Else
 
Prologue
 
	A storm was coming.  Black clouds had formed 

overhead, a cold wind was blowing, and thunder sounded 

across the grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and 

Wizardry.  Before long, lighting would be flashing and rain 

would be pouring down.  Anyone with any sense had long 

since gone inside; however, the storm brewing on the 

ground was far worse than the one threatening to attack 

overhead.

	Despite the cold, beads of sweat had formed and 

were dripping down the face of one Harry Potter, who 

wished that they would disappear; they were distracting 

him from the task at hand.  He tried to ignore the fact that 

failure at this task would most likely result in his prompt 

and green-lit demise; he also tried to ignore the fact that his 

"task" was now laughing at him, quite loudly in fact.  

 	"So, Potter...All alone now, aren't you?  Where are 

your friends?" the ominously thin figure asked as he 

gestured toward Ron and Hermione, who were turning 

cartwheels and singing an old Muggle song behind him, 

their faces sometimes twisting in an effort to repel the 

curse.  "Where are your teachers?" he questioned, 

motioning toward the ground where Professor Sprout lay 

face down in the blowing grass.  "And where, most 

importantly," he added, almost as an afterthought, "is your 

precious Dumbledore?"  He laughed again, causing Harry 

to shiver involuntarily.

	Harry wanted to yell at him; in fact, he wanted to go 

straight up to him and scream in his face.  He wanted to 

watch the small flecks of spit fly from his mouth and rest 

on his foe's nose, and witness the look of surprised horror 

that would reside in his eyes as he realized the certainty of 

his coming doom by way of...Avada Kedavra?  He didn't 

know if he was powerful enough; no one was actually 

taught that curse at Hogwarts.  He quickly struck thoughts 

of immediate retaliation from his mind; that's what he 

wanted, Harry knew, and if he obliged him it would be a 

fatal mistake.  He also knew that he should be using this as 

time to anticipate and think, rather than wallowing in fear 

and self-pity. 

	"Well, boy," Voldemort hissed, "do you know 

where your headmaster is?"  

	Harry racked his brain for something he could 

possibly do to come out of this situation with a beating 

heart.  He knew it was a long shot, but it was also his only 

chance...

	"Perhaps I should show you," Voldemort sneered, 

waving his hand and creating a misty view of Dumbledore, 

in his nightclothes and lying on his bed with open, empty 

eyes.  Harry continued to try to think, and hope. The sweat 

on his face increased enough that his glasses began to slide 

down his nose, and Voldemort regarded this with a sinister 

smirk.  Harry tried to focus beyond Voldemort, but when 

he did he only saw Ron and Hermione cartwheeling in and 

out of his view, singing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."	

"You, my boy," Voldemort chuckled, then suddenly 

becoming serious continued, "are out of time!"

	Harry knew what was coming; he blindly aimed his 

wand at Voldemort, shouted, "Defixus Retexo!" and rolled 

out of the way, the death curse missing his head by 

millimeters.  Praying his friends knew what to do, he stood 

up, pointed his wand, and heard his voice along with two 

others (to his immense relief) scream "AVADA 

KEDAVRA!"  After that, the only things Harry remembered 

were feeling a cold jolt fly into his body, feeling it leave as 

soon as it had come, and watching his world turn black.

 
Chapter 1
 
	Harry woke hours later with a scream, which he 

followed closely with a yelp due to the fact that he had no 

idea where he was.  The room he was in was pitch black, 

his pulse was racing, he had the strange and terrible feeling 

that he was going to die... Suddenly, a candle illuminated 

in what the light quickly revealed to be a doorway, and he 

was greeted by the welcome sight of Madam Pomfrey 

shushing him and hurrying toward his bed.

	"Get back to sleep," she whispered soothingly as 

she attempted to make him put his head back to his pillow.

	"No!  I need-I-..." Harry trailed off as he realized 

that he didn't know exactly what he needed to do.  He knew 

something urgent had been pressing on his mind when he 

had last been conscious, but what... and then it all came 

flooding back to him.  He jumped out of bed, disregarding 

the fact that his robes had been removed (for medical 

reasons, of course) and Madam Pomfrey's look of panic, 

and raced out into the waiting room where he encountered 

the Weasleys, minus Ron and Bill (and Charlie, of course), 

who were sitting nervously and waiting for some word on 

the recovery of Ron and his friends.  Harry paused at the 

sight of them and with great relief noted that none of them 

were crying. In fact, they didn't look distressed at all. 

	As Mrs. Weasley stared at him with tears of joy 

appearing in her eyes, he deduced that Ron, at least, had 

survived.

	"What... what happened?" he managed to stammer.  

Mrs. Weasley was clearly taken aback and began to sob, 

squeezing out, "Harry darling, it's all over!" before she took 

the plunge into unintelligibility.  Mr. Weasley immediately 

began to comfort his wife, and an exasperated Fred took 

over.

	"Well, Harry old boy," he began wryly, but was 

obviously very pleased just the same.  "You seem to have 

done it.  Voldemort," he said, clearly emphasizing the last 

word and surprising Harry, "is gone."

	"We did it?" Harry asked, astounded and almost 

speechless.  "We're all alive?"

	"Yes.  Somehow Hermione and Ron were injured 

just the same as you were, but Professor Sprout..." George 

said, finishing for his brother and looking suddenly put out 

at the mention of the death.  

No one said anything for an uneasy moment.
	
"Anyway, they found you three passed out near the 

Forbidden Forest," Fred finally spoke up, "and they brought 

you in here.  They called us and Hermione's parents, who 

should be here very short-"

	"WHERE IS SHE?!" a frantic looking man yelled 

as he bolted into the waiting room, followed closely by a 

woman in a similar state.

	"-ly," Fred said, looking upon the scene with 

surprise as Percy waltzed over to explain the situation to 

Hermione's parents.

	"And?" Harry asked, thinking that there should 

somehow be more to the story than what he had just heard.

	"And now you're standing in front of us putting on a 

show in your boxers, which I'm sure Ginny finds very 

entertaining," George finished with a smirk on his face.  

Ginny turned the color of her hair and looked away very 

quickly with a smile on her face, but thankfully (for her) 

Harry didn't notice this due to the fact that he had looked 

down and realized that George was indeed telling the truth.  

Embarrassed, he excused himself from the amusement of 

the Weasley clan (the Grangers were far too concerned 

with the welfare of their daughter to know of anything but 

their desire to see her) and went back to face the wrath of 

Madame Pomfrey in order to retrieve his robes.  

	She was surprisingly agreeable, even giving him a 

hug and thanking him before she gave him his clothing.  As 

he pulled the robes over his head, he had a shocking 

thought: Dumbledore.  What had happened to Dumbledore?  

He went cold when he remembered how he had last seen 

him, with his eyes open in wordless horror-

	"Harry?" Madam Pomfrey called to him, noticing 

that he had had his robes halfway over his head for over 

half a minute.  Harry quickly clothed himself.

	"Is Professor Dumbledore-" He was interrupted by 

the opening of the door from the waiting area.

	"Did I hear my name?" Professor Dumbledore 

asked, sticking his head into the room.  Harry sighed in 

relief.  "Surprised to see me, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, 

looking a little more weary and apprehensive than usual, 

but still retaining an air of cheerfulness.  

	Harry was stunned and didn't answer; too much was 

happening at once.

"I do hope you're able to talk.  I am anxious to hear what 

has happened...  I hope you don't mind, Poppy?"  Madame 

Pomfrey grumbled something about not being allowed to 

give students proper care, but allowed him to go with 

Dumbledore into the waiting room.  The Grangers and the 

Weasleys were absent, as they had finally been allowed to 

sit by their respective children while they slept.

	"Well Harry, if you don't mind," said Dumbledore, 

"Begin from the beginning."

	Dumbledore sat down; Harry watched, took a deep 

breath, and obeyed his headmaster.

	"Professor Sprout was talking to Professor Sinistra," 

Harry began.  "We were in the Great Hall eating lunch 

when Professor Sprout called me over.  She told me that 

since I did poorly on the last herbology test I could get 

extra credit if I helped her with finding some plants in the 

Forbidden Forest.  I kind of needed the points so I agreed, 

and when the time came to leave, Ron and Hermione 

offered to go as well, and I figured that it would help her 

since there would be more of us, so we went."  

Harry paused, still trying to absorb everything that 
was happening and had happened earlier that evening.  

Dumbledore nodded him on.  

	"Wh-when Ron and Hermione and I got there, we 

were just in time to see Professor Sprout fall... Hermione 

screamed and Ron grabbed her and began to run; it was 

obvious something was wrong... I heard 'Imperio' from 

somewhere, and Ron and Hermione suddenly began to turn 

cartwheels and sing.  I tried to help Professor Sprout, but it 

was obviously too late.  He began to laugh when he saw me 

trying to revive her, trying to make her live... he showed 

himself soon after, and then he waited until I stood up, then 

he began to taunt me..."

	Harry told the rest of his story without the nervous 

stammer he had begun with.

	"...It was probably a lucky break that it worked, and 

that our spells missed each other, though I think Voldemort 

accounted for this as well."

	"Well, Harry, what did you do?" Dumbledore 

asked, anxious to learn how a 17-year-old underage wizard 

had defeated the most evil and potentially powerful wizard 

in the world.

	"Defixus Retexo," Harry said.  "I remembered 

hearing the spell sometime in 5th year.  We never learned it 

here, I don't think."

	"No, only ministry wizards are specifically taught it.  

It is extremely difficult, especially to actually cause the 

intended spell to be fully reversed.  Despite the 

complication this is possible in most cases, excluding, of 

course, the death curse."	

	Harry nodded.	

	"Well, what happened from there?" Dumbledore 

asked again.

	"It worked, probably because there wasn't any other 

option, and Ron and Hermione were released from the 

curse and thankfully knew what to do.  We all said the 

death curse and threw ourselves into it at the same time. All 

I remember is feeling like something jolted me back, and 

then a sudden pain."

	"You say you felt something enter your body?"

	"Something like that, yes," Harry said, confused. 

Dumbledore's weary and apprehensive look suddenly 

became more final.  "What's wrong, sir?" Harry asked.

	"I suspected this.  He's not gone, Harry."  He stood 

and began to pace

	Harry felt a look of fear form on his face.

	"His soul is still alive...I'll have to inform the 

ministry, of course... hopefully they'll do something about 

it this time."

	"But..." Harry was stunned.  He had just failed at 

killing his arch nemesis a second time.  Dumbledore 

immediately sensed his disappointment and laid a hand on 

Harry's shoulder.

	"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry," 

Dumbledore consoled.  "You could not possibly have killed 

him.  You have saved Hogwarts and the lives of your 

friends and probably many students, and once again shown 

courage and responsibility beyond your years.  Voldemort 

is not gone, but he is powerless, and I'm sure that this time 

the ministry will take the appropriate actions to find him."

	"Professor Sprout died, sir... I couldn't stop it, I 

tried-"

	"Mr. Potter, no one blames you for that."  Professor 

Dumbledore looked kindly upon Harry, who had buried his 

head in his hands.  "Voldemort, as you know very well, 

takes killing people as a sport.  He uses it to lure, to 

frighten, and show his power.  You have done nothing 

wrong, Harry."  Harry still kept his head down, but he took 

the comments to heart.

	"Sir, why did you say it was impossible, killing 

Voldemort?"

	"Harry," said Dumbledore sternly but with eyes like 

stars, "that is a question for another time."

	"Everything is!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, 

frustrated.  "My parents, my childhood, my everything!  I'm 

17 years old!  When am I going to know, when I'm 30?  

What is-"

	"Well," interjected Dumbledore, obviously amused, 

"I was thinking tomorrow, since you are obviously very 

tired, despite your bravado."

	"Oh," Harry squeaked, embarrassed.

