspector. If Voldemort is that dangerous, we cannot afford to shrink from offering up a pawn or two in sacrifice, if it saves Britain."

"He is Britain," Bones answered. "He is the innocent, the future, the one who ought to be protected."

~~***~~

Harry was picking at his food, seemingly absorbed in the process of eating, except that less food found its way into his mouth than got pushed around on his plate. Hermione couldn't help noticing the purple shadows under his eyes and the gray undertones in his complexion. She felt a deep anxiety settling in: How, she wondered, was he going to deal with the stresses of seventh year, NEWTs, and all the load of work they were likely to get and still be able to fight Voldemort when called on?

She glanced over at Mrs. Weasley and saw that she was also looking tired. What could she be doing for the Order that kept her out so long every day? It was too bad, Hermione thought, that Mrs. Weasley was so preoccupied and there was the wedding and then last night's attack on the Ministry as well. Mrs. Weasley was practically the only one who could get Harry to listen to her and she didn't seem to have time to keep track of her own children much less Harry, too.

Making up her mind, Hermione leaned over and whispered in Ginny's ear, "We're going to have to keep a close watch on Harry. He's not eating or sleeping again." Ginny simply nodded and stole covert glances at him as she ate.

They followed him upstairs as soon as he left the table and Ginny strolled right on in his room without knocking. Hermione stopped and was nearly knocked flat by Ron, who had come up right on their heels. He steadied her and looked down, and she could see by the determined set of his face that he had come to the same conclusion as they had.

Harry had turned about and he said, "Last time I checked, this was my room, not a lounge." Damn, Hermione thought. He was going to be difficult. They were going to have to pry out everything that had happened at the meeting that day, she thought.

He looked at them, though, and Hermione was surprised when he said resignedly, "Never mind. You ought to know what happened today, anyway. I made a right mess of things." He stopped and sank down in the chair by the fireplace and covered his face with his hands. The bones stuck out on his wrists and she could see the tension in him in the corded ligaments of his hands and arms. He looked back up and started to talk, his voice hoarse with fatigue.

All three of them were gaping at him by the end. "I can't believe it!" Ron said. "Didn't Dumbledore contradict Fudge? And they let you do magic for a Muggle without saying a word about being expelled?"

Harry nodded and said, "I know. Dumbledore was furious at Fudge really, but he didn't want to contradict him too much because it would make us look like fools to the Prime Minister, you see. Only I can't believe he was in favor of letting the muggle police actually try to arrest Voldemort if they could get near him." He ran his hand through his already untidy hair, so that it ruffled even further, and he looked so much like a tired lion that Hermione wanted to give him a comforting pet.

Except, she knew, even tired lions bite if you don't approach them right. "I expect he'd like to see Voldemort get caught and killed by anyone but you," Hermione blurted out. She was instantly sorry she had said it.

His green eyes turned dark and more shadowed than ever and he said, "Yeah. Well. I'd like nothing better myself."

Ron frowned and said, "But you did kill him already in a way. Last year. So that prophecy bit can't be true. I mean, you stabbed him right through his heart and he died; only he didn't really."

Harry flinched at Ron's words. They all of them usually avoided saying it so baldly and Hermione felt, as she often did lately, that Harry had been more affected than any of them realized by last year's confrontation. Not just in his physical health. He seemed to have lost something, she thought, a certainty that what he did was right, maybe. Ron had caught the change in Harry's expression.

He said softly, "Listen, mate. This time, you're not going to face him alone. I know you think you've got to protect us. I know you think Voldemort will come after us 'cause we're you're friends, but I don't care. This isn't something you can do alone. You shouldn't have to either."
Harry shook his head and Ron said more strongly, "Don't insult us either. You're not the only one in the world who is willing to fight you know."

Harry frowned and said, "I know." Hermione thought that he would say more, but he lapsed again into silence.

"One thing's for sure," Ginny said, "you won't be able to beat the newest first year if you don't get some rest." She gave a little tug on his arm and said, "Go on and get changed. You'll sleep better if you put on your pajamas for once instead of sleeping in your clothes."

Hermione thought he'd rebel altogether at that. But she was rather cheered when he answered with annoyance, "They don't fit. My pajamas, I mean. And how do you know what I sleep in anyway?"

Ginny barely blinked and said, "I guessed. And you can't be comfortable sleeping on jeans and a shirt and tie."

Hermione looked at Ron for help. He shrugged and said, "Don't look at me. Mine don't fit either and I'm not bugging Mum about new ones just now."

Ginny said coolly, "Well, go naked then. But at least get into bed and try to sleep." Harry stared at Ginny and Hermione could see the heat washing through his cheeks.

"If you leave," he replied, "I can change, then."

Ginny merely crossed her arms and answered, "I'm not leaving until I see you in that bed with your eyes shut."

Harry looked baffled. He turned to Ron and said, "Girls! How do you handle them?"

Ron shrugged. He eyed Hermione and Ginny nervously and said, "Beats me. And if you ask me, I don't think even my Dad knows either."

Harry looked appealingly at Hermione, but she simply gave him The Look. She knew what he'd do if they left. He'd pace the room all night and end up in worse shape the next morning. Ron, she could see, was going to give in. Male sympathy or something, Hermione supposed.

"I can see to this," Ron said. "You girls go and give Harry a break."

Hermione looked at Ginny and they both said, "Forget it."

"Honestly!" Ron said, "Are you going to tuck him in and tell him a bedtime story, too?"

