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The Heart of Gryffindor

by SJR0301

Chapter Eighteen

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Inspector Bones had to carry Harry into the house and up the stairs as he had closed his eyes within seconds of leaving the Leaky Cauldron could not be roused to go in on his own.

“I hope Professor Dumbledore comes soon,” Ginny said. “He’s so cold; it feels like he might be in shock.”

Hermione had helped pull off his boots and pile extra blankets on. The Inspector had checked his pulse in the old fashioned-Muggle way and had actually debated calling for an ambulance, until Hermione had pointed out that they’d have to carry him downstairs and put him back inside the car, or the ambulance would never locate the house at all.

“I don’t see any physical injuries,” Bones said. “Tell me again what happened, will you?”

Hermione had run through the entire confrontation and Bones had cursed fluently when he heard about the Ministry’s attempted takeover of the bank.

“They were asking for it, the idiots,” he said. And he was even more interested in the duel between Harry and Voldemort. He ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it up so that it lost some of its sleekness and said, “If that was what I think it was, he’s lucky to be alive.”

“But what was it?” Hermione asked. “It didn’t look like any spell I’ve ever heard of.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Bones answered cryptically, “unless you were a devotee of the dark arts.”

“Then how do you know about it?” Ginny asked.

“Rumor,” the Inspector answered. His grey eyes went dark and he said grimly, “I heard my dad talking about something like that before he was killed. He was an auror, one of the best.”

They were in the kitchen drinking hot tea when Dumbledore arrived with Mrs. Weasley. Bill and Ron, however, had not come, but there was no opportunity to ask about them as Dumbledore had gone straight upstairs to check on Harry and Mrs. Weasley had followed right after. Dumbledore waved his wand over Harry’s chest. He looked unusually tired and old, the creases on his face seemingly deepening by the second.

“It looks like simple exhaustion,” the old wizard said at last.

He frowned deeply and said, “However--” But he never finished the sentence. After a moment, he rose and left only to return seconds later.

“What is it?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Dumbledore only shook his head, and waited, his hands folded like a tent and blue eyes regarding the ceiling as though some cipher there would provide him an answer he had long sought and been long denied.

Both Hermione and Ginny were shifting impatiently when the knock sounded and Hermione was fast on the younger girl’s heels as the door opened to admit Professor Snape.

Snape brushed by them, his black cloak billowing out, ascended the stairs and went directly to Harry’s room. Hermione exchanged glances with Ginny and watched anxiously as Snape handed a flagon of ruby colored potion to Dumbledore.

“Can you wake him?” Snape asked neutrally.

Dumbledore shook his head and said, “He won’t wake just now. You’ll have to help me Severus.”

Snape nodded and leaned over to lift Harry’s head up. Dumbledore opened his mouth and poured the potion in and Snape closed up Harry breathing passages, forcing him to swallow by reflex.

Hermione nearly shrieked when Harry’s eyes popped open and he gagged and almost spat out the potion again. Then he swallowed and fell back again. His green eyes opened once more, but they were now so dilated they were almost black, and then he closed them and passed out or slept again. Dumbledore shook his head again and waved his wand over Harry once more.

“He’ll do for now,” Dumbledore said at last.

Gathering up her courage, Hermione asked, “What’s wrong with him, Professor? What did Voldemort do?”

“The Dark Lord tried to kill him, Miss Granger,” Snape replied instead. “I should have thought that was obvious.”

Hermione gave him The Look and said, “What spell did he use? It wasn’t the Killing Curse, I know that.”

“One of the darkest ever,” Dumbledore answered, “From what you have described, I believe he was trying to steal Harry’s magic and literally to drain off his life energy. The spell, if you can even call it a spell, is one known only in legend, and only Voldemort in modern times has been known to attempt it.”

“How did he survive then?” Bones asked. “I thought there was no defense to that, at least, if it’s what you say it is.”

Dumbledore glanced up at the Inspector and his gaze slid almost imperceptibly past Snape as he answered, “Unknown. Just as how exactly he survived the Killing Curse may never be fully known.”

It was close on midnight when Ron finally showed up and Mrs. Weasley was chewing her nails and baking sheets of cookies, pastries and pies as though she were expecting a hundred guests for brunch the next day.

Hermione had offered to help, but Mrs. Weasley had simply shooed her out of the kitchen and began obsessively layering her fourth trifle of the evening (chocolate gateux with layers of Honeydukes’ best Magic Marshmallows and custard cream in between. Ron barely glanced at all the sweets.

He went over to his Mrs. Weasley and said quietly, “You can stop, now Mum. It’s okay. They’re not jailing Bill for defying the Ministry.” Mrs. Weasley sagged with relief and wiped her damp face with her floury apron, leaving white smudges behind.

“But where is he?” she asked.

Ron summoned up a smile and said, “Well, he went home to see Fleur, didn’t he? Seeing it’s his last day as a Hogwarts teacher an’ all.”
Mrs. Weasley did not look amused. “How bad was it?” she asked bluntly.

“Oh, bad enough,” Ron replied. “Fudge wanted to charge him even though Dumbledore’s order superseded his. And even though Fudge discharged Umbridge without a hearing.”

“Serves her right,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Ron answered. “But it’s not a good precedent, is it? What if it’s Dad or Percy he discharges next? Fudge was not happy today, the stupid git.” He scowled and said unhappily, “Guess I’d better talk to Bill about that Gringotts’ job again.”

“I thought you were applying to the Ministry,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I am,” Ron answered. “But Fudge isn’t too happy with me either, cause I didn’t actually stand up and fight for the Ministry. He was making noises about all of us who were there today, like it was our fault Umbridge gave him false information. Like it was our fault Voldemort showed up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione fumed. Ron nodded.