	"If you would kindly go to bed and get some rest 

now, I will see you in my office at 10:00 tomorrow 

morning.  The password is 'chocolate orange.'"

	"Okay."

	"Now, goodnight Mr. Potter."

	"Goodnight, sir."

	Harry watched as his headmaster left the waiting 

room, then he put himself back into the custody of Madame 

Pomfrey and went to sleep.


***

	Harry woke at 8:30 the next morning, checked to 

see that his robes had not been forcibly removed again 

(they hadn't), put his glasses on, and went to try and find 

Ron and Hermione.  He found Hermione first; she was in 

the room next to his (Madame Pomfrey had given them the 

three private rooms, thinking that they deserved it).  Her 

parents had fallen asleep in chairs next to her bed, and she 

was quietly studying for finals.  Harry stood silently in the 

doorway, watching her, until she looked up and noticed 

him.

	"Harry!" she whispered happily, jumping out of bed 

and giving him a hug that he gratefully returned.

	"Do you know if Ron's awake yet?" Harry asked 

quietly.

	"He's not, I just went next door and checked," 

Hermione said.  "That was brilliant yesterday, Harry, I'm 

so proud of you that I could kiss you!  But if I did I'm 

afraid that would betray some more-than-platonic feelings 

that I just do not have for you, so I won't.  You do 

understand?"


	"Sure," Harry grinned, and hugged her again.  "I'm 

glad you and Ron reacted the way I prayed you two would 

yesterday."


	"Yes, that was a big risk.  But it's over now," 

Hermione and Harry broke their embrace, left the door 

open and sat on a nearby bed in the main infirmary.  

	"Hermione," Harry said seriously, "There's 

something you should know.  Voldemort-"

	"Isn't dead?" Hermione finished for him.

	"Wait, how did you know?"

	"He must have used some spell to prevent his soul 

from being killed.  I'm sure you noticed the cold feeling 

after his body was destroyed?"  Harry nodded.  "That is 

what happens when someone performs the extremely 

complicated immortality incantation... only one known 

wizard accomplished this, back in the 7th century, known 

only as Nabiha.  She was Middle Eastern, very remote and 

private, and very powerful.   When the body dies it 

disappears, and the soul is set free in a burst of energy with 

only one purpose, which is to find a way to live again.  

There is only one way that the person can truly be killed, 

and that's if they kill themselves.  Which, let's face it, 

won't happen to Voldemort anytime soon."

	Harry whistled as he looked at her with frightened 

bewilderment.  "Someone's been making use of that 

unlimited pass to use the restricted section, eh?"

	"Well, N.E.W.Ts are this week, and I want to be 

prepared."  Harry just shook his head.  So much for 

Dumbledore's upcoming description of events.

Hermione suddenly became quite serious.  "So," she continued, "Professor Sprout is..."  Harry nodded.  "And," her voice began to waver and her gaze trailed to the floor, "Dumbledore?"

	"No," Harry shook his head, and Hermione closed 

her eyes in relief.

	"Then Voldemort was lying?" she asked, opening 

her eyes and looking at Harry.  "Not his usual style, if I 

may say so."

	"Well, Dumbledore was going to talk to me in 

about," Harry looked at his watch, "an hour and 15 

minutes.  Maybe you can come up too, I bet he would let 

you in as well.  You have just as much of a right to know 

about everything that happened as I do, though you seem to 

have a pretty good handle on it.  Maybe you could ask him 

that question"

	Hermione smugly agreed with him, and put her 

studying aside (gasp!) so they could discuss things. 

	"I got my letter this morning, Harry," Hermione 

said nervously.

	"Well?!" Harry asked with a smile.

	"I didn't open it yet, I'm too nervous."

	Harry glared in exasperation.  "Hermione, if you 

don't get into Wizard University then no living wizard 

could.  Ron and I both got in, and you're smarter than the 

two of us put together.  Now open the damn envelope 

before I do it for you."

	Hermione made a face and pulled it out of her 

robes, her hands shaking slightly, and delicately began to 

tear the seal on the envelope.  Harry grabbed the letter from 

her and, ignoring her protests, ripped the envelope open 

and began to read.  As she saw a look of severe 

disappointment cross his face, Hermione's eyes opened 

wide along with her mouth, and her lip began to shake.

	"Harry?"  He put on a tight smile, leaving his eyes 

with their sorrowful expression.

	"I'm sorry, Hermione..."  She let out a gasp and 

snatched the letter from him, immediately devouring it with 

her eyes.  "You only got a full merit scholarship and are 

only the most qualified wizard who applied this year-"

	"YOU PRAT!" she yelled, giving him a powerful 

smack on the side and waking her parents up with her yell.  

After he sat back up, she hugged him, then ran over to 

where her parents were still sitting, told them the news, and 

did the same to them.  Ron chose this moment to appear at 

his door, and was also promptly assaulted by Hermione.  

	"Wha-"

	"I GOT INTO WIZARD UNIVERSITY!"

	"Yeah?  I did too, can't be that hard," he muttered, 

tentatively returning the hug, as though if he touched her 

the wrong way she would break.  She chose to ignore his 

comment.  

	"I GOT A FULL SCHOLARSHIP!"

	"Wow!" Ron exclaimed, serious this time.  She 

released him, and he continued to smile.

	"Ron, you're awake," said Harry, relieved that his 

best friend was unhurt.

	"Harry!" Ron exclaimed.   The two ran over to each 

other with big and relieved smiles on their faces, shook 

hands earnestly, and pulled into a quick, appropriate, manly 

hug.

	"Glad you're all right," Ron grinned.

	"Likewise," Harry noted.

	They both stood staring at each other grinning like 

idiots and shaking their heads occasionally for about a 

minute.

	"Oh, I'm so glad we're all going to school 

together," Hermione finally put in, placing her hands on 

each of their shoulders.

	"Oh, I can't resist, Group Hug!" Ron cried 

mockingly, pulling both Hermione and Harry into his arms.  

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you're welcome to join in if you 

want," he called.  They politely declined.

	"Geroff," Harry finally declared, even though he 

still had a big gaping grin on his face.  "Hermione," he 

muttered as he saw the Grangers giving their little group 

rather interestingly contorted looks, "You want some time 

with your parents?"

	"Oh!" she gasped, just remembering them,  "Yes, if 

you two could just..."

	"Okay.  We'll fetch you in an hour to go to 

Dumbledore's," Harry finished, pushing Ron further into 

the main infirmary.  Ron just looked at Harry with a strange 

expression on his face.

	"What is it?" Harry finally asked, slightly irritated.

	"You're alive, I'm alive, Hermione's-"

	"Dead?" Harry interrupted.

	"No, just weird," Ron finished, smiling.  "I just 

can't believe we came out of that, that we killed 

Volde...Harry?"  Harry had suddenly started to look 

uneasy.

	"Voldemort didn't die, Ron."

	"Oh... but... he..."

	"What do you remember right after we defeated 

him?"

	"I felt almost like something flew inside me, I was 

jolted back and... oh."

	"Yeah."

	There was a small pause.

	"DAMMIT!" Ron yelled as he suddenly punched 

the stone wall.  "He-he-augh!"  He began to rub his now 

injured and slightly bleeding fist and sat on a bed.  "I 

thought I... we..."

	Harry sat next to his grieving friend, who was now 

holding his face in his hands.

	"Ron, you did more than Charlie ever could have 

wanted you to do," Harry said softly, not expecting a 

response and not getting one.

	He recalled the day less than a year earlier, when 

Hermione had turned white while reading The Daily 

Prophet.  Ron had asked what was wrong and looked over 

her shoulder to read the headline "DRAGON BREEDERS 

ATTACKED BY DEATH EATERS."  He had gasped and 

read over the article to learn that Voldemort's supporters 

had attempted to apprehend some dragons from a dragon 

breeding center in Romania; some wizards tried to resist, 

and they were promptly made an example of and killed.  

Charlie Weasley had been among the "examples."  Ron had 

put the paper down and stared blankly at his food, not even 

noticing that Malfoy had strolled over.  He'd had intentions 

to taunt Ron about how the size of his family had decreased 

and therefore the world was a better place, but he had gone 

no further than to say, "So, Weasel, another one bites the 

dust, eh?" when Ron launched himself clear over the 

breakfast table and upon Draco.  Neither Harry nor 

Hermione tried to stop the brawl that ensued and by the 

time a teacher (Snape, as luck would have it) separated 

them, Malfoy had been issued a black eye, a broken nose, a 

split lip, and a missing tooth.  Ron had stood silently as 

Snape issued him two weeks of detention to be served 

digging out fly eyes for potions classes and 50 points from 

Gryffindor (Malfoy received 5 points from Slytherin and a 

warning), and ran up to his dorm immediately after Snape 

had finished.  

	Hermione had then done something that had given 

Harry a new sense of admiration for her: she grabbed the 

newspaper and ran after Snape.  From where Harry was 

sitting he saw her stop him, hand him the paper, converse 

with him for a moment (she said something that left a look 

of shock on his face), and walk out of the Great Hall 

leaving Harry alone.  The detention and lost points were all 

revoked later that day.

	Neither Ron nor Hermione had gone to any classes 

that morning, and during lunch when Harry went to check 

on Ron, he saw him through the crack in the curtains on 

Ron's four-poster bawling silently into the arms of 

Hermione. Harry hadn't interrupted them. He waited until 

Hermione left the boys' dorm in the early evening, to 

retrieve both his and her missed homework, before trying to 

console his friend.  He had stopped crying by that time, and 

was sitting wordlessly on the edge of his bed holding a 

letter.  After some sparse conversation, Harry learned that 

Ron was to be excused from school for the next week so he 

could be home with his family.  He hadn't known what to 

do, so he just sat there with him until everyone else came 

up to go to bed.  Anything to do with Charlie had received 

little to no discussion since then.

 	Ron did not say anything until Harry nudged him to 

tell him that they were going to have to go talk to 

Dumbledore.

	"What?"  Ron's face fell even further as he made a 

connection.  "Isn't he dead?"

	"Nope, not since last night, or very early this 

morning I mean," Harry answered, trying to remember 

what time he and Dumbledore had last talked.

	"But..."

	"He's probably going to explain all of that when we 

talk to him.  It was originally only supposed to be me, but 

he'll probably let you and Hermione in as well."

	"Okay, I'll go get Hermione and you can get a head 

start to Dumbledore's office."

	"Good idea, you know where it is?"

	"Yes, I've been there a few times, you know," he 

said, managing to crack a small smile as he went into the 

room adjacent to where they were sitting.  

	Harry pulled himself up and began the walk to the 

office of his headmaster, gratefully noting that he could see 

no one in the hallway.

 
Chapter 2

 
	"Chocolate Orange," Harry said as he approached 

the gargoyle.  He watched it open, stood on the moving 

stairs until they reached the door at the top, and knocked; 

Professor Dumbledore opened it almost immediately.

	"Come right in, Harry. I've arranged for breakfast to 

be served in my office for you and your friends - I assume 

they are planning on being in attendance?" 

	"Well, yes, I was just going to ask you."

	"Shall we go down and retrieve them, then?"

	"Yes, sir," Harry said, and both he and Dumbledore 

rode the stairs together.

	When they reached the bottom, an expectant Ron 

and Hermione were just rounding the corner.

	"Shall we?" offered Dumbledore, and the four were 

carried up the stairs (yet again for Harry, who was a little 

queasy by the time they reached the top).  They seated 

themselves around the table in the office, and at 

Dumbledore's urging helped themselves to breakfast.  

When they were finished he began to speak.

	"First, I would like to congratulate the three of you.  

I am assuming you know that Voldemort has not been 

completely killed; however, he has been reduced to a state 

as weak as the time directly following his first attempt at 

killing Harry.  You three have done more than any wizards 

your age that I have heard of, and you all have the right to 

feel very proud and capable right now."

	Harry looked at Ron and knew that his friend did 

not.  He kicked him silently under the table and pretended 

he didn't notice the venomous look that Ron gave him 

afterwards.

