The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301

Chapter Eight

After the cake, the table was cleared swiftly and Dumbledore moved to the head of the table to catch everyone’s attention.

“We have a few matters to attend to,” Dumbledore said. “Unfortunately, none of them are quite as pleasant as this celebration has been, but they are momentous in their own way.” Harry sat up waited for the others to settle and attend to the headmaster. He felt as though he had been waiting his whole life for this one moment, though he didn’t know why.

“I have called you all here tonight,” Dumbledore said, “because with Voldemort’s return, everything has changed once more.” There was an uneasy stir throughout the room at the mention of Voldemort’s name.

Mrs. Weasley stood up and said determinedly, “I think the young ones should leave now. Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, off you go.”

“What about Fred and George?” Ginny asked mutinously.

“They’re out of school and of age,” Mrs. Weasley replied. She looked as though her worst nightmare had come true.

“I’m of age,” Ron protested. “I want to stay.” Harry said nothing. He waited for Dumbledore to speak, as he knew he must.

Dumbledore rose again and he said calmly, “Harry will stay. The rest of you will…” Harry was sure Dumbledore had meant to say the rest of you will listen to Mrs. Weasley, but he appeared to change his mind even as he spoke. “The rest of you,” Dumbledore repeated, “may as well stay, too.”

“No!” Mrs. Weasley said. Dumbledore sighed.

“They will follow Harry anyway, Molly, even if he is sworn to keep silence about what we do. And I think…I believe that there will be fewer mistakes and they will be less at risk if they know what is going on.” His mild blue eyes looked grim and distant, as though he saw something none of the rest could see.

“I will not make the same mistakes over again,” Dumbledore added finally, and Harry knew he was speaking of his failure to tell Harry about the prophecy and Harry’s horrible misjudgments as a result. Misjudgments that had led to Sirius’s death. Mrs. Weasley turned to Mr. Weasley, who simply put his arm around her and nodded to Dumbledore to continue.

“As I started to say,” Dumbledore began again, “Voldemort’s return has changed everything. We had all hoped, we had all thought, that Harry had defeated him completely last spring. To our great dismay, we learned that the snake had one more trick in his arsenal we had not suspected. When Harry killed the body he then occupied, Voldemort simply moved on to possess another that he had prepared for himself in advance, in case of just such an eventuality. And now we find ourselves in our present dilemma: how to defeat a man who will not be bound by any of the ordinary rules of mortality.”

“But how did he do it?” Tonks asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, not in auror training, and not even in Professor Binns’ history class.”

“Voldemort made for himself a kind of golem,” Dumbledore answered.

“Oh,” Hermione said, as if she had understood something. Harry, however, understood nothing, although he had seen the making of the body in his dreams, and seen Voldemort’s reawakening in the body in the fevered darkness after he had run himself through on Voldemort’s sword, risking all to destroy his enemy for good.

“What is that?” Ron asked.

“A golem is a clay man,” Hermione answered. “A body without a mind or soul that can be raised and made to obey the orders of its maker. But I’ve only ever heard of such a thing being done once, and that wasn’t dark magic at all.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore answered. “But as you know, Voldemort can pervert anything to his own dark uses, as he did with this. He started out to create a golem as the last chance to survive death when he had risen but found himself mortal once more. At the same time, he was seeking once again to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone in his constant quest for power and immortality. Thanks to Harry, Voldemort failed for the second time to obtain his desire. So he fell back on his second plan. He used the remains of his own father to make his clay man. And in order to give it life, he stole the life energy and magic of numbers of wizards and witches, murdering them in his quest to create a safe retreat for his own mind and spirit should the ultimate defeat occur, as had been prophesied that it might.”

Harry felt a chill creep through him. So many had died for the ego of one man. How many more would die before Voldemort could be defeated? Could he be defeated? He thought, feared, that the answer was no.

"But still," Tonks interrupted again, "how could he get into that other body when he was killed in front of everyone right there at Hogwarts? How could he survive?"

"I don't know exactly," Dumbledore answered. "We do know Voldemort had or has the ability to possess others, even lower animals like snakes for a limited period of time. It's how he survived the first time that he was thrown down when he attacked Harry with the Curse That Failed. Presumably, he was able to use that ability to survive long enough to move from the dead body to the new body. And even now, he gathers his followers back to him and prepares such a battle as the wizard world has never seen."

Harry sat and waited to see what Dumbledore had in mind for him. He thought uncomfortably that Dumbledore knew or guessed something more about Voldemort's survival, but chose not to reveal it just then. Perhaps it was something so horrible, he thought, that none of those listening could have kept up their courage and determination to fight if they knew the whole of what Dumbledore knew. It was, Harry thought, the thing that was the cause of Dumbledore's growing weariness.

The elderly wizard had aged greatly, Harry thought anxiously. Though his eyes were as calm and determined and clear as ever, his body looked slightly stooped for the first time Harry could remember, and it seemed a great weight pressed down on the old man, sapping his strength physically. More than that, the weight of it seemed to press down on his spirit as well. Dumbledore's calm gaze finally came to rest on Harry. Wanting to ease the old man's worry, he met the blue gaze with one as calm and collected as he could manage.

"Desperate times," Dumbledore said finally, "require unprecedented measures. Never before have we permitted ones so young to join our ranks. But never before has the enemy been so bold in his attacks. Inspector Bones and Sergeant Kray are here because the Muggle government and the queen herself have taken notice of our difficulties. The very secrecy of our world is jeopardized as Voldemort has taken to attacking Muggle places without regard even for his own previous caution to keep our ways secret." Dumbledore paused and continued as if he wished nothing more than to do the opposite of his present task.

"Harry," he said softly, "came to their attention last spring when he went to the House of Nicholas Flamel and foiled Voldemort's latest attempt to gain the Philosopher's Stone. He was successful, but because Voldemort had recruited Muggle gangs to do certain work of his, the police were watching. The few who knew kept our secret, but they also remembered Harry when Voldemort returned to announce a new campaign of terror. Because," Dumbledore added, "Harry is known to be the only one who has ever come near to defeating Voldemort altogether, we have decided, in consultation with the government, that Harry will be inducted into the Order of the Phoenix to fight Voldemort with those of the rest of us who are committed to destroy him and his cause."

“Does that mean I'm not going back to school?" Harry asked at last.

"No," Dumbledore answered. Harry frowned, though he saw Mrs. Weasley looked quite relieved. He waited for Dumbledore to clarify, as he didn't quite see how he could seriously work for the Order and yet be in school as well. Inspector Bones shifted in his seat, and Harry thought he was going to interrupt, but Dumbledore went on quickly before he could.

"No," Dumbledore repeated. "You will return to school, but you will be on call as needed. And if--," Dumbledore said heavily, "if we acquire information as to Voldemort's whereabouts so that we believe he will be vulnerable to attack, then you may be called on to join in fighting him as needed." Bones did speak then and Harry had the feeling he liked what he had to say as little as Dumbledore did.

"It's my understanding that the Minister of Magic assured the Prime Minister that Harry would be available full-time to serve against You Know Who."

Dumbledore's blue eyes lit up with fire and he answered, "The Minister of Magic forgets our laws conveniently at times. No Hogwarts student will leave school without the Headmaster's permission. Therefore, so long as Harry is a student at Hogwarts, he will leave on Order business only when I give the word."

"He doesn't seem to have had any trouble leaving school last year without permission," Sergeant Kray responded dryly.

Harry flushed with embarrassment. The only good thing he could say about last year was that he hadn't taken Ron and Hermione and Ginny with him and gotten them into this pickle as well. Of course, they didn't have any stupid prophecy predicting they would defeat Voldemort--or be killed by him--either.

"As the head of the Order," Dumbledore said mildly, "it is my responsibility to assign each member his tasks. And Harry's task just now is to return to school the better to prepare himself for what will come." Dumbledore surveyed each one of those there in turn. Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Hagrid, Tonks, Moody, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, Bones and Kray and last of all, Harry himself. Harry noted that Bill was absent this time as were Lupin and Snape and several others. On duty, he supposed vaguely. "As must we all," Dumbledore finished, "so must we all."

"It's not right," Mrs. Weasley protested. "It's just not right."

"It's all right," Harry said. "I want to fight. If I can help at all...if I can make any difference, I want to." He swallowed and said as lightly as he could, "and anyway, it's not as if he won't come after me again. I might as well be prepared for it, you know."

As they all filed out, Harry heard Mrs. Weasley whisper softly, "I don't like it. It's just not right." A shiver ran through him, and he saw a pair of huge eyes blinking out of the corner where Kreacher made his nest. The eyes blinked closed as Harry's gaze met theirs, and Harry shuddered again.

Harry followed the others out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Without thinking, he went to the room he had shared with Ron when he had stayed there two years ago.

“That’s not your room,” Ron said.

Harry frowned at Ron and replied, “Well, how many rooms are there, anyway? There’re an awful lot of people staying here just now.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “but they’re not the lord and master of the house.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t be a git, Ron. I’m still just one of the kids, to be kept out of the way and protected as much as possible.”

Ron stared at him. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not.” He went up another flight of stairs and down a long hallway. The room at the end had a carved wooden door and its handle was a silver serpent like the one on the outside of the house.

As Harry approached, the door swung open for him. He stopped at the threshold feeling uncomfortable once more. “See what I mean,” Ron said. “You own the house. It obeys you.”

“But I don’t want…” Harry started to say.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron answered. “Sirius left the house to you and the house obeys you.”

“That is downright weird,” Harry answered. Of all the houses in the world, this one, with its dark resonances and the imagined ghost of Sirius haunting it unhappily, was the last one in the world he would have wanted.