“What I want to know,” Hermione added, “is how Voldemort knew who was going on that tour, and who at the Ministry besides Umbridge got them to plan the takeover for today.”

“What makes you think anyone did besides Umbridge?” Ron asked.

“Someone at the Ministry is working for Voldemort,” Hermione said. She had been thinking it over and over and there was only one conclusion. “Either Umbridge herself is actually a Death Eater, or someone else there is. And that someone is high enough up in their confidence to have manipulated the special session and the takeover for today.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Ron said.

They both jumped when Mrs. Weasley made a funny sort of noise, a choked sound and Ron asked, “Are you okay, Mum?” Mrs. Weasley nodded and left hurriedly. Ron looked like he would go after her, but Hermione stopped him.

“Let her be,” she said, “I think she’s had enough today.” Ron continued to look frowningly at her so Hermione said, “It’s bad enough that Bill almost got killed or arrested, and you and Ginny were there and could have been hurt. And Harry was attacked by Voldemort. It’s just too much for her to listen to us discussing spies in the Ministry the same way we’d discuss who’s the next Keeper for the Chudley Cannons.”

It was not until the next morning that Harry woke and came downstairs. Hermione was torn between worry that he had slept so long and a sneaking relief that he had actually slept for once for more than a few hours at a time. He was still extremely pale and shadows made hollows of his cheeks beneath the bones and made his green eyes seem large and overbright. He refused to discuss the previous day's adventure and seemed more narked that he had been unable to finish his Christmas shopping than that Voldemort had attacked. Shaking off everyone's attempt to keep him calm and rested, he threw himself into decorating the old house with a feverish attention to detail.

Before long, the house had almost acquired the atmosphere of home, as holly garlands hung from opportune places and the Christmas tree - donated by Inspector Bones -- was wrapped in angle hair and golden tinsel and tiny crystal ornaments in the shapes of lions and unicorns and gryphons and phoenixes. Mrs. Weasley had also continued to cook obsessively and on Christmas day, they gathered about the huge trestle table in the kitchen and ate plate after plate of turkey and ham and potatoes and pie.

Bill and Fleur showed up and so did Fred and George and Percy, which made Mrs. Weasley very happy for a while. Harry had come down in his new Weasley sweater--red and gold striped with a shiny lion that alternated between snoozing and roaring soundlessly--and Hermione was pleased to see, in the socks she had knitted for him as well.

"Thanks," he had said. "You've really gotten good at that, you know. And they're nice and warm." After the meal, they had sung carols altogether, although one by one, they had dropped out to listen to Fleur singing, until at last, her voice rose, perfect and lovely all alone. Then everyone cheered and Fred and George made fools of themselves groveling at Fleur's feet and promising her all their fortune if she would let them capture her song for one of their jokes.

"Just one little lullaby," Fred wheedled. "C'mon, Fleur. Just think, we'll cut you in on the profits for it. It'll be a perfect skiving special, cause with that voice, you can just sing the professors to sleep."

"Don't forget the earplugs," George said, "or else the students'll be falling asleep too, and what's the point of skiving off if you don't get the benefit of free time to make trouble, or just pursue your heart's desire?"

Fleur blushed and Bill said happily, "The only lullaby she'll be singing won't be on the market, Fred. Sorry."

Then Mrs. Weasley hugged Fleur and wept and started babbling about knitting booties. Everyone congratulated Bill and Mr. Weasley pounded Bill on the back and kissed Fleur. Only Hermione couldn't help but notice that although Harry shook Bill's hand and congratulated Fleur and Bill with delight, after a short while, he slipped away looking as weary and sad as she had ever seen him.

"Where's he got to now?" Ginny asked. She craned her head around looking for Harry and even started toward the kitchen door that led out into the garden.

"Upstairs," Hermione answered quietly. "He wouldn't go out now, it's freezing out there and it's sleeting again." Ginny turned and ran lightly up the stairs and Hermione and Ron followed after her.

They all paused on the landing before the door to his room and Ron asked in a whisper, "You don't think he's gone and collapsed again do you?" Hermione shook her head and listened.

"I think he just wanted to get away for a bit," she said softly.

"But why?" Ron asked. "We were having such a good time."

Hermione hesitated. "I think, sometimes, he just feels...like he's not quite one of us."

"Of course, he is," Ron, said.

"It's from growing up the way he did," Hermione said even more quietly. "Not being loved."

Ron thought about that and shook his head. "I dunno, Hermione. He's never been like this before. It's like, he's falling apart right in front of us and no matter how much better he gets, something else happens, and he sinks down, worse than before."

"I know," Hermione said shakily. "I just wish Dumbledore would say what's wrong with him. And why, do you suppose, Voldemort attacked him that way the other day? Why didn't he just use the Killing Curse? Or try to go after him with a sword again? He must have known Harry wouldn't have a weapon like the Sword of Gryffindor available when he was touring Gringotts."

Ron simply shook his head again, but Ginny said, "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"What is?" Ron asked.

"It's Voldemort," Ginny answered. "He's the reason Harry is so thin and weak. All the time, he's doing what he tried to do for good the other day. He drains the life out of Harry. He's a leech, a parasite." Hermione gaped at Ginny in astonishment.

"What do you mean?" she asked, although she was afraid, horribly afraid that she did understand already.

Ginny twisted her hands together in her skirt and said, "It's just what he did to me. When he used me, through the diary, he had no spearate life of his own. He was nothing, a memory, a bit of mind and soul impressed in the pages of a book. And every time I wrote in it, he stole a piece of me, a bit of my life and soul to give him life, until he was almost solid, almost real again at the end. It's just the same with Harry," she whispered.

"But he's got his own body," Ron protested. "I don't see how it's the same at all."