	"When Voldemort was at the peak of his original 

reign of terror, he performed a very ancient, very powerful, 

and very difficult spell that would enable him to survive 

even after his body was exterminated.  The only way he can 

truly die is if his death is self-administered, that is, if he 

kills himself.  That, as you know, is not very likely to occur 

in the near future."

	"That doesn't change the fact that we failed," Ron 

muttered.  Hermione put her hand on his, and this seemed 

to shush him for the time being. 

	"When Voldemort showed you dead," Harry began, 

"I mean, how did you...?"

	"Ah yes.  He wasn't lying.  It was our dear 

Professor Sprout actually; the wards around the immediate 

vicinity of the castle are too strong for even Voldemort to 

penetrate on his own."

	"But Professor," Hermione interrupted with a 

confused look on her face, "how did you survive?  No one 

except for Harry, not even the most powerful wizard, has 

survived the death curse."

	"I will tell you, Ms. Granger, that I did not do it on 

my own.  A new, very new charm, still in its experimental 

stages, is in development to repel and reflect the death 

curse.  I volunteered to test it so that they could monitor the 

results in the sad case that I should get attacked.  They are 

not actually testing the charm with the curse, as that would 

be dangerous and probably result in some unnecessary 

deaths."

	"It worked then?  That's great!" Hermione said, 

excited.  "This will revolutionize, well, everything!"

	"It may in time," said Dumbledore.  "It is extremely 

difficult to perform, and it didn't exactly work as it should.  

It is true that the curse didn't kill me, but the charm didn't 

block it completely; I was petrified.  Luckily Madame 

Pomfrey had some antidote for it, so I was revived almost 

immediately."

	"Oh," Hermione said, looking a little disappointed.

	"I'm afraid most of the information dealing with the 

charm is confidential; it could be highly dangerous if it 

were in the wrong hands, you know," Dumbledore said.  

"But," he continued, eyes twinkling, "you shouldn't fret 

just yet, Ms. Granger.  I heard you were accepted into 

Wizard University with a scholarship, and the spell was 

actually developed by professional researchers who were 

working along with students.  Maybe this is a field that you 

should consider."  

Hermione looked surprised for a moment, then smiled shyly.  "Maybe I will," she happily replied.

"Now, if there aren't any other questions to attend to, I am going to go contact the University and explain the situation to them.  And I believe that you three have some preparing to do for the very large party that is being held tonight.  There has been precious little to celebrate for the past 3 years, and we're taking advantage of it."  

None of them spoke, so Dumbledore smiled and stood up.  

" I believe The Daily Prophet is waiting downstairs in the 

great hall to interview you, if I may warn you.  Incidentally, 

you three are exempt from all exams excluding the 

N.E.W.T.s, and Gryffindor has been awarded 5,000 points.  

Have a good day, and I will see you all somewhere in the 

school I'm sure."  He escorted them down the stairs and 

into the hallway. They watched the gargoyle close behind 

them and began to walk back to the common room, 

unnoticed by their peers (who they presumed to be in 

class).
 
 
Chapter 3
 

	Harry smiled as he remembered the previous two 

weeks; despite his N.E.W.T.'s, they had been two of the 

happiest, most carefree weeks of his life.  Hermione, 

however, had been another story; she hadn't participated in 

even the first night of partying because she was studying in 

the library.  Harry had barely seen her except in the exam 

rooms, and she had always had a sort of ghostly look about 

her and dark circles under her eyes.  Now, she was catching 

up on some much-needed sleep.  Ron was cavorting the 

halls somewhere with Dean and/or Seamus (and probably 

one or two 4th year girls).  Harry was left to pack and 

ponder his immediate future: his last hellish summer with 

the Dursleys.  

	In a way, he knew it wouldn't be nearly as bad as 

previous summers; after all, an end would be in sight.  Not 

just an end, as had been the case with previous summers, 

but the end.  He would be 18 on July 31, and the Dursleys 

would surely be helping him pack his bags (and probably 

even wait with him by the door on the night of July 30 as 

he counted down the seconds to midnight, laughing and 

reminiscing about old times).  But first he must endure the 

months before that day, the months of being tortured by 

Dudley and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, the months of 

hunger and conversation depravation.  

	He tried to ignore this, and instead tried to focus on 

the tiny problem creeping into his mind: where would he 

stay once the guarantee of a home, albeit a horrid one, ran 

out?  He knew that the Weasleys wouldn't mind allowing 

him to stay with them, and he even knew that he would 

enjoy it; the Weasleys were the family he never had.  But 

he also knew he would feel extremely guilty; he was not a 

child anymore and could stay on his own.

	He would ask Ron about it when he got back from 

doing whatever he was doing, Harry decided; after all, his 

first summer alone was more than a year away, and that 

was more than enough time to figure something out.  But 

first, there was another summer with the Dursleys to 

contend with.

	Harry was packing more and more vigorously, 

hating the Dursleys with increased animosity as the seconds 

wore on, wishing that Ron would get back or that 

Quidditch hadn't ended the month before (Gryffindor had 

won the cup, as well as every game, and Harry had ended 

his Hogwarts career with only one official miss, to Cedric 

Diggory in his 4th year).  Kicking his trunk closed in 

frustration, he grabbed his new Lightningbolt broom (a 

Christmas gift from Sirius; Harry was afraid to ask where 

he had gotten the money), opened the window, and took 

off.

	He rocketed over the grounds as fast as he could, 

going as close to the trees as humanly possible before 

jerking away at the last second.  The cool, early evening air 

was like a salve to his angry attitude and he felt his soul fly 

free as he flew low over the lake.  The calm body of water 

mirrored the pink sunset.  He slowed down, took his 

sneakers off, threw them on the shore, and dangled his feet 

in the water as he flew, throwing all fears of anything 

lurking beneath to the wind.

	Finally, he came to a near stop at the center of the 

lake and just stared at the sunset.

	"Nice, eh?" a voice suddenly sounded from behind 

him, frightening him so much that he fell off of his broom 

and into the mirror-like water with a loud splash.

	When he emerged from the watery depths, glasses 

crooked and sopping wet hair hanging in his face, he made 

out Ginny Weasley laughing so hard that she almost fell off 

of her broom as well.

	"What did you do that for?!" he called as she 

swooped over to help him.

	"I didn't do anything, Harry," she spoke between 

fits of giggles.

	"Sure, sure, you just wanted to get me in my 

underwear again," he muttered as she handed him his 

broom, though, despite the fact that he was cold and wet, he 

was smiling as best as he could.

	"Well, I did want to have that chance again.  Last 

time I didn't even take advantage of the situation."

	Harry laughed as he vaulted himself back onto his 

wet broom.

	"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny," he said as he began to fly, 

with her in close pursuit.  "A few years ago you wouldn't 

even look at me, let alone even dream of making a 

comment like that.

	"Harry, times changed and so have I," she replied, 

grinning impishly as she moved even with him.

	"I know.  Who would have thought you would have 

beaten out Percy for grades, Ms. Prefect," she bowed 

slightly, "AND still beat Fred and George in the stunts you 

pull?"

	"That, my dear Harry," she said as she followed his 

lead in a low dive around the castle, "has never been 

proven."

	Harry gave her a sideways glance.  It was true, she 

had never been caught.

	"Tell me... whatever happened to the tiny blushing 

1st year who couldn't even look at my dashing masculine 

form without going into admiring convulsions?"

	"Well," said Ginny, "The same thing that happened 

to the 2nd year who wouldn't even talk to me to find out 

what a wonderful person I was until I started killing 

chickens and getting whisked away by ghost boys and evil 

snakes.  But now that you mention it, there was the fact that 

you had no interest in me whatsoever."

	"I wouldn't turn you down now," Harry teased as he 

began to increase his speed dramatically.

	"Keep those hands for the golden snitch, Potter, I've 

got a boyfriend," she grinned broadly.

	"Lucky guy he is too."  Harry suddenly performed 

half loop, spun out of it equally as quickly, and began to 

dive back toward the lake.  When he looked to his left, 

however, Ginny was still there.  He whistled.

	"Will you marry me?" he asked jokingly as he 

suddenly bolted upward.

	"No," she replied, still even with him.  He began to 

weave in and out of the trees.

	"Why not?" he asked, going into the Wronski Feint.  

She knew exactly what he was doing, and pulled out of it 

right along with him.

	"Because I'm prettier than you," she answered.

	"No, you've got it wrong," he replied, suddenly 

gunning it for the castle wall.  "I'm the pretty one."  At the 

last possible second, his broom's angle changed 90 degrees 

and he began flying up the side of the castle.

	"Really, Potter," Ginny responded, still next to him 

and not taking her eyes off of what was ahead of her.  

"Whatever you say."

	"No, whatever you say, Ginny."

	Harry stopped suddenly at the boys' dorm window, 

trying not to pant from exhaustion.  Ginny looked like she 

was doing the same.

	"Well, Weasley," Harry commented as he hovered, 

having turned himself right side up again.  She followed 

suit.  "Enjoying the new Lightningbolt, are you?"

	"Potter, I worked all summer for three years for this 

thing, and then I had to wait until one of them had a 

manufacturer's defect so that the permanent lettering had a 

capital N instead of L, and then I had to wait for them to 

ship it to me.  Yes, I'm enjoying it."

	"Well worth it, too," he commented, green eyes 

sparkling.  "Certainly not wasted on a lack of talent."  She 

had to smile at this.  "You'll be a great seeker next year, 

Ginny," he said, tone softening.

	"Harry, I've always sucked compared to you."

	"No you haven't.  Alright, you've convinced me, 

you have.  And even so, you've always been better than 

Malfoy."  She gave him a sideways smile.  "And don't 

forget, the option of marrying me and learning all of my 

secrets is still open."

	"Only if Colin can come on the honeymoon."

	"Ouch, rejected for the third time.  Why do you toy 

with my heart so?"  Harry mockingly shielded his eyes as if 

he were crying.

	"Well, because it's fun, Harry," Ginny responded, 

eyes twinkling.

	"I had a feeling it was something like that," Harry 

answered, returning the twinkle.  He noticed that she was 

watching the last rays of sun sink behind the trees.  Turning 

to look, he absorbed the blue and purple gradient that the 

sky had become.  Last Hogwarts sunset, he thought with a 

pang of remorse.

	He sat with Ginny and watched the sky fade into a 

bluish black ornamented with winking stars.

	"Mind if I come in your way?" Ginny suddenly 

asked, motioning toward the window.  "The girls' dorm 

window is on the other side."

	"Not at all, Ginny dear.  Ladies first," Harry 

motioned toward the window.  Ginny ignored his mockery, 

went first anyway, and waited as Harry flew in behind her.

	"See you later Harry," Ginny said.  Harry nodded, 

and she left the foreign dorm in search of her familiar one.  

As he watched her leave, he was glad that they had been 

able to become such good friends after her infatuation with 

him passed.  The sight of his half-packed luggage brought 

him back down to earth and replaced that rather nice 

thought with an image of the piggish Dudley laughing at 

him.  Frustrated, he kicked his trunk and sat down on his 

bed, ignoring the pain in his foot.

	Just then, Ron's voice echoed up the stairwell.  

Harry heard it call "I'll see you later, Jessica!" and waited 

for his red hair and freckled face to appear at the door.  He 

was not disappointed; Ron's grin appeared seconds later.

	"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked immediately as 

he began squishing his belongings into his trunk.  As much 

as Harry loved having heart-to-heart conversations with 

Ron about his inner feelings, he decided to artfully avoid 

the topic.

	"So, Ron," he began.

	"Yeah?" Ron replied in a muffled voice (he was 

holding a shirt in his mouth).

	"Last night at Hogwarts," he continued.  

Ron spit the shirt out and replied, "So?"

"What do you say we commemorate the occasion?"