He stepped into the room and simply stared. It was larger than the lounge and the dining room and the kitchen in the Dursley’s house all together. The floor was a dark oak and the walls were covered halfway up in the same dark oak. Above the oak, plastered walls were painted a deep green. Here and there, flecks of paint had chipped off, leaving faint irregularities in the surface. A huge bed occupied the far wall. It’s headboard and footboard were also carved with decorations, but these weren’t so nasty as the serpents on the handles. A forest seemed to grow out of the wood and unicorns and centaurs dotted the forest, which glimmered faintly with gold and silver leaf in various places. There was also a great marble fireplace in which a fire presently glowed, a painted chest, for storing clothing and a large comfortable looking leather chair nearby. Harry turned to Ron and he fancied he saw something in his friend’s expression. Was it jealousy, he wondered?

“I don’t want it,” he said again. “You can have it. Anyone can have it.” Ron shook his head, like a teacher with a particularly stupid student.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “Sirius wanted you to have it. There’s a reason why, if only to spite Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. And you’ll notice Dumbledore wouldn’t let you give it away. There’s a reason for that, to, I reckon.”

“You think I’m jealous,” Ron said, echoing Harry’s thoughts. Harry shook his head, but Ron plowed on, “You think I envy you cause you’re rich and you’ve now got even more than you had before, but you’re wrong.”

“I don’t…” Harry started to reply, but Ron cut him off.

“Well, I do,” Ron said, “but it’s not cause of the house or the money. They let you in the Order and you’re not out of school yet. I’ve been of age since last March, and I didn’t get to join, did I?”

Harry stared at Ron and answered, “You think that’s something to be envious of? Think again. Dumbledore didn’t let me in because he thought it was a good idea. He let me in because he was forced to. Because it was the only way he could be sure I got to go back to school. You think it’s a good thing they’re all so impressed with me, that they think I’m the one who has to fight Voldemort again?” He stared at Ron and tried to imagine how he was going to keep his friends out of this and safe. “Think again,” he said finally. “All this…” he said as he waved at the huge room, “all of it, and me being in the Order, it’s like a punishment, or a curse. My life is cursed, Ron, and it has been since the day Voldemort murdered my Mum and Dad and failed to kill me, too. I am cursed. That’s the truth.”

"That's just...that's just...ridiculous," Ron answered.

"Is it?" Harry answered. He felt altogether distant and separate from his friend; altogether distant and separate from everyone. He could see Ron's good natured face, so baffled now as he tried to understand Harry's rejection of the things he saw as an honor. Not that Harry wouldn't fight Voldemort; not that he wasn't pleased to be treated more like an adult. But he knew instinctively, that this was no reward for his courage or his previous efforts.

No, he thought, this was Fudge's last attempt to keep his power. He could announce to all that he had his very own connection with the Muggle authorities and that he had arranged for a special cooperation between the Ministry and them to deal with the problem of You Know Who. He could do better than that. Where he had once served up Harry to the wizarding public as a poor lonely nut, he would now serve him up as the great lone hero, appointed and blessed by the Ministry for the ultimate task of destroying Lord Voldemort. Cynically, he wondered what the front page of the Daily Prophet would say tomorrow.

"You need some sense knocked into your head," Ron replied after a moment. "Maybe Hermione can set you straight."

"Maybe Hermione can set him straight about what?" Ginny asked. She peered in the doorway and tentatively stepped into the room. Hermione was right behind her.

"Maybe I can set who straight about what?" Hermmione asked.

"Him," Ron said pointing at Harry. "He thinks he's cursed."

Ginny hissed, but Hermione merely surveyed him calmly and said, "I wondered when you'd get around to thinking that."

Harry stared back at them and all and said, "I am." He expected Hermione to say, what rot, or some such thing. Unexpectedly, she did not.

"Well," Ron demanded, "tell him its rubbish! Tell him what a prat he's being!" Ginny nodded vigorously, but Hermione did not. Instead, she sighed and laid a cool hand on Harry's forehead, right over his lightning scar.

"The Curse That Failed," she said softly. "There was a time," she added, "when I would have said it was all nonsense, but now, I don't know." She stepped back and Harry was sorry she had. For one instant, while she had covered his scar, the faint and continuous ache in it had almost disappeared. She met his gaze quite steadily and said with great sympathy, "It's terribly hard, isn't it, to live with that day after day, being connected to him, and trying not to be devoured by him."

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes briefly. He said nothing. There was nothing to say that would not end up being a howl of misery and despair and defiance. So he said nothing at all. Ron frowned and stepped forward looking as though he wanted to pull Hermione away, but he let his hand fall almost before the gesture was made. As if, such a move would create a chasm somehow, a strange abyss that could not be crossed. Then Ginny stepped forward and touched his hand and the moment passed.

"That will never happen," Ginny said steadily. "Voldemort can never do that to Harry altogether, because Harry has something Voldemort doesn't and never will." Harry stared at her in surprise.

"Come on, Ginny," he said quietly. "Voldemort has powers that not even Dumbledore has. And I'm a seventeen year old who hasn't even finished school. What could I possibly have that he doesn't."

She laid her hand right over his heart and said, "This. He has no heart. He has no courage. When you get down to it, he's a hollow man. A coward. The worst example of a Slytherin in every way. He's clever and subtle and corrupt in every way and only for himself. And that is what makes you stronger than him, even if you don't know it yet yourself."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked. "What makes you so sure of it?"

"Well that's the funny thing about having been possessed by someone," she answered coolly. "You get to know him, even if you can't remember doing things when he's in control."

Despite being quite utterly exhausted, Harry lay awake in the great bed thinking about the day’s events and wondering whether he'd ever had a birthday so oddly happy and terrible all at once. And, he thought, it was so exactly the sum of his life. He was cursed and miserable; and yet, he was blessed as well, with the very best friends that anyone could have. He focused his mind on Ron's stubborn optimism, and Hermione's sympathy and last of all on Ginny's steady faith and he built up the wall in his mind that sealed Voldemort into his tiny corner, and hoped for a dreamless night.

The great winged beast soared high over the tall trees up to the rocky mountain cave in which his nest was concealed. Below him, the trees of the great forest soared upward, some easily two hundred feet up. His keen eyes, which could spot a hare running hundreds of feet below, picked out a shiny golden-red-white stream of light that ran through the forest in an erratic pattern and everywhere it went fire bloomed in its wake. The tall trees, nearly a thousand years old, became skeletons of fire and then crumbled in on themselves until nothing was left but ash. The winged beast roared in fury, but held in his own fire, as he watched his territory, his home, devastated by the fury of a fire more terrible and unearthly than his own. Yellow-gold eyes looked with longing on the treasure trove he had spent so many years collecting, and narrowed in fury again at the necessity of leaving so wonderful a hoard. Then fury gained the upper hand, and he let forth the fullest blast of his fire, so that the precious treasures, goblets and coins, shining gems and silver swords, melted in a stream of gold and silver and emerald and ruby back into the elements of which they'd been made. With a final roar, the dragon rose up and left, flying in the highest atmostphere still sustainable to flight, in search of a new home. He banked once to avoid a shiny silver metal tube with unmoving wings that kept pace with his flight for just an instant, before he plummeted abruptly out of the man-thing's path.

Harry sat up and stared about the great bedroom muzzily, unsure of where he was. The fire in the marble fireplace was down to embers only and the room had grown cold. He shivered and moved with difficulty out of the down comforter in which he was wrapped. He flicked his wand to start up the fire again and thought crossly that it oughtn't to have been let to burn down. Then he recalled that he had freed the only house-elf and crawled back into bed to wrap himself once more in the warmth of the comforter and to laugh at the oddity of his dreams. Dragons and airplanes flying side by side. At least, he thought, Voldemort was quiet for once.

In the morning, Harry went through his now regular routine. After washing, he decided he really didn't have to shave again yet, and pawed through his trunk looking for anything clean that remotely fit. As his aunt hadn't bothered to give him any "new" hand-me-downs from Dudley, and owing to his latest growth spurt, his few Muggle clothes were now on the small side. He regarded the bare skin between the end of his jeans and his socks with annoyance, and covered the embarrassing gap with his new boots. The faded green T-shirt with the words MEGA MUTILATION was tight at the shoulders, but would do so long as he remembered not to raise his arms. He decided regretfully that the black dragonhide jacket really wasn't necessary for breakfast or for anything just now unless they went out.

Ron and Hermione were already eating breakfast when he arrived in the kitchen and they were so deeply immersed in a whispered argument over the Daily Prophet that they failed to notice he had come in.

"You're not showing that to him," Hermione whispered furiously. "It'll just upset him."

"He's going to find out about it anyway, Hermione," Ron answered, his voice reaching almost normal conversational tones.

"Well, he's miserable enough as it is right now," she whispered back heatedly.

"You're the one that had him give an interview to Rita Skeeter for the Quibbler," Ron answered more loudly.

"So what's in the paper about me now?" Harry asked calmly as he reached for the plate of bacon and a piece of toast. "Do they think I'm going to turn into an axe murderer, or set myself up as the new Dark Lord to compete with Voldemort?"

"Not exactly, but close," Ron said.

He ignored Hermione's muttered imprecations at first, and then turned to say with vexation, "Hermione, if you're going to curse me or something, at least have the courtesy to warn me so I can defend myself."

Harry grinned and seized the paper out of Hermione's now nerveless hands, thinking that if Hermione really wanted to curse anybody, he wouldn't stand a chance at stopping her in any case. Then he saw the headline and stopped grinning.

HARRY POTTER TO PLAY VITAL ROLE IN MINISTRY'S NEW ANTI-DARK ARTS TASK FORCE

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that Harry Potter, the young wizard known to all as The Boy Who Lived, has been drafted to work for a new anti-dark arts task force. The Task Force has been formed in response to yesterday's brazen attack on a major Muggle institution by Death Eaters in which dark wizards vandalized the great department store Harrods and left the message, "Lord Voldemort Has Risen," indelibly etched on the damaged store's window.