"Don't you see," Ginny said, "There wasn't anything left of Voldemort really when the curse backfired on him. His mind and spirit survived by the accident of the failed curse. He didn't live because of any power of his. What remained of him became attached to Harry, like a parasite, through the scar. Voldemort hasn't any separate life of his own at all, still. That's why he had to use Harry's blood to rebirth himself, because Harry's blood was the only blood that could give him enough life to sustain him, to let him become solid and real again. And ever since he came back, he's been feeding on Harry, draining his life from him, and trying to possess Harry altogether. That's why he has to kill Harry now: so he can live and have sufficient life of his own. That's why the prophecy says what it does: neither can live while the other survives. Because they've only got one real life between them, and it's Harry's life, not Voldemort's."

***


The silence pooled around them, except for the faint breath that came from none of them. Harry withdrew back again into his room, as quietly as a ghost.

Mrs. Weasley laid out a late afternoon tea rather than preparing another large meal after their lavish Christmas dinner. Harry had stayed in his room until teatime, but he came out at Mrs. Weasley’s call as if nothing had happened. He joined everyone at the table and sipped his tea and even ate a ham sandwich, but his face remained politely closed and the expression in his eyes was remote as though he were watching a movie of some far distant place set in some far distant time.

None of them dared raise the subject with Harry during the remaining days of the holiday, and Hermione had to wonder just how he did it: how he went on behaving as though he would go through job interviews and study for his NEWTs and practice quidditch as if his life was as normal as anyone else’s.

It came to her then; that he must have done that far more often than she or anyone else had realized. She could only wonder how much courage it must take for him to go on day in and day out knowing that sooner or later another attack would occur.

On Boxing Day, Hermione was surprised when a small brown, very damp post owl arrived with an invitation to join Anthony Goldstein and his dad at the British Museum on the day before they were due to return to school.

Ron read the letter over her shoulder and said, “Well, too bad, but you’ll just have to tell him we can’t go.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. He was leaning against the wall and seemed to be daring anyone to suggest that it wasn’t safe for him. Hermione couldn’t think what to say. For once, she agreed with Ron, though she really did want to go.

“Mum won’t let us,” was Ron’s argument.

“I won’t let you do what, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Go to the Muggle museum,” Ron answered scowling.

Before Mrs. Weasley could express an opinion, Harry interrupted. “The British Museum, Mrs. Weasley. Anthony Goldstein’s dad can get us in, and he says there’s actually some cool wizard stuff in the Egyptian display. Maybe Bill could join us,” Harry added. “I bet he’d know lots about it.”

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth and Hermione was certain she was going to say no, but Harry jumped in again and said, “Voldemort won’t attack us there. He’ll never expect us to go there.”

“Just the same,” Mrs. Weasley began to reply, but Harry cut her off again and said, “I’d like to go. I think it’ll be fun.” He turned to Hermione and said, “Here, I’ll send Hedwig with a reply.”

Hermione simply stared at him, something she had found herself doing way too often lately. She noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked unusually distressed, but she made no further protest, which worried Hermione even more. On the other hand, Harry looked almost happy and his green eyes were snapping with the warning that anyone who opposed him would feel the wrong end of his temper.

Hermione buried herself in her books for the remainder of the holiday. She had started counting off the days until their NEWTs and a faint feeling of panic wormed its way into her stomach each time she thought about exams and graduation. For six and half years, she had known exactly where she was going and what to do. Now, graduation approached, and she had the worst case of jitters imaginable. Every half hour or so, it would strike her: in so many months, she would be starting anew job. In so many months, she might not be in the same place as Ron and Harry any more. In so many days, she would have to make new acquaintances and prove her worth all over again. In so many days, she would have to show someone else that a Mudblood could do as good a job as any other witch or wizard…or better.

Harry, on the other hand, was ignoring his studies again, unless he was staying up at night to do them. Though Hermione doubted that. He came down in the morning later than anyone and yet, by the end of the day, you could see the stains of exhaustion under his eyes.

What he did do, was go about the house repairing odd things. One of his oddest projects was adding names back into the great tapestry with the House of Black. Sirius's name had been added back in first. Then Tonks and several others.

“Why are you bothering with that?” Ron asked when he saw Harry painstakingly adding another name back into the tapestry.

Harry scowled. “I don’t like the idea of people’s names being burned out like that. They deserve to be remembered. Like Sirius. I want him remembered.”

“Where did you get the names from?” Hermione asked curiously.

“I knew where Sirius belonged,” Harry answered, “and Tonks. I got the others out of Kreacher until he realized what I meant to do with them and stopped talking.” He narrowed his eyes in annoyance and seemed to be meditating some great mischief. “I’ll have to figure out where to get the rest of the names,” he added.

Hermione glanced around looking for Kreacher, but there was no sign of the house-elf. She tried to think how to help Harry. Any project that kept up his interest and spirits was worth pursuing, even one as odd as this. “We could ask Professor Lupin,” she suggested. “He might know some more.” Inspector Bones came out of the kitchen where he had been conversing in low tones with Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione would have liked to listen in, but she found the Inspector a bit intimidating, even though she knew he had never finished his magical education and had been working among Muggles and pretending to be a Muggle for many years. Bones surveyed the tapestry where Harry was now glowering at another burned out spot. A fleeting expression of surprise and pain passed through the Inspector’s gray eyes.

“I know who that’s supposed to be,” Bones said. Harry turned to look at him, waiting for an answer. After a longer pause than one might expect, Bones said calmly, “Iris Black Bones.” They all stared at him and he elaborated, “My Mum.”

“But why would her name be removed?” Hermione asked.