"And how do you suppose we do that?"

Harry felt a semi-evil smile cross his face, and 

watched Ron's eyebrow rise in a conniving expression.

***

Admittedly, they didn't do anything monumental, 

simply because they didn't really feel like doing anything 

to anyone except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle (and 

because they didn't have any really good ideas).  They 

considered some chocolate frogs, a la Fred and George, that 

would make them burst into song and dance whenever the 

trigger spell was recited, but they scratched the idea when 

they realized that the only one who would know how to do 

that was Hermione.  As they moaned about this in the 

common room, they were suddenly startled by the landing 

of a bag of chocolate frogs in Ron's lap.

"Been planning it for weeks," they heard 

Hermione's smug voice say from behind them.  Harry's 

green eyes sparkled at her as they never had before.  She 

looked up and smiled, almost modestly.  "I couldn't leave 

Hogwarts without intentionally doing something wrong, 

could I?"

"Says the head girl," Ron remarked.

"I worked hard to be head girl, Ron," Hermione 

answered.  "I've studied, been good-"

"You mean, good at not getting caught?"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.  

Ron shrugged.  "So, is the head girl going to go 

with us to administer the frogs, or are we to do it without 

the honor of her company?"

"Shove it, Ron.  Go by yourselves," Hermione said, 

sitting down and readying paper and a quill.  "I have to 

write to Viktor."

At this, Ron grimaced.  "Tell Krummy I said hello 

then, won't you?" he replied in a girly falsetto.  She gave 

him a look.  He told Harry to come on, and left the room, 

Harry hurrying after him with the invisibility cloak.

***

Two hours later they returned, wet, panting, and 

laughing.  Hermione decided that she didn't want to know, 

but that she would ask anyway.

"So, how did it go?"

	"How did what go?" Ginny, who had been 

conversing with Hermione, butted in.

	"Well, we got in okay, and put it right by where 

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting," Harry replied.  

"We saw them pick it up, and then we left."

	"What happened then?  You look like you had to 

make a daring escape into a toilet."

	"What did you do?" Ginny asked again.

	"Well, not a toilet," Ron answered to Hermione.  

"Just a bath.  And never chide me for making friends with 

4th year girls again, Hermione, because it came in very 

useful today."

	"Making friends my arse," Hermione muttered, her 

arms crossed.  "So how did you almost get caught?"

	"What did you guys do that you almost got caught 

at?" Ginny interrupted again.

	"Your intelligent friend Ron threw off the 

invisibility cloak and began to skip down the hall," Harry 

addressed to Hermione.  "Filch was right behind us, it 

turned out.  When we were running away, we found some 

of Ron's 'friends' and they hid us in the girls' bathroom 

until the coast was clear.  Then, we ran back here."

	"Hid you in their tub.  How clever."

	"No, not hid us, kind of pushed us in... and they 

weren't actually in the tub, if that's what you're worried 

about, Hermione," Ron responded.

	"I wasn't 'worried' about anything," Hermione 

snapped.

	"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" Ginny yelled.  Harry, 

Ron and Hermione stared at her with blank looks on their 

faces.

	"You'll find out tomorrow, like everyone else," 

Harry answered smugly.  She glared.

	The three friends stayed up late that night.  They 

reminisced about happy things, like the time in 4th year 

when Draco Malfoy was caught trying to fight with them 

and was turned into a ferret by Mad Eye Moody, or the 

time in 6th year when Draco Malfoy was caught threatening 

to beat up Colin Creevy at The Three Broomsticks and 

turned into a ferret by Madame Rosmarta, or the time 

earlier that year when he was caught trying to cheat in a 

Quidditch match against Gryffindor and turned into a ferret 

by most of the 7th year Gryffindor boys (and more than a 

few girls).  Yes, Hogwarts held fine memories for them all, 

and they would miss it.  They talked long after the fire had 

burned itself into ashes and the house elves came to restock 

it for the morning.
	

Chapter 4
 

	Harry tried to pack for the third and final time.  It 

had been a good last day at Hogwarts; breakfast and lunch 

were tasty, and the end of the year speech had been 

especially moving.  He sat back and remembered the 

morning with a pang of longing.

	"...And it has been a great honor to Hogwarts to 

school possibly three of the bravest young wizards in 

history, and to present them with the Order of Merlin, first 

class.  Hermione Elizabeth Granger, Ronald Franklin 

Weasley, and Harold James Potter, please stand and accept 

this great honor."  The hall exploded into applause; even 

most of the Slytherins, and yes, Draco Malfoy, were 

clapping, albeit grudgingly.

	"...Go forth and help the wizard world, strive to 

make a difference, not just for yourselves, but for the 

people around you.  Remember the sacrifices made by 

those before you, and by those among us today.  Do your 

best to honor the memory of those who gave up their lives 

to ensure the freedom that you now have ahead of you in 

yours.  Look to the future, and try to make it your own..."

	By the end of the speech, Hagrid had been crying 

like a child a 16th of his size.  When he saw Harry 

afterwards, he had grabbed him into a giant hug and made 

him reaffirm his promise that he would indeed write at least 

once a week, and visit at least once a year.  He had 

continued to blubber about how he was leaving for so long 

that Harry began to tear up himself.  Harry would definitely 

miss Hagrid.

	Incidentally, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle entertained 

many with their forced rendition of "Wannabe" by the 

Spice Girls.

	Now here he was, packing and preparing to seize 

his summer with the Dursleys, who were sure to ensure that 

having an Order of Merlin wouldn't go to his head.  

Remembering the wetness and/or pain he had experienced 

the last two times he packed, he refrained from making any 

rash actions motivated by frustration.  Instead, he 

concentrated on neatly folding every item of clothing he 

owned so that it would actually fit in his trunk and allow it 

to close uninhibited.

	At that moment there was a knock on his door and 

Harry walked over to answer it, wondering vaguely who 

still held the formality of knocking.  However, the door was 

opened before he could reach it and in bounded a rather 

flustered and excited looking Hermione.  Harry stopped 

and looked at her curiously.

	"What are you doing here?" he asked.

	She grinned and flung a newspaper at him, which he 

caught.  He saw the 3-inch headline and was rendered 

speechless:
 

PETER PETTIGREW, ALIVE AND GUILTY
 
	16 years ago, one of the most notorious 

betrayals in all of wizarding history occurred 

when Lily and James Potter were murdered by 

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  They had 

performed the complex Fidelius charm and were 

thought to be using Sirius Black as their secret 

keeper.  He betrayed them and divulged their 

whereabouts to You-Know-Who, after which he 

fled the area to avoid being found by his former 

friends.

	After the Potters were killed, Peter Pettigrew 

was seen in confrontation with Black on a public 

street, but being no match for him he was literally 

blown apart by an extraordinarily strong curse, 

which also killed 12 other people.

	Or so the world thought.

	Pettigrew was found in the company of 

several former Death Eaters on Tuesday evening, 

apparently planning to seek and revive He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named.  After a struggle, he was 

brought in for questioning.  The results of the 

interrogation were utterly shocking.

	First, Pettigrew tried to get a reduced 

sentence by offering to name several Death Eaters 

who had not been apprehended.  Then when 

questioned on why he was still alive, he would 

only say incriminating statements against Sirius 

Black

	"...He forced me to do this...he's a 

murderer..."

	The suspicions of these circumstances were 

only heightened after Sirius Black himself offered 

to turn himself in if he were given a fair trial and a 

chance to explain what had really happened on 

that fateful day, 16 years in the past.

	According to Black's testimony (given on 

Thursday), he was not the person the Potters 

selected to be their secret keeper; at his 

suggestion, they chose Pettigrew.  Pettigrew 

proceeded to betray their whereabouts to the Dark 

Lord, and went into hiding in a Muggle area.  

When Black learned of the betrayal, he 

immediately went to seek revenge for the murder 

of his friends and confronted Pettigrew on a 

public street.  Pettigrew knew he could never 

prove to be a match for Black in a duel, so he used 

possibly his only asset to his advantage: he is an 

unregistered animagus.  He yelled how Black had 

betrayed his friends, performed the curse that 

killed 12 behind his back, cursed off his finger 

(the biggest part of him that they found intact after 

the incident), transformed into a rat, and 

scampered away unopposed.  When confronted 

with this story, Pettigrew unexpectedly broke 

down, confessed his involvement in the murder of 

the Potters, and begged for the chance to reduce 

his term in Azkaban by naming Death Eaters.

	The Daily Prophet could reach neither 

Pettigrew nor Black for comment, but, after 

keeping the story from the press for four days, the 

Ministry released a statement concerning Sirius 

Black:

	"We regret the rash decision we made to put 

Sirius Black in Azkaban without a trial.  He has 

received a full pardon and our personal apology, 

along with some additional compensation."

	This reporter has never seen such a drastic 

change of events.  The story will be continued 

tomorrow when more information is at hand.
 

	Harry sat down on his bed, still speechless.  He 

heard a tapping on the window, and saw an owl trying to 

get in.  After Hermione opened the window, the owl 

swooped in and landed beside Harry's legs with a small 

letter in its talons.  Harry gave it a bit of bread he kept in 

his room for such occasions and, hands shaking, unfolded 

the note.  Out fell a clipping of the Daily Prophet article he 

had just read, and he read the one-sentence letter with more 

joy than he had ever read anything in his entire life:

	
	Harry, 

		Meet you at the train station.

	Love,

		Sirius
 

	Harry suddenly jumped up and began to pack with 

more earnest than he had ever packed before.

	"Well?" Hermione asked, a little irked that she had 

been virtually forgotten.

	"I'm living with Sirius now!" Harry glowed, 

dropping his final items of clothing into his trunk and 

closing it with glee.  Hermione smiled in relief.  

	"Good.  No, great."  He gave her a hug influenced 

by pure joy.

	"Thanks for bringing me the article, Hermione," he 

said.  

	"I didn't think you'd seen it yet and you hadn't 

mentioned anything about Sirius owling you about what 

was going on."

	"Knowing him, he probably wanted to keep it a 

surprise or something stupid like that," Harry replied, 

gathering clothes from the floor.

	"Need help?" Hermione asked, beginning to pile 

things in his trunk.

	"Why would I need help?" Harry asked, staring 

oddly at her.  "I can pack for myself."

	"Well, the carriages leave in 10 minutes."

	"Oh, yeah, in that case..." 


***

	Harry continued to glow for the entire train ride 

home.  Ron got so frustrated with his adamant cheerfulness 

that he threatened to kick him if he didn't stop.  Harry had 

just shrugged and grinned, but Ron observed Hermione's 

glare and decided not to make good of his promise.

	"Have you seen Seamus and Dean?" Harry asked 

Ron.

	"Yeah, you?"

	"Yeah, they're both going to Australia for the 

summer to 'have an adventure,'" Ron replied.

	"Must be cool, what are they going to do?"

	"I don't think they have any idea."

	"Me neither, but still, why didn't they invite us?"

	"They did, remember?  We declined politely?"

	"Oh yeah..."

	"Hey Hermione, what are Lavender and Parvati 

doing?"

	"They both got jobs at the ministry, actually," 

Hermione replied, "working under Percy."

	"You're serious?  When did he get promoted?" Ron 

gasped.

	"I don't know, but they got their owls confirming 

their jobs this morning.  You should find Percy in a very 

good mood when you get home today."

	"Great," Ron muttered.  "Something else to look 

forward to."

	The train was lurching to a stop, and students were 

beginning to file out of their compartments and into the 

corridor of the train.

	"Well, this is it," Harry said with a tinge of sadness.  

They gathered their things and stepped out of their 

compartment and faced the rest of the students, somber and 

contemplative.  Their last train ride was over.

	They stepped out onto the platform into the masses 

of anxious parents and younger siblings, almost losing 

themselves in the bustle. 