"If necessary," Ginny answered. Harry gave her a funny look: one composed of aggravation, and exhaustion, and something else uninterpretable. His green eyes narrowed and a spark of mischief gleamed unexpectedly.

"Right," he said. He stood up, pulled at his tie, yanked it off and tossed it on the chair. He started unbuttoning his shirt and he seemed to be waiting for Ginny to do something, to turn her back and leave, but she merely kept watching him. Hermione had to smother a laugh as he looked baffled and embarassed speculative all at once. Then he swung around, strode to his trunk and pulled out a faded t-shirt and sweatpants and he stalked into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door. He came out minutes later with his face and hair still slightly damp and tossed his jeans and shirt onto the chair with his tie. His dragonhide boots, however, were lined up carefully next to the chair and the firelight picked out the subtle diamond-like pattern that underlay the black of the hide.

Turning to look at Ginny, Harry got into bed and said quite outrageously, "What about my story, then? And don't I get a good-night kiss, too?"

Hermione did giggle then. She couldn't help it. Ginny, however, did not laugh. She considered Harry thoughtfully for a second and then she sat down on the bed and straightened the covers over him. "Once upon a time," she said, "there was a very great wizard. He was the greatest wizard in the world. Maybe the greatest wizard ever." Hermione was quite surprised by this tactic, and she saw that Harry had opened his eyes quite wide. But he said nothing.

"The wizard," Ginny continued, "was quite famous and he did many great things, but he got to be quite old before he ever fell in love. He fell in love with a young witch, and everyone laughed at him. But they laughed behind his back because he was still a very great wizard and no one would dare laugh in his face." Ginny paused as if to gather her thoughts, but no one interrupted.

"The witch knew that they were all laughing and she knew that the wizard still had great magic left in him; but it was not for the people who laughed any more. So one day, she took the wizard on a grand tour of the kingdom and he showed her all the places where he had done his greatest deeds, and he taught her almost everything he knew."

Ginny stopped again and this time Harry said, "Go on."

"They stopped for a rest in a secret place. There was a waterfall nearby that the witch enchanted to play soft music and by the waterfall was a nice roomy cave where they could rest. The wizard lay down to rest and the witch sang a song to ease his sleep and it went someting like this:

Rest, here, and you shall find,
Sorrows flee and a quiet mind.
Eyes shall close and troubles cease,
Rest, my love, and find heart's ease.

"The witch's song," Ginny said softly, "was a spell as you might guess. The wizard slept and the witch sealed him in the cave and he sleeps there to this very day. For a while, when she sealed the wizard in, it seemed as though all magic had left the world and was locked in with the wizard. But from time to time, as need arose, the magic escaped for other wizards and witches to draw on."

"And what happened to the witch?" Harry asked.

"She died," Ginny answered, "of a broken heart. Because she loved the wizard very much and she knew she couldn't have him. But the wizard's magic grew more while he slept, because she gave everything she had, all her own magic, and all her heart, to save him for the future."

"That's sad," Harry said."I thought bedtime stories always end happily ever after."

"This was a true story, or a legend," Ginny answered. "The wizard was Merlin and the girl he loved was called Vivien."

"That's not exactly how we learned it in history," Hermione said. "You've changed it a bit, haven't you?"

"We learned that in History?" Ron asked."How come I don't remember that? I mean, I remember Mum telling us that story, or something like it. I don't remember that in Binns' class."

"That because you were sleeping," Hermione answered dryly. Hermione saw that exhaustion had worked its spell on Harry, and his eyes had closed in spite of himself. Ginny leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, but he slept on and didn't notice.

~~***~~

The dragon flew beneath a waning moon. Below him, small animals fled down their holes and larger ones went still. The sleeping world had reached that perfect poise; balanced and harmonious, it turned majestically, its turning unfelt by those upon it. The dragon scudded through damp clouds and dodged a stroke of lightning. Its great wings stretched wide as it soared over the land where it had hatched, observing through its golden-amber eyes the great forest and the hilly country out of which grew a rocky castle. Good hunting the dragon noted and with satisfaction he folded his wings and dove for a cave in the side of the cliff. He could smell it: gold and treasure. A new hoard to replace the one he had had to abandon. The dragon pulled the rock out that sealed the cave and found it was even better than his last one. It was roomier and there were several rooms, some of which had tunnels going through the rock of the hill and off into who knew where. Not that that worried the dragon. Anyone trespassing on his hoard would find himself barbecued quite instantly.

He poked his triangular head into one room of the caven but left the dead man sleeping. The room tasted of great magic, and the wizard in it looked perfectly preserved. The dragon decided not to eat him as there was plenty of fresher meat available in the forest. And besides, every so often, he hoped he'd find a wizard who'd be brave enough and clever enough for a proper chat before the dragon ate him. The dragon wondered curiously what the wizard had done and if the great hoard had once belonged to him. It didn't bother the dragon at all to contemplate eating a person after a nice conversation.

A dragon, intelligent as it is, after all, behaves just as it was created: unlike men, not having departed from his original design, it could not sin, and therefore felt neither guilt, nor shame. The dragon sighed with satisfaction as it entered the treasure room. Heaps of gold and silver were tumbled over with pearls and gems and on top of all was a large heart shaped ruby whose fire glowed with its own light even in the dark of the cave. The dragon curled himself up on the golden pile and laid its head down where it could keep an eye on the heart shaped gem. Just in case. Some wizards could be quite tricky, he knew. Even trickier than dragons on occasion.

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