Bones shrugged, but Harry said quietly, “Well his Dad was a member of the Order. He was against Voldemort and all his pure-blood nonsense, wasn’t he?”

“He was against Voldemort, yes,” Bones answered. “But Mum was even more vehement about that sort of thing. She was always writing in letters to the editor of the Daily Prophet complaining that wizards would disappear altogether or turn into talented idiots if they kept marrying only for blood purity.”

“But your dad was a pure blood, too, wasn’t he?” Hermione asked.

Bones nodded. A faint smile lit his face and he answered, “They were mad about each other, my Mum and Dad. They used to hold hands in public even when I was quite old. I guess Mum put her principles aside when it came to getting married herself. Or maybe she didn’t start thinking about it until later. I don’t know.” He shrugged again and shook his head. “That’s a nice thing you’re doing,” he said to Harry.

“Do you know any of the other missing ones?” Harry asked.

Bones shook his head again. “No,” he answered, “but I bet you can find all of them in that wizard genealogy book. A lot of pure blood families have them displayed in their houses. Sort of a way of advertising without speaking,” he added dryly.

Harry looked blank, but Hermione said, “I think I’ve seen that here. It would be rather interesting to look at,” she mused.

“It’s just rubbish,” Ron said.

“It’s history, Ron,” Hermione replied. “It’d be interesting to see who you’re related to, wouldn’t it?”

“I know who I’m related to,” Ron answered indifferently. “It’d be a bit more productive to try to learn some new Defense spells, if you ask me. Who knows who’ll be teaching us for the winter term? I mean, what if it’s some total git like Lockhart, or worse?”

“Dumbledore won’t have someone bad this time,” Hermione replied.

“You don’t think,” Ron said suddenly, looking utterly horrified. “You don’t think he’ll let Snape teach the entire rest of the year for Defense, do you? What if he can’t get anyone else and he has to give it to him? What a nightmare that’d be.”

"Well, if we have to," Harry said coolly, "we'll just have to start our Defense study group again." Then he went back to examining the tapestry as if memorizing it could make Sirius come alive again; as if committing each name to memory was vitally important, though why, Hermione could not tell.

~~***~~


On the day before the holidays were to end, Harry woke earlier than he had been for some days and with a feeling of anticipation and pleasure. Not that he normally cared about visiting museums; but getting out of Grimmauld Place and going somewhere different was reason enough for anticipation. He swung out of bed and tried once again to fit everything into his trunk. However, the extra books he had selected from the Black library downstairs quite simply wouldn't fit.

Ron knocked and peered in. "Mum says to come down for breakfast. She's sure we'll starve at the Museum," he added. "Muggle food! She keeps saying, like Muggles don't eat the same things we do." Harry grinned at Ron's falsetto imitation of his Mum's fussy manner.

"Don't worry," Harry answered. "They'll probably have good food at the restaurant. And I'm taking some money for the gift shop so I can buy those presents I couldn't get to."

"I dunno why you're so worried about that, Harry," Ron answered. Harry shrugged. He couldn't explain why Christmas had become so important to him. He only felt that being able to give something to his friends, no matter how small, had a mysterious charm to it, as if the mere giving and their pleasure was a magic all of its own.

"How are you going to close that trunk?" Hermione asked. She had poked her head in and then followed after Ron. Naturally, she hadn't asked why Harry wanted the books. Harry thought in amusement, that it would never occur to Hermione that someone wouldn't want books. No, the only thing she was worried about was how to fit them all in.

Harry sighed in frustration and then said, "If you take a couple and Ron takes a couple, then I'll be fine."

"I don't see why you need them," Ron said. "It's not as if there aren't a million books in Hogwarts' library already."

Harry smiled and said, "I know. But some of these are in the Restricted-section. This way, I can have them anytime without getting special permission to take them out." He patted Dark Curses and How to Avoid Their Defenses and pulled out a couple of larger books at random. Hermione's mouth fell open.

"That's a book on how to do Dark Arts, Harry! What do you want with that?"

He smiled at her and said serenely, "It tells you what the defenses are. This way, if we need an extra study group, we'll have a ready-made text with some really nasty dark spells and their defenses. Plus, we can figure out how to avoid the avoiding of the defenses if you get my drift."

"Oh," she said. But she didn't seem entirely convinced. He picked up the two heaviest of the books and handed them to her.

"Here," he said, "Take these. That'll lighten things up a bit." She looked at the titles doubtfully and then her face lit up.

"Look," she said. "It's the genealogy book. You found it."

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I caught Kreacher trying to squirrel it away in his den. I think he wanted to prevent me from using it to finish repairing the tapestry. I'll just have to do that in the summer...if I come back here." Hastily, he squashed down the lid of the trunk and stuck his wand in the waistband of his jeans. Thinking about what he would do in the summer or where he would go was an activity to be avoided. So was Ron's knowing gaze.

"Right," Harry said. "Breakfast sounds great. And then London and the world outside." He lifted his head a little extra and listened to hear if the sleet was still falling. For once though, the faint hiss of ice slapping on the stained glass windows had abated and a weak sunshine actually filtered through casting muted colors on the floor.

They met the Goldsteins at the front steps of the museum. Anthony waved and trotted down to meet them.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come after all," he said quietly. Then he coughed a bit and said, "Listen, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention, you know, the attack...or You Know Who."

He glanced up at his dad and made a show of shaking hands with Harry and Ron as he added, "My dad doesn't know about You Know Who really. And I don't want him to pull me out of school." Ron and Harry both nodded. Harry, for one, wanted one whole day where he didn't have to think about Voldemort.