	"I'll see you soon," Harry said, hugging Hermione 

(and even Ron, briefly of course).  Ron and Hermione 

hugged as well, and the three promised to owl each other as 

soon as they got back to their respective homes.  Hermione, 

who was going to try for the apparation test in the weeks to 

come, promised to visit them as soon as she did, and also 

help them with their apparation tests if they needed it.

	Ron soon spotted his family, hugged Hermione 

again, gave Harry a good-natured slap on the back, and was 

off.  Hermione found her always-nervous parents next, 

hugged Harry yet again, and was gone as well.

	Harry was alone and looking, but he couldn't see 

him anywhere.  Then he had a thought: what if the Dursleys 

arrived before Sirius did?  He couldn't stand the notion of 

one more second with them; 16 years of torture had been 

quite enough.  His heart fell into the pit of his stomach as 

he saw none other than Uncle Vernon with the same 

horrible look on his face (as always), standing near the door 

to the station.  Harry slumped and sat on his trunk.  Why?

	Then, he saw another familiar face, no, the familiar 

face, standing anxiously behind Uncle Vernon, eyes 

scanning the crowd for none other than he.

	Harry grabbed his belongings and began to run 

toward Sirius and Uncle Vernon, who was looking as 

thought Harry was a dog with an unusual deformity.  He 

looked even more frightened as Harry got closer and closer.  

Sirius finally saw his godson and ran to meet him.  Harry 

dropped his things and they embraced in a hug, not noticing 

that Uncle Vernon had been pummeled with Harry's 

speeding luggage cart.

	"I'm so glad you've been acquitted!" Harry 

exclaimed.

	"Really?" Sirius laughed.  "I can finally fulfill my 

godfatherly duties and rid you of those horrible Dursleys!"

	Harry stifled a laugh as Uncle Vernon let out a 

small squeak from the floor next to them.  Sirius grabbed 

Harry's luggage cart and proceeded to walk out of the 

station with Harry closely behind him; they both blatantly 

ignored the beefy man with a large mustache and no neck 

staring after them, shocked.	

	They walked to Sirius' car (one of the ministry's 

"compensations" to Sirius), and Harry asked, 

	"Why didn't you say anything to my dear old 

uncle?"

	"Didn't want to have to start something that would 

be illegal to finish," Sirius replied, opening the door.  

"Besides, I don't think you'll ever hear from him again."

	"Me neither," Harry grinned, buckling his seatbelt.

 Sirius' tone suddenly changed and he looked anxiously at 

Harry.  "Listen... home isn't much... to be honest, it's old 

and grubby and filled with junk from the previous renter.  I 

didn't have that much money, only the savings I had left 

and money the ministry gave me to make up for the 16 

years that they sucked away from me.  That and I only had 

a day to look for somewhere to live.  I have a job at the 

ministry now, actually," he continued.  "They've got me on 

as an emergency auror.  The pay's fair enough, and living 

will get better soon, I promise, and-"

	"Sirius," Harry interrupted, "I wouldn't care if we 

were living off of rats in that cave by Hogsmeade that you 

used to haunt, so come off it."

	Sirius looked relived, and started the car.  There 

was a comfortable silence prevailing for most of the way to 

Harry's second real home.

***

	For Harry, life with Sirius was the equivalent of a 

very pleasant haze from which he did not want to be 

disturbed.  They slept late nearly every day and then ate 

breakfast together, reading alternating sections of The 

Daily Prophet and making casual comments on news 

stories and Quidditch games.  If it was a day Sirius was on 

call, they might sit around the flat where Harry would assist 

Sirius in his newfound love of cooking by tasting his 

concoctions, or go down the street to the local pub.  There 

was also the flat to clean out and decorate according to the 

tastes of two males, one 17 and one 38.  Of course, 

throughout whatever they were doing there would be the 

constant flow of conversation to make up for the years that 

were missed.  If Sirius was off, then more exciting things 

could take place (i.e. they could leave the general area).  He 

definitely made up for lost time in that department; 

whenever there was a Quidditch game in England they 

would go, and he even taught Harry how to apparate.

	He, Ron, and Hermione had all passed their 

N.E.W.T.'s with flying colors.  Hermione had sent Harry a 

detailed account of her tortured existence upon having 

received her grades, which were apparently switched with 

some dolt who failed everything and went to another 

school.  She had cried until her astute father noticed that the 

name at the top of the paper was none other than Herman 

Granger, and the next day she found out that he had 

achieved top scores on everything.  Incidentally, Herman 

was rather disappointed, but life goes on.

	Yes, happiness generally abounded through Harry's 

life that summer, and he had the best summer he could 

remember.  Unfortunately, all good things must come to an 

end, and before Harry knew it he was sitting on the roof 

with Sirius, watching the sun go down, and, being an adult, 

drinking something a little stronger than butterbeer.

	"I don't want to go," Harry said resolutely.

	"You're going," Sirius responded.

	"I'm having the time of my life, I want to stay," 

Harry stated.

	"You're going," Sirius replied, tone unchanging.

	"I could get a job at the ministry, be an emergency 

auror like you...we could make the flat even better with my 

paycheck, and maybe even rent a better one-"

	"The pay rots, and you're going."

"From what you say, I bet that dad would have let 

me stay," Harry pouted, using a ploy previously never 

known to fail with Sirius.

	"Your dad would have kicked you by now, and 

believe me, you would have gone anyway, and with a 

bruise."

	"But I'm serious..."

	"No, I'm serious, and you're going.  Pun intended, 

by the way."

	Harry sighed and took a large gulp of his drink.

	"But won't you miss me?" Harry asked, putting on 

his puppy eyes.

	"No, I'll be glad for the quiet.  What do you think, 

Harry?  I'd like nothing more than for you to stay here... 

but you are going to school and getting a good job and we 

can turn this flat into whatever you want during your 

vacations."  Harry smiled in spite of himself.  "If you make 

the Quidditch team, I'll come to every game I can possibly 

go to, I promise."

	"I know," Harry said quietly.  They drank in a 

comfortable silence for a bit as the birds chirped and the 

sun sank over the chimney tops.

***

	The next morning came far too soon, and Harry and 

Sirius apparated over to the school (on time, surprisingly).  

Like Hogwarts, most of the school was secured so that no 

one could apparate or disapparate; however, there was a 

room specifically for the purpose of apparating in and out 

(and also a room that offered regular portkeys for a small 

fee in order to allow students to enjoy the occasional 

evening out).  However, they had not stopped to notice the 

other room; as soon as they arrived, they headed toward 

room 343 in Tower 7 (students were randomly sorted into 

towers).  The school accepted roommate requests and 

Harry and Ron had been put together, much to Harry's 

relief; begin able to room with Ron would make him much 

more at ease in the new school.

	"All settled then?" Sirius asked, surveying his 

godson's tiny dorm room.  The college was a large castle 

somewhere in Canada, though he didn't know exactly 

where; like most wizard schools, its location was kept 

secret.  The students they had encountered had been of all 

nationalities, though the French population seemed to be 

prevailing.  Sirius was glad that Harry had been able to 

room with Ron; so far he hadn't been able to bring himself 

to trust anyone he had seen, especially the legions of 

French girls.  He himself had had some run-ins with girls 

from Beauxbatons when he had been at Hogwarts...but for 

Harry it would be different, he tried to console himself.  


He's 18, don't worry, he's his own person, he's lived on his 

own-

	"Sirius?" Harry asked, looking extremely amused at 

the desolate look on his godfather's face.

	"Sorry Harry, I'm just...do you really want to stay 

home?  Because you can, you know, if you want to.  I 

would let you, I was just kidding before..."

	A broad smile slowly came across Harry's face.  

"I'll be home every vacation," he said, "and whenever you 

feel like fetching me on the weekend.  I did pass my 

apparation test last week, you know."

	Sirius looked a bit gruff.  "Alright," he answered, 

sniffing.  Harry gave him a hug and told him that 

everything would be okay.

	"Get yourself a girlfriend," he told Sirius.  "Make 

use of the empty flat."

	Sirius laughed and hit him upside the head.  "If your 

mother heard you talking like that she'd have charmed you 

so that your mouth tasted like soap for a week.

	"You didn't," Harry replied skeptically.

	"Well, I'm hoping to make good on your 

suggestion."  Sirius paused, ignoring Harry's laugh, and 

looked at his watch.  "I'd better get going, I'm on call in 10 

minutes."

	"I'll go with you," Harry started to say, but Sirius 

motioned for him to stay.

	"I'll be alright, and Ron will be here soon.  You 

stay here.  I'll see you... Don't hesitate to apparate back if 

you need anything at all..." Sirius started to sniffle again 

and Harry, though he couldn't help but smile at the notion 

of Sirius blubbering, gave him another hug before he left.

	Harry barely had time to miss him; a minute after he 

walked out, Ron walked in, followed by Mrs. Weasley and 

luggage.

	"Harry!" Ron exclaimed happily as Harry jumped 

up and joined Ron in their secret handshake.  Mrs. Weasley 

sighed and shook her head.

	"Hello Harry dear, the house was so empty without 

you for the last month."

	"I missed you too, I had fun the day I visited," he 

replied.  "Sirius and I were spending quality time together, 

but maybe next summer he'll let me out of his sight for 

more than a day so I can visit longer."

	"Oh stop lying to make me feel better," Mrs. 

Weasley responded, helping Ron start to unpack.  "I know 

you wanted time with Sirius.  I-"

	"Okay mum, I think I'll be alright now," Ron 

interjected.

	"Are you sure, Ron?" she asked lovingly.	

	"Yes," he replied, more firm than loving.  Despite 

his tone of voice, he gave her a big hug before she left.  

Harry did the same, and before very long it was just like 

Hogwarts, except with plain beds and a much smaller 

room.

	"So," said Ron, plopping down on his bed.  "Want 

to go see when Quidditch starts?"

	"Yeah," said Harry, eager to explore the school.

	The Canadian castle they were holed up in was a 

rather nice school, and almost reminiscent of their beloved 

Hogwarts.  Admittedly, it wasn't nearly as exciting; since it 

was a rather new building, the magic was very conventional 

to them and there were no trick steps, false doors, or 

hallways that led to different places on Tuesdays.  Truth be 

told, they were fairly disappointed with the lack of 

difficulty they had getting to where they needed to go.

	The Quidditch field made them both draw breaths 

of awe; it was a full-sized stadium with very large 

bleachers surrounding it, and the new goal hoops were 

begging to be used.  There was a building off to the side 

that looked as if it consisted of locker rooms and other 

Quidditch necessities.  They stood still with gaping mouths 

for a few seconds until a voice from behind them stirred 

them from their first visual fantasy, and brought them into 

another one.

	"Nice, isn't it?"

	When they turned, they encountered an extremely 

beautiful woman holding a Thunderbolt broom and gazing 

at the field.  "I'm Coach Jennings, I'm in charge of just 

about anything Quidditch in the school."  The two 

hormone-ridden boys stared at the Canadian beauty queen 

for a moment in surprised shock until Ron came out of his 

stupor.

	"Aren't you Maggie Jennings?  Didn't you play 

seeker for Canada?"

	"Yes I did, I quit the team last year to be at home 

with my mother.  She's ill, but getting better."

	"Good," Ron continued.  "I'm Ron Weasley, I play 

keeper, and this is Harry Potter, he's a-"

	"Wait, THE Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?"

	Ron looked startled and flattered that someone 

remembered his name as well as the great Harry's.  "That's 

us," he answered proudly.

	"Very glad to meet you both," Coach Jennings said 

earnestly, shaking Ron's hand and then Harry's, who was 

finally coming out of his stupor.  "So what did you play at 

Hogwarts, Harry?"

	"Er, seeker," he stammered, suddenly very shy.

	"You're both trying out for Quidditch, I hope?" she 

asked as she began to walk toward the locker rooms.  They 

followed.

	"Definitely, yes!" Harry answered quickly, hoping 

he hadn't sounded too earnest.  "Er, when are tryouts?"