According to Minister Fudge, a special liaison has been appointed by the Muggle Prime Minister to assist in keeping the true existence of wizards secret. An unnamed source has told us that the Muggle Prime Minister is very anxious to see He Who Must Not Be Named stopped as soon as possible. Both the Prime Minister and the Queen herself are said to have expressed concern that the structure of Muggle society may be damaged if the existence of a substantial number of real wizards with the ability to perform real magic is revealed to the regular Muggle public.

The Minister has assured the Prime Minister and the Queen and wishes to assure the wizard public as well that this Task Force will be composed of the most powerful witches and wizards in our community. The Minister was quoted as saying, "I have full confidence that Harry Potter will be an essential part of the final and permanent defeat of You Know Who and his followers. After all, he defeated You Know Who last spring in full combat, and there is no reason to suppose he will not easily do the same again."

Rumors that The Boy Who Lived will issue an open challenge to duel to He Who Must Not Be Named have been circulating ever since the Minister's announcement, but there has been no confirmation at this time.

"Are they mad?" Harry demanded, as his bacon congealed on his plate. "They expect me to challenge Voldemort? What do they think I am? I'm no Merlin! I'm no Dumbledore! My god, I haven't even finished school yet. I'm no match even for Snape! They must be crazy!" He threw down the paper with disgust, even though it was not far from what he might have expected after last night's meeting, and nearly jumped when he looked up to see Snape himself staring at him with a rather odd expression on his face.

"Speak of the devil," Harry said. Then feeling thoroughly disconcerted and out of temper, he demanded, "What are you doing here?" Except for a faint tightening about his sallow, angular face, Snape remained perfectly calm.

"I am a member of the Order, as you may recall." Only a minor tone of sarcasm suggested that Snape thought Harry might be even stupider than he had previously thought.

"Right," Harry said, feeling still quite put out that Snape hadn't said anything overtly nasty enough to provoke a real fight.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore," he asked in return, trying for the same level of calm. He absolutely loathed letting Snape see him appear anxious or fearful.

"Professor Dumbledore has other things to do with his valuable time than babysit students about to enter their seventh year. Although, how some of you managed to get that far is quite beyond me," Snape answered.

"Especially, me," Harry answered now torn between his usual reflexive dislike for the Potions Master and a combination of both relief and amusement that Snape had returned to his normal insulting manner so swiftly.

"Given your utter disregard for the normal rules and courtesies, yes," Snape retorted. "Especially, you, Potter."

"Well, sit down and have some breakfast, then," Harry said grumpily. "I expect Mrs. Weasley will be back any moment." He looked to Ron for confirmation, but Ron only shrugged. Both he and Hermione were watching Harry as if he were a firecracker that might explode untimely; which only served to annoy Harry further. Snape looked at the now cold bacon and toast still untouched on Harry's plate and shook his head.

"I'm here on business," he said impatiently.

"That's no reason you can't eat," Harry argued, though why he should argue with Snape about this eluded him.

"Since when did you become the manager and director of this Order," Snape asked.

"You're in my house, it's the crack of dawn, and I'm inviting you to eat," Harry answered less than respectfully. Nearly unforgiveably, he added, "You're the only one here who's even skinnier than I am." Ron and Hermione both stared at him. Their expressions were nearly as appalled as they had been the first time they'd seen Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog. A funny expression crossed Snape's face.

The corner of his mouth twitched, perhaps involuntarily, as he sat at the table. He looked with loathing at the cold bacon and said, "Do you actually expect anyone to eat that?"

"Well, it is pretty awful," Harry conceded. He looked around the kitchen for the coffee pot and the fridge, but of course, as this was a wizard's house, there was no fridge and no percolator. There was also no Mrs. Weasely to fix things and no house-elf he could order to in her absence. Snape contrived now to look both amused and on the brink of being offended although he moved not a single muscle nor spoke a single word.

Avoiding Hermione's eyes, Harry thought quickly and remembered there was a pantry just off of the kitchen. Sure enough, the shelves were stocked with packages labeled neatly. Mrs. Weasley's doing he supposed. Harry grabbed a package of fresh bacon, a kettle and some tea. He hadn't the faintest clue how to cook using magic, but he supposed that a working fire ought to be sufficient to let him cook the food in the regular old fashioned way.

As Harry carried his treasures to the counter, sounding nearly as appalled as Ron and Hermione had looked, Snape said, "You aren't going to cook those, are you?"

"Why not?" he said calmly. He filled the kettle with water and hung it on a hook above the fire. Then he seized a frying pan that hung from a rack of pots and pans and tossed the bacon in. Deciding that just bacon wasn't sufficient, Harry returned to the pantry for eggs and cheese and bread, and in seconds he was cooking up the bacon and eggs just as he had for half his life for Aunt Petunia.

Ron cleared his throat and asked, "Erm, Harry, do you know the spell for that?"

"Now you mention it," Harry replied, "I don't remember cooking being on our syllabus at school anytime recently." He went on scrambling the eggs and topping them with cheese and tossed them all with the bacon, folding them all into one large omelet. Not being sure where anything else was, Harry opted for the simplest way of getting them.

"Accio plates!" he said and then "accio cups and saucers" in quick succession. He flipped the omelet onto the plate and grabbed the now whistling kettle from the fire to pour out the tea. Finishing up, he summoned forks, knives and spoons and divided up the omelet into four servings.

"I didn't know you could cook," Ron said. Looking very impressed, he added, "you didn't even say the spell."

Hermione snorted into her teacup and choked. Harry grinned at her and said, "That's cause you don't need a spell to cook, Ron. Muggles do it everyday."

Snape was still staring at the food as if it would bite him. Harry shook his head dug into his now hot food. He was suddenly starving. He looked up after a couple of bites and said, "Well, go on, then. It's all right," and answering the unpoken question he added, "Honestly. If you knew how many times I had to make breakfast for my aunt and uncle, you wouldn't wait. I mean, it's not crepes suzette, but it's edible."

Ron took a tentative bite and then ate hungrily as if he hadn't eaten an entire meal already. Harry waited until Hermione and then, under his waiting stare, Snape took a bite as well. Satisfied that he'd done something half-way right for once, Harry hungrily ate the remainder of his own food. Curious though he was, he managed to forbear from asking Snape why he was there until he'd finished.

Suddenly aware of eyes watching him, Harry looked up from his now empty plate and noted uncomfortably that Snape was watching him with a peculiar fixed intensity. “What are you doing here, anyway,” he asked the Potions Master once more.

“I am here at Professor Dumbledore’s request to give you instruction,” Snape replied. His tone suggested he’d rather be anywhere else doing anything else.

“Not more Occlumency lessons,” Harry responded instantly. Hermione looked as though she wanted to shake him for his tactlessness, but he didn’t care and didn’t attempt to conceal his horror and distaste at the prospect.

“Fortunately,” Snape answered, “that is not on the agenda.”

“Oh, good,” Harry said. Snape stared at him through narrowed eyes and Harry thought he could feel for a moment that the Professor was testing his defenses. He stared back and tensed slightly, just in case Snape should attack to prove how ill prepared Harry still was. But nothing happened.

“Professor Dumbledore has asked me to teach you apparition and disapparition. And other things, perhaps, if time allows.” Snape did not say, as he once might have, that he couldn’t think of any good reason to teach Harry one more means of getting out of trouble. Or into it.

“I thought my Mum was going to teach us that,” Ron blurted out.

Snape looked Ron up and down and said, “Your inestimable mother has other things to do for the Order just now.”

Ron flushed as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to be offended or not. Harry, on the other hand, glanced at Hermione and saw that she was trying not to grin, too. Apparently, even Snape was just a little afraid of Mrs. Weasley’s awful temper.

Politely, Hermione said, “It’ll certainly useful be useful to learn apparition, especially from a real teacher.”

“Yes,” Snape answered, “but not you.” Hermione blinked and looked as though she too were going to be offended until Snape clarified.
“However, precocious and prodigious a talent you may have, Miss Granger, you are not of age and will not be of age until after school starts. As much as he favors you, Professor Dumbledore is not inclined to break the rules requiring one to be seventeen for apparition.”

When he finished, she did flush and Harry had a brief moment of terror that she would slap Snape across the face as she had once done to Draco Malfoy.

“What is Mrs. Weasley doing then?” Harry cut in quickly. Snape simply stared at him.

“Just because Dumbledore has been cornered into inducting you into the Order, it does not mean that you are entitled to know everything about everyone. Now,” he added, “if you are done dawdling over your food, I should like to begin as I have other business to take care off and can’t spend my entire day here.” Harry glanced at Ron and then nodded.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and said sulkily, “I suppose I’m allowed to watch.”

Snape nodded curtly. Harry grinned to himself. He was quite sure Hermione would be the first to remember every direction Snape gave, even if she wasn’t allowed to actually practice. He decided not to warn Snape of that. If the Potions Master couldn’t figure out that Hermione would learn it anyway just by watching, then Harry wasn’t about to warn him. He did want to live another week or two without incurring her annoyance.

She was going to be mad enough at him when he didn’t share everything he learned and did in the Order anyway. He was also quite sure that she wouldn’t appreciate it if Harry tried to protect her from the dangers he was likely to encounter. But he had made up his mind: no one was going to be hurt or endangered on his account again if he could help it.They followed Snape out of the kitchen to the great room that held the portrait of Sirius’s mother.

As they went, Harry thought he heard Hermione mutter mutinously, “Don’t think I’m going to clean up the bloody dishes just because I’m the girl, either.” He looked at Ron to see if he had heard. Judging from his friend’s sudden pallor, Harry thought he must have, too.

Harry looked around the room and asked doubtfully, “Is this really a good place to be practicing disapparition? Sir?”

Snape regarded him sourly. “No,” he said curtly, “but as Professor Dumbledore is not inclined to permit you to leave this house just now, it will have to do.”

Harry looked at him in surprise.“What do you mean; I’m not allowed to leave? I can’t go outside at all? Not even for some fresh air?”

Snape nodded. “Let’s begin.”

“But,” Harry argued, “even at Privet Drive I was allowed to go outside and travel about during the day. Why do I have to stay inside here?”

“It has not escaped your attention, Potter,” Snape replied, “that the Minister has announced your participation in his Task Force . Surely even you have the brains to realize that the first thing Voldemort will do is either attack you whilst you are still not fully recovered from last spring’s encounter or send others to do the dirty work for him.”

“What makes you think I’m not recovered,” Harry said swiftly.

Snape simply looked him up and down and didn’t bother to answer. “Pay attention, both of you,” he said instead. “When you are going to disapparate from one place and apparate to another, concentration, focus, is the most essential skill of all. Any distraction from the task may result in your being splinched, a most uncomfortable situation and sometimes an irrecoverable disaster.”

***

Hermione winced as she imagined one or both of her friends splattered in pieces in two places at once. Ron, she saw, flinched slightly, too, but Harry did not. He was still watching Snape steadily and appeared to be thinking about what Snape had said.

“When you disapparate, you must focus your attention, your complete being, on being the place you want to be instead of the place you are,” Snape said. The Potions Master waved his wand and a bright green spot appeared on the carpet about two feet from where he stood.

He pointed to the glowing spot and said, “Now, that will be your mark. You will concentrate on being on that spot, and when I give the word, go there. Do you understand?”

“Not exactly,” Harry answered. A frown creased his forehead and his thin face looked tired. The brief amusement he had shown in the kitchen was gone and Hermione thought angrily, they oughtn’t to be pushing him like this. And Snape as the teacher no less.

“What is it you don’t understand?” Snape asked.

“Well,” Harry answered, “isn’t there a spell? Don’t you say something, like wingardium leviosa or something?”

“No, Potter,” Snape, answered. His tone, as it often was when he spoke to Harry, was snide, superior, almost insulting. “That is why this is quite difficult. There is no “spell.” You concentrate on being in the place you want to be and then go there. It’s an act of will, as all magic is. It is simply far more difficult and requires even greater focus and concentration than most spells do.” Snape gave a slight flick of his wand, disappeared with a crack from the spot he was in and reappeared on the chosen spot in the tiny space between one breath and another.

“Thus,” he said. He stepped off the spot and added once more, “Pay attention and concentrate!” Harry looked at Ron and gestured for him to go first. Hermione couldn’t help worrying as she noted the contrast between the two. Ron had grown taller than ever. He had always been tall and quite gangly, but he had lately begun to fill out as well and he fairly seemed to glow with health from the brightness of his red hair to the healthy color in his face.

His gaze was alert and clear and she noticed that he was trying to conceal his alarm. It was quite unusual for Harry to wait for someone else to try something. But then, Hermione thought, when was the last time Harry had seemed entirely healthy or entirely himself? Like Ron, he had grown suddenly much taller; but unlike Ron, he was actually thinner than he’d ever been, a fact emphasized by the awful clothes he wore.

Neither the t-shirt nor the jeans should have fit him. The shirt strained at his shoulders and barely reached his belt, and even with the shirt on, you could see the wings of his shoulder blades sticking out and the hollow between his ribs when he lifted his arms. And then there was his face. There were shadows under his eyes and he was terribly pale. And his green eyes had an expression that was almost remote, as if even when he was conversing with you, he was somewhere else altogether.

No wonder Snape kept telling him to pay attention, she worried.Ron gave a little cough, even though there was no spell to say, and with an expression of great determination that made Hermione think of a large hunting dog about to flush its quarry, he waved his wand with a flourish, disapparated with a loud crack and reappeared not more than six inches off the mark.

“I did it!” he said. He grinned and his freckled face glowed happily.

“You were off your mark,” Snape said. “In another place, you could end up inside a tree or a mountain. You have to be precise!” The glow on Ron’s face diminished slightly, but not altogether.

“That was only my first try,” he answered jauntily. “My brother Charlie failed his test first time cause he nearly landed on some Muggle lady’s head.” Hermione smiled a bit. She was rather impressed herself and wished she could try it. She was sure she could do it as well as Ron.

Snape looked to Harry and prompted him. “Well, Potter? You do want to learn this, don’t you?”

Harry jumped minutely, as if he were thinking about something else entirely. “Right,” he said quickly and with no apparent thought or preparation he silently disappeared and reappeared right on the mark.

Ron’s exclamation, “Wow, that’s good, Harry,” was drowned out by Snape’s roar. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to show off? Is there no end to your arrogance?”

Harry gawped at Snape and said, “I did it, didn’t I? What’s the problem?” His green eyes had begun to snap with annoyance and he seemed to be paying more attention now to Snape’s angry face than he had when he had disapparated.

“You’re not paying attention!” Snape said. “Disapparating without even using your wand! What were you thinking of? Not what you were supposed to be, that’s certain!”

“Oh,” Harry said. “You didn’t say you had to use your wand. That wasn’t in the instructions. Besides, I’ve seen other wizards disapparate without using their wands…I think.”

“You were supposed to be observing me do it,” Snape said coldly. “I used my wand. Most wizards must use their wands to disapparate. Did you want to disappear and simply not reappear at all?” Snape’s face was flushed with anger and Hermione thought, why, oh why did Professor Dumbledore ask Snape to do this. Why not Lupin, or someone who would be more sympathetic? Why couldn’t they have waited for Mrs. Weasley to return, for that matter? Worse, for one moment, Hermione could have sworn she had seen Harry start to nod in answer to Snape's last question.

"Well, I thought it was pretty impressive," Ginny said from the doorway. "Can I try, too?" She looked quite innocently enthusiastic, although that was an expression Hermione had learned to mistrust on the youngest Weasley.

"No," Snape said curtly.

"Well, can we try again," Ron asked.

Snape started to say yes, and then with a glance at Harry that was so quick as to be not a glance at all, he answered, "No."

“Why not?” Harry argued. It looked as though his temper was thoroughly up now, not a good thing when Snape was the object of it.

“We will follow my course of instruction or you will not learn anything further at all,” Snape replied. “And even you, Mr. Potter, can hardly be so foolish as to try this without supervision. You may have managed to go two feet, but that does not mean you can go two yards or two miles.”

“Yes,” Harry answered, “but we did both do it. Why not let us try again, just to be sure we’ve got it down before you leave?”

“I will return tomorrow morning at the same time,” Snape said. “I have business to do. Just be prepared to concentrate better tomorrow, Potter, or I shall not permit you to try it then either. I can assure you,” he added sourly, “I do not want to be known as the man who permitted The Boy Who Lived to disapparate into limbo. I’ve a certain reputation to maintain.”

Harry did not reply this time. He merely stared at Snape as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. Ron, on the other hand, Hermione saw, was about to lose his temper and say something unforgivable, like, wouldn’t You Know Who be quite happy with you if Harry disappeared forever?

She was about to cut in, but Ginny did more quickly. “That’s good,” she said, “because Harry has to take his potion anyway.”

“What potion?” Harry and Snape said simultaneously.

“Revitalizing Potion,” Ginny said calmly. She held up a cup and said, “Mum said so.” Harry shrugged and held out a hand for the cup. Ginny patted the cracked leather couch and waited for him to sit down before handing him the cup. Oddly, Snape made a move as to stop him from drinking just as Harry tossed down the potion in one swallow.

He made a face at the taste and then with an expression of annoyance and surprise said, “I am not going to faint,” just before he did. He slid sideways and Ginny caught him, guiding his head toward a frayed needlepoint pillow with the Black coat of arms on it.

“What was in that cup, Miss Weasley?” Snape asked.

Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up at the dangerous tone in his voice. Since when, she wondered, did Snape care a jot about Harry’s well-being or health?

“Revitalizing Potion,” Ginny answered coolly, “and a sleeping draught as well.”

“You didn’t tell him that, did you?” Snape retorted.

“Of course not,” Ginny answered. “The silly git wouldn’t have taken it then, would he, as he thinks he’s invulnerable and can just live without eating or sleeping, unlike the rest of us.” That caught Snape’s attention and a very faint smile curled his lip.

“I’m surprised you’ve left off your hero worship of him long enough to figure that much out,” he answered. Ginny gave the Potions Master a look that Hermione could not interpret.

“Why was that necessary, really?” Ron asked. He was looking quite put out, Hermione thought. Probably because Ginny hadn’t told him what she was up to.

“He’s got to rest,” Ginny said fiercely. “Mum thinks he’s not getting stronger because he doesn’t sleep enough. She heard him roaming around upstairs last night at three in the morning. And you can see how ill he still looks.” Snape was frowning.

“That may be true, but using a sleeping potion may not be a good idea. Your mother should have consulted me before she did this. Or Dumbledore.”

“Why wouldn’t it be good for him to get some rest?” Ginny frowned at Snape and watched him carefully, as if he were a threat, an attitude Hermione couldn’t entirely debate. Snape’s eyes narrowed in thought as he watched Harry’s sleeping face.

“Because, Miss Weasley, when he’s sleeping, his defenses are down. If he goes to sleep without first clearing his mind or using what skills he has in Occlumency, he will be more vulnerable to any incursion on his mind by the Dark Lord.”