Mr. Goldstein was a bit of a surprise. He was, what Uncle Vernon would have called a longhair. He had gold-rimmed glasses perched on an aquiline nose and greying dark hair pulled back into a little ponytail. But he smiled when Anthony introduced them and said jokingly,
"I think my anthropolgy class would get a shock if you lot showed up and gave them a demonstration. They have this terrible habit of talking in the most condescending way about the shamanic rituals of so-called primitive cultures. Magic, of course, doesn't exist they believe, and anyone who thinks it does must be a credulous fool or from an inferior primitive culture." He smiled to take any sting out of his comment.

Ron however, mouthed to Harry, "What the devil is a shamanic ritual?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "Some kind of spells some of the native wizards do in America, or something."

Hermione, on the other hand, said briskly, "Well, most anthropologists mistakenly think that magic always has a religious component to it, don't they? But I expect it was a bit odd when you found out Anthony was a wizard, sir. It took Mum and Dad days to get used to the idea that there really is magic and to come around to letting me go to Hogwarts, after all."

Mr. Goldstein beamed at Hermione and replied, "It revolutionized my own ideas, I can tell you that." He smiled impartially at them all, and added, "Come on, we'll go to the Egyptian gallery first, and then we can use the museum's search engines to pick out other things you'd like to see."

"Search engines?" Ron muttered. "What...do they have mechanical snifflers or something?"

"It's a computer thing, I think," Harry answered. It sounded vaguely like something Dudley would chunter on about when he wasn't actually glued to his Playstation or computer. Harry was surprised again when they started going through the Egyptian display. He had expected to be a bit bored by the museum, but the statues and paintings were quite beautiful. And the biggest surprise was when Ron pointed out all sorts of things and talked about the Book of the Dead and the Pharaoh Imhotep. Even Anthony was impressed. Harry grinned as he recalled that Ron had spent several weeks in Egypt visiting Bill.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to a painted picture in one of the papyrus versions of the Egyptian spellbook.

"That's a picture of someone going through the door from life into death," Ron said. "There's a spell in there that's supposed to aid the person in making the journey." He stared broodingly at the colored illustration and said, "They were really obsessed with death the Egyptians. Everything they did, from mummies to pyramids to their spells was connected to it. Makes you wonder if they ever had any fun while they were alive."

Harry stared at the picture himself and thought it reminded him of something, though what, he wasn't sure. There was another papyrus that showed what looked like a heart sitting on a scale and feather on the other.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asked.

Mr. Goldstein looked at the papyrus and he smiled with pleasure. "That's the weighing of the heart," he answered. "After death, the Egyptians believed that each person had his heart weighed against the feather in the scales of justice. And if the heart and the feather didn't balance, the person's soul would be eaten, destroyed by a beast called the devourer.”

Harry stared at the picture broodingly as the others went to exclaim over a huge statue of a sphinx. He wondered how his own heart would come out, if it were weighed. Would he be sent to be devoured? The devourer reminded him of dementors, devouring the souls of their victims. Had they actually had dementors in Egypt? Were they, perhaps, used by the ancient Egyptian wizards as a means of execution then? One thing he was certain of: Voldemort would be devoured if his heart were weighed in the balance. If he had a heart, still, at all.

After viewing the Egyptian gallery, they went down to the tea shop for lunch. Harry was amused when Anthony and Ron both scrambled to sit next to Hermione. He caught Ginny's eye and grinned. She, however, narrowed her eyes at him warningly, and then with a spark of mischief sat close enough to Harry to hold his hand under the table. He enjoyed that for a bit, until it made him think of things he ought not to; then he tugged his hand free with a slight nod of the head at Anthony and his father. The last thing he needed was for Anthony to remark on him paying attention to Ginny.

After lunch, Mr. Goldstein led them to a room meant for scholars. The librarian there knew him and said, "I see you've been busy, Goldstein. Got yourself a new class of budding archeologists and anthropoligists have you?"

"That's right, John," Mr. Goldstein answered. "And this one's my son, Anthony. Can you believe how big he's got?" The librarian made a big show of amazement and led them over to a bank of computers. Harry stared with fascination at the screen, which looked like one was traveling through space in some unknown galaxy.

Mr. Goldstein tapped the mouse and said, "The scholar's dream, this is. Just plug in a word and it'll tell you what objects or manuscripts the word might relate to. So, what's your word for your first search?" Hermione jumped in quickly.

"Godric Gryffindor," she said. She spelled the name for Mr. Goldstein. Harry shook his head. How likely was it that Gryffindor himself would show up in the archives of the British Museum? To his amazement, there were two entries. One was in something called the Domesday Book, that simply said, Godric, known as Gryffindor was made Earl on the Thirtieth Day of April in Nine Hundred Seventy-third year of Our Lord. The second was more interesting. This was in something called the Annales of the Saxons. Hermione read out the words, which looked like they were even more awkward to read than many of their spellbooks:

Then came the King and made hem Earle in earnest of yon knight's feyre service in battle agaynst the pagan invaders. Than kneeled down tha feyre knight and gave oathe ever the service of his e'en and his heires to tha land and tha crowne. And with gladde hart, tha King gave tha Earle, Godric tha Gryffindor, an ruby laike to an egg. And Godric, wha was wise, mayde than a miracle, and mayde that ruby e'en in tha forme of a hart and sayde he. "Fayre King, an oathe I give thee, so lange as this stone shall be, so lange shall tha Hart of Gryffindor serve thee."

"Did you understand that?" Ron asked.

"The Heart of Gryffindor?" Harry echoed. "I've heard of that somewhere, but I can't remember where."

"Really?" Hermione said. "I've never heard of that. How odd."

Harry slipped into the gift shop whilst the others looked up a few more subjects on the Museum's computer. He wandered up and down the aisles trying to find just the right thing for each one. Hermione was the easiest. A book called Famous Alchemists, Famous Scientists should be right up her alley. The book featured biographies of people like Isaac Newton, Johannes Copernicus and even John Dee, all of whom had been famous for advances in both fields. Harry had already bought Ron his present, his own copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, but he found a cool box of choclates in the shape of sphinxes, and bought that as an extra.

He had a harder time figuring out what to buy for Ginny. He wanted to get her something she would like, but at the same time, he didn't want anyone else to draw the wrong (or really the right) conclusion about them. In the end, he found a small obsidian statue of a cat that was a replica of an Egyptian one. It had, however, a hollow center, and in the center, he secreted a gold locket in the shape of a heart. He was just about finished shopping when one more item caught his fancy. It was a round mirror with a dark smoky glass that was supposed to be a replica of the mirror that John Dee had used for Divination. With a grin of amusement as he recalled the man in the portrait telling the Queen what to do, he splurged on the mirror as a souvenir of one of his weirder experiences ever.

"Where have you been?" Ginny scolded.

Harry smiled at her happily and said, "You sound just like your Mum."

She fairly hissed at that and said, "Ooh, you do make me mad sometimes. Going off on your own and scaring all of us and we couldn't even explain to Mr. Goldstein why we should be worried."

"It was just a few minutes," he said pacifically. "I've got presents, finally. And mind you don't yell," he added, "or I might not let you see yours." Ginny shut her mouth and he could see the battle of instincts--her desire to scold overridden by her curiosity and pleasure that he had gotten her a gift after all. He laughed then softly and was astonished when she suddenly started to cry.

"Now what?" he asked out loud.

"Oh," she answered. "It's just, you're happy, for once, and I yelled at you."

"Don't be silly," he said nervously. "Ron'll think I did something, and Anthony will think..."

"Damn them, anyway," she said. "Who cares what they think?" And she kissed him on the cheek right in public.

Fortunately, he thought afterwards, nobody had seen. But it didn't prevent the heat from rising from his toes to his navel anyway.

"There you are!" Hermione said and "Where'd you go off to?" Ron said at the same time.

Harry raised his shopping back with the Museum logo and said, "Just buying a couple of souvenirs." Ron's ears were red and Hermione's face was pale.

Mr. Goldstein, however, said, "He's a big boy. I told you not to worry."

Harry flushed a little and said, "I suppose I should've said something, but you were all so enthralled, I reckoned you wouldn't even notice."

"Not to worry," Mr. Goldstein said again. "Well, this has been fun and if any of you ever do decide to go to a proper university, do look me up."
He shook hands with them all and said, "I'll meet you at the front, Anthony. Your Mum's meeting us at the American Cafe."

Anthony nodded and said a bit awkwardly, "I hope you enjoyed it."

"Absolutely," Hermione said warmly. "That was really fascinating. It'd be great to go through all their exhibits and find out how many have wizard connections."

"That would be a project," Anthony agreed. "Well," he added, "I guess I'd better go. See you on the train tomorrow, then."

Harry started to say yeah and thanks, but Ron interrupted, "We'll see you back at school, actually. We're not taking the train."

"How are we...?" Harry sarted to ask, but Ron cut him off again. "Thanks, mate," he said to Anthony. "This really was cool."

Anthony, Harry thought with amusement, probably had no clue how much Ron was wanting to bash his face in for paying so much attention to Hermione. He didn't have to be a seer to know another fight was brewing.

"So how are we getting back?" Harry wanted to know.

"Knight Bus, I think," Ron answered. "It's almost impossible to interfere with that." They took a taxi back to the Leaky Cauldron and found Mrs. Weasley had already ordered a lavish dinner. Harry applied himself enthusiastically to his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and let the conversation flow past him. Hermione was in full flow about the various exhibitions and asked Ron a great many more questions about the Egyptians, some of which he couldn't answer.

"You'll have to ask Bill that," he said finally, when she asked if anyone had ever actually tried some of the spells in the Book of the Dead lately.

Then Hermione turned to Harry and asked, “Where did you hear about the Heart of Gryffindor? I've racked my brains and I can't remember anything about it."

"I dunno," he said, "I just remember something about a big red colored stone in the shape of a heart. That must be it." He shrugged and added, "I must've read about it over the summer."

"It's quite curious," Hermione replied. "I'll have to look it up when we get back to Hogwarts. I wonder what became of it."

"It's been over a thousand years," Harry answered. "It could've been lost or destroyed or sold. Who knows?" He couldn't summon up a great deal of interest in a piece of jewelry that was probably lost. It was more the fact that there'd been a reference to it in the Muggle museum that was interesting. It occurred to him then, that wizards hadn't always kept their existence secret from Muggles. There'd been a time, not all that long ago, when wizards had gone among Muggles without hiding what they were. He wondered whether that could ever be again: whether they might even be regarded as just ordinary members of society, with just an extra talent, like musicians, or artists, and not as freaks. Probably not, he thought gloomily. Most people generally were afraid of what they couldn't understand or see. Mrs.Weasley sent them all up early.

"We'll need a good early start in the morning. No staying up talking late." She shooed them all up and they went. Harry stopped off first and gave Ron and Hermione their presents.

"You already gave me a present," Ron said, but Harry could tell he was really pleased when he immediately opened the box and broke off one of the sphinx's heads for Harry to try. And Hermione was so delighted with the book she kissed him right on the cheek.

"This is great!" she said. She immediately opened the book and buried her nose in the first pages. "I bet Anthony would like a look at this," she said.

"I bet he'd like a look at more than that book," Ron said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"You know what it means," Ron said. "I mean, he was hanging all over you all afternoon. And let's face it, we were all seconds there. He really only invited you Hermione. The rest of us just tagged along."

"And why shouldn't I have other frineds besides you and Harry," she asked.

Her dark eyes were snapping dangerously and Harry said hastily, "Keep me out of this," and beat a hasty retreat for the door. He had a clear memory of Hermione smacking Draco Malfoy in the face as one of the more memorable moments when Hermione had lost her temper.

"That all depends what kind of friend you want him for, doesn't it?" Ron asked loudly. Hermione threw the book at Ron and as it was quite heavy, it shattered the pitcher sitting on the dresser when he ducked out of its way.

"You are the limit, Ron Weasley!" Hermione said. Ron was staring at Hermione furiously, and he was clearly at a loss for a response.

Harry hesitated and said as he bolted for the next floor above where his room was, "The thing to do, Ron, is kiss her. That'll shut her up." They both gawked at him and Hermione opened her mouth again, probably to yell at Harry next. But Ron grinned suddenly and did just that. Harry didn't get to see the rest of it as Ron kicked the door shut with his foot.

Harry hoped they'd be too occupied to come after him and he felt the laughter welling up inside him as he dashed into his own room. He stopped laughing though, as he knocked into someone in the dark.

He had drawn his wand and was on the verge of attacking when a familiar voice said, "Ouch, you git. Get off my foot."

He waved his wand and lit the candles and the fire instead. It was Ginny. She looked like an offended cat; if she were an animagus, her ears would have been flattened back and her fur would have been standing on end. As it was, the expression on her face, composed part of annoyance and part of mischief made him start to laugh all over again.

She clapped her hand over his mouth and hissed, "Shh. Mum'll hear. And I want five minutes with you alone."

"Only five?" he said.

"You gave Ron and Hermione their presents," she pointed out. That nearly got him laughing again.

"Yeah," he said, "and I was on my way to give you yours, only they had another fight."

"Why would that stop you?" she asked coolly, "they're always fighting."

"Over Anthony Goldstein," he clarified. "Ron was jealous and Hermione thought he was being an ass." He paused and said thoughtfully, "Or maybe he wasn't. She does like Anthony a bit, I think. Just not like she likes Ron."

"Are you sure she really likes Ron that way?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "They've been going around together for a while, haven't they?”

Ginny hesitated. "I always wondered if she liked you, Harry."

"She doesn't get annoyed if I like another girl," he pointed out. "And she gets downright furious when Ron so much as glances at another girl. Didn't you notice how she keeps an eye on him when Fleur's around?" he added. "Cause he sort of liked Fleur when she was Hogwarts, you know."

"No," Ginny answered. "I was too busy keeping an eye on you." He grinned at her and thought he would laugh again.

"Here," he said, taking the little cat statue out of the bag. "That's for you."

She looked at it gravely and said, "It's lovely. All it needs is green eyes and I could imagine it was you turned into a cat."

She turned it over in her hands and spotted the tiny spring that opened it up. The locket fell out into her hand, shining in the mellow firelight. But that was nothing the sudden shine in her eyes as she looked up at him.

He took it and placed it around her neck and said, "Look. There's a catch and it opens up, so you can put people's pictures in it. I thought you'd like it."

"I do, thank you," she said. "I love it." She kissed him too, only not on the cheek.

After a minute, he stopped to breathe and said with difficulty, "We have to be careful. You should go."

She shook her head stubbornly and said, "No. I'm tired of being careful. I'm tired of letting Voldemort rule my life even without him realizing what he does. And I'm not letting him steal any more of your life away. This is part of your life, too." He shook his head, trying to draw away, torn between fear and desire.

"I can't bear it, if he goes after you," he said at last.

"I'm not waiting forever," she said, "I'm not letting him steal you from me. He nearly stole my life and my soul once. If his merely being alive keeps us apart, then he's stolen my life and my soul a second time, and I'm not letting that happen again."

"He'll know," Harry said. "I don't want him to know."

"No, he won't," she said. "That's the one thing he can't and will never understand. If he feels even a piece of it, he'll run, I promise."

"He's a man," Harry said harshly. "You think he doesn't know desire?"

She shook her head and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. "No, silly. Love, that's what he doesn't know. That's what he'll run from."

Wordlessly, he stared at her, and when she kissed him again, he felt altogether warm and happy and alive for the first time in ages.

It was very early when Harry woke the next morning. The sky through the window was a dark blue, but underneath, small fingers of rosy-gold pushed back the dark. He felt altogether warm and happy and he was reluctant to leave the comfortable cover of his blankets. He watched pink light push back the dark, though the light flooding the room was still hazy as he hadn't bothered to put on his glasses yet. He felt as though the sky would turn gloomy and the sleet would begin to fall again if he were to see the world too clearly, too soon.

Mrs. Weasley called out and knocked on the door. "Time to be up. We need to start early." Hedwig lifted her head out of her wing and clucked sleepily and then tucked it back under her snowy wing.

"I know, Hedwig," he said, "I feel like that myself lots of days." He stretched and dressed quickly, however, and he was soon downstairs and the only one seated at the parlor table, which was set with a full breakfast.

Mrs. Weasley huffed as she trotted back up the stairs, "Everyone's late this morning. Even Hermione's not down yet."

Ginny came trotting down and led her Mum back down to the table. "They're up," she said, "I heard them moving around and Pig's making a racket as usual." She tossed her long red mane back and reached for a cup of tea and the Daily Prophet. She glanced at Harry over the top of the paper and smiled and then retreated behind it blushing just a little.

Deprived of having Ron and Hermione to fuss over, Mrs. Weasley settled for heaping enormous portions of eggs and bacon and toast and even kippers on Harry's plate.

"I'm fine, really," he mumbled as Mrs. Weasley felt his forehead and muttered about cold weather giving frail people chills. "And I'm not frail," he added, but not too loudly.

Ginny giggled and Mrs. Weasley left off and bustled away to talk to Tom. Harry returned her grin and tried to feel guilty about having failed to stop things when he should have, but not one twinge of guilt could be summoned. Happiness had a way of stealing up on one, he reflected, and wiping away every bit of rational thought one had. He took a large bite of his eggs and dropped a piece of bacon to the floor for Crookshanks, who was winding around the chair of Harry's leg as if he knew he had a sucker to indulge him.

Ron and Hermione came down the stairs together, but Ron kept on stepping back one step to let her precede him. Neither one said a word other than, "Good morning," before piling up their plates with food and starting to eat as if the act required the totality of their attention.

Harry glanced at Ginny again, and she giggled again, but soundlessly. He could tell she was laughing though, by the way her eyes crinkled up and by the slight shaking of the paper. He drank his coffee and read the back of the paper, swallowing down a sip too large with a choke when he saw the story there.

"Give that here," he said, and reached to take the paper from Ginny. The article, by none other than Rita Skeeter, was a highly detailed account of his confrontation with Voldemort last month. He had been surprised when nothing had been mentioned in the papers and had wondered if the edition with the original story had been hidden from him by his well-wising friends.

A Death Defying Duel, Ministry Cover-ups, Ministry Spies, read the headline. The article itself was surprisingly accurate. Only the title was typical of the sensation ridden stuff Rita Skeeter normally wrote. He supposed, however, that the details of the confrontation, from Fudge's attempted takeover of the bank, to the goblins in armor resisting, to the appearance of Voldemort, needed no embellishment to be sensational. Unfortunately, it ended with a paragraph that made very bit of happiness leak out of him as fast as the air from a punctured balloon.

"Eyewitnesses saw The Boy Who Lived hustled out of the scene of the battle by Albus Dumbledore and no one has seen or heard from him since. On being questioned, Dumbledore insisted The Boy Who Lived was in fine health. Our experts from the Drak Arts Defense League assure us, though, that no one has ever survived the deadly spell that He Who Must Not Be Named attempted. It is believed that even if he lived, the young hero must be desperately ill, possibly crippled, as are the hopes of free wizards everywhere should You Know Who triumph against the only one brave enough to challenge his growing might."

He threw down the paper in disgust. "I guess I'm back to being her favorite hero again, so long as I supply her with enough drama to sell her stories. And what happened to the Quibbler?" he added. "I suppose she dumped them the minute the Daily Prophet took her back."

"It's quite interesting, though," Hermione said.

"You must be joking," Harry answered.

She shook her head and said thoughtfully, "No. I mean, the placement of the article. I've been wondering why no mention of it has come out. And it should be front page news, not back. And notice that the story is on the last page all by itself, with nothing at all on the inside reverse. It looks like they added it in at the last minute."

"Why would they do that?" Ron asked.

"I think," Hermione said meditatively, "that Fudge had that story stopped because it would put him in such a terrible light and because it would panic everybody. I bet this was put in after the Ministry had its look at the edition. And," she went on, "I bet this means the paper is done supporting Fudge for good."

"You don't think they'll start calling for his resignation and a new Minister?" Ginny asked.

"I dunno," Ron said. "Don't get your hopes up. Who's going to be barmy enough to want the job, except for someone as insanely ambitious as, say, dear old Percy?"

"Ron!" Hermione said, trying to sound properly scandalized. Only all of them knew quite well that Percy had been willing to cut himself off from his family for the sake of a bit of promotion in his job. On the other hand, Harry thought, Percy was anything but stupid. He might well be willing to desert Fudge the minute Fudge's power dissolved.

A small commotion drew Harry's attention away from the paper and to the front end of the Leaky Cauldron where the public rooms and the bar were located. Someone entering had knocked over a customer's early morning tipple, resulting in a bit of a brouhaha. The customer, an elderly wizard who always had a toad on his shoulder, had taken out his wand and tried to hex the offender, a witch with bubblegum pink hair.

The hex, however, had missed and landed on another customer, an even older witch whose purple hat was now a mass of seething worms. The old witch then hexed the old man, only her aim was accurate, and he began to hop about yelling as one of the worst cases of boils Harry had ever seen covered his face and every bit of him that was exposed.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been behind the pink haired witch, said very loudly, "Oh, bother," and waved her wand once, twice, and then a third time to clean up the mess and undo the various hexes and jinxes that had flown round. She then gave the other witch a none too polite jab with her wand and they arrived in the private parlor moments later.

"Wotcher, Harry," said the younger witch. It was Tonks.

He grinned at her and said, "Hi, Tonks, what are you doing here?" in return.

"Joining you on the bus to Hogwarts," Tonks answered.

"What about Professor Lupin?" Harry asked. He supposed that Tonks must be coming along to provide security, but privately he hoped they wouldn't need her help. Not that she wasn't a brave fighter. She had fought with considerable ability when the Death-Eaters had attacked him and his friends at the Department of Mysteries two years before. But he really was hoping for a nice quiet return to school without any attacks or upsets.

"He's got another assignment just now," Tonks answered. "So it's up to me to do this bit for the Order." Tonks then greeted Hermione and Ginny and Ron with her usual cheer, and she sat down to grab a cup of tea and a bun before they all left.

Harry couldn't help noticing that Mrs. Weasley had a frazzled air about her and that she was regarding Tonks with nearly the same expression of severity she often wore when Fred and George got out of hand. The front end of the pub cleared out suddenly as they went through with all of their luggage. Pig was hooting loudly in his cage, even though Ron had covered it with his latest maroon Weasley sweater and Crookshanks was yowling and spitting insults from inside the straw carryall Hermione used to transport the ill-tenpered cat.





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