	"Warmups begin tomorrow, anytime from 9:00am 

to 9:00pm.  Tryouts start next Saturday at 2:00 and run 

until dinner at 7:00.  Teams and positions will be 

announced next Sunday.

	"What positions are open?" Ron asked 

apprehensively, as he desperately hoped to make it onto a 

team.

	"Well," she answered, "It depends on which tower 

you're in.  Each tower has a separate team; third years 

automatically make the team if they played during their 

second year.  First and second years, and third years that 

haven't been on the team before, have to try out.  There are 

at least two players picked for each position for substitution 

purposes and also for a reserve team."

	"I'm in Tower 7," Ron responded.  "Any keeper 

spots open for Tower 7?"

	"Yes.  I coach that tower's team, actually."  Harry's 

stomach gave a small leap at these words.  "And I think we 

have a seeker position open as well, so you both have 

fighting chances."

	Ron nodded, but he still looked a little worried 

despite the reassurance.

	"How are the tryouts run?" Harry asked, managing 

to find the strength necessary to move his suddenly very 

heavy tongue.

	"We start by testing you out on the position you 

want to play."  She turned toward them while continuing to 

walk her slow, mesmerizing pace.  "What do you two 

ride?"

	"Lightningbolt," Harry answered quickly, eager to 

show off.  She raised her eyebrows in admiration.

	"Ah, third, last, and best of the ever-popular 'Bolt' 

series.  Good choice, Mr. Potter.  What about you?" she 

inquired.

	"Firebolt," he replied a little timidly.  After Sirius 

had bought Harry his Lightningbolt, he had insisted upon 

giving Ron his Firebolt.  Normally he wouldn't have 

accepted anything from Harry, but in these circumstances 

he had made an exception.  Besides, it had been a 

Christmas present.

	"Also good.  You two must fly well."  They both 

reddened at the ears, but nodded eagerly.  "Anyway, after 

the initial position tryouts we let you pick teams and then 

watch you play 10 minute matches against each other to see 

how you react in games.  We let you pick the teams 

because we realize that you may have worked with certain 

people before and probably know their style, and also play 

well together.  That, as you know, is a great advantage on 

the Quidditch field, especially if you're a beater," she said.  

Harry thought of Fred and George and knew it was true.

	They had the building off to the side and were in an 

area that seemed to hold several offices.  Names like Harris 

and McCollough appeared on the doors until they reached 

the one that read Jennings near the end.

	"Would you like to sign up for tryouts now, since 

you're here?"  They both nodded.  She handed them the 

empty form, and they each signed their names on the top.  

"So, I'll see you boys tomorrow then?" she asked briskly, 

taking the sheet and posting it on the locker room door.

	"Yes," replied Harry, dwelling on the "s" longer 

than necessary.  Coach Jennings smiled broadly and bid 

them farewell.  

	Harry let out a sigh.  "I think I'm in love," he 

swooned.

	"Ha, you're her student," Ron grinned.  "But yes, 

she's extremely tasty looking."

	Harry just sighed again and told Ron to leave him to 

his delusions of grandeur.

	The two approached the library in search of 

Hermione, and sure enough they found her surveying a 

bookshelf with great interest.

	Ron advanced with a smile and a greeting on his 

lips, but Harry quickly observed a dramatic change in his 

friend's features; his grin disappeared, his eyes ran cold, 

and he stopped moving toward her.  Harry shifted his 

glance from Ron to Hermione, and saw the cause for Ron's 

change in demeanor: Viktor Krum had walked over and put 

his arm around Hermione, and they were now having what 

looked like a private conversation and exchanging the 

occasional kiss.  Harry swore he saw Ron take on a tinge of 

green.

	"Come on, let's wait this crap out," Ron muttered 

venomously and sat at a table, glaring daggers at the two 

lovers nestled between the bookshelves.  Harry looked at 

Ron and sighed.  He wasn't going to go there.

	10 minutes of uncomfortable silence later, 

Hermione spotted Harry and Ron sitting at a table and ran 

over to converse.  Viktor came as well; this was his third 

year, and he liked the school very much, he told them.  He 

looked forward to seeing them at Quidditch warm-ups 

tomorrow, he continued, and if they needed any help they 

could just ask him and he would do all he could to oblige.  

Though he wished he could stay and talk, he had to 

reaffirm a change that had been made in his schedule, so he 

would see them later.  He left.

	"I'm so glad to see you!" Hermione beamed.

	"Obviously," muttered Ron.

	"What are your schedules?  Do we have classes 

together?"  Both Harry and Ron pulled their schedules out 

to compare them with Hermione's.  Harry had decided that 

he was going to train to be an auror after all, as he felt that 

he certainly had sufficient experience in battling the dark 

forces; also it was one of the only things he felt absolutely 

confident in besides Quidditch.  Hermione had taken 

Dumbledore's suggestion and signed up to study to become 

a spell developer, which was no surprise.  Ron, however, 

had surprised everyone by choosing to study to become a 

wizard pediatrician.  When questioned, he painfully 

admitted that he liked kids and was interested in the 

medical field, and left it at that.

	The gaps between their chosen careers left them 

with only three common classes: general charms, general 

potions, and general Defense Against the Dark Arts.  

Harry's other classes were all advanced Defense Against 

the Dark Arts, while Ron's focused mostly on healing 

charms and recognizing curses and illness.  Hermione's 

classes were a completely different story as they all focused 

in on learning the difficult task of creating spells.  It was a 

small program, and most applicants dropped out after their 

first or second years.

	"I can't wait for next year when I get to take an 

elective," Hermione exclaimed.  "I'm going to miss 

arithmancy this year."

	"I just hope that I'm going to have time to rest.  

This schedule looks like death to me," Harry commented.  

"Hey Ron, awfully quiet aren't you?" he continued.  Ron 

grumbled and continued to glare at Hermione, who was 

beginning to get a bit uncomfortable.

	"Oh stop it, Ron," she finally snapped, and began to 

gather up her books.  "I'm in room 704 if you happen to 

need me...I believe we're all in Tower 7.  I'm going there 

now, as my roommate is probably more pleasant than the 

carrot top.  See you two at dinner."

	Ron waited until she had stormed out of the library 

before he stuck out his tongue and made a face at the spot 

where she had last been.  Harry sighed and shook his head.

***

	The next day, Harry and Ron woke early and got 

ready for what they hoped would be the greatest potion 

class of their lives.  Ron seemed to have gotten over his 

grudge against Hermione, Harry noted, as he greeted her 

cheerfully in the hall with a big smile that she returned.

	"At last!  A proper potions class!" she exclaimed as 

they made their way to the room with excitement.  As they 

passed by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, 

Ron suddenly turned pale and rushed back to the door.

	"What, Ron?" Harry asked curiously.

	"Oh...nothing...never mind, probably just seeing 

things," he said shakily.  Harry looked at Hermione, who 

shrugged and continued walking.

	The potions class was as wonderful as it promised 

to be.

	"What do you know, I apparently have natural 

talent at it!" Ron gloated happily.  They meandered back to 

the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and sad down 

next to each other, chatting about the finer points of the 

elementary truth potion.  The seconds ticked closer to the 

beginning of the class.

	"...And it turns out I was doing it fine all along," 

Ron was saying, "No thanks to that oily git Snaaaa..."  He 

turned white again, but more dramatically this time, and his 

eyes looked like they would fall out of their sockets horror.

	"Well, I see the wonder triplets are still attached at 

the hips," said a sickeningly familiar voice from behind 

Harry and Hermione.

	They slowly turned around in their seats.  First, they 

saw the midsection of a thin, cloaked male, and the further 

upward their eyes got they were greeted with an oily smile, 

a sickeningly familiar face, and greasy hair.  Yes, Snape's 

dream had finally come true; he was a Defense Against the 

Dark Arts teacher, even if it wasn't at Hogwarts.

	"Oh, don't looked so horrified," he sneered.  "Class 

is about to start."  He drew in a breath and attained a look 

that made it seem as if he were about to swallow some 

extremely distasteful medicine.  "And don't make 

assumptions.  As much as I hate to do it, I'd like to start 

with a clean slate, including with you three.  So take me as 

I come and I'll do the same for you."  Snape looked as 

though it had killed him to give the speech, and abruptly 

walked to the front of the room.

 
Chapter 5
 

	After classes that day, Ron and Harry met on the 

Quidditch field and began to observe their competition.  

Ron paled as he saw several very large and very mean 

looking boys (and one girl) apparently practicing to be 

keepers.  Harry paled as he saw the legions of seekers that 

he would have to face, and wondered how many would be 

trying out for the vacant spot in Tower 7.

	"Hello, boys," the same angelic voice that had 

disturbed them the day before called from behind.  Harry 

turned around instantly, said, "Hello, Madame Jennings," 

and thanked the Lord that his voice didn't crack.

	"Ready to go?" she asked.  Her light brown hair had 

been pulled into a ponytail, and she was wearing stylish red 

robes (red was the school color).  Of course, Harry's mouth 

would have been nearly watering if she had been wearing a 

loose paper bag, but that's another story.  Harry nodded, 

grinned, and took off, with Ron in close pursuit.

	They practiced hard for quite awhile, oblivious to 

the fact that their stomachs were crying out for food until 

7:30.  As they exited the Quidditch field, Harry gave 

Madame Jennings a brief and slightly shy wave and a smile 

bordering on goofy.  As soon as they were out of her sight, 

Ron smacked him on the back with his broom.

	"Ouch, what did you do that for?" he snapped.  Ron 

didn't answer, and Harry just glared and returned to his 

daydreams.

	When they reached the dining hall and sat down, 

they had barely put food in their mouths when they heard 

someone say,

	"So, zees are ze famous 'Arry Potter and Ron 

Weasley?"  They looked up, mouths full of food, to view 

three French girls staring coolly down at them.  Ron 

swallowed and said,

	"Yes, and?" before shoving his fork back into his 

mouth.

	"Nossing, just observing ze competition," the girl 

who had spoken before replied.  Harry looked curiously at 

her blue eyes and medium brown braided hair.  She was a 

little short and stout for a Beauxbatons girl, he decided, 

considering the standard 6-feet-tall- rail-thin look he had 

observed over the past day.  Her two companions were 

another story; both had light brown hair and fit the look 

perfectly.

	"Competition in what?" Ron asked, eating as he 

spoke.

	"Quidditch of course," she answered.  "We saw you 

practice.  You are good."

	"Thanks," Harry said.  She glared.

	"Too good," she answered.  "My friends are in 

Tower 7; zey are a chaser and a keeper.  Zere is only one 

slot, as you say, open for keeper."  Ron raised an eyebrow; 

she sighed in exasperation.

	"Zere are 7 teams, and 'ooever iz in zeir sird year 

and 'as made ze team ze year before makes ze team 

automatically.  Zere are sree years in zis school, and only 

one keeper graduated."

	"And what are you?" Ron shot, obviously not 

pleased.

	"I am a seeker."

	"Really."

	"Yes 'really,' what are you, stupeed?"

	"Sorry, just keeping conversation," Ron answered 

through a full mouth, clearly unaffected.  The girl looked 

insulted.  Harry feebly tried to repair the situation.

	"What's your name?" he meekly asked.

	"Michele Bender," she answered coolly.

	"It's nice to meet you," Harry said, and smiled 

hopefully.  She looked at him suspiciously and then 

returned the gesture.

	"It iz nice to meet you too, 'Arry Potter.  My friends 

and I should go and do our 'omework now, so I will see 

you tomorrow on ze Quidditch field."

	"Bye," Harry said, smiling.

	"Hey, can't your 'friends' talk for themselves?" 

Ron asked with a slightly menacing air.  Michele gave him 

a glare worthy of an unfavorable rodent and stalked off, 

"friends" in tow.  Harry glared at him a bit as well.

	"Whot?" Ron asked, mouth full again.  Harry shook 

his head, tapped his tray with his wand (the cafeteria made 

it so that this was how plates were cleaned), and walked 

off.

	"Wait!" called Ron, grabbing a roll off his plate and 

running after Harry.

	"Do you have to be so rude ALL the time?" Harry 

asked.

	"Well, she wasn't exactly a can of peaches herself," 

Ron replied, a little irked that his friend was turning on 

him.  True, thought Harry.  She had, after all, nearly 

threatened him.

	"Well, just try to be a little more polite next time."  

Ron snorted and shoved the aforementioned roll in his 

mouth.

	When Harry opened the door to their tower's 

common room (there had been some disappointment over 

the lack of portrait doorways), he and Ron were greeted by 

the sight of Hermione doing something very un-Hermione-

like with Krum on the couch.  They quickly sat up, and 

Hermione turned so red that one could have confused her 

for a tomato.  Harry stifled a laugh.

	"Hi," he said, quickly making his way toward the 

staircase.  Only when he got there did he realize that Ron 

hadn't accompanied him; he had frozen angrily in the 

doorway, roll still in his mouth, and had turned almost as 

red as Hermione.

	"What, Ron?" Hermione finally asked quietly.  He 

just stared at her and suddenly walked haughtily toward the 

stairs.  As he was stomping up them, Harry asked,

	"You do realize that that roll is still in your mouth?"  

Ron hastily removed the offending lump of carbohydrates 

and spoke.

	"What the hell was she doing?" he shouted.

	"Well Ron, when a man and a woman are fond of 

each other-"

	"She was sucking his hook-nosed face!"

	"And rather enjoying it from the look of it-"

	"She was snogging his eyes out!"

	"Well it looked like it was limited to his mouth, 

maybe his neck-"

	"What the hell was she doing?"

	Harry realized that Ron hadn't heard a thing he had 

just said, and silently listened to him babble himself in 

circles until they had reached their room, and all throughout 

their homework.  Finally, before they turned the lights off, 

Harry grabbed his broom and knocked Ron on the back 

with it.

	"OW!  What did you do that for?" he yelled.  Harry 

glared, got into bed, turned the lights out, and rolled over.  

Ron got the point.

***

	For Harry, the next week and a half was very busy 

and very involved.  Despite the lack of trick stairs and 

moving halls there was still a new castle to learn, and the 

workload was bigger and more difficult than it had been in 

Hogwarts.

	Harry loved his classes-yes, even Defense Against 

the Dark Arts.  Snape still showed definite signs of forced 

indifference toward Harry and his friends, but he turned out 

to be a very good teacher when his field was the one he 

preferred.

	The homework was sometimes difficult to stay 

awake through after his self-inflicted Quidditch practices, 

but as usual he managed.

	Sirius, to his relief, was doing fine.  He had told him 

that it was lonelier than it had been with him around over 

the summer, but he was trying to keep busy.  Television 

was helping him.  He didn't yet have a girlfriend, despite 

Harry's orders to get moving in that department.

	Hagrid was all right as well, according to his letters.  

With the return of Sirius came the return of Buckbeak, and 

after Sirius attested to the good nature of the beast the 

ministry decided not to execute him after all.  Hagrid had 

been overjoyed, but still hadn't included hippogriffs in his 

curriculum until after his students were in their 7th year, had 

a week of intensive study on the consequences of 

misbehaving around them, and had signed waivers.  Things 

were going smoothly at the school; Ginny Weasley and 

Colin Creevy were abusing their roles as Head Girl and 

Boy, and the first Quidditch game would occur in a week.

	However, these things were all far from Harry's 

mind as he polished his Lightningbolt and changed into 

Quidditch robes.  Tryouts were beginning. 

	He and Ron walked tentatively out onto the field, 

unsure of where to go or what to do.  Ron had the added 

obstacle of being upset, due to the fact that he had 

provoked Hermione into fighting with him over her public 

display of affection with Krum yet again.  As one can 

assume, it had been a very rough week in the Ron-

Hermione relations department.  Michele Bender and her 

two wordless and nameless friends were standing at the 

edge of the restless, milling crowd that had gathered.  

Madame Jennings and the rest of the coaches promptly 

stepped out onto the field, leaving them no time to think 

about the coming events.

	They started grouping people into their desired 

positions.  Harry said goodbye to Ron and watched him 

walk off with the other keepers, all of whom seemed to 

have three times the mass as the tall and lanky Ron, except 

for Michele's "friend" who, though she was the same 

height as Ron, was probably 1/3 of his weight.  As Harry 

was being led off with the other seekers (Michele Bender 

included) he noticed Hermione in the stands and gave her a 

wave, which she returned.

	Madame Jennings, to Harry's immense joy, was the 

seeking coach.  She waited until everyone arrived in the 

seeker area and began to give directions.

	"This," she began, holding up a bright blue snitch, 

"is a practice snitch.  It behaves as a real snitch would, but 

it stays in a smaller area so that it's a little easier to catch."  

She saw that everyone comprehended.  "Each of you will 

have a turn with the practice snitch.  Line up when I call 

your name.  Andrews, Bender, Calahan..." she read down 

the list, Harry a little too nervous to embellish her every 

word.  "...Malfoy, Potter, St. Michaels, and Veloise.  

Andrews, you're up."

	Harry lined up against the wall with the 12 other 

seekers all vying for the few spots offered in each tower.  

As he saw Andrews catch the practice snitch within 3 

minutes, and Michele Bender catch it in just under 2, his 

stomach began to turn a little.

	"So Potter, we meet again," sneered Malfoy.  

Harry politely addressed him with a "Hi, Draco," and said 

nothing more.

"Still trying to prove your worth?"  Harry didn't answer.  

"We're not in Hogwarts anymore, you know," he said, his 

voice getting more dangerous.  Harry again didn't reply.  

"The real talent will shine once the favoring authorities are 

removed from the situation."


"I don't know 'oo's talent you are referring to, 'e's better 

zan you," Michele Bender suddenly spoke from near the 

front of the line.  Draco looked a bit taken aback and said 

nothing more.

	"Malfoy!" Madame Jennings called.  He gave both 

Harry and Michele a smirk and sauntered over to where 

Madame Jennings was waiting.  Harry's eyes would have 

stayed where they were for longer than necessary had 

Michele not shaken her head toward Draco and loudly 

muttered,  "Leche-cul."


	"What?" he asked, alarmed.

	"Oh, not you.  Zat Malfoy boy...zo your Weasley 

friend may qualify."

	"No, I mean what does leche-cul mean?"

	"Oh," Michele replied, reddening slightly, "Never 

mind."

	"Potter, you're up!" Madame Jennings called.  

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

	"Good luck, 'Arry," Michele said, smiling.  He 

returned the gesture and went to meat his smiling, 

voluptuous fate. 

	"Take off, I'll release it as soon as you're up," she 

ordered.

	Harry kicked off the ground and began scanning the 

area for a flash of blue.  He saw it almost immediately and 

went after it as if on reflex.  Before he knew it,

	"0:55!  I'm impressed, Potter," Madame Jennings 

praised.  Harry grinned.  It was over.  He stood back in line 

next to Draco Malfoy.

	"Really doesn't take much to excite you, does it 

Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

	"How do you mean?" Harry asked, unable to help 

himself.

	"Well, take Madame Mudblood Jennings over there.  

My father knew her family-"

	"And where's your father now, Malfoy?" Harry 

muttered.  Malfoy abruptly shut his mouth and glared at 

Harry so fiercely that Harry thought he could feel it 

penetrate the side of his head.

	"Don't ever mention my father or his whereabouts 

in my presence-or otherwise-again, Potter," Malfoy 

snapped dangerously, Harry's last name being insult 

enough.

"Then don't ever mention 'mudbloods' in MY presence 

again, Malfoy," Harry spit back.

	"3:52, St. Michaels.  Veloise!"

	Harry was relieved that both Michele and he had 

done better than Draco, who clocked in at 1:54.  Harry 

hated to admit it, but Draco Malfoy presented a threat of 

competition now; six years of seeking had taught him 

something.

	"Do you know what we're going to do next?" 

Michele asked Harry.

	"Nope," Harry answered, shaking his head.  The 

tension grew slightly as everyone watched Veloise catch 

the snitch in 4:45.

	"Alright.  Now," Madame Jennings began, ensuring 

that she had everyone's rapt attention, "we're going to do it 

again.  With bludgers.  Line up, same as last time."

	No one spoke now; it was all observation.  Andrews 

finished in 4:54...Lowenstein was knocked by a bludger 

and exceeded the time limit...so was Debussy...Malfoy 

caught it in 3:10.  It was Harry's turn.

	He quickly deduced that bludgers were much more 

difficult to avoid in a smaller area, and had to devote most 

of the eyes he would use to look for the snitch to watching 

their behavior.  At last he saw it, dodged the ball flying 

toward his head, swerved to avoid the other one in his way, 

reached out, and...

	"2:00 even, Potter.  Bender!"

	Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he landed, and 

thought that this may be the only time he had ever been 

glad to stand next to Malfoy.  Draco didn't look at him, nor 

did Harry glance in his direction.

	Michele caught the snitch in an impressive 3:13.  

Veloise surprised everyone and caught it in 1:59.  Barely 

anyone in the line moved or made a noise.

	Harry looked over to where the keepers were trying 

out and saw that Ron was up.  One of the coaches was 

flinging quaffles at him, and from what Harry could see he 

was doing a pretty good job.

	"Well, now we wait for everyone else to finish so 

we can put everyone in a match situation.  You can all have 

a water break," Madame Jennings announced as Veloise 

landed triumphantly.	

	Harry began to wander aimlessly toward the locker 

rooms, and to his surprise Michele followed.

	"You are better zan I sought," she confessed almost 

grudgingly.  Harry blinked in surprise.


	"Thanks..." Harry stammered.  He began to tell her 

that she had been good as well, but she had left in a quick 

walk to where the chasers were (they had finished).  A 

glance at the sky told Harry that the keepers were 

descending as well, and that the team selections would 

probably happen quite soon.  He began to jog over to where 

Ron had touched down.

	"Ugh," Ron moaned.  "I missed 6."

	"You did good, he was pounding those things at 

you," Harry consoled.  As usual Ron didn't listen.  A 

whistle blew and everyone's heads turned toward Madam 

Jennings.

	"Everyone get into teams.  Anyone without a full 

team, stand over here so you can get organized; those of 

you left over can sub in after games have been played."

	Harry and Ron immediately paired off and began 

looking for the five other members of their partially formed 

team.  Two female beaters, who introduced themselves as 

Betty Finn and Veronica Sawyer, promptly assaulted Harry 

and were gladly accepted.    Ron found two chasers named 

Alex and Eddy, and Harry found a third named Joe.

	Ten minutes later, the teams were set and the games 

began.  Harry was pleasantly surprised at the excellent 

quality of the two beaters; they were just as good, if not 

better, than Fred and George had been.  Their chasers 

weren't well matched so they didn't seem as skilled, but 

that meant Ron got the chance to show off his keeping 

abilities.  Harry caught the snitch within ten minutes and 

they were granted leave for a late lunch.  The list would be 

posted the next morning at 9:00 on the locker room doors.

	Harry and Ron waved at Hermione again, but as she 

was waiting for Viktor she motioned for them to go ahead.  

Harry was too tired to listen to Ron complain, but endured 

it anyway, all through their belated lunch, all through their 

studying-filled afternoon, and all through dinner.  After 

dinner, Hermione finally emerged from her Krum world 

and sat down with Harry and Ron.

	"Hey, Hermione," Ron said, almost, to Harry's 

surprise, with tenderness, "I'm sorry for being such a git 

this morning."

	"Oh," she replied, looking shocked.  Ron never 

apologized, except when there was something involved 

relating to his own personal benefit.  "It's forgiven," she 

said, still with some suspicion.  "You did well in tryouts.  

Barely let anything by."

	"Thanks, but don't be nice," Ron answered, shaking 

his head.

	"Ron has a problem accepting compliments," Harry 

laughed.  "I, on the other hand, welcome and enjoy them, 

hint hint."

	Hermione smiled and told Harry that he had also 

done very well.

	"So, how are your classes going?" Harry asked 

Hermione.  "I haven't heard you talk about them."

	"Oh," she said, surprised.  "I haven't?  I thought I 

mentioned them all the time...wait, it's probably because I 

talk about them with Viktor all the time, never mind."  

Harry winced slightly and looked off to the side just in time 

to see Ron bristle.  "I love my classes, my professors are 

even considering letting me in on the research project 

Dumbledore talked about; usually only very advanced 

second and third year students get picked, but they think I 

might be able to hold my own.  I'm really excited about it."

	"When does this happen?" Ron asked, still trying to 

swallow the mention of Viktor's name.

	"I don't know.  Whenever they decide to tell me I 

guess," she replied, fiddling with a necklace she was 

wearing.  Harry noted that it looked new and deduced that 

Krum had probably given it to her.  He was thankful at that 

moment that Ron was dense enough about the world 

around him that he didn't realize this; he didn't want to 

have to deal with even more complaining.  Ron had been 

fine for the most part during the majority of Hermione's 

relationship with Krum, excluding when he visited or when 

Hermione mentioned his name.  Constant Krum exposure 

was obviously something that Ron could not handle.

	"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking 

up.

	"It's good, you know, mostly Defense Against the 

Dark Arts.  Snape isn't being too hard."  

Hermione nodded.  "And you, Ron?" she asked.

"Oh, er, well, just classes I guess.  Lots of healing charms, 

some child psychology.  No big deal."

"Oh," Hermione yawned, straightening up.  "In that case, 

I'm off to bed.  I'm dead.  Goodnight, and don't 

worry...I'm sure you both made the tower's team."

	"Night Hermione," Ron and Harry chorused, getting 

up themselves.  Harry shook his head at Ron as they 

walked up the staircase.

	"What?" Ron asked with annoyance.

	"Don't kill yourself over it," Harry answered 

warningly.  Ron gave Harry a look, and they turned down 

the dim hallway in search of their room.

***

	The line outside the locker rooms was very tense 

the next morning when Harry and Ron arrived.  Harry 

looked at his watch and saw that it was 8:58; there were 

two more minutes until the list was posted.  Ron began to 

fidget with a napkin he had brought with him from 

breakfast.  Harry's eyes scanned the crowd; before long he 

picked out Malfoy, Angelina Johnson (he would really 

have to go and say hi later, he noted), and Michele and 

friends.  Michele was looking at the ground, not speaking, 

and Harry found himself silently hoping that she had made 

it.

	At precisely 9:00, the entrance suddenly emitted a 

pure white glow; when it had subsided there was a list 

hanging on the heavy wooden door.  The line soon 

dissolved and became a crowd of witches and wizards all 

clamoring to see if their name was listed.  As Harry and 

Ron pushed closer, they heard choruses of "YES!" and saw 

sad and shocked faces, and even a few tears (all from boys, 

incidentally).  Harry's doubts began to grow.  Finally, the 

list was in sight; Tower 1...Tower 2...Tower 6...Tower 7: 

Chasers: Joe Svening, Rupert Wilson, Ezra Bennett; 

beaters: Betty Finn and Veronica Sawyer; keeper: Ron 

Weasley.

	"Ron, you made it!" Harry yelled to Ron, who had 

gotten stuck toward the back.  He heard a whoop of 

happiness and saw Ron literally jump for joy, then he 

turned his attention back to the list.  Seeker...he almost 

couldn't bring himself to read the words, but he knew he 

had to move or the crowd would kill him (at the very least).  

	Seeker: Harry Potter

	Harry felt a smile creep over his face and he 

practically skipped off to tell Ron of their mutual good 

fortune.  However, he had barely reached the edge of the 

crowd when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

	"Congratulations, 'Arry Potter," Michele said as he 

turned around to see who it was.

	"Thanks," he answered, grinning even wider.  "Did 

you make it?"

	"Oui, I am seeker for Tower 6."

	"Well, I guess I'll see you in matches then," Harry 

replied.

	"Yes.  We will-" she stopped as she saw Ron 

approaching.  "I will see you later, 'Arry," she said, and 

abruptly walked off.  Harry watched her as she did so and 

ignored Ron, who was questioning, "Why?"

 
Chapter 6
 

	It was moderately cool in the Arizona desert; dawn 

was hinting at the fast lightening sky, and most of the 

mammalian and reptilian occupants of the area were hidden 

underground waiting for the sun to rise over the dunes.  

However, two very unnatural creatures were prowling the 

area, though not without difficulty; they frequently tripped 

on rocks and other desert debris and their robes often 

snagged on elements of the terrain.  Despite their bumbling 

about, it was obvious that they had graced the area with 

their presence for a purpose.  They stopped in excitement 

when they saw what they must have been looking for: a 

lone snake off in the distance, slithering through the sand in 

their general direction. 

	The pair stopped and immediately bowed, trembling 

slightly, unmoving as the snake weaved closer and closer.  

They had been searching for weeks, following every 

instruction their master had given them; their loyalty 

seemed to have paid off, for it was happening just as he 

said it would.  They would be responsible for the 

resurrection of their master; their dreams had come true.  

Finally, they were disturbed from their groveling by a hiss 

from the aforementioned snake, which had arrived at the 

spot where the two large cloaked figures were bowing.

	"My lord!" they both whispered humbly.  

"We have come to serve you," the wizard on the left 

trembled.  The snake obviously didn't need more 

explanations, for it gave a loud hiss, went suddenly taut, 

emitted a blue-green light that expanded around the wizard 

who had pleaded with it, and suddenly lay limp and still.

	The one on the left turned around so that his back 

faced his companion.  However, where the back of a head 

would have been there was another face, sickly, gray, and 

snake-like.

	"Goyle," it said, almost hissing.  "You and Crabbe 

are truly two of my most treasured servants.  You shall be 

rewarded dearly."  Goyle dropped into another worshipping 

bow and once again declared his loyalty to his master.  

"Stand up," Voldemort ordered.  "There is work to be done.  

This time, we shall not fail."

	With a pop, the two were gone before the sun rose 

over the hills and the first lizards crawled out into the light.

***

	Hermione yawned, rolled over, and wished for 

another hour of sleep.  She had been extremely busy for the 

past few weeks and the increased activity was beginning to 

take its toll on her.  She had been spending a lot of time 

with Viktor Krum lately; she decided it was nice having a 

boyfriend in close quarters.  He had taken a year off to 

continue with his Quidditch career after he graduated from 

Durmstrang, but came to school after the Bulgarian team 

promised to hold his spot until he graduated from college.  

It was true that she noticed more faults in him once they 

started spending an excess of time together, but she thought 

it was only natural.  After all, people are idealized when 

there are only carefully planned letters and weeklong visits 

to derive information from.  The two were beginning to fall 

into a comfortable familiarity, and Hermione couldn't say 

that she wasn't grateful for the slight increase in time that 

she began spending by herself.

	Harry and Ron had been another story; ever since 

they had both made the Quidditch team they had been 

spending even more time apart than they had before.  

Hermione had three classes with them, and many days it 

was the only time she saw Ron and Harry.  She missed 

them; only last summer it felt as if they would always be as 

close as possible, but now she felt that they were drifting 

apart.  She felt this especially with Ron, who seemed to 

have some sort of problem with her involvement with 

Viktor.  She found it so irritating that he thought he could 

control her so far as to say whom she should and shouldn't 

date.  Her fists clenched just thinking about it.  He had 

some nerve.  Just the night before he made a comment, 

something like, "Who are you?" when she had said hi, and 

when she gave him a look he had answered, with a shocked 

expression, "Good heavens!  She's emerged from 

Krumland!"  Why can't he be more mature, like Harry? she 

thought

	With a sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that the 

extra hour she hoped for would not materialize and began 

to ready herself for her classes.  She really and truly loved 

her classes; they were all they were at Hogwarts and more.  

She quickly found her previously occupied academic niche 

(the top), and just kept working.

	As good as she was at all of her subjects, spell 

developing was the one she enjoyed most.  To invent a 

spell, there first must be a name for it.  Wizards had used 

Latin since the language was derived; therefore, naming 

spells was as simple as an elementary translation.  Actually 

making them work was another story; standing in front of a 

flower, pointing a wand, and declaring (in Latin), "scent of 

tangerines!" would never do a thing without the number 

work behind it. 

	Yes, spell developing included Hermione's favorite 

things in the world, even more so than reading: numbers 

and logic.  The mathematical combinations and calculations 

required to create even a simple spell were excruciating to 

most students; for Hermione, after an initial week of 

trouble it became a breeze.  By the first quarter of the term, 

she was months ahead of everyone else in her class.  Now 

she was being considered for a special research team that 

was in the process of inventing a defense for Avada 

Kedavra.  If she were included, she would be exempt from 

spell developing and could use that time to work on the 

project.  Needless to say, she desperately wanted to be 

included.

	Hermione sleepily made her way down to breakfast 

and saw Ron and Harry talking groggily at the end of a 

table.

	"G'morning," she murmured, ordering pumpkin 

juice and toast.  Ron looked up and said,

	"Hello."

	"'Lo," mumbled Harry through a full mouth.

	"What are you up to today?" Ron asked, gulping 

some sort of liquid down his throat.

	"Well, classes of course, then it depends on if I get 

picked for that research thing I told you about.  Viktor has 

Quidditch until dinner, so I'll probably be in the library 

until then."

	"Oh," Ron replied mockingly, unable to control his 

glare.  "Well, I hope you have fun then."

	"What?" Hermione snapped.

	"Nothing.  I didn't SAY anything wrong," he 

muttered, keeping the glare.  She abruptly left the table in a 

huff, oblivious to Harry hitting Ron upside the head, and 

went to charms early. 

	She greeted the professor and sat at her usual table, 

pulling out a book that she was going to pretend to read 

while she mulled over why Ron was such a prick.  Granted, 

he was right about the fact that it was true she hadn't spent 

more than 20 minutes a day with him and/or Harry for the 

last month or so, but, so what?  It's not as if they were 

making extra concessions so they could spend time with 

her.  They had Quidditch, and Quidditch, and more 

Quidditch...all they cared about was Quidditch.  Then 

again, she missed them almost desperately.  Viktor was one 

thing, a boyfriend; Harry and Ron were her friends.  She 

had of course made some friends in her classes, but none of 

them ever went to the extent of that which she supposedly 

shared with Harry and Ron.  But Ron still had no right to 

act like such a prick.  She sighed and closed her book as 

people began to walk in, eyes on the doorway in search of 

Harry and Ron.  They appeared momentarily, still sleepy 

looking, and took their usual seats, Harry next to Hermione 

and Ron next to Harry (he usually sat next to Hermione as 

well, unless they were arguing).

	"Let's go out tonight after dinner; we can portkey 

into Toronto, exchange money at Gringotts, see a Muggle 

movie, then we can get something to eat.  Viktor can do 

something else."

	They both looked at her with surprise.  "Well, we 

might as well take advantage of being allowed to leave 

whenever we want...it is a Friday, after all."

	"Sounds good to me," Ron replied, bewildered.

	"Should be fun," Harry answered, smiling slightly.  

"Despite SOME of our behavior," he jerked his head 

toward Ron, "we've missed you just a little."

	Hermione smiled and didn't reply; after all, the 

professor had just stood up to discuss difficult healing 

charms for sick and/or injured animals.

***

	"Hermione Granger, may I speak with you?" 

Professor Meyers, the spell developing instructor, called 

across the room to where Hermione was studying.  Her 

heart gave a small, hopeful leap in