“He’ll be vulnerable anyway,” Hermione said, “if he’s too tired and too weak to use those skills though, won’t he?” Snape gave her a considering look and nodded shortly, but his attention was back on Harry in a trice.

Sure enough, his eyelids were beginning to flutter and his hands twitched as though seeking to grasp something. His breathing had deepened and slowed almost immediately on drinking the potion. Now, though he did not wake, his diaphragm moved up and down quickly, in short, shallow spasms. He muttered once or twice, but Hermione couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Should we try to wake him?” she asked Snape.

But it was Ron who answered. “No,” he said quickly. “It’s a really bad idea to wake him when he’s having nightmares.”

“How do you know that?” Snape asked.

“We’re in the same dormitory,” Ron replied. “Go ahead and wake him,” he said to Snape, “if you want to find yourself looking down the end of his wand. He gets that upset if you startle him, you know.” Snape moved closer to the couch and stared down at Harry. Again, Hermione’s flesh crept, and she felt as though she ought to push him away.

“Just how ill does your mother think he is?” Snape asked. “I thought he had more or less healed before school let out. And is that why Dumbledore brought him here two weeks earlier than he was going to?” Ginny shook her head.

“I don’t know exactly,” she answered. “I just know that she saw him at his aunt’s house night before last and she came back very upset. She told Dumbledore he had to get him out of there right away or she was going to do it herself.”

“And Dumbledore gave in to her?” Snape asked incredulously.

“She yelled at him,” Ginny said. “Even Dad couldn’t shut her up.”

“But why did she go in the first place?” Hermione asked curiously. She looked at Ron and saw that he hadn’t known any of this either.

“Well,” Ginny said, “apparently Harry did magic when he was there with the Muggles. And not just some little thing either. Something quite big so the Ministry was going to cite him, only it was after midnight and he’d already turned seventeen, so they couldn’t get him for being underage. Dad managed to get on the team that checked it out, but when they got to the place where they detected the magic, all the Muggles there had been obliviated and didn’t remember anything.”

“Who was there, then,” Snape asked, “to perform the memory charm?”

Ginny shrugged. “Nobody. Harry did it. He told Mum. That stupid cousin of his took him to some friend’s house and they, the Muggles, had got a hold of some dead wizard’s stuff. It was up for sale in a junk shop or something. Anyway, one of the things had some kind of curse on it and Harry broke the curse. Then he had to obliviate them all so they wouldn’t remember he did real magic. And Mum went to see him after Dad got back to find out what happened. Dumbledore sent her.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know what happened,” Ron said suspiciously. His ears were turning red, a sure sign of annoyance. Because he had been left out, Hermione knew.

Ginny shrugged again, “Well, I heard Mum and Dad talking about it. And then when Mum left this morning, she told me to give Harry the potion and I got her to tell me a little bit more.”

“What else is there?” Hermione asked crossly. She was beginning to be annoyed herself that Ginny knew everything and she and Ron did not.

“Well,” Ginny said again, “what got Mum really upset was Harry told her he’d had to go to a Muggle doctor. He got into a fight with that stupid cousin’s Muggle friends and one of them knocked him out.”

“A Muggle? Knocked him out?” Snape looked at Ginny with disbelief.

“Well, he couldn’t use magic, could he?” Ginny answered. “And they attacked him. Something to do with his cousin, I guess, and there were five of them and just him.”

“Still,” Hermione said. She couldn’t imagine anybody really getting the better of Harry. He had defeated Voldemort after all, even if Voldemort had somehow managed to survive.

“He told Mum the Muggle doctor thought he had an infection,” Ginny said, “in his chest, where Voldemort stabbed him. The doctor gave him some kind of Muggle medicine for it.”

Snape was frowning again. He moved this time and laid a hand on Harry’s forehead as if that would tell him something. “There shouldn’t have been any infection,” Snape said. “Not after the bloodflower potion.”

“Antibiotics?” Hermione said abruptly. ‘Is that what they gave him?”

“Something like that,” Ginny answered.

“Then that would have been from the physical wound,” Hermione said, “Not from the magic.”

Snape glanced at her and looked thoughtful. He reached down and pushed up the t-shirt so they all could see the scar on his chest where the great poisonous magic sword had gone in. The scar was a long diagonal slash on across his left side, running parallel with his ribs. It was still a dark pinkish color and a parallel scar on his back matched it. Hermione closed her eyes and thought; it’s a miracle he didn’t die.

Snape waved his wand over the scar and frowned again. “I don’t think it’s infected now,” He said, “but perhaps a trained healer ought to double-check it.” Though his wand was out, the Potions Master was taken quite by surprise, as were they all, when Harry suddenly woke and knocked him flat with one blow to the jaw. Snape struggled up and raised his wand. Harry stared at him, his green eyes still fuzzy with sleep and the effects of the potion.

Then his gaze seemed to clear, though he still looked dreadfully disoriented, and he said, "Sorry. I was dreaming." He sat down again on the couch and said, "Or am I still dreaming?" He rubbed his eyes like a tired child and focused on Ginny.

"Why'd you want to give me that Potion and knock me out?"

"You had to rest," she answered. "Mum said so." Hermione, however, was more concerned with Snape. She saw with relief that he had collected himself and contained his anger. Well, she thought, Ron had warned him. He was lucky Harry had only taken a swing at him and not actually used his wand.

Surprisingly, instead of berating Harry, Snape asked, "What were you dreaming?"

"Just the usual," Harry replied evasively. Though he had slept nearly half an hour, he looked no more rested than before Ginny had given him the potion.

"The usual meaning what," Snape pressed.

"Nothing important," Harry replied.

"Nothing to do with the Dark Lord?" Snape persisted.

"No," Harry answered.

"You're sure?" Snape asked again.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm sure. Just a stupid dream."

"Nightmare?" Snape asked. Harry shrugged and didn't answer.

Snape stared at him and said, "How often are you having these dreams?"

Harry shrugged again. "I dunno. And so what if I have dreams? Everybody has dreams."

"Not everybody has dreams that were manufactured by the Dark Lord," Snape replied. "What were you dreaming? Come, Potter," he added impatiently, "it's not as if you haven't had to tell your dreams before in Divination class."

Ron snorted at that. "You don't think he ever told any real dreams in that class do you?"

"Well its no wonder you had such abysmal grades then, isn't it?" Snape answered. He returned his attention to Harry and said, "This is important, Potter. What were you dreaming about?" Harry looked at the others to see if they would back him up.

Ron shrugged and said, "Well, if it is just a dream, so what? Just tell him so we can get on with the day."

Hermione saw that he really didn't want to talk about it. But she thought, it might be good for him to say something. And she was curious, so she said nothing and waited to see if he would speak. He shrugged again, and she could see the anger that lay beneath the shrug.

"I was dreaming about Sirius, okay. He was laughing and then Bellatrix hit him with that spell. And he fell into the arch." The shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen as he added, "It's always like that. He laughs and then he dies. Just like it happened. He was happy because he was fighting, but it was my fault, wasn't it?" He looked at Snape and said, "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?" Hermione thought painfully, let up, now. That's enough.

But Snape wasn't done. "That was all?" Snape asked. "There was more, wasn't there?"

Harry looked at him with loathing and said, "Nothing important."

"If it wasn't important, then you can tell us what it was," Snape answered silkily.

"Fine," Harry answered. Hermione could see he was quite out of temper again and hoped he wouldn't say something stupid. "It was just a dumb dream," Harry said. "I dreamed there was a fire in this big forest. A really big fire. And there was a dragon in it. The dragon was really annoyed about the fire and then it flew down on a village nearby and ate some cows and horses that belonged to the villagers." Harry looked at Ron and said, "I suppose there's some meaning in that, but I can't remember what it would represent."

Ron grinned and said, "Well, if I were Trelawney, I'd just tell you it meant you were going to have some terrible misfortune. But I expect it really just means you had indigestion from that bacon omelette." Harry grinned back and rubbed the back of his neck as if it bothered him. Snape, Hermione saw, had a funny look on his face, as if he were trying to remember something.

"Have you had other dreams like that?" Snape asked.

"Why?" Harry asked. "It's just nonsense. Nothing meaningful. And it's not about Voldemort. I'd know that." Snape winced when Harry said Voldemort's name, but for once, he didn't remark on it.

"You did read the paper this morning," Snape said.

Harry frowned. "Yeah," but what's that got to do with anything. I'm not going to challenge Voldemort. And what's that got to do with me having dreams about a forest fire?"

Snape frowned at him again. "Didn't you read the rest of the paper, Potter?"

Harry made a noise of disgust. "Why should I?" he asked. "It's a scandal. All they print is lies anwyay. I think I'll give up reading it and save myself the trouble of getting annoyed." Snape didn't answer right away. He was still looking at Harry quite fixedly and Hermione could see Harry was going to lose it.

"The thing is," she cut in, "there was a fire in Romania this morning. A big one." She felt her lip curl in disgust as she added, "The Quibbler said it was started by a heliopath running out of control."

"The Quibbler?" Harry said. "You can't believe anything they print, can you?" then remembering that he had given them an interview himself, he amended, "Well, almost anything."

"I'll have to talk to Dumbledore," Snape said, almost to himself, and he left without another word.

"Well, Harry," Ron joked, "I guess they'll be lining up any day to find out what you've seen in the crystal or dreamed in your dreams. P'raps you can tell me my fortune, then." He was grinning, his good-natured face gleeful.

"Well, Ron," Harry said with a very straight face, "I see a headboy's badge for you in the near future. And a rather rocky romance." Both Ron and Ginny laughed. Then so did Harry. The difference in his face was so startling, Hermione nearly gasped out loud.

"There's always got to be a romance," Harry said. "Romance, adventure, and a treasure. And all the villains have to be killed. Or jailed." He grinned again and looked positively happy for just a moment. Then he looked suddenly so sad again, Hermione could have cried.

***

Harry spent the remainder of the day in a bit of a funk. He was pleased that he had managed to disapparate successfully, but that accomplishment was soured by Snape’s uncharacteristic concern for his health and his friends’ anxiety. And he was more than annoyed at Ginny’s little trick. At dinner, he tried to ignore the way everyone surreptitiously watched to see that he ate and he took at least one helping too many of potatoes and chicken just to prove that he was quite fine and healthy.

The feeling of being overstuffed was accompanied by guilt when he noticed Kreacher’s large eyes mournfully watching everyone from a corner near the oven. The elf’s eyes met his and then blinked closed immediately as the small naked body slid into a cranny too small even for a human child. Harry was inescapably reminded if his own childhood: all those nights and days locked in the cupboard under the stairs; all the times he had been sent to bed without dinner; all the times he had sat, the outsider, watching the others and knowing he was unwanted and unwelcome.

His stomach heaved and he felt as though he would like to crawl out of his own skin and into someone else’s. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore’s arrival. The elderly wizard swept into the kitchen and his blue eyes crackled with energy. “I am so sorry to cut your dinner short,” he said, “but we have business to attend to.”

Mrs. Weasley cleared the table with two waves of her wand.“Off you go then, Ginny,” she said.

“Ron’s staying,” Ginny protested angrily. “I want to stay. I want to help.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed to swell up and she replied, “Ron ought to go, too. I’ve been overruled on that by Professor Dumbledore, but you are not even of age, much less out of school. Out!”

Ron and Hermione sat very still at their end of the table, as if by their very quiet, everyone else would forget to tell them to leave upon reconsideration of their status. Hermione, especially, Harry saw, as technically she was not of age for several more weeks yet either.

Ginny flushed and protested further, “I went to the Ministry and helped when Voldemort attacked the Department of Mysteries. I fought last year when he invaded Hogwarts. I want to stay.”

Harry thought with horror that they were about to have a full-scale Weasley fight. Even Dumbledore looked taken aback as Ginny faced off with her now steaming mother. Both of them opened their mouths and he thought, this’ll never do.

“Stop!” he said. “That’s enough. This isn’t about how privileged you are to be volunteering to risk your life.” It might have been the horrid newspaper article suggesting he was about to challenge Voldemort. Or perhaps it was his certainty that the year could hardly pass without someone else he cared about being hurt. He moved swiftly and took Ginny by the arm and walked her out of the kitchen and half-way up the stairs before stopping. When he finally did, he saw that her face was flushed with anger, or humiliation and her brown eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

“Why’d you do that,” she hissed at him. “Ron and Hermione are staying. I should too.”

“Dumbledore won’t let you,” Harry said as gently as he could. He had to remind himself not to lose his temper or they’d be having the very same shouting match that had been about to ensue between Ginny and her Mum.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “I’ll be left out, and no one will tell me what’s going on. How can I look out for you, if I don’t know what’s going on?”

“You don’t have to look out for me,” Harry answered.

“Yes, I do,” Ginny, insisted. “I know you. You’ll go off and do something terribly brave and risky. And you won’t tell Ron and Hermione in case they try to stop you. Or you’ll persuade them it’s the right thing to do and then they’ll go off with you and all of you will be in trouble.”

“And you think it’s better if you get into trouble, too?” Harry asked.

“I got you out of trouble last year,” she pointed out. “I’m the one that got you out of the forest when the veelas had you.”

Harry said nothing. That part was true. “Look,” he said, “just do what your Mum says. Don’t make a stink because it just makes you look like you’re too young to be involved anyway. And I’ll find a way to keep you informed, okay.”

“You can’t,” she said angrily. “You’ll have to keep silence like everyone else. It’s part of your duty. But if you say you want me, they’ll let me in,” Ginny said. “They have to have you, so they’ll do what you ask.”

Harry thought quickly. “It won’t work,” he said. “But, you can still keep up. I’ll…I’ll keep notes and you can read them.”

“You can’t do that,” Ginny answered. “That’s like breaking your silence."

“Not if I write it in a journal that no one can read unless I give them the spell for it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ginny said. But Harry could see she quite liked the idea.

“It’s too much like Riddle’s diary,” she said after a moment.

“No, it’s not,” Harry, answered. “I’m not trying to enchant anyone. I’m just writing down my notes of what’s happening to me. I’m not going to suck anybody’s life out to prop up my own.”

She looked at him quietly and said, “No. I know you won’t. You bleed your own away instead to prop up everybody else.” She looked at him and said softly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I won’t do that to you again.”

Then she walked swiftly up the stairs without looking back. Harry walked back into the kitchen and took his seat.

“How did you do that?” Bill asked. “Did you put the Imperio curse on her or something?”

“No,” Harry answered. “I just told her the truth.” Everyone stopped talking and stared.

Dumbledore sighed. “Now, there is a powerful weapon, the truth. And the truth is, we have our work cut out more than ever after today’s events.” He looked at Harry and said calmly, “You do know that we none of us expect you to challenge Voldemort.”

Harry swallowed. “Of course,” he said. Nevertheless, the statement coming from Dumbledore seemed to calm his latent anxiety and he settled into his chair to wait for the elderly wizard’s direction. Dumbledore unfolded a piece of parchment and held it up. On the parchment was a list of twenty-eight names and at the top of the parchment was written in Hermione’s hand, Dumbledore’s Army.

Harry stared at the paper in surprise. He had thought it had been destroyed or locked away in the Ministry’s files. He cudgeled his brains and then remembered that Fudge had handed the piece of parchment to Dumbledore when he had sought to expel him from the Headmaster’s post and to arrest him.

‘You recognize this, I see.” Dumbledore smiled and said, “This, ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, is the business of this Order as of today. As we have seen, Voldemort has abandoned all secrecy in favor of open attacks even on Muggles. He must be stopped.”

“I don’t understand, Professor,” Harry said, “That was our defense study group from two years ago. The name was a kind of a…joke. And it got you into all kinds of trouble with the Ministry. Because of us.” He stopped there, disconcerted because Dumbledore’s eyes were full of amusement.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “in fact, I was greatly honored by your loyalty under very difficult circumstances.” He surveyed them all and continued, “Two years ago, Minster Fudge was certain I was trying to form an army in order to take over the Ministry. As you all know, the charge was a complete fabrication. Now, Fudge would like nothing better than to have an army to call on from anywhere and he has none. We are woefully unprepared to fight against Voldemort. In truth, in three years, though we have checked him, we have not stopped him. And the Ministry’s aurors, while splendid fighters, are way to few to combat all the dark wizards and creatures Voldmeort is collecting for a final attack. We know that he will make smaller assaults, to throw us off balance, to expose our world to the Muggles and so create even further chaos which he can exploit.

The Order will therefore oppose him from two sides. We will send out wizards to train others in secret, no matter what their profession, to be ready for the call should the great battle come. And we will train our students at Hogwarts as they have never before been trained.” Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. They were watching Dumbledore with excitement and expectation. He wondered if they had any idea of what the likely outcome of all this would be.

Fred cleared his throat and said, “Hem, hem,” just like Umbridge, and in an uncanny imitation of the former teacher’s high pitched girlish voice said, “there’s just one problem, Professor. How will the students learn fighting skills under a ministry approved program that permits only theory and not application?”

George laughed and so did Ron. Harry was less inclined to laugh. Where were they going to get a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was the real question.

Dumbledore beamed. “I have solved that problem. You see, in lieu of hiring a regular Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, this year, I am drafting several of you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.” That shut everyone up. They all stirred uneasily, as everyone knew the position was positively jinxed. Except for Snape. He went quite still and his face was more closed than usual.

“I will ask Bill Weasley to teach the fall session with an emphasis on the skill of curse-breaking. As a curse breaker for Gringotts, I have no doubt you will do an admirable job.” Bill looked quite blank and seemed, as though he would protest. Dumbledore spoke quickly again before Bill could object.

“The winter session will be taught by our esteemed auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He will concentrate on teaching Tracking and Concealment, subjects which are not normally taught on the Hogwarts curriculum at all. He will also be helping to reinforce your fighting skills.” Harry noticed that Shacklebolt looked less than thrilled as well.

“For our spring session…” Dumbledore paused for a moment and his gaze rested briefly on Professor Lupin. As though a question had passed unspoken between them, Lupin shook his head, movement so slight that one would never have known it for what it was if one hadn’t been watching. Dumbledore continued almost without stopping and said, “for our spring session, Professor Snape will concentrate on teaching advanced fighting skills with a special emphasis on anti-jinxes and hexes.”

Harry’s heart sank. Snape! For Defense and Potions! He’d never get through NEWTs if he had to deal with him for both. Snape had flushed slightly, and his black eyes gleamed as though he’d been given a gift. Harry supposed Snape was going to try to persuade Dumbledore to give him the job permanently after this year. He felt sorry for the students coming after and thought, at least it’s only the last few months to get through.

Fred cleared his throat again, “There’s just one problem,” he said, sounding once again exactly like Umbridge, “we all know professor Snape is…erm…well Professor Snape…” Ron snickered quietly at that. “But how can he teach two subjects at once?” Fred finished. Snape started to reply, but Dumbledore answered quite serenely.

“I will need another volunteer from the Order for Potions, naturally.” His blue eyes twinkled though his face was quite calm. “That would be you, Mr. Weasley. Or your brother George. Or both of you. Or whichever of you is available to take time out from your busy schedule.”

Snape finally did speak. “Neither one of them even took their NEWTs.”

Dumbledore nodded and said calmly, “That’s quite true. However, Potions was one of the subjects in which they received their OWLs. And as I recall, they received the highest scores in that subject one can receive.” Fred had got a calculating look on his face, and Harry had a horrible feeling he had just realized what a great sales platform a brief stint as a teacher would be.

Dumbledore added serenely, “I am quite sure, Severus, that you will take time out to supervise the curriculum and make sure they are keeping the Potions classes up to NEWT standards.” Snape nodded. It was more of a jerk of the head, eerily reminiscent of the one he had given Lockhart when they had demonstrated dueling for the students in their second year. It did nothing to ease Harry’s worries, and he saw that Hermione was looking rather pensieve as well.

“There’s just one thing,” Bill said reluctantly, so that Harry thought he’d refuse the job altogether. “I’ve some personal things to take care of and this really changes my plans,” Bill continued.

‘It is unfortunate,” Dumbledore replied, “but Voldemort is not particularly considerate of anyone’s plans.” He looked straight at Bill and said, “I need you.”

Harry saw that Mrs. Weasley was frowning anxiously and he supposed she must be as mystified as everyone else as to what Bill’s plans might be. And, Bill glanced quickly at his mother before saying, “The thing is, I was planning on getting married, and this means I’ll have to move up the date.”

“Married!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “But…you didn’t say anything. I haven’t prepared… And who is it?” Mr. Weasley said nothing. He just gave a faint worried glance at his wife and Harry thought, he knows who it is, and Mrs. Weasley won’t approve.

Bill seemed to gather himself for a moment. “Fleur,” he said. “You’ve met her. I brought her home last Christmas.” He smiled happily then, as though he just couldn’t help himself. Harry couldn’t blame him. Fleur had to be one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen owing partly to the fact that she had a veela for a grandmother.

“That’s great!” Harry blurted out.

“It really is,” Hermione agreed. “Congratulations.” She smiled glowingly at him and then her face fell as she realized Mrs. Weasley hadn’t said anything.

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Are you sure? I didn’t realize it was serious,” she added.

Harry was quite stunned at her reaction. Then he remembered that Mrs. Weasley had been less than thrilled with Fleur last year. But still, he would have expected her to be happy if it was what Bill wanted.

“I’m sure,” Bill answered. He took a breath and waited again, but still Mrs. Weasley had not said the right words. The instant of silence wound the room tight with unexpected tension. Dumbledore, Harry noted, was looking calmly at the ceiling as though lost in thought. This was something, he guessed, that the Headmaster would not feel was something for him to interfere with.

‘Oh, well…” Mrs. Weasley said again. She just couldn’t seem to get the words out to approve of it and Bill’s face tightened.

“I guess it’s a shock to have someone who’s not a pure-blood in the family,” Bill said.

“But…that’s not it…” Mrs. Weasley answered. And still, Mr. Weasley said nothing. Harry was beginning to feel quite horrible, both for Bill and for Mrs. Weasley. And he couldn’t understand this at all.

“Isn’t it?” Bill asked.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Weasley said more firmly. “It’s just…she’s a little flighty, isn’t she?”

“Flighty?” Bill echoed. “You mean she’s of mixed blood, as her grandmother was a veela.” His voice had gone quite hard and Harry could not imagine what would stop this, what could save it. Here they were, the Order of the Phoenix, dedicated to stopping Voldemort and his pure-blood nonsense, and Mrs. Weasley herself was behaving so terribly badly. On the other side of the table, Hermione had gone quite still, though her face now expressed nothing. And Ron looked as though he had no clue what to say. He looked utterly baffled as though his favorite dog had bit him without provocation.

‘I don’t mean that at all,” Mrs. Weasley said. Her hands were twisting around themselves and she kept her gaze on her son, though Harry was sure she must feel the sudden withdrawal in the room. There was Lupin, who was a werewolf, and Hagrid, the half-giant, who was unaccountably quiet.

‘No?” Bill said softly. “Then you’ll come, won’t you?”

Finally, Mr. Weasley spoke. “Of course we’ll come, son. All of us will come.” He walked around the table to where Bill had risen and clapped him on the back. Then he pulled him into a big hug and said, “So long as you’re happy, we’re happy.”

He looked at Mrs. Weasley, who said, “Oh, yes,” and started weeping. “I wasn’t expecting this, my first child getting married without even letting me set the date or help with the gown or making the feast.”

“Well, Mum,” Bill protested, “I wasn’t expecting to announce it quite like this either.” He looked daggers at Dumbledore and added, “I was going to tell you first alone, you know.” Mrs. Weasley flung her arms around him and cried some more.

Harry thought uncomfortably, it must be awful to announce your engagement and not have your Mum be happy. He wondered for the first time whether his grandparents had minded when his Dad had married his Mum. He wondered whether his other grandparents had minded when his Mum had married his Dad. He was sure that Petunia hadn’t liked it.

Ron got up finally and said, “I think it’s brilliant.” He grinned and added, “She’s dead gorgeous, that’s for sure, and really quite nice.”

Fred strolled over to Bill and shook his hand and said very solemnly, “I think it’s ripping, old boy. Just ripping.” Then he went and shook George’s hand and said, “I think it’s just ripping, old boy, don’t you?” George, for once, wasn’t playing.

“Don’t be stupid prat, Fred,” he said.

Harry slipped out of the room as George clapped Bill on the back and he noticed that Dumbledore followed right after. When he got out to the great room, Harry heaved a sigh of relief.

"That was touch and go for a minute," he said, more to himself than to Dumbledore.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "It happens sometimes, that when we are surprised, we are confronted with prejudices we didn't even know we had." Harry noticed then that Snape had followed them out and had obviously heard the Headmaster's remark. He alone had neither commented nor congratulated Bill.

"It happens sometimes," he said softly, "that even when we know we have prejudices, we are unable to get past them." Dumbledore went quite still and then placed a hand very lightly on Snape's shoulder as if to comfort him, thought for what, Harry had no idea.

But Snape stood rigid at the touch, as if he couldn't bear the weight of it and after a moment, he moved away quite courteously to stand near the glowing green spot on the carpet that he'd forgot to remove. Snape looked from Harry to Dumbledore and said to the Headmaster, "This business of his dreams must be discussed."

Dumbledore nodded and said to Harry, "Perhaps you'd like to sit down."

Harry remained standing, however. Talking about his dreams was not his favorite activity. "I don't think there's anything to talk about," he said. "I mean, I haven't had any really interesting dreams about Voldemort lately. And that's the only kind of dreams that would be important."

Dumbledore considered him with that terribly penetrating gaze, the one that made Harry feel uncomforatably as if the elderly wizard knew what he was thinking and feeling even when he himself did not.

"But you have had dreams of Voldemort, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Once in a while," Harry responded, "but I don't think it's anything much." He flushed slightly at the recollection of the last one and hurried on, "And the other stuff is just dreams. Normal stuff, you know. Everyone dreams sometimes. That doesn't mean it's important."

"In view of your past experiences," Snape relied harshly, "how can you be sure that any of your other dreams aren't influenced by Voldemort? Like your dream about the fire today."

Harry frowned and said as calmly as he could, "Voldmort wasn't in that one. And my scar didn't hurt more or anything. And it wasn't like when I dreamt of the Department of Mysteries or like last year."

Dumbledore continued to observe him closely. "Your scar didn't hurt more?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"How often does it hurt," Dumbledore asked. The question surprised Harry. It was old news that his scar hurt since Voldemort had returned.

He shrugged again and said reluctantly, "Pretty much all the time." And seeing some thing flare in Dumbledore's eyes, he added hurriedly, "But not a lot. Just like background noise. It's only when he's up to something, or really upset or excited that it hurts a lot."

"Perhaps he does need additional Occlumency practice," Snape said to Dumbledore.

"No, I don't," Harry said quickly. "I can block him out most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Snape echoed. "But not all of the time? And does that mean he's actually attempting to access your mind regularly?"

"Of course not," Harry responded. "If anything, I think he's trying to keep me out, you know. Maybe I bother him as much as he bothers me."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened at that and Harry felt as though he was digging himself ever deeper into difficulties, when he wanted to end the conversation altogether. "What makes you say that?" Dumbledore asked.

"I dunno," Harry answered. "Just a feeling, really."

Dumbledore continued to look at him as though he expected a better answer, and Harry could feel Snape's gaze boring into him. He didn't turn to meet the Potions Master's eyes though. There were times that Snape's latent hostility towards him was just too much. Feeling pressured to explain, he took a deep breath and let his mind shut out the present surroundings. Deliberately, he let the wall in his mind thin down, until he could feel and almost see the other.

"He's rather angry just now," Harry said softly. "Someone messed up. They didn't do what he wanted." He felt his stomach contract and though he was wide awake, he seemed to see, flickering on the wall like an old black and white film, the shadows of his enemy and his hooded circle, and in the middle, a form hunched over in pain. Fury, ice cold, washed through him, a hand lifted to point a wand, and when the spell came, pain seared through his scar in a sudden blinding flash. The shadow Voldemort turned, and Harry thought he could feel, see the red eyes meet his, and the fury rushed at him again and was just as quickly cut off. Now he did sit, and he said with horror, "I think he just killed someone again."

Dumbledore said urgently, "Are you sure?" at the same time that Snape hissed, "Are you mad, to court such danger? Have you done that before, sought out his thoughts on purpose?"

Harry breathed in and waited for the nausea and terror to pass. "Yes, I'm sure," he said after a moment to Dumbledore. He swallowed with difficulty and said to them both, "And no, I've never done that before. Maybe I should though. Maybe it'd give us the inside track into his plans." He shivered and said, "Maybe we could stop him sometimes, if I looked in on him."

This time both Snape and Dumbledore were in agreement. "No!"

Dumbledore responded, "that won't be necessary," and Snape added, "You foolish boy. Do you want the Dark Lord to possess you?" And when Harry shook his head in distress, Snape added, "Well, you've just given him fair warning, then haven't you? And you've let him see you might be vulnerable still."

The others had come drifting out of the kitchen and Hermione was watching him with anxious eyes. "Why can't you just leave him alone?" she said furiously. She put an arm around him and repeated, "Leave him alone."

Snape looked angry and his black eyes were unusually hot with fury.

But Dumbledore said calmly, sorrowfully, "We can't. He knows we can't and you know it, too, Miss Granger. We're past that point now."

Harry leaned into Hermione's arm and wished he could disapparate somewhere very far away. Preferably somewhere very cold where the fiery burning of his scar would be numbed for a while.

***

"How long," Hermione thought, could he go on like this?" Harry sat utterly still. His forehead was beaded with sweat even though the flesh on his upper arm just below the edge of the too tight t-shirt was ice cold. Every muscle was taut and she felt as though he might explode any moment, like a clock whose spring had been wound too tight, or like a trapped lion that would attack anything in its way.

She looked up and saw that Ron had come in from the kitchen and Ginny was standing poised half-way down the stairs. They were both staring at her and Harry and Ron had that look he got when he was about to blow-up, all red about the ears and his mouth thinned down to nothing.

"You've pushed him enough for today," Ron said. He turned to Ginny and some message seemed to pass between the two. "Take him upstairs," he said to her.

Ginny nodded coolly and was down the stairs in a flash. She looked at Hermione and rached out for Harry's hand. Reluctantly, Hermione unwrapped her arm from around him and let Ginny pull Harry to his feet.

"I'm all right," he said. His voice had that touch of irritation it got when someone tried to coddle him. Ginny simply tugged at him and he followed her up the stairs without further protest, a sign, Hermione thought, of just how close to the end of his resources he must be.

Dumbledore and Snape were both looking startled. Snape made a gesture as if he would call them back, but Dumbledore raised a hand quickly and said, "Never mind. We'll continue this discussion tomorrow. You've given Molly a supply of the potion for him?" Snape nodded, but he had turned his attention back to Ron.

"Since when, Mr.Weasley, were you appointed to the Order, or given any authority in these matters?" Ron stared right back at him, his face flushing red again.

"I don't need to be appointed," he answered. "And I don't need any authority to stand up for my friend." Hermione stayed quite still. A funny feeling flooded through her and wound its way about her heart, though she had no notion really of what it was.

"We don't doubt your friendship," Dumbledore answered. "But you know better than most just how difficult this next year is likely to be for Harry. He must be prepared." Hermione would have expected Ron to back down since it was Dumbledore who spoke. And the Headmaster, though his tome was mild, was clearly not to be moved.

"Oh, yeah," Ron answered, "you've been preparing him for years. You've been pushing him and throwing him in the fire and honing him to a killing point so he can do what no one else has the guts to do. He was always the weapon you were guarding, not that damned prophecy." He stared at Dumbledore as if waiting to be contradicted; but Dumbledore said nothing.

"Just remember," Ron added, "even a sword made of the finest steel will crack if you put too much stress on it at the wrong time and in the wrong place. And you know, all of you know by now, that Harry'll never say no. He won't say he's too tired or too sick because that's just how he is. So someone else has to stick up for him and tell you no when it's needed, or else you will break him and he'll be no use to you. And then You Know Who...then Voldemort will win."

Dumbledore did not respond to that either, but he looked suddenly weary. The lines in his face deepened into grooves and his shoulders aged minutely. That alone would have worried Hermione, as she was used to thinking of Dumbledore as nearly invulnerable and omniscient. It was the expression in his eyes, however, that left her feeling frightened. The blue eyes, for one second, looked scared. She could not imagine Dumbledore of all people ever being scared.

The expression passed quickly, though, and Dumbledore finally answered. “I’ll be back tomorrow. There are some matters I must look into now, and I’d like a word with you Severus, before I go.”

Hermione was terribly curious to know what Dumbledore wanted to say to Snape, but a look from the headmaster told her that she and Ron had interfered as much as would be tolerated.

She caught Ron’s eye and stalked off down the stairs to the lower level in search of a room where they could speak in private. For one moment, she thought Ron would not follow. His posture remained rigid and his face was still flushed. But he did follow her down and along the basement hallway to the room that Hermione thought was the best in the house. If she’d had the money, she would have offered Harry every piece of gold in her vault just for that one room. Hermione flicked her wand and lit the fireplace and sconces that dotted the walls here and there. The light glowed on rows and rows of books and parchments scrolls. Deep leather chairs were scattered about the room and in the middle was a large ebony table decorated with silver inlay. It had taken her several days to figure out how to get into the library and she had taken every opportunity available to delve into the treasures that beckoned from the shelves.

Ron flung himself down on one of the chairs and said, “This is a proper ****-up isn’t it?”

Hermione didn’t bother commenting on his foul language. She was feeling the same way. “Listen,” she said, “we have to do something about this.”

Ron stared at her and said, “Really? And just what do you think you can do, Hermione, when it’s Dumbledore himself who’s part of the problem?”

She considered him thoughtfully. The vivid red hair gleamed in the firelight and the good-natured face was anything but good-natured just now. There was a look in his eye that boded no good. She could see it, the stubborn streak in him, about to rise up and start smashing everything in its way. It was the thing that made him the most loyal of friends. It was the thing that made him strong and courageous, even in the face of his worst phobias. It was also the thing that could make him dangerous.

“This potion they’re giving him,” she said tentatively, “what do you think is really in it?” Ron looked disconcerted and then worried again.

“I dunno. I thought from what Ginny said that Mum made it up, but now it seems like Snape made it on Dumbledore’s directions and then Mum added the sleeping draft for her own reasons. Or maybe Ginny did that and just said Mum had told her to.”

“I just don’t like it,” Hermione said.

“Why fix on that?” Ron asked. “Dumbledore’s not going to give Harry anything that’ll harm him. He wants Harry strong enough to kill Voldemort, doesn’t he?”

“I wasn’t thinking of Dumbledore,” Hermione answered. “I was thinking of Snape.”

“I thought you think Snape is okay,” Ron retorted. “And besides,” he added, “he did make the potion that saved Harry’s life last spring.”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione said. “But…that was when he thought Voldemort was dead. Do you think he would have done that if he knew Voldemort hadn’t been killed?”

A frown gathered itself on Ron’s face, creasing the forehead in vertical lines between the eyes and his mouth tightened again to a fine thin line. “I never liked him,” he said after a second. “Only what are you thinking of doing here, Hermione? What if that potion is really important? What if it is the thing that will make Harry healthier and strong again?”

“It’s simple,” Hermione said, “we’ll substitute our own. I can make a perfectly good Revitalizing potion. And Ginny’s good at that, too. We’ll get her to switch mine for theirs and then I’ll check out what they’re putting into it. And I can do some research into other potions that will help.”

“You can try that,” Ron said slowly, “but what if the problem is something else entirely? What if it’s a real magical problem? What if he really is…cursed? A potion won’t fix that.”

Hermione stood stone still and tried to fight the incipient panic that threatened to overwhelm her. No matter how hard they tried to help and to watch out for him, each year, Harry seemed to get hurt worse. The thing that worried Hermione most now was not even his physical state. He had lost something she thought. Some fire or some part of his spirit had been diminished, and she worried that his physical health was more impaired by that than by anything else. A comment that Luna Lovegood had made the previous year strayed into her mind. Harry, she had said, was turning into a ghost without even having died.

“Hermione?” Ron said. His voice recalled her to their conversation. She watched as he stood up and came to stare down at her.

“Hermione,” he said again, “do you love him?” She looked at him in surprise.

“What a silly question,” she answered. “Of course, I love Harry. He’s my friend.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ron said, almost angrily. “Are you in love with him? That’s what I’m asking.” Hermione gawked at Ron for just a second too long.

"I never thought about it before," she answered. She watched the color wash out of his face and said hastily,"Why are you asking?" though she knew perfectly well why.

"You know why," he said coldly, and that was worse than if he'd been angry. She continued to look up at him and she knew she was being quite cruel; but she wanted him to say the thing that was unspoken out loud.

"Why are you asking?" she said again.

"Because," he answered, "I want to marry you. I love you." He looked baffled and furious and frightened all at once and Hermione felt again that tightening about the heart that was frightening, too. "But how can I...well, if you love him and he loves you, how can I stand in the way?"

"What are you talking about?" she jumped back at him. "Harry doesn't...he's my friend. He doesn't think about me that way."

"Maybe," Ron said, "Maybe. But I wasn't asking about him. I was asking about you."

Hermione closed her eyes and found herself utterly speechless. The irony of it, she thought later, that she who was so clever with words and with knowing things was comletely undone by the simple declaration she had wanted to hear for ages. At last, she found the courage to look up and answer.

"I'm a Mudblood," she said. "It's fine, isn't it, to be friends with me. It's fine even, for you to date me. But marry me? I don't have half as much wizard blood as Fleur and look how your Mum reacted."

"That's not...she was just..." He didn't seem to be able to get the words out, she thought drearily. "It's not because of that," he finally said. "It's just, she didn't like Fleur."

Hermione looked at him levelly and said, "Why not? And it's Bill's choice, anyway. Or is it?" She waited for him to answer thinking her future was there in his answer.

"Yeah, it's Bill's choice," he answered defensively. "And I don't care one way or the other if it's his or not. I know what I want. The question is do you?"

Once again, she had no words. She stared up at him for one more moment and then wrapped her arms around his sturdy body and laid her head against his chest. She could feel, hear the acceleration of his heart and felt that she was quite content to remain that way, secure, and loved.

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