The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301

Chapter Sixteen

November turned cold, and though the endless rains had stopped, blustery winds made Care of Magical Creatures rather miserable. Hagrid's renewed enthusiasm for dragons had one benefit though. Because even he couldn't get Norbert to come and visit the class, he spent a good few classes indoors, teaching them from books about dragons. They learned to recognize all the different eggs, all 19 species, what they fed on (just about anything living) and where they liked to live. No one, not even Hagrid had mentioned that Harry had actually talked to Norbert. Harry suspected that even Hagrid didn't really believe it. Only Hermione seemed to find it perfectly natural and not in the least scary. Ron had pretended the event never happened and Ginny had been too embarrassed by the scene with Dean to ask for more details.

All of their teachers had stepped up the volume of the work, so that there were days when Harry felt he barely breathed between classes, homework and quidditch practice. The first game was set for November the twenty-fifth. Half the school was betting that Gryffindor was a dead cert to win against Hufflepuff. The other half, instigated by Malfoy no doubt, insisted that Harry would have a fainting fit and fall right off his broom, leaving the way clear for the Hufflepuff Seeker to claim the victory for his team. Harry tried not to let all this bother him, but in the dark of night when everyone else slept, he couldn't help remembering the terror of going blind and seeing through Voldemort's eyes when he was awake. If that did happen during the game, he would fall off his broom.

Harry's worst problem, though, was in classes where practical applications were practiced. After the Curse that Backfired, as the students called it, almost no one was willing to practice with Harry except for Ron and Hermione and Neville. This wasn't so bad in Transfiguration and Charms, where both Flitwick and Mcgonagall were more willing to let students choose whom they were partnering. But even Ron had paused just a little the first time they had to perform one of the human transfiguration spells with Harry as his subject. Then he had gamely tried the spell, which gave one whiskers just like a cat, and it had worked perfectly fine.

Giggling under her breath, Hermione said, "You look like an offended lion, Harry."

Ron had started laughing too, and Harry had gotten annoyed and done the spell on Ron just a bit too vigorously. Ron had sprouted, not only whiskers, but his teeth had turned into fangs, too. Harry had laughed then himself and McGonagall had to do the counter-spell herself because neither of them could stop laughing long enough to say it properly.

"I don't know what it is about Seventh Years," she said severely. "They go all silly halfway through the year and don't recover until NEWTs are nearly upon them." She was rolling her Rs more then ususal and for some reason, that made them laugh even harder.

But it was in Defense Against the Dark Arts and dueling practice that Harry had the most problems. Bill wasn't inclined to let him practice only against Ron or Neville and the other students would sometimes refuse to try when he was paired up with them. They were also wary of letting Harry have a go at them, so he'd been forced to watch from the sidelines a little too often and he had roped Ron and Neville and Hermione into practicing extra for fear he would do poorly on his NEWTs if he couldn't practice enough. In dueling, however, neither Bill nor Snape would force anyone to fight him. He did get in good practices with Ron. But ineveitably, when they would get into the rhythm of a bout, the rest of the students would stop their practice and watch breathlessly.

And sooner or later, someone, usually Malfoy, would start making comments like, "Hope Weasley walks away alive this time," or "that was close, only a Weasley would be so brainless he'd fight with Potter," or "do you think Weasley will have all his limbs left by the end of the year?" It was all Harry could do to keep his concentration and temper and not to go and smack Malfoy with the flat of his sword.

The worst of it was, Harry's own worst enemy was himself. Saturday evenings were the nights he walked the common room the longest as he put off the prospect of sleep haunted by images of thrusting the sword into Voldemort and waking up with a gasp and a burning sensation in his chest as though the poisoned sword was still in him. He would breathe hard for a minute and wait for the imaginary pain to subside and then toss in a misery of guilt and despair as he tried to force out of his mind the fact that he had killed already and must do so again if he wanted to live.

Harry's least favorite class was and would always be Potions. It didn't matter that Harry was nearly certain now that Snape was on their side. It didn't matter that Harry was really trying hard in the class because he had to have the grade on his NEWTs to be an auror. Snape continued to show an open loathing of Harry, whether from habit, or from some deeper more subtle purpose, Harry could not change his own reflex reaction when Snape did. The fury would rise and there were times he seemed to feel a small voice tickling in the back of his mind. You can't trust him really...you can never trust him...he hates you...he hated your father...he'll betray you in the end.... And nothing in Snape's manner or posture did anything but reinforce that feeling.

On at least two occasions, Snape had broken Harry's vial when his Potion was done and ready to turn in. On both, he had blamed Harry and suggested that Harry had broken them because he knew his Potion was no good, and he had made Harry stay after class cleaning up the dungeon classroom without magic as a punishment. The snickers of the Slytherins as he had swept up the broken glass and scrubbed the dungeoon floor, which was encrusted with the spilled remains of hundreds of students' potions, only served to raise his fury more.

The day of the first quidditch game was bright and cold. As it was an evening game, they still had classes, and Harry went into Potions determined to get through class without a broken glass or a detemtion from Snape. He was quite sure that Snape would be looking for a reason to stop him playing that evening.

He laid out his Potion ingredients carefully. He read through the directions three times before starting and he couldn't help snapping quietly at Hermione, "Can't you be quiet?" when she hummed annoyingly under her breath disturbing his grim concentration. She looked quite wounded and he repented immediately.

"Sorry," he muttered. She gave him a sidelong look and returned to her own work, chewing at her lip instead of humming and leaving Harry felling quite rotten. Snape seemed to be ignoring him that day, and Harry had started to hope that he would get through the lesson without too much trouble and would be able to relax just a bit before the game. They were more than halfway through the class when Snape swept over and sniffed at his cauldron. His overlarge nose twitched like a hunting dog's and Harry could not help clenching his teeth as he waited for the comment.

"I suppose you've stirred you potion three times, have you?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"And I suppose you ground the roots into the finest powder possible?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"But," Snape said, pausing to savor the tension he created, "you didn't remembered to lower the flame on your cauldron afterward, did you, Potter? Do you recall, I distinctly reminded the class of that instruction?"

"No, sir," Harry answered. Then as if a genie had popped out of a bottle, he answered, "you didn't give us that instruction. Sir. It isn't on the board, is it? Sir."

"I added the instruction when I gave verbal additions to the instructions," Snape relied. "Perhaps you weren't paying attention? Perhaps you think you don't need to pay attention in class anymore. Perhaps your fame persuades you that you have nothing to learn from anyone anymore?"

Harry looked at his hands and clasped them together concentrating on keeping his temper intact; or rather, from flying out of control altogether. Snape was speaking again, but Harry had stopped listening for real. A searing pain had cut through his scar, and at first he was inclined to attribute it to his own temper. In his rage, he supposed, he had let down the barrier between himself and Voldemort. Snape had asked a question, demanded something, an answer, but Harry was beyond speaking.

The pain had increased and he understood suddenly that this was nothing to do with Snape or his own temper. No, Voldemort was on the move again Harry's hands were white at the knuckles and his face was white, all the healthy color he had regained washed out of it in an instant. He eyes were lowered to his hands and unlike his usual reaction to Snape's ranting, he shut them as if keeping them open was a task beyond his strength.

***

Hermione thought, shut up, you stupid man, you're going to push him one time too many. She could not understand why Snape could not let Harry alone. She could not understand why Dumbledore permitted this.

"Well, Potter?" Snape continued, "Are you going to show sufficient respect for a Professor and answer? Or will you force me to give you detention this evening?" The class gasped softly at that. Everyone there knew that Gryffindor would likely lose if Harry were kept out of the game for detention. Everyone there knew Snape would do it, too, if he were provoked sufficiently. But Harry didn't answer. He was now biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and he was breathing shallowly as he had two months before -- the last time he had seen Voldemort from afar.

"Potter!" Snape shouted at him. "Look at me! Now!" Harry lifted his gaze to the Potions Master, but while he looked, he didn't seem to see. His green eyes were huge and the pupils had begun to dilate. Hermione could see a faint trembling starting through him, a vibration, small, but visible.

"Come with me," Snape said icily. "We will see the headmaster about this." The class did not even gasp this time. Everyone there, with the exception of Hermione, was undoubtedly certain he or she would receive the same punishment as Harry if they so much as breathed. She was more horrified then, when Harry stared right at Snape and said, "No! NO, NO, NO!" Snape would have him expelled she thought.

Fury washed through his face, but then disappeared again as fast as it had come. He paled then instead and said, "Potter!" this time very quietly. Harry focused again. She could see it, his eyes returning to to normal and he said, "I've got to go. I've got to stop him." He moved for the door knocking over his books as he went.

Snape barred the way and said, "You will go nowhere but to the Headmaster's office." Harry stared at him as if he hadn't heard anything Snape had said before.

"Hurry," he said urgently. He shoved past Snape and Hermione followed him out of the classroom to the hallway. He ran smack into Dumbledore and said wildly, "Voldemort, he's going to kill them. I have to stop him now!"

Dumbledore looked at Snape and pulled Harry in to Snape's office. Snape followed and Hermione went right in after him. She heard Ron howl in fury behind her as Snape slammed the office door shut in his face. Harry was tugging violently at Dumbledore, who was gripping him with a strength far greater than one could imagine so old a man could summon.

"Be calm," Dumbledore said commandingly, "and tell me." Harry shook his head and said, "He's going to kill them. He's already killed....You've got to let me go. I have to get them out..."

"Who?" Dumbledore said sharply.

"My aunt," Harry said, "he's going after her. Let me go!" he said, wrenching out of the elderly wizard's grip.

"Where?" Dumbledore said. "You must not, in any case. I will go."

Harry shook his head. His face was stark with horror and he said, "No. Turn me..change me...into the bird. I have to stop him. I can get in his way and he won't know it's me, if I'm the bird. Please, you have to let me." He turned to Snape in frustration and said, "Do it! change me now!"

Snape looked at Dumbledore and Dumbledore looked suddenly so tired, so full of despair that Hermione wanted to cry.

He nodded and said, “I will go with you.” It was Dumbledore, after all, who did the spell, as Snape had said, “It’s not wise. It’s what he wants.”

But Harry had cut him off and said, “I don’t care. I don’t care. Just do it and go.” As he had in the garden, the change shrank him and spread him out. Arms became wings, legs, taloned feet, and only the green eyes and the lightning scar remained, though one had to look for the scar to see it. The bird flapped his wings and rose and Hermione wondered if Harry understood what he was. Dumbledore seized the bird’s golden tail and it disappeared in flash.

Outside, Ron was pounding on the door and a rare fury overcame her. "You never let up on him. You just can't let it go, can you, your jealousy and hatred. He stood up for you and you still pick at him and pick at him and pick at him. You..." Snape stopped dead and caught her arm in a painful grip.

"You will say nothing of this, what you saw here." Snape said. "Do you understand? If you are his friend, you will tell no one what you saw, not even that gallumphing well-meaning boyfriend of yours. It's worth Potter's life, if you talk of this."

"No one knows," Hermione answered, "but Dumbledore and McGonagall and you. If it gets out, it will be only you who lets it out." Snape's eyes bored into her.

"You knew already? How?"

"I saw in the garden, when you went to save Lupin," she replied.

"And Weasley? Does he know?" She shook her head. She could not say why she had kept this to herself. Only that she had not understood it herself.

"He knows you used Harry, turned him into animal form. And Harry told us he turned into a bird." She hesitated and added cautiously, "I'm not sure Harry realizes just what he turns into. Do you know?"

"I am not his secret keeper, Miss Granger."

"No," she answered. "That's what frightens me." The knocking had intensified and they could hear the sounds of an uproar coming from the corridor. Snape opened the door so suddenly that Ron nearly fell over backwards.

"What's going on?" Ron bellowed. "What are you doing to him? Where is he?"

"Be still, Weasley. He's with the Headmaster." Snape swept past Ron, and back to the classroom. Ron and Hermione followed after. Ron said under his breath,

"Where is he really? Is he...? Did You Know Who...?"

"He went with Dumbledore," she said even more softly. "He should be okay."

Ron stopped and forgot to lower his voice. "They've gone after him? How can you say that then? He'll be okay? And they left us behind!"

"Stop that, Ron Weasley!" she hissed. "This isn't about you. He was frantic, out of his mind with fear. He saw something..who Voldemort was attacking. He didn't have time to think about including us."

Ron's face went still, "Who?" he asked.

She hesitated and said, "He said something about his aunt. Don't say anything about this. Malfoy's in there and Crabbe and Goyle." He shut his mouth with a snap and strode back into the classroom. Hermione followed right behind terrified that Snape would say something, the wrong thing.

"Be quiet!" Snape roared, and that was a first. He had never once before had to raise his voice to keep a class quiet. The class stilled, but there were still minor rumblings, and that too was a first.

Then Neville stood up and said, "Where's Harry? What did you do to him?"

"He's with the Headmaster, Mr. Longbottom," Snape replied, "which is more information than you need to know. Now be seated."

But Neville remained standing. "I want to know where he is, where he went," Neville said.

"St Mungo's, to the crazy ward," Crabbe said spitefully. "He's cracking up, Potter is, just like your Mum and Dad, Longbottom. Did you see him? His eyes were off, weren't they?"

Neville whipped out his wand and pointed it at Crabbe. "Harry's not crazy. And neither were my Mum and Dad until your Dad's Death Eater friends tortured them into insanity," Neville snarled. His round, friendly face was icy cold with threat. "Harry Saw something," Neville said. "He Saw what You Know Who was up to, killing someone or torturing them."

"Saw something?" Malfoy cut in. "He's no Seer. He couldn't see something in the glass in Divination if his life depended on it."

"Seers don't see to order," Lavender interrupted. "They just do, when the time is ripe."

"Oh, come on," Pansy Parkinson said, "Potter, a Seer, with a Mudblood mother?"

Hermione noticed that Snape jerked slightly at that and thought it odd. More odd was the fact that he wasn't stopping the conversation. Rather he was watching the students narrowly, measuring who thought what and who was for whom.

"Nobody knows where that gift comes from," Neville answered. "and besides, his family on his Dad's side were pure-bloods as far back as anybody's." Neville swung back around to Snape and said, "Where did he go? Why did you let him go alone like that?"

"I told you," Snape said sharply, "he's with the Headmaster. Now be seated." Neville stood stubbornly though. It was as though some constraint had fallen away and he had lost his fear of the Potions Master altogether.

"You didn't stop him, did you?" Neville said. "You'd be happy to see him get killed, wouldn't you? You hate him, you never stop picking on him. Maybe you're a Death Eater yourself and you pick on him to weaken him for You Know Who." There was an appalled silence.

Hermione saw that Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle were staring at Snape, waiting for his answer. As were the rest of the class. Ron made a gesture, as though to say something, but Hermione kicked him into silence. Snape stared at Neville and then swept the rest of the class in a comprehensive glance.

"If I were a Death Eater, Mr. Longbottom, I should hardly take you into my confidence, now would I? What I am, however," Snape added, his black eyes glittering with rage, "Mr. Longbottom, is a Hogwarts teacher. And I demand and expect respect out of every student. Even you. Even Potter. Therefore, you, Mr. Longbottom have detention and twenty points will be taken from Gryffindor. And that includes Granger and Weasely, too."

"Points!" Neville answered. "What do points matter? Take all the points you want. Give all the detention you want. It won't change what You Know Who is. It won't change what you are. And it WON'T change the fact that Harry Potter is better than the two of you and all of the Death Eaters combined!"

"How very brave," Snape said sarcastically. "So brave that while I am dismissing the class without homework, you, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and yes, Potter, too, will all have a week of detentions and an extra essay to write." The rest of the class shuffled out quickly, anxious to avoid Snape's wrath. Neville stared a moment more at Snape and then walked out after the rest of the class. Hermione had no time for the resentment that would come later. All she could think of was Harry out there, facing Voldemort, and what might happen.

Snape swung back around and went toward his office. Hermione and Ron followed him, Hermione intending to ask him more questions and Ron, well, she wasn't sure what Ron was thinking, except by the ugly set of his mouth, it wasn't anything pretty. Snape pulled a small mirror out of his desk, a peculiarity in itself. She was quite sure he must never look in the mirror if he could help it, or how else could he leave his hair in as awful a state as it was? He spied them there and his face turned red again. But whatever he had been going to say was interrupted by a scarlet flash. The phoenix had appeared carrying two people. The first, Mrs. Weasley, was holding his tailfeathers, and she was holding onto another woman who dangled like a rag doll.

"Mum?" Ron said. Mrs. Weasley had landed awkwardly on the floor and the other woman, Mrs. Dursley had collapsed down, her eyes closed and she was clearly unconscious. The bird disappeared again in another flash and Mrs. Weasley bent over Mrs. Dursley to check her pulse.

"Is she...?" Snape asked.

"Alive," Mrs. Weasley said. "Just in shock, I think."

"And the others?" Snape asked. Mrs. Weasley shook her head, but whether that meant they were dead or she didn't know, Hermione couldn't tell.

"Which others?" Ron asked.

Mrs. Weasley turned to look at him. The fact that he was in the Professor's office seemed to register and she said, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, RONALD WEASLEY?" Hermione looked at Snape, but he didn't answer. In fact, she could have sworn he was actually amused.

"We just had class," Ron answered. "And Harry, well, that's how they knew about her, but where is he? Is he all right?" Mrs. Weasley stared at Ron in astonishment.

"Harry? Harry wasn't there, dear. Professor Dumbledore showed up and just in time, too." Ron looked from Snape to his Mum to Hermione as if to ask, what's wrong with this picture. However, the scarlet flash of the bird returning distracted everyone's attention. This time, he was carrying two men, one by each taloned foot. The two men were dropped none too gently, or maybe that was because they were so large that even a phoenix was taxed by their weight.

The older man, Mr. Dursley, struggled up to his feet. The other, whom Hermione recognized as the cousin, Dudley, rolled up easily, with the spring of an athlete, and when he stood she gawped at him a moment. He was even larger than she had recalled and he was dressed in sweatpants and nothing else. His huge shoulders were as wide as the frame of the door and muscles bulged in rows down his naked torso. In one respect, both men were identical: they shared the same look of horror and baffled rage.

"What did they do to my Mum?" Dudley stuttered. Mrs. Weasley looked up at him with ill-disguised loathing.

"Nothing, so far as I know. I think she just fainted."

"Where are we?" Mr. Dursley blustered. "It's kidnapping this is. I want the authorities summoned. Police! Ho!" Snape was looking at him with disbelief.

Mrs. Weasley, however, snapped at him, "Cease your blibbering, sir. Professor Dumbledore has everything under control."

"Under control! Under control!" Dursley's face was turning magenta with rage now that he knew his wife was unharmed. He continued to yell, in steadily rising volume. "You call it control when that Lord Voldythingy comes and attacks my son and wife at our son's school! On Parent Visitation Day! Where is he? I'll have his hide for this!"

Dumbledore came in then followed closely by Harry. She felt an enormous wave of relief, for other than the faint pallor of his face, Harry was entirely unharmed.

"Aunt Petunia?" he asked. "Is she...?"

"She fainted," Mrs. Weasley replied reassuringly.

At the sight of Harry, Mr. Dursley seemed to swell and his face darkened to a shade of purple so dark Hermione thought he must burst a blood vessel. "You!" he said. His small eyes glared with hatred. "This is your fault, you freak! This would never have happened if it weren't for you! It would have been better if you'd never been born!"

No one stopped him because he moved so fast and no one had expected it. Even as he railed, he swung and backhanded Harry so hard he was flung with some force back into the office shelves. Several glass containers fell to the floor with a crash leaving the astringent smell of preservative behind. The large meaty hand was already raised to follow-up his first blow, but Snape had moved faster than anyone. His wand had flashed out and he had it right in Dursley's face.

The man paled then and Snape said, "You know what I can do with this don't you? Back up then," he added, as Professor Dumbledore said sharply, "Severus!"

"You are an abomination," Snape said. He seemed to have forgotten himself entirely. Hermione could not ever remember seeing him like that, except perhaps the night he had thought to bring Sirius and Lupin in to the Ministry's dementors. "Even the lowest animal doesn't harm the young one in its care." Snape advanced on Mr. Dursley and Hermione thought surely he would curse the fat old villain.

But Harry interrupted. He stood up and she saw that his face was quite calm, almost distant. "Leave him, Professor," Harry said quietly. "He's quite right, after all. This would never have happened if it weren't for me."

There was nothing in his expression to suggest he had just been so grossly abused. Only a broad red mark spreading across his cheekbone told that he had just been the subject of a violent attack. Snape swung around and stared at him a frown gathering between his brows and an expression, questioning, comprehending, horrified, sped fleetingly across his face. Then it returned to neutral and he backed away, but kept his wand out.

Profesor Dumbledore stepped forward. His blue eyes were flashing as he spoke. "If you ever do that again, Vernon Dursley, I shall remove all your protections and leave you to the attentions of Lord Voldemort, do you understand?" Mr. Dursley glared like a cornered jackal.

"I want out of here, wherever it is. I want to take my wife and my son and never see him," he went on, pointing to Harry, "or any of you again." Dumbledore merely gazed at him coldly.

"Your wife will go to the hospital wing here, where she can be treated for shock, although she does not appear to be harmed. You may go with her." He glanced at the hulking youth and said more moderately, "As for Dudley, perhaps Ron and Harry, you would see about finding him something to wear and he can eat dinner with the students in the Hall."

At a glance from Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley assisted Mrs. Dursley to rise. The thin woman struggled up and then seeing her son said, "Dudley! You're not hurt? Tell me you're not hurt!"

"I'm fine, Mum," Dudley muttered. He glanced at his mother in something like alarm as she flew at him and kissed him.

Mrs. Weasley said quietly, "Mrs. Dursley, come with me. We want to make sure you're not hurt either."

Mrs. Dursley's long, thin neck stretched up as she turned her head and took in her surroundings. Seeing Harry and then Dumbledore, her lips tightened and she said with horror. "We're not at that...awful place? The school?" Harry nodded wordlessly, and Mrs. Dursley said, "Not here. I don't want to be here."

Professor Dumbledore said calmly, "We shall see that you return home safely Petunia. You will remember in the future, however, not to leave your home without first informing your guard. We discussed this last summer. It's very fortunate for you and your family that Mrs. Weasley was alert and saw you leave."

Petunia stared balefully at Professor Dumbledore and answered, "It was Parent Visitation Day at Smeltings. We went to see Dudley's boxing competition. And I wasn't taking any witches or wizards there. People would see! They would..." Her voice trailed off in a moue of distress as she realized that people, respectable people, had seen.

"Don't worry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said wearily, "The Ministry people will have been there. No one will remember a thing. They'll think you were taken ill and Dudley went along with you to make sure you were all right. Your respectable reputation is quite intact." Professor Dumbledore stood aside for Mrs. Weasley to lead out Petunia and Vernon Dursley.

"I'll need to call a meeting," he said to Snape, "and talk to Fudge as well. Tell Professor McGonagall to see to the quidditch match this eveining." Snape nodded and watched Dumbledore leave.

"Respectable?" he said nastily, looking at Dudley. For all his huge bulk, Dudley seemed to find Snape as intimidating as any Hogwarts student might.

Hermione looked at his beady blue eyes and saw they were still glazed a bit with shock. Curiousity overcame her then and she said, "What happened, anyway?"

Dudley's small blue eyes narrowed and he said, "I was boxing. I had just finished my match. I won and then these men came through the crowd all dressed in black like some telly horror show. I saw them draw wands. Well, I know what they look like 'cause I've seen Harry's." He swallowed and his large adam's apple bobbed a bit in his wide neck.

"Anyway," he went on, "I dropped and rolled when I saw they were going to attack so they missed. Then my Mum came running up and other people strating fleeing. And that red haired woman was a few feet behind my Mum. Then they attacked the men and Mrs...whatever, she knocked out a couple of them. But one of them came at me again and then my Mum got in front of me." He stopped again and Hermione watched him curiously. He seemed to be struggling to describe something. Perhaps it was some kind of magic that he hadn't understood?

Harry said slowly, "Dudley, they were after your Mum. How come she's not hurt?"

Dudley looked at Harry, and for a moment you could see it, the relationship, something about the way they stood, as if they understood each other, though they might not be friends.

"She..." Dudley hesitated again. "Mum...she...she did magic. I don't know how she did, but she stuck out her hand or something and a couple of them were knocked flat over. Then more people came. The old man and that big bird and others."

Harry's jaw literally dropped. "Aunt Petunia? She did magic?"

Dudley nodded. "Did you know she could?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione, however, thought that was quite odd. "She had no wand. How could she do magic without a wand?"

"Why not?" Dudley said in surprise.

"Harry does." Snape looked at Dudley and said, "Small things, perhaps. But knocking down two fully-trained wizards, without any weapon at all?"

Dudley looked at Snape like he was quite stupid and said, "Do you call making an entire glass vanish and letting a snake loose at the zoo, or blowing up my Aunt Marge small?"

Hermione could see the color flood back into Harry's face. Embarrassment she supposed.

Snape looked at Harry and said, "No wand?"

He blushed more red and said, "Erm, no. I was real angry though. I guess lots of wizards do things like that when they haven't got a lot of training yet."

Snape did not answer. But Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Neither one of them wanted to say, no they didn't do things like that. They were on their way out of Snape's office when Snape stopped them one more time. "I don't think there's any need to go into details over this," he said.

Harry nodded at Snape and then said, "Ron, would you help Dudley with some clothes. I don't know if there's anyone in Gryffindor big enough, but I might have something..." His voice trailed off and he was looking rather pale again.

Ron shot him a thorough look and said, "Are you going to be all right for the game?"

Harry nodded and said, "Yes," quite sharply.

After another look, Ron nodded at Dudley and pointed him toward the stairs. Hermione waited for Harry, trailing behind him as he returned to the Potions classroom to pick up his scattered books and papers. She noticed that Snape had followed as well, but she assumed that he simply wanted to see the room was set up for the next day. However, Snape made no effort to change the potion recipe that was on the board or to clean up the litter left from the uncompleted class.

Instead, he watched Harry steadily and asked, "Are you injured?" when Harry stopped in the middle of picking his things up to press a hand to his head.

Harry shivered slightly and said, "No. I'm fine."

But it was obvious he wasn't. Hermione bit her lip and asked anxiously, "Are you sure?"

He looked at her and nodded. His face was drawn tight, though, and the expression in his eyes was more tired and old than Dumbledore's had ever been. He bit his lip again, drawing another drop of blood and said, "He's punishing someone. He's mad they messed up, I guess. It's not all that unusual for him to do that. It keeps them all under control, maybe."

He finished clearing up his things and looked at Snape. Snape was watching him still, but said nothing. Harry cleared his throat and said, "Thank you, Professor. I won't forget what you did."

He closed his eyes as if he were gathering back his strength and then he nodded to Snape one more time and made his way upstairs to the Great Hall where most of the students were already in the middle of dinner.

Harry paused at the entrance to the Hall and Hermione was moved to ask again, "Are you sure you're all right?"

He didn't answer directly. Instead, he said, "I wish Dumbledore had left me as the bird a bit longer." She didn't quite know how to respond to that so she said instead, the thing that was most on her mind. "Listen, Harry," she said, trying not to be too urgent about it, "I don't think you should let people know about the bird thing."

"Why?" he asked. "You already know about it. So does Ron."

"Yes," she said. "But I don't think you should let them know you were actually there today. That you were the bird that helped. Even Mrs. Weasley doesn't know that. Even Ron doesn't know you actually were there."

"Not Ron?" he asked with surprise. "Why not?"

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't want it," she said.

He gave her a sharp look and then shrugged. "Maybe I'll ask Professor Dumbledore to teach me that spell. It might come in useful sometime, if I could do it myself."

"Do you think he'll have time?" she asked. Or would he be willing to, she thought, and answered herself, probably not. He shrugged again and found a spot at the Gryffindor table. Seeing Ron coming back with a now clothed Dudley, he waved them over to join them.

Even clothed, Dudley was visibly larger than any other student at the table, or maybe in the school. He was, she thought, even larger than Crabbe or Goyle, and the too tight sweatshirt he wore did nothing to diminish his vast bulk. He sat down next to Harry, and though Harry had grown quite tall over the last two years, Dudley dwarfed him.

Perhaps it was because Harry was so slim and leanly built; but next to him, Dudley seemed to take up the space of three. His pink face looked petulant and he seemed distinctly unhappy, though under the circumstances, Hermione could hardly blame him. Mere petulance was the last thing she'd be feeling if she'd been attacked by evil wizards in front of her friends and then kidnapped to a strange place she didn't want to be.

"Is this what you always eat?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "It's good. There's always something for everyone."

"Well, I'm in training," Dudley answered. "It's all fattening, isn't it? Look at that. Red meat, and starches dripping with butter." He looked at Harry with a kind of habitual contempt and said, "What do you do, some kind of magic to stay so skinny?"

Harry gave him a look back and said, "No, Dudley. I just don't gorge myself into a stupor like you used to." He gave Dudley another look out of narrowed green eyes and piled his plate up with steak and roast potatoes and green beans.

Hermione hoped he'd actually eat half of it. It would be more than he'd eaten in ages. In fact, he picked at his food after the first few bites, and watched his cousin cautiously, as though he were a firecracker that might go off any moment. Dudley filled his plate with green beans and only green beans. He ate and looked about him up and down the four long tables and at the candles floating in the air. He seemed to be fascinated by the enchanted ceiling, which was turning now into a black vault illuminated by a huge moon and twinkling stars.

"How many of you lot are there?" he asked.

"There are over five hundred students at Hogwarts this year," Hermione answered. "But it has held as many as a thousand at times."

His small blue eyes were lookiing extremely unhappy. "All of you do...you know, magic?" She nodded.

Harry was grinning just a little. She could see the corner of his mouth tilt up, but he said nothing more than, "Pass the tea, please." Dudley jumped when the teapot floated toward him and poured tea in his empty cup by itself.

"How long will I have to stay here?" Dudley asked.

The faint amusement had vanished from Harry's face. He answered soberly, almost apologetically, "I dunno. Until Dumbledore decides it's safe for you to go back, I expect." A trace of panic clouded Dudley's pink face again.

"That could be forever then, couldn't it?" Dudley asked. "Until that Voldemort guy is arrested and all." Nearby, several of the other Gryffindors jumped at the open mention of Voldemort's name. But Harry ignored that. He didn't respond right away either. Hermione could see a change come over him, and he looked tired again. She could have sworn, though, that the uppermost emotion in the green eyes was pity, and something like despair.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "But it did sound like Dumbledore was going to send you back. He just needs to arrange for better security I guess."

"I'll miss my A Level prep class," Dudley said sulkily again. "I can't miss that. I'll score too low and I won't get into uni like Dad wants."

"That's really tough," Hermione said sympathetically. Her own schedule of NEWT prep had been interrupted more times than she liked to think. And she was certain that neither Harry nor Ron had been following the ones she had laid out for them either. Ron definitely wasn't, she amended. She was less sure about Harry. He did stay up much later than everyone else still, though not as late as he had been at the beginning of the term.

"Well, at least you'll be alive," Ron said unsympathetically. Of course, he had no clue what A levels were about. Ron gave Harry another surreptitous look, measuring his friend's fitness and state of mind. "Look," he said to Harry, "are you sure you're up to playing tonight? It's only Hufflepuff, you know. I can put Ginny on as Seeker and we'll still be all right."

Hermione was about to say that was a good idea, but Harry stood up and growled emphatically, "I'm fine. I'm playing. And that new Seeker they've got is supposed to be quite good, so we're not taking any chances."

"What are you playing?" Dudley asked with interest. "Football, rugby?"

Ron started to make a sneering comment about those, but Hermione kicked him under the table and said, "Quidditch. It's our school game. Ron plays Keeper, that's like the goalie. And Harry plays Seeker. That's like being a catcher. And Ginny, Ron's sister, plays Chaser. That's like being on the offense." She saw the sulkiness drop off Dudley's face at the prospect of an athletic game and added for good measure, "The School is divided into four Houses and they compete against each other. Only seven players are on each House team, so it's a big deal to get on."

Dudley looked at Harry with new respect. "I didn't know you could play ball."

Harry stared at him a moment and answered dryly, "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Dud." Some of the weariness falled away at the prospect of the game and he lifted his head up slightly, like a lion scenting its game. He grinned at Ron and said, "Let's go play, then."

A cold drawling voice cut in. "Going to play then, Potter? You sure you can get through the game without needed a trip to the hospital wing?" Malfoy had crossed on the other side of the table, with Crabbe and Goyle at either side. Goyle smiled meanly and cracked his knuckles loudly. Hermione had a bad feeling about the look on his face and Crabbe's. She could see they were spoiling for trouble and wouldn't put it past the three Slytherins to pull some kind of trick to upset the game or hurt Harry somehow.

Unexpectedly, Dudley stood up next to Harry. He crossed his arms so that the huge biceps bunched up clearly under his too tight shirt and he had curled one huge hand into a fist.

"Think you're tough, do you?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle conversationally. The piggy blue eyes had a mean look about them and he looked as though he would like nothing better than an opportunity to crack some heads. Hermione caught the look of astonishment on Harry's face.

Then she saw again, the faint curve of amusement. "I wouldn't do it, if I were you," Harry said just as conversationally as Dudley. "Dudley, here, is the Southeast Regional Boxing Champ. He can flatten both of you faster than you can draw you wands, I promise." Harry stared the two of them down and then Malfoy after. "And I'd stay away from the Gryffindor brooms if I were you. We'll know it was you lot if we find any have been jinxed."

"Us?" Malfoy asnwered smoothly, "jinx brooms? Why would we need to do that when you're going to fall off anyway?"

"You're lying, Malfoy," Harry said coolly. "Don't bother denying it." Malfoy's pale eyes widened slightly and he shrugged. With another glance at Dudley though, he threw in a last remark. "So this is your Muggle cousin, hey, Potter? Pity you've got all that common blood running through you. Not fallen far off the tree, eh?"

It took a few seconds for the import of the remark to register with Dudley. Then a red flush suffused his face and he took a step after Malfoy.

Harry grabbed his arm and hauled back on him and said, "Don't rise, Dudley. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle are a bad lot. They makes your friends Piers and Gordon look like choirboys. Their dads are Death Eaters, followers of Voldemort."

"He called me common!" Dudley answered. "Where does get off, as if he's some freakin' aristocrat with a seat in the House of Lords."

"He's a git, a real scumbag," Ron said. "But don't worry, he's terrified of Harry and so are Crabbe and Goyle. None of them would take him on straight up. The best they'll do is try to ambush him or set up some stupid trap." Ron frowned than and added, "Maybe we had better check out the brooms first, and the bludgers, too." Hermione led Dudley out to the Quidditch pitch after securing him an extra warm cloak.

Dean Thomas had followed along and was asking Dudley questions about boxing and school. Seamus trailed next Dean, and he put in, “Sounds bloody violent, then, boxing does.”

Dean grinned at him and said, “Not as bad as Quidditch can be sometimes. ‘Specially not when the Slytherins are playing.”

“Slytherins?” Dudley asked.

“Malfoy’s house,” Hermione explained. “The nastiest ones get sorted there.” They had reached the pitch and Hermione started climbing toward the top, as far up as she could get.

”Why ’re we going up so high?” Dudley asked.

“Well, we want the best view, don’t we?” Dean said.

“Doesn’t it bother you,” Dudley asked abruptly, when they had been seated, “this Lord Voldemort guy. Doesn’t it bother you that he might come here and go after you?”

“Don’t say his name!” Seamus said.

Dean, however, shrugged and said, “Better here, which is protected anyway, than the alternative, which is West Ham High School.”

“Not exactly Smeltings, I guess,” Dudley answered.

“There’s nothing like Hogwarts,” Seamus answered. “Hogwarts is the best wizard school in Europe. Maybe in the world. And you Know Who won’t come here again.”

“Won’t he?” Dudley asked shrewdly. “Seems like he’ll go anywhere he feels like and go after anyone he feels like.”

“That’s true,” Seamus said uneasily. “My Mam wanted to take me out of Hogwarts a few years ago, cause of things, but where else is safer, anyway? And she didn’t like the prospect of New Zealand or America. Dad was trying to convince her to move away for a bit, but she didn’t want to leave me Gran, you know.”

The stands had filled up and Madam Hooch had come out with the box. She gave a blast on her whistle and Neville had started to comment.

“Well, this is the first match of the year. Hufflepuff’s all set to go with a new captain and a new Seeker. They’ll have a tough match trying to beat Gryffindor, though.”

“You’re supposed to be commenting, Longbottom, not cheerleading,” Professor McGonagall was heard to say.

Neville ignored that and said, “And now the teams are coming out and they up and set.”

Fourteen players had risen in the air and were hovering in place waiting for the balls to be released. Dudley was cursing. There were some words in there Hermione hadn’t even heard before.

“Must you?” she asked.

He stared at her and said, “Sorry. It’s just…they’re flying! On broomsticks! I thought that was a joke.”

Seamus rolled his eyes and said under his breath, “Muggles.”

Dean, on the other hand, said, “it’s cool isn’t it? I was, like, wow, the first time we got to try it.” Madam Hooch had released the balls and the game was on.

***

Harry kicked off and hovered ten feet above the Gryffindor goal posts. As soon as the balls were released, he started scanning for the Snitch. He kept an eye out on the early action below. Ginny had seized the quaffle first and she dove down unexpectedly instead of up, throwing the Hufflepuff chasers and beaters off track. They recovered quite quickly, though, and soon the bludgers were flying her way. She ducked and passed and the first goal went to Gryffindor. Harry immediately felt much better.

“Hey, Harry,” Zacharias Smith called, “you’d better watch out for the Snitch instead of watching your girlfriend, or I just might get there first.” As usual, the Hufflepuff’s voice was rather snide, though he completely lacked the venom that Malfoy was capable of generating.

Harry grinned down at him and answered, trying to ignore the slight squirm of guilt, “She’s not my girlfriend, and you’ll have to work pretty hard to get to the Snitch before I do.”

“It won’t be the first time a Hufflepuff has,” Smith answered.

“Yeah, well, you’re no Cedric Diggory,” Harry answered. His temper was up now, warming him against the biting cold November wind. He wished he’d thought to learn that handy warming spell Hermione did, that made a bubble of warmth in the snow on really bad days.

Harry resumed searching for the Snitch, but it proved elusive. Night games, though well lit by magical globes of blue fire, made finding the Snitch even trickier. The glint of the moon and the stars were deceptive: the full moon made the pitch almost bright as day, but it cast strange shadows and gleamed off objects of all kinds.

The action below was fierce tonight. The Hufflepuffs were playing particularly ferociously for them. Harry could appreciate their abandon and energy, but it still hadn’t brought them any luck against the more tightly disciplined Gryffindors. Ron had saved their fourth attempt at a goal, knocking the quaffle right into Ginny’s waiting arms. She took off for the other end of the pitch as fast as her Cleansweep would allow. The three Hufflepuff chasers had reformed quickly and were coming right at her. From behind, a bludger was aiming for her back, but she ducked it.

Only that left her open to the three chasers approaching. Harry dove and scattered the chasers and a second bludger grazed his left arm, but he ducked away grinning because Ginny had scored.

“AND IT’S TWENTY TO ZERO WITH GRYFFINDOR UP FRONT,” Neville boomed out. “THANKS TO HARRY POTTER, HUFFLEPUFF’S BEEN FOILED AGAIN!”

“Longbottom! This is a quidditch match, not an armed battle!” McGonagall said. Harry grinned to himself. Neville’s commentating was almost as partial and idiosyncratic as Lee Jordan’s had been. But he had a suspicion that Professor McGonagall enjoyed the comments as much as she made sure to criticize them.

The play had resumed and this time, the Hufflepuffs drove forward in a variation on the Hawkshead Attacking formation. Only instead of three players flying in an arrow formation, all seven players formed the arrow. Smith, the Seeker, had taken the point and he flew straight at Ron, while the others continued, breaking around him. The other Gryffindors had scrambled to respond, but not fast enough, and from the rear of the formation, the quaffle snuck past Ron’s defenses.

“TWENTY TO TEN, WITH GRYFFINDOR STILL IN THE LEAD,” Neville said. Harry took the time to search for the snitch, ignoring the roars of the crowd. A tiny golden gleam was fluttering at the other end. He streaked for it and the crowd began to roar again. Smith had caught on to him and was on his tail. The Snitch looped down and then up again and Harry had to change course to keep on it. Smith was a better flier than

Harry had thought. He kept tightly on Harry’s tail, but he couldn’t quite bring himself even with Harry’s Firebolt. Harry felt something knock the end of his broom, and he realized it was Smith. Surprised, he glanced back. As unpleasant as Smith was, he would not have expected Smith to pull a trick like trying to interfere with another player’s broom. In annoyance, he put on another burst of speed, his gaze fixed again on the speeding golden gleam of the Snitch.

“Potter!” Smith yelled at him, “Get out of it!”

“Not a chance,” Harry roared back joyously. The Snitch was almost in his reach, but a dark shadow blotted out his sight of it and he realized that Smith hadn’t been trying to interfere with him. He’d been trying to warn Harry of the danger just above. The cheers and roar of the crowd were actually screams. And the shadow flew above him keeping pace with his Firebolt. Harry glanced up and saw, one taloned claw outstretched, the enormous form of Norbert the dragon reaching for the golden Snitch.With another yell, Smith dove away. McGonagall had wrested the commentator’s trumpet away from Neville.

“EVERYONE WILL PLEASE LEAVE THE PITCH IN AN ORGANIZED MANNER. ALL PLAYERS WILL…” What she was going to say, Harry never knew.

Norbert’s great amber eye looked down at him and the dragon said, “Move, wizzard. The golden treasure ball iss mine today.”

“Budge off yourself,” Harry hissed back in a temper. “That’s my Snitch.” He stretched himself out flat on his broom and only vaguely worried that the dragon would bite him or try to flame him. His hand was nearly on the snitch, however, when Norbert’s long, snake-like tail knocked him sideways.

He could have sworn the dragon laughed and said, “This iss fun, wizzard boy. I win the treassure for my hoard today.” Harry toppled on his broom, end over end, but he righted himself quickly. Days and months of frustration and anger and fear seemed to have swelled into a bubble, a boil of emotion.

Though he knew afterwards that he had been a fool, he nevertheless flew up again and grabbed the Snitch right out from under the dragons taloned grasp. He laughed and dove and Norbert dove right after him. He laughed again and said, “I’ve won! Ha! Gryffindor wins!” The crowd was till roaring and screaming and Neville was yelling into the trumpet, “AND HARRY POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS! WATCH THAT DRAGON HARRY!!”

Harry pulled up out of his dive and held up the Snitch up for all to see. Then he released the Snitch again and said, “Here, Norbert! It’s all yours if you can catch it!”

The dragon seized the golden ball, crushing its wings in his taloned claw and said, “Thankss, wizard boy.”

Harry said, “Oh, you’re welcome. But I think Hagrid needs to teach you better manners.”

“We dragonss don’t need mannerss, Harry Potter,” Norbert answered. “and we have none at all when it comes to gold and treasure. Hagrid knows thisss!” Norbert winged off over the tall mountain which the Castle backed up to and disappeared into the clouds. Harry shook his head and thought he’d better have a chat with Hagrid as soon as possible.

It wasn’t until he landed and tried to dismount that he felt the furious ache of many bruises from where Norbert’s tail had knocked him over. The crowd boiled down out of the stadium. More than half of them were making for the Castle as fast as they could go without running, even though Norbert had disappeared into the clouds. The other half was pouring down to the pitch roaring, GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! But that didn’t last long.

McGonagall had reached him and her furious bellow silenced everyone nearby. “ARE YOU MAD? HAVE YOU LOST EVERY PARTICLE OF SENSE YOU EVER HAD? YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! OR WORSE! ONE WIZARD CAN NEVER TAKE ON A DRAGON!” Her beady eyes bored into him and he felt a wave of embarrassment.

He had behaved as foolishly as he ever had in his life. But the crowd was staring so he answered weakly, “It was just Norbert. Norbert won’t hurt me.”

“Norbert!” McGonagall said. “Norbert is a full-grown Norwegian ridgeback dragon. Dragons cannot be tamed. They can never be tamed.”

She stared at him until he said, “Yes, ma’am. I know. But he just wanted the snitch. I gave him the snitch and he went away, didn’t he?”

“And just how did you know the dragon wanted the Snitch?” the silky, sarcastic voice of Professor Snape interrupted. “The idiot ought to be taught a proper lesson,” Snape said. “The game should be struck and replayed to give Hufflepuff an opportunity to win fairly.”

McGonagall glared at Snape, trapped by her own lecture. There were few things that pleased her more, Harry knew, than when Gryffindor won at Quidditch.

Fortunately Professor Sprout interrupted. “I don’t know Severus. I hate to say it, as Hufflepuff is my House, but I think Gryffindor won fair and square. The game was still on when Harry caught the Snitch. And Zacharias had the same opportunity to go after it as Harry did.” Harry opened is mouth and then closed it. Professor Sprout’s generosity made him feel more stupid than ever.

“Don’t be absurd,” Snape replied, “no one else in the world is so stupidly arrogant as to go after something a dragon wants.” He spun back and said, “I still want to know how you knew it was what he wanted. How did you know he wasn’t going to attack the crowd?”

“He wanted the Snitch for his treasure hoard,” Harry answered. “It’s shiny and gold. Just the sort of thing dragons like.”

Now that the game was over, the excitement of it, the freedom he had felt flying, the exhilaration of the chase gone, there was nothing Harry wanted more than to go up and fling himself down on his bed and draw the curtains and shut out the world. The day seemed to have stretched itself out over three or four, though it was barely nine o’clock at night. He turned away and started toward the Castle as no one had actually given him a detention or punishment yet, only to find himself limping on account of the blow he had taken from Norbert’s tail.

“Why didn’t you say you were hurt?” McGonagall asked sharply. “The hospital wing, then, Potter. Someone please give him a hand.” Hermione and Ginny had ducked through and grabbed him on either side. He tried to shake them off.

“I’m not hurt, really. Just a little bruised.” The hospital wing was the last place on earth he wanted to be just now. Aunt Petunia was still there probably and Uncle Vernon as well.

“Don’t fight it,” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear. “You’re lucky to have escaped detention.” He barely glanced at her and his face was pale now and stains of weariness shadowed his eyes. The blow his Uncle had given him had also begun to ripen into a black patch across his cheekbone, and Hermione suspected it was this as much as the small limp that had made McGonagall send him to the hospital wing.

He nodded and shook free of them, walking on his own to the hospital. She suspected it cost him quite a bit not to limp too much and she supposed that it was the presence of his hulking cousin more than pride that made him refuse any help. Madam Pomfrey grumbled the moment she saw him.

“What’s he been doing now?” she asked generally. Harry himself answered, “Just quidditch,” but that was overshadowed by Snape’s dry voice saying, “He got sideswiped by a dragon.”

Hermione did not miss the faint nod that Snape gave Madam Pomfrey, though she thought Harry might have. He was preoccupied with meeting his Uncle’s hostile glare and his Aunt’s horrified one. Madam Pomfrey immediately brought out a goblet and handed it to Harry.

“It’ll help reduce the swelling,” she said prosaically, and he drank it down for once without protest. Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him and watched him and when he collapsed wordlessly, she caught him without surprise.

“You put a sleeping draft in it,” Hermione blurted out.

“Yes, of course,” Madam Pomfrey said. “It’s the only way, sometimes, with difficult patients. Now help me get a look at him, girl, will you?” she added. Ginny moved quickly into action, helping Madam Pomfrey ease Harry down onto one of the beds, pulling off his glasses, and stripping off his Quidditch robes. His right arm, side, and thigh had taken the greatest impact from Norbert’s tail and the rapidly blackening bruises belied his earlier statement that Norbert wouldn’t hurt him.

“Every year it’s something else,” Madam Pomfrey muttered as she checked for broken bones or internal injuries. “Dementors and sword fights and I don’t know what else. You’d think he was looking to get hurt from the way he goes on.” She was waving her wand as she spoke and a gentle purple light glowed over his bruises, leaving each place it passed over as good as new. The healing spell could not erase the weary shadows from his face, nor the lightning scar on his forehead, nor the long slashing scar that followed the path of his ribs just below his heart.

The Uncle watched without any sympathy and Hermione began to conceive a hatred of him that rivaled her feelings toward Voldemort and toward Draco Malfoy. How, she thought, could any remotely decent human being have housed and raised a child and yet feel nothing, not one particle of pity when that child endured harm?

The expression on his Aunt’s face was a different matter. An amalgam of fear and horror and some other thought Hermione could only guess at pursed the thin woman’s face. “How badly is he hurt?” Petunia asked.

“He’ll do,” Madam Pomfrey answered comfortably, mistaking the inquiry for concern.

Petunia looked up wildly, and then spotting Dudley, heaved a great sigh of relief. “You’re not hurt, then?” she asked her huge son. Dudley shook his head and seemed almost startled to be addressed. “You’re not to go out there again,” Petunia said to him. Her voice had gone shrill with incipient hysteria. “You’re in enough danger because of him as it is.”

The open loathing in the Petunia’s voice when she spoke of her nephew stunned Hermione and she saw that Madam Pomfrey looked entirely shocked. Ginny actually whipped out her wand and Hermione had to lay a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from doing what Hermione would have loved to do: turn the woman and her abominable husband into slugs and then step on them.

Madam Pomfrey drew a screen around Harry’s bed and tucked the covers up tightly around him. Ginny looked at Hermione and she nodded in silent agreement. They would split the night between them and watch over him.

“Go and let Ron know what’s up,” Hermione said softly. “I’ll wait up here and you can take over later, as I’ll have to deal with the first years in the morning.” Ginny gave the Dursleys another nasty look and went.

***

He sank down into the dark and for a long time, he floated, at ease, all cares suspended. After a time, a faint green light illuminated the dark and cast an eerie glow on the racks and racks of weapons in the huge old dungeon. On one end, swords stood in stands and hung from hooks on the wall. On another, tall staves stood upright, side by side with wickedly sharp axes. Shields of all shapes and sizes were piled together: some round and embossed with decoration; others rectangular or triangular and covered with leather or edged with gold. The goblins taking the inventory selected some out from time to time, whether for repair or for use, he couldn’t tell.

The light shifted and dimmed again and he was inside a cave in the dark, wrapped in a net of gently shimmering light. Between his hands was a long sword and on the hilt a heart shaped ruby shone. He gripped the sword and tried to draw it, but he was incapable of movement and his eyes would not, could not open.

Then the light disappeared and he was alone in the familiar dark of the cupboard under the stairs, locked in, trapped, helpless…he could never get out…it would be as he had feared, they would find him someday, a mere skeleton, sleeping in the moldering blankets that gave so little warmth. He kicked out in defiance, thrashed and flailed, but he could not get warm and he could not get free and he could not get out of the dark, locked cupboard…

A voice woke him then. Shrill and furious, his aunt’s voice cut like a whipsaw through the painful buzz in his scar and he sat up, quite certain he would be punished again, though he had no idea why, and the light streaming in blinded his eyes, so that all he could see was the blurred figure of his Aunt standing over his bed saying, “Up! Wake up! You’ll wake your Uncle with that noise and moaning!”

***

Hermione rose with the dawn and was down the spiral stairs as fast as could be. Extraordinarily, Ron was also already awake and on the verge of slipping out of the portrait door.

“You could have slept in, Hermione,” Ron said. His ears were red, a tell-tale sign that he was up to something.

“Where are you off to?” she asked.

“Just thought I’d check on Harry,” he said casually. “I’ll see you back in a bit.”

“I thought we agreed you would oversee the first years this morning,” she retorted.

“What d’you think prefects are for?” he answered. “Griffiths was just thrilled to be given the responsibility,” he added sourly. “He reminds me exactly of Percy, you know. He has that exact air of superiority combined with a pained pity for everyone else’s imperfections. Like mine. He thinks I’m slacking, the little git.”

“That’s nonsense,” Hermione replied. “Come on, I want to make sure Harry’s okay. He didn’t look so well last night.”

“Hermione,” Ron said, “One of us should stay.”

“Well, that was supposed to be you,” she answered sharply.

“Not because the prefects can’t handle things one morning,” Ron said with exasperation. “It’s what they’ll think if both of us take off.”

“Oh,” she said coldly, “and what will they think?”

“You know,” he answered.

“I know?” Hermione said raising her eyebrows.

“Hermione,” he said, turning redder than ever, “they’ll think that we…you know…” Finally, what he was getting at, penetrated.

“They will, will they?” she said coolly. “Let them, then. Who cares what they think?”

“But Hermione, half the school will be talking about us, then.”

“Not likely,” she answered scornfully. “They’re way too preoccupied talking about Harry. When will he take on Voldemort? How come the dragon didn’t kill him? Is he dating anybody? Who would he like to date if he were dating anybody? Nobody cares about us, Ron, and if they did, what do we care what they think?”

“Well, I don’t want them thinking you’re some...some scarlet woman. That Rita Skeeter already wrote the worst articles about you fourth year,” Ron answered.

“Scarlet woman!” Hermione giggled. “Honestly,” she said. She saw that a few third and fourth years had come down and grinning, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

“There,” she said, “let them think what they like,” and she pulled him through the portrait hole after her.

Madam Pomfrey nearly threw them back out when they arrived at the hospital wing. “You’d think this was Kings Cross station instead of a hospital wing,” she grumbled. But she relented and said, “He’s still sleeping anyway.”

They hurried through to where Harry’s bed was just in case she changed her mind. Ginny had curled up on a chair, but her eyes opened instantly. Behind them, another voice drifted in. Dry and matter-of-fact, for once, Snape could be heard to say, “He’ll need to drink the whole cup this morning.”

“Perhaps you’d better make sure he does, then,” Madam Pomfrey answered. “He does keep fighting taking it.” Hermione and Ron and Ginny looked at each other with worry. Just how much were they dosing Harry and what with? And, okay, so he seemed tired a lot, but why did he need medicine every day?

Snape gave them barely a glance. His attention was focused instead on Harry, who was moving in his sleep now. Dreaming, she thought. Beneath the closed lids, his eyes moved and he had begun to thrash about, kicking at the blankets and making noise in his sleep.

“He shouldn’t be dreaming,” Snape muttered softly, more to himself than to them. He looked up and an expression of disgust crossed his face.

It was one they were familiar with as it was the same one he often wore when he looked at Gryffindors in general and at Harry in particular. Only this time, it was directed at Petunia Dursley, who was advancing toward the bed, her thin face tight, mouth pursed as though she’d been sucking on lemons.

Shrill and furious, Petunia hissed, “Up! Wake up! You’ll wake your Uncle with that noise and moaning!”

Harry sat up instantly. His eyes were huge in his pale face, “Please! Don’t!” he said, “I didn’t do anything!”

“Be quiet!” Petunia hissed again.

Harry blinked and drew back, squinting against the light. Ginny reached over and touched his hand and gave him his glasses. He put them on and seemed to wake up finally. His face flushed red then, with embarrassment, Hermione thought, and humiliation. “Sorry,” he said, “I was dreaming.” The last of that was cut off though, as he had noticed Snape standing there with the goblet of potion in his hand.

“We’ll talk about that in a minute,” Snape said. “Drink this first.” Petunia’s pale eyes traveled from Snape to the cup to Harry and narrowed.

“What are you drugging him with?” she asked sharply. “What kind of school gives its students drugs?” she asked nastily.

Hermione wondered if Snape understood the Muggle use of the word Petunia surely meant. Perhaps he did, for he replied nastily, “The kind that makes sure its students is healthy and well-fed madam. You may go,” he said coldly, “and tend to that overfed husband of yours.” Petunia drew back angrily, but Snape ignored her and handed the goblet to Harry, whose face was a study in distress. Absently, he rubbed his scar as he took the goblet, but he paused before drinking it.

“What is it?” he asked, and the look he gave Snape was questioning, almost defiant.

“Revitalizing Potion,” Snape answered calmly, "with a few extra ingredients to help you put some weight on "

“Is that what makes it red, instead of blue?” Hermione asked.

Snape looked at her sharply, but he answered coolly, “Yes.”

Harry shrugged and lifted the cup as if he were toasting his aunt and drank it down. The gesture was as rebellious as one could imagine and Hermione thought that if his Aunt hadn’t been there, he might have refused to take it. Then he glared narrowly at everyone of them impartially and said, “Would you all leave, please? I am quite capable of getting dressed myself.”

***

Harry prayed devoutly that Dumbledore would get his aunt, uncle and cousin out of Hogwarts as soon as possible, before Harry was driven to curse them or worse. Their presence confounded him, infuriated him, and left him in the grip of a hovering anxiety that undid everyone of his defenses and ate at his control. The sound of his aunt’s shrill voice waking him out of that dream had been nearly more than he could bear...and to have Snape, of all people witness that!

He cringed inside and wondered how he would stand seeing the Potions Master again. It occurred to him then, that perhaps that was how Snape himself had felt when he had seen Harry looking in the Pensieve and seeing his own ancient humiliation. Perhaps Snape would think they were even now; or probably not; he could never be even as it was his father’s sins he was paying for there as much as his own.

Fortunately, Fridays were shorter days and easier than Mondays and Thursdays. He let Flitwick’s class in Charms flow about him, its usual noise and cheerful chaos providing shelter from others’ attention and requiring but little of his own. After that, there was Care of Magical Creatures, where surprisingly, after a sharp glance, Hagrid left Harry unbothered and forbore to ask him questions about his latest encounter with Norbert.

Ron and Hermione had watched him so anxiously, though, that he had snapped, “I’m perfectly fine,” when Ron went out of his way to shoulder the heavy carcass of a cow alone. They were supposed to be leaving the carcasses for Norbert, so that the dragon might be tempted to fly out of his den. But the dragon did not appear.

“That’s a good thing, don’t you think?” Ron had commented. Harry shrugged. He preferred Norbert’s conversations at the moment to anyone else’s. The dragon didn’t care who Harry was, what he did, wanted nothing from him, and was only interested in his own immediate fun. That was a refreshing change indeed and worth a bruise or two.

The afternoon’s class, Herbology, required only a little more attention than Charms. Harry made it a point to work with Neville, which helped more, as Neville enjoyed the class so much that he did all the work and kept a cheerful flow of commentary about their latest project –nursing cuttings of his mimbulus mimletonia – leaving Harry free to regain something of his composure in the warm, green shelter of the greenhouse.

“So,” Neville said at the end as they were cleaning up, “your cousin’s not too bad, you know. He was really impressed with the way you played quidditch.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and said, sourly, “You’ve never been on the receiving end of his fists, that’s all.”

“He stood up against Crabbe and Goyle yesterday,” Neville said. “It’s pretty normal for kids raised in the same house to fight from time to time, isn’t it? Dean said his brothers are always having wrestling matches.” Harry didn’t bother to enlighten Neville. He had been quite surprised himself at Dudley’s unusual partisanship. It was, Harry supposed, more a reflex reaction to another bully, a way to show who was top dog, than a true defense of Harry. On the other hand, he thought, maybe there was still something buried in Dudley that would allow him to be a decent person some day.

The best thing all around, Harry mused, would be for Dudley to go off to university somewhere and be a boxer and get out of Uncle Vernon’s influence and his mother’s babying and indulgence. He just hoped that would happen as soon as possible, and that for his part, all three Dursleys would be sent home and he would never have to return to Privet Drive or see them again.He couldn’t escape everyone forever though.

Ginny cornered him as he was on his way back to the common room and said determinedly, “I want to talk to you.”

Harry glanced around and saw that several people were watching them with interest. “It’s not the best time,” he said quietly with a glance at those observing. Parvati and Lavender were among them and not far way were Dean and Seamus.

“I shall throw my arms around you and kiss you in front of everyone if you don’t,” she hissed softly. Harry backed off in horror as he was afraid she was perfectly serious.

She caught his arm and said clearly, “I want this to be a surprise for Ron, okay?” With everyone watching, he was stuck, so he nodded and led the way down the halls, mounting a staircase or two until he had found a deserted classroom.

“All right,” he said abruptly, “what is it that’s worth making a scene over, then?”

“You,” she said unrepentantly. “I want to know why they keep dosing you and I want to know what you were dreaming about. What’s Voldemort up to?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said.

“You have, too,” she said. “You were rubbing your scar when you woke up. You were dreaming something about him, weren’t you?”

He frowned, thinking and said, “No. I wasn’t. It was just some stupid thing about goblins and caves and a lot of nonsense, if you want to know. Voldemort’s not in every dream I have.”

“You were rubbing your scar,” she said insistently.

He shrugged and said, “It bothers me sometimes. That doesn’t mean I know what Voldemort’s up to that minute. It’s as much the fact that he’s alive that causes it. It’s just there.”

She went very quiet then and he took advantage of that to say, ‘Listen, we’ll have to go now. Lavender and Parvati will have already started talking about whether we’re dating again. And we’d better have something planned for Ron for real or else they’ll figure it’s just an excuse.”

“Damn, them, anyway,” she said vehemently. “I can still talk to you if I want.” Harry turned away. He might as well be locked up in his old cupboard. His life seemed to be narrowing more and more and his choices were becoming fewer and fewer.

“Don’t do that to me,’ she said. “No one’s here to see. And I can’t see your eyes when you turn away. I can’t tell if you’re all right if I can’t see your eyes.”

He turned back to look at her and said, “Well, I’m not. How can I be, when Voldemort’s gone after my aunt and cousin again? How long will it be before he goes after my friends, after Hermione and Ron and you and everyone I care about? The end, you know, is inevitable. I’ll have to face him again, sooner or later. And maybe it had better be sooner, because fewer other people will die then.”

“That’s just what he wants you to think,” she said coolly. “He’s relying on your being just that noble and brave and self-sacrificing. He’s relying on you going off on your own, without help, so he can kill you more easily. Has it occurred to you that you might not be able to take him on your own? Has it occurred to you that you might need help?”

“Well, of course, it’s occurred to me,” he snarled. “That doesn’t mean I have to throw you and Ron and Hermione to the devil, either. If I’ve got to fight him, at least let me have the hope that people I care about will get the benefit of it.”

“You’re not doing this alone, Harry,” she said simply. “Don’t think you can escape our help, because you can’t.”

Harry couldn’t have said what it was about her words that affected him so, but he felt as though his heart had split cleanly down the middle, and he had to turn away again so she wouldn’t see it, the pain and the terror and the joy. He should have known, of course, that she was not one to let a matter go. It wasn’t in her nature. She would worry at it and worry at it, just like her Mum, until she had an answer, until she had arranged things just so, even if she had to bang a few heads together and bare a few souls to get the desired result.

She cursed fluently at his back and then stood on tip-toe to pull his hands away from his face and cursed again when she saw his feelings there, raw, and uncontrolled. She kissed him then, on the cheeks and on his hands, and that was the last straw, for him. Unwisely, he buried his hands in her long red mane and kissed her as he had wanted to do through all the long nights of his loneliness and despair.

On Saturday, Harry strode into dueling practice with new determination. Where before, he had seen the contest between himself and Voldemort as a kind of a chess match and an unequal one at that, with the ending fixed before the final contest began, he now saw that the game might still hold unexpected surprises. More than that, he saw, felt, that the game was not about Harry only: With him, alongside him, behind him, were all of his friends, his teachers, even the small ones, the first and second years he didn't know. He was only one player among many, and all must be united to defeat the enemy, for this was a game that would allow no re-match.

Harry ignored Snape's efforts to match him up with someone other than Ron or Neville. He wanted to practice against the strongest opponents, regardless of his friendship or animus, and Ron and Neville were by far the two best besides Harry himself. Defying his parents' wishes, Dudley had come to watch the practice. Harry winced when he saw his cousin's bulky form standing in a corner, his normally pink face pale and sweaty as he observed the first practice round in which they used wands.

He blotted out his cousin's face and concentrated on thwarting Neville's attacks. With his own new wand in hand, Neville's work was strong and steady and he had outstripped nearly every other student in the year in Defense with the exception of Hermione and Harry himself. Harry had to work with extra speed and precision to defeat Neville, and he nearly fell when Neville managed to pull off a very strong stunner that came close, but didn't quite penetrate Harry's shield spell.

He smiled grimly at Neville and said, "Good one!" and smiled even more when he saw Neville flush with pleasure at the praise. For the second round, they switched to swords and this time Harry had a harder time finding a partner. Bill had paired Ron off with Anthony Goldstein and Neville with Dean Thomas.

"Sorry," Bill had said to Seamus, "but you two really have to practice with some other people. Same goes for you, Ron and Harry."

The strategy, however, left Harry without a partner again, because the only ones still willing to practice with him now were Hermione and Ginny, and Harry balked at that.

"Does this mean you think girls are too weak to fight?" Hermione said waspishly.

"Of course not," he answered. "It's just, you know, I'll be too worried about hurting you to fight properly."

"See," Ginny said, "you do think girls are weaker. Otherwise you'd be worried about one of us hurting you."

He gave her a sidelong look and said, "I didn't have any trouble hurting Bellatrix Lestrange, so don't worry, it's not about equality for girls, I mean women." He glared at Hermione and Ginny and was annoyed at them for raising the issue. Unfortunately, this still left him without a partner. He looked at Snape and at Bill in a silent appeal, but neither seemed inclined to join the fray.

From the side, Malfoy had sneered and said, "Who wants to practice with a killer? We all know he'll do anything to win." Harry scanned the room looking for one willing face. Ron, he knew would offer; but he had been given his instructions by his brother. He could hardly undermine Bill's authority by insisting on changing partners now. Scanning the room again, Harry hit on another idea.

"That's all right," he said clearly, "Dudley can join in for today. You remember how to use a sword, don't you?" Dudley's piggy eyes narrowed and Harry went to the sword rack and tossed him a sword, which Dudley caught quite handily.

"What about the magic?" Dudley asked.

"None of these swords are magic ones," Harry answered. "There aren't that many of those and we don't get to use them for practice," he answered matter-of-factly. "At least, not yet," he added with a glance at Malfoy. "And you know what," he said, "a good swordsman can beat a wizard with a magic sword who doesn't really know how to use a magic sword, Dudley. That's how I beat Voldemort. He's not that great with a sword." It was, of course, a lie. A huge lie. But it gave Dudley enough comfort that he grinned then and flourished the sword.

Dudley smiled again and said, "I've been taking some fencing lessons this year, just for the fun of it. And anyway, Ashley was impressed by it."

Harry raised his eyebrows and said, "Good." It occurred to him to wonder whether Dudley was now going to humiliate him in front of every fifth, sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. If Dudley had learned to be even half as good with a sword as he was with his fists, Harry would be in trouble for sure. He shrugged and saluted his cousin and saw with relief that Dudley had returned the salute quite creditably. At the signal, they exchanged careful passes, testing each other bit by bit to find where the other's weakness might lie.

Dudley still had the advantage he had always had: Greater height and weight and strength. Harry had speed and agility and skill. Malfoy was snickering again from the sidelines. Dudley was cunning enough to know his advantages as well, and he began to throw more weight behind each stroke, so that the clash of their blades rang loudly and the circle of their contest widened as Harry fought to keep his responses steady and controlled. Beside him, other sparring partners had dropped out to give them room, or get out of their way, or simply to watch.

Dudley had tried to feint, but unsuccessfully, as Harry tracked the shining point of the sword and met it. He stepped in close, quickly, hoping to disarm Dudley and finish cleanly. He had forced Dudley's blade down, but not disarmed him, but a spark of panic or anger lit in Dudley's small blue eyes and he struck out with his other fist, catching Harry squarely on the chin and flinging him flat on his back. His head ringing, Harry rolled up and shook his head to clear it.

From the side, Malfoy was laughing out loud. "Muggles!" he said. "In a real fight, you couldn't land a blow like that. Not in a real magic duel." Crabbe and Goyle laughed a beat too late as always, but Harry had gotten an idea from the whole exchange.

"You think so?" he said, "let's see if you can avoid that, Malfoy. Why don't you have a go at it?"

"Me?" Malfoy said derisively, "fight like Muggle beasts. I don't think so." Harry smiled.

"Scared then, are you?" Without waiting for an answer, he grinned back at Dudley and said, "Try that again. The exact same sequence, okay? Just like in boxing."

Comprehension lit Dudley's face and he flourished his sword again. An unspoken pact passed between them. They began with the same careful passes, and Harry began the sequence of thrust and parry that had led directly to the place where he had chosen to step in close. He repeated the movement that dragged Dudley's blade down, but this time, he was prepared for the coming blow and he blocked it with his own fist and disengaged.

"Not bad," Ddudley said, "but your footwork could be cleaner. And you need to put a bit more weight behind it. Follow through," he added, and demonstrated, "like this." Dudley spun and threw the punch, not at Harry and not into the air, but directly at Malfoy.

It caught him right on the nose and flattened him and sent Crabbe and Goyle flying down behind him like dominos. Snape bellowed, "Ten points from Gryffindor! You do not strike observers when you're dueling!"

"Hey!" Harry protested, though not very strongly, "Dudley's not in Gryffindor. You can't take points off for what he does."

"Oh," Snape said, "I can take off any points I like from you, as it was your idea, wasn't it, Potter?"

"I don't see what's the big deal," Dudley observed. "You think this Lord Voldemort is going to take points off if Harry punches his snakey face?"

Everybody gawped at him. Malfoy had picked himself up and his gray eyes were gleaming. "Points!" he said, "The Dark Lord's going to kill him, or hasn't that penetrated your thick Muggle head?"

"He doesn't look dead to me yet," Dudley answered, "and as far as I can tell, the scores's about 5 to Potter and zero to Voldemort." He smiled the meanest smile he was capable of, which was saying something, and said, "The knockout punch is always the one your opponent doesn't expect."

Bill interrupted then and said, "Enough! That will do for today."

They put up their swords and Harry couldn't help grinning to himself when he saw the wide berth the Slytherins gave Dudley. For the first time in his life, he felt he could actually like his cousin. And, he thought, Dudley was smarter than one thought when it came to fighting. He clapped Dudley on his huge meaty shoulder and said with only a touch of sarcasm, "Well, Big D, I think you've done your bit for justice today."

Dudley looked down at him and said seriously, "He looked and sounded exactly like one of those Death Eaters that came after us. I've been wanting a piece of him all afternoon. Give me five minutes alone with him and he won't have a face left."

"You'd better break his wand then, first," Harry answered, "his Dad is a Death Eater and I bet he knows more curses and dark magic than he lets on." He added more softly, "and Dudley, if they ever do come after you again, the real Death Eaters, I mean, don't think you can take them on because of this. Run for it, 'cause they're killers. Stone cold murderers, you know." Dudley swallowed, and a flash of fear passed over his pink face.

"You'd better take care of this guy quick, then, Harry. Mum and Dad are getting real difficult to deal with. I don't want to end up spending the rest of the year at Stonewall instead of going back to Smeltings." Harry said nothing. What was there to say? He knew that Malfoy was more likely right than Dudley and he had no way to reassure his cousin that would sound honest.

The students had begun to disperse out of the Hall and Ron and Hermione and the prefects were helping Bill and Snape to return the Hall to its usual set up for dinner. Harry watched with a faint smile as Ginny left laughing effervescently and accompanied by a bunch of her sixth year friends. He lingered a moment and then started after them, but Bill caught him just as he was leaving and pulled him aside into the small room off the Hall where he had gone after being selected as a Triwizard Champion.

"I did not really know Dudley was going to hit Malfoy," he said defensively before Bill could say anything.

"That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about," Bill answered.

"Oh," Harry answered.

He waited rather than prompt Bill as he thought it wise to be as polite as possible. "It's about you and Ginny," Bill said scowling.

"What about us?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I warned you before about leading her on," Bill said.

"I'm not," Harry answered, trying to keep his temper.

"So you say," Bill replied, "But she's a whole lot too happy, if you ask me. And I overheard the girls talking about you and her going off together yesterday. It doesn't take much to figure out you're up to something." Harry could feel the heat rising in his face and mentally cursed his own lack of control. He tried to keep his expression as neutral as if Snape were going to try to test his Occulmency skills.

"Yeah," Harry said, "we are. We're planning a surprise for Ron." Bill gave him a look that spoke volumes and annoyed Harry even more, perhaps because his own conscience was jabbing him anyway.

"Listen, Harry," Bill said, "I know my sister. She's had a crush on you since she was ten and now she's happy as can be after going off alone with you. Don't think you can pull one over on me, because you can't." Harry met his eyes coolly. The temptation to confess was strong, but he could not let on, not even to Bill, not even to Hermione or Ron, that he and Ginny were anything but friends.

"She liked me when she was ten," Harry answered. "She got over it and we're just friends. She's been dating several other guys, you know. Michael Corner and Dean Thomas. She went to Hogsmeade with Dean, not me."

"And she had a fight with Dean over you," Bill retorted. His face was starting to flush and Harry had a feeling he was going to be dealing with an angry Weasley for the second time in two days.

"I'm not dating anyone," Harry insisted. "I'm not that stupid. Do you really think that I would willingly put anyone in danger like that?" He stared angrily at Bill and said, "If you care about her at all, you'll make sure you tell anyone who mentions it that we're only friends and nothing more."

Bill stared back at him and snapped, "I wasn't talking about you putting her in danger, though Merlin knows she'll put herself there running after you. I'm talking about you taking advantage of her, breaking her heart when she's thrown herself at you."

"If I have anything to do with it," Harry said tightly, "she won't run after me. Nor will anyone else. And you're a fool if you're more worried about me taking advantage than about what would happen if Voldemort or his buddies thought I was dating her, or anybody. He just tried to kill my aunt, who doesn't even like me, nor I her. What do you think he'll do if he so much as thinks I've got a girlfriend? I'm not dating anybody, ever, until he's dead or I am. In which case it won't matter, will it?"

Harry stared a moment longer at Bill, who looked more shocked than Harry would have expected, and then swung on his heel and stalked off. It occurred to him that if anyone's heart was going to be broken, it was going to be his own.

Harry paced the common room restlessly that night, stopping periodically when Ron or Hermione would start throwing anxious looks his way. Then he would bury himself in his books and try to force himself to find the information he needed for their latest Potions essay, but to little effect as his concentration had deserted him. When he found himself reading the page on the properties of nettle for the fifth time, he got up and began to pace some more. More than ever, he felt there was a great gaping hole in his life; bitterly, he circled around it in his thoughts, the empty place where that Sirius had just begun to fill before his death.

By two in the morning, only Ron was still there. After a furious whispered battle with Hermione, Ron had sat in the armchair by the fire watching Harry wear new holes in the aged carpet. Harry felt only vaguely guilty at keeping his friend awake. Ron had begun to snore, softly as Harry continued to pace.

Then he snorted and stared blearily at Harry. “That’s it, mate,” he said, “I’m going to have to stun you and carry you up if you won’t go on your own.”

Harry ignored him. The Castle walls were closing in on him. He wished desperately for more air, to be outside, to be the bird again and fly free, to escape the prison of the night where sleep was a shadowed forest, to go where no presence lurked behind the wall in his mind waiting...just waiting. He flung open the window and drew in a great breath of air never minding the winter chill, nor the icy sting of sleet that came with it.

“Come on!” Ron protested. “This is nuts. It’s freezing out there.”

“Go on up then,” Harry said absently. The moon was only just waning, and it hung in the sky, luminous, its great white presence making fine glimmers of the falling ice. It seemed to whisper to him, intimations of a vast dark mystery cloaked in the occasional flash of light. He held out his hand, but the glimmers of light were extinguished as the fine sleet touched it, numbed it, and the riddle of his being remained as tangled and obscure as it ever had been.

“Harry?” Ron said hoarsely. “Come away from there!” Harry spun to stare at Ron, startled at his presence. Ron’s face was white, the freckles standing out in the firelight and shadows of weariness dimmed his usual vigor.

“Sorry,” Harry said. It was all he could come up with. He had no words adequate to say what he thought, what he felt, and if he had, they could not be said. No, not even to Ron. Not to anyone.

Harry slept deeply after all and untroubled by dreams. But when he woke, he felt more weary than before. The numbness brought on by the stinging ice seemed to have crept inside his veins and his blood ran sluggishly as if it were heavy water nearing the freezing point. Ron watched him steadily all through breakfast as Harry drank three cups of hot coffee and cradled the steaming mug in hands covered in dragonhide gloves.

Harry skimmed through the paper barely absorbing its words and made no protest when McGonagall stopped by the table and said, "Come with me, Potter. The Headmaster wants you."

Instead of the Headmaster's office, however, they ascended the steps toward the hospital wing. Harry still said nothing, though he was determined to avoid any potions or draughts, no matter how beneficial Madam Pomfrey might think them.

"Why is he here?" Uncle Vernon said immediately as Harry entered.

"I thought you might like to say goodbye to each other," Professor Dumbledore replied, "It's quite the normal thing for families to do when they won't see each other for a while."

"You thought wrong," Vernon said. "And I'll be quite happy if this goodbye is permanent." His mean glare took in every inch of Harry with disapproval. "Don't bother coming back," Vernon added, "You won't be welcome." Harry remained quite still and said nothing. He was encased in the numbing chill and had no energy for protest or regret or anger. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked both angry and shocked, though not surprised.

He turned his blue eyes on Autn Petunia and said, "Are you of the same mind, Petunia? Harry is your nephew, your sister's child. Will you cast him out and leave him unprotected?"

Harry looked at his aunt and saw the rejection in her pale eyes. There was nothing she wanted more than to be quite of him as well. Yet still she hesitated.

"You can't do that," Dudley interrupted. "What will the neighbors think? And what about that woman from the Social Services? She might come back and ask after him and then what will you say?"

"Just tell her I died," Harry said. "She'll be very sympathetic and never ask another question. By the time she comes round again..." He didn't bother completing the thought. He turned away instead as he felt it wouldn't be quite fair to force his aunt to look at his face when she finally rejected him when keeping him would put her life in danger. Yet still, she hesitated.

He started walking away to make her choice all that much easier so he had no idea what thought might have passed through her mind that led her to say, "No, Vernon. We can't. The boy stays, if he needs to." Harry turned and opened his mouth to protest, to say, I'd rather not, but

Dumbledore said calmly, "we shall send you a letter in the spring to let you know when to pick Harry up at the station."

Mrs. Weasley came in then and said brsikly, "All right, then. The bus is here. Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, Dudley, if you'll follow me."

Aunt Petunia walked out of the room without another look at Harry and Vernon went after grumbling all the way. Only Dudley hesitated. Harry could see in the small blue eyes a lifetime of resentment warring with something else. He tried to think of something to say that would bridge the reopening gulf between them, but old habits were hard to break through. Even the sucker punch to Malfoy, Harry knew, had been more in the nature of revenge for Malfoy's insults than any support for Harry.

"Let's go then," Mrs. Weasley said more kindly then any of the Dursleys deserved. Harry felt miserably, that of all the horrid jobs Mrs. Weasley had to do, guarding the Dursleys must be just about the worst, and yet, she remained almost cheerful even knowing that the Death Eaters might yet strike again. A feeling of terrible guilt washed over him.

"Listen, Dudley," he said abruptly, "try to talk your Mum into being more careful, okay. She's got to use some sense. They'll be watching for another chance, you know."

Dudley paled a bit and said, "You think they'll try again?"

Harry nodded. "If they go after you, like I told you, run. Don't try to fight them."

Mrs. Weasley glanced from one to the other and said, "Don't worry dears, we'll be keeping an eye out for Dudley, too."

"You're not...having a wizard at my school, too?" Dudley asked.

"You won't even know he's there," Mrs. Weasley said comfortably.

"Yeah?" Dudley answered, "So how am I supposed to let him know if there is trouble? Can't he at least carry a mobile phone or something?" Mrs. Weasley looked blank and Harry almost had to grin.

"No phones," Harry said. "They go down when you use too much magic." He thought a moment and added, "What about a two way mirror? That would work, wouldn't it?"

Mrs. Weasley bit her lip and shook her head. "He has to be a wizard himself to work one." Mrs. Weasley added quietly, "Don't you worry about your Mum, Dudley. I'll be watching her."

She led the way down and out to the front gate where the Knight Bus stood waiting. Harry had a feeling his aunt and uncle were going to be in a very bad mood when they arrived home. Showing up in a violently purple triple-decker bus would not endear them to their respectable neighbors. And then there was the raher jumpy nature of its locomotion. Uncle Vernon had started to protest at the sight of the bus, but Mrs. Weasley gave him a prod with her wand and he bolted up the steps in horror.

She shook her head impatiently and Harry could see she was just dying to yell at him. Aunt Petunia maintained a frozen silence. Neither she nor Uncle Vernon said goodbye. Dudley looked at the bus and said doubtfully, "It's a bit colorful isn't it?"

"It'll be all right," Harry answered. "You'd best hurry if you want to get back to Smeltings in time for lunch."

"Yeah," Dudley answered, "in time for all my friends to gawp at me." Harry tried to feel sympathy, but he just couldn't. He was so used to being gawped at by now that Dudley's worry only made him impatient.

"At least you're alive," Harry said. Then, guilt swamped him. Dudley would never have been in danger if it weren't for him. He held out his hand to Dudley and said, "If you ever need me, my owl will find you."

Dudley looked at him in surprise. Harry realized that had perhaps been the first time he had ever said anything friendly to Dudley in his life. He waited and thought Dudley would refuse his hand, but after a moment, Dudley took it in his own huge meaty one.

"Don't forget," Dudley said, "the knockout is always the one blow your opponent didn't expect." He let go and got on the bus.

"That's odd," he said, "how come your school looks like a complete wreck from the outside? Magic, huh?" Harry nodded and watched him go wondering if they would ever see each other again.

He turned to Mrs. Weasley and said, "Thanks, for watching over them. They won't thank you, but I do."

Mrs. Weasley hugged him and he felt warm again for the first time that day. She stepped back away from him, and said, "I want to talk to you quickly, about Ginny, dear." Harry gawked at her. First Bill, now Mrs. Weasley. And they had been so careful, he thought.

"Bill talked to me last night," she said. "He said you and she are dating."

"We're not," Harry protested. "I told him that." Mrs. Weasley simply looked at him.

"I already knew, dear. I think it's very brave of you to pretend that you're not."

"But, I'm not, I can't," he said.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him and said, "You are being careful, aren't you?"

"Careful?" he repeated. "But..."

"Ginny said she was," Mrs. Weasley said. Harry gawked at her again and felt the blood rise to his face straight up from his toes.

"She told you?"

"Of course, not," Mrs. Weasley answered. "I guessed when I saw how mad she was at you."

"She admitted it to you?" Harry asked. Mrs. Weasley looked at him with amusement.

"No, dear," she said, "she lied naturally. She only admitted it when I told her I knew."

"But," Harry said, "Mr. Weasley, does he know? How many people really know? Or is it just gossip, guesses?"

"I don't believe Arthur knows," Mrs. Weasley answered. "He's been that busy with the Minsitry and I've been running about after that aunt of yours."

"But you know," Harry said, "and Bill does, or he thinks he does, and then he said that some of the girls were talking about us because..." He trailed off. His initial embarrassment had changed now to something else.

"This is no good," he said, "no one was supposed to know. If anybody knows it's not secret enough. If anybody knows, he might know, too." He looked around wildly, as if Voldemort would come at any moment. Perhaps he was listening in; perhaps he knew; perhaps, like Harry, he saw or dreamed things that happened to his other; perhaps, this, his closest held secret was known in its entirety to Voldemort. The very idea of it made him cringe in terror. Mrs. Weasley looked at him in surprise and alarm.

"Harry, dear," she said, "all I wanted to say is you should be careful, you know. I know you can't go backwards, and undo things, but..."

"You know everything?" Harry said. "Everything?" She nodded, watching him carefully.

"You know we exchanged blood then, in the forest last year? When Malfoy played that trick on us? It was an accident, but it happened, and since then..." Mrs. Weasley had opened her mouth in a big oh. He understood, then, that she hadn't known everything.

"I am an idiot," he said. "You didn't know, did you?"

"Not that," Mrs. Weasley said. "The rest, I knew, or guessed."

Angrily, Harry said, "Bill thinks I'm taking advantage. But I...it's not like that. And it's not happening again. I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure no one suspects. I..." He broke off and tried to think, but Mrs. Weasley jumped in quickly and asked him the one question he had avoided even in the deepest corner of his mind.

"Do you love her then?" Harry stared at Mrs. Weasley in horror. Fear gripped him as terribly or worse than when Voldemort had taunted him in the graveyard.

"Don't ask me that!" he said. "Don't make me think about that! I mustn't. If I think about it, he might know. I won't...No. This is no good." He gripped her arm almost feverishly and said, "Listen, hold the bus, okay. I'll get my things and I'll go, too. I knew I shouldn't have returned to school. I wouldn't have, you know, only Dumbledore made me. He persuaded me it'd be all right. But I can see, it's not. I'll just be a minute."

Mrs. Weasley lifted her wand and he stared at her thinking she was going to hex him now that she really knew everything. He swallowed and waited thinking he deserved anything she might do. But instead, she pointed it toward the Castle and a silvery flash came out. As if he had been waiting for just that summons, Dumbledore came at a near run. Harry felt an enormous sense of relief. Dumbledore would understand, he would help him pick the right place to go, so no one else would be in danger.

"I've made a terrible mistake," Mrs. Weasley said to Dumbledore. "I tried to talk to him about Ginny and now he's wanting to run off and leave. You have to stop him."

"You knew too?" Harry asked. He felt, if anything, even worse. He had thought they'd been so careful, so clever. But everyone knew, or guessed.

Dumbledore nodded and said calmly, "Molly, I think you should go. I'll talk to Harry now. We'll be taking extra precautions as necessary."

The panic that gripped him would not let go. It was a thing apart, separate from him. He could taste it, metallic, and a whining sound buzzed in his ears.

"What will you do," Harry asked, "obliviate everyone who knows? Can you obliviate me, so not even I will know? And if you do, can you make Voldemort forget?" He shook his head to clear it and said, "Hold the bus. I will go. It's the only thing to do. You know it. You know what Voldemort will do. He'll kill her. He'll kill Ron and Hermione. He'll kill everyone I know or care about, just like he killed my Mum and Dad and Sirius."

Mrs. Weasley turned quite white and he knew that he had just voiced aloud her own deepest fears. She had been so kind. She had owned him almost as a son and he had brought this terrible harm to her. There was only one thing to do, he knew. Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder and said again to Mrs. Weasley, "Go. I will deal with this."

He sighed deeply and added, "It's only surprising it hasn't happened sooner." Harry tried to step away.

"I have to go," he said. "You know it. It's not right. It's not fair to anyone else."

"You are not ready," Dumbledore said. He stood in Harry's way, and the bus doors closed as Mrs. Weasley stepped back into it, looking at him all the way. The purple bus disappeared with a bang, but its going could not take from him his renewed determination to leave. There were other ways. There were always other ways.

"Come," Dumbledore said gently. "We must talk." Harry merely looked at him. His limbs were numb and the brief flare of warmth had died and he was colder than he'd ever been in his life.

"I'm not going," he said stubbornly. "I have to leave. You know I do." He held onto the idea fixedly. If he focused on that, on action, all his other feelings could be boxed up again.

"You are not ready," Dumbledore replied. "And you will do no one any good if you catch pneumonia standing out here."

"What difference would it make?" Harry asked.

"All the difference in the world," Dumbledore answered. His blue eyes locked on Harry's and he took Harry by the arm and propelled him toward the Castle. He followed Dumbledore wordlessly to the Headmaster's office. He could put on his Invisibility Cloak later and creep out to the Forest at night. A thestral could carry him somewhere. London, maybe. Or if he closed his eyes and let the wall down far enough, he could figure out exactly where Voldemort was and just go after him. He would have surprise on his side, but that would only buy him a few extra minutes. No, that wasn't good enough. He had to make sure that no one was hurt. It would be necessary to have a fight. Another really big one. So none of them would ever talk to him again. He had to make sure they were safe even afterwards. That was the hard part.

He barely noticed when Dumbledore said the password that opened up the entrance to the spiral moving staircase. He followed mechanically into the Headmaster's office and sat when told to sit and drank hot cocoa when told to drink. The sweet hot drink went to his head as fast as a bottle of beer or a shot of firewhiskey. Warmth stole its way back in his limbs and he looked at Dumbledore expectantly, certain that the Headmaster would have a solution for him.

"You are not ready," Dumbledore said for the third time. "I tell you this and you know it is true."

"I'll never be ready," Harry answered. "I won't use the dark arts or I'll just become him even if I beat him. But he will use them. And he'll be stronger than I am, always. You know it, Professor. And the longer I evade him, the more people he'll kill to get at me. So why should I wait?"

Dumbledore sighed and his blue eyes were dark and burdened with knowledge. "You will be ready, sooner than you think," Dumbledore said. "But you must finish your schooling first."

“I don’t believe it,” Harry said. “I don’t see how I’ll ever be ready. The prophecy says one of us must kill the other. I already killed him, last year, only he didn’t die. So something is wrong with it already. Maybe all of it is wrong and he’s been going after me based on a lie. And in the meantime, if I wait to finish school, that’s six more months. Six more months and how many more deaths?” Dumbledore regarded him intently.

“Harry, look at me. Tell me, have I ever outright lied to you? I have withheld information, yes, for good reasons I thought, though I was wrong, yes. Do you think I would lie?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He supposed he trusted Dumbledore as much as anyone excepting Ron and Hermione. He looked at Dumbledore and said unwillingly, “I dunno. I think you would if you thought it was for my benefit, if believed it would make me safe, or keep me from doing something you thought was foolish if I knew the truth.”

“I see,” Dumbledore responded, “and so I pay for my previous omissions by your loss of trust.” He paused and looked at Harry more intently than ever. “I believe, and this is true, that you do have the power to defeat Voldemort. The prophecy was about just that: The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord. And I also believe that at least part of the prophecy has come true, as he marked you as his equal when he gave you that scar. How, exactly, you might defeat him, I do not know. I do believe that you may, and I believe that the more training you have, the greater your chance will be of defeating him.” Dumbledore paused again and added reluctantly, “What is certain, is that sooner or later you will be forced to confront him again because he will seek you out. I would have you be as prepared as is possible, then. I have said it before,” he added, “and I will say it again, you have so far exceeded anyone’s hopes or expectations already, and you have proven yourself equal to a greater burden than any Hogwarts student has ever borne, than most adult wizards ever will. I beg you, do not throw your life away needlessly now.”

"I don't want to throw my life away," Harry answered. "But I think I should leave school so students here aren't put into more danger by my being here. And I want, I need to know, to make sure that Voldemort won't go after my friends as he went after my aunt. He used Sirius to trick me," Harry added bitterly, "and I fell for his trick and cost Sirius his life. I don't want that happening to anyone else."

Dumbledore sighed. "I can't control what Voldemort may or may not do. I can only try to ensure that we have the greatest protections in place here." The elderly wizard looked at Harry and said very gently, "and I don't think you understand yet your own power to draw others to you. Do you think your friends will be content to stay here, if you go? Do you not realize, they will follow you, whether you want them to or not. Whether you seek to distance yourself from them, or not. They will still try to follow, and that may be precisely what brings about the thing you fear." Harry shook his head. He would leave. His mind was made up. And his leaving he thought, would make the others so angry that they would give up on him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said urgently, "how do you think I came so quickly on Molly's summons? Ron came to me directly when he realized you were seeing off your aunt and warned me you might try to bolt, as he so colorfully put it. He was quite ready to go after you and prevent you until I ordered him to stay in and let me deal with it. Your capacity for friendship, for love, is among your greatest strengths, and Voldemort's greatest weakness. Do not throw that away either."

"It's my ultimate weakness, now," Harry answered. "Because Voldemort knows that is the best way of all to manipulate me." He sat and thought. Put aside emotion, lock it up, and think. Dumbledore was right in one thing. They would follow him. They had been watching him, they would continue to. He would have to stay, for a while longer, anyway.

"All right," he said, "I'll stay. But...I want to know what Voldemort's up to. And I don't want any more potions." He shivered and turned his gaze away from the relief in Dumbledore's old face.

A knock sounded on the Headmaster's door and it swung open without any apparent command or gesture from Dumbledore. Snape entered and he was, in fact, holding a goblet, which Harry knew immediately must be for him. He looked at Dumbledore and said firmly, "No potions."

Dumbledore exchanged glances with Snape and said, "He will stay."

"So you managed to pound some sense into his thick head, then," Snape commented dryly. "Have you satisfied your need for drama, exercised your self-pity sufficiently for the day?" he said to Harry. Harry, however, could not summon up the energy to answer angrily.

He stood up and said, "I'll go down then."

"So you do think I'm trying to poison you," Snape said coldly. Harry looked at the Potions master and tried to read something, anything, in his black eyes. They remained opaque, however, unreadable, but challenging as ever.

"There's a spy in the Order. There could be a spy here. It won't be the first time," Harry answered. "How do I know what's really in that? And I don't need it. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I see," Snape said. "That's why you're wearing dragonhide gloves when you're sitting next near a burning fire? And I suppose you think it's quite normal to wander the common room at night until three in the morning? Or to drink endless cups of coffee and eat far less than a seventeen year old requires to keep the minimal weight on much less to support normal growth?"

Harry merely raised his eyebrows. "I've always been skinny, and you're hardly one to talk."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Sir, Potter. Or professor, sir. You will still be required to address your teachers respectfully."

Harry swung around and looked at Dumbledore. "You may go," Dumbledore said, "after you take your potion. There is nothing wrong with you, but you do need to build up your strength. Professor Snape is right about that."

Harry stared at Snape and shrugged. He held out his hand for the goblet and stilled the slight tremble in it before bringing it to his lips and swallowing it down. He drew in a great breath and set the goblet down firmly. He could not but acknowledge the difference the potion had made. Again, warmth spread through him, and his blood seemed to unfreeze.

"May I be excused, Professor Dumbledore?" he asked. The door swung open and he left conscious that both men watched, young and old, and neither had been entirely open with him about the potion and its purpose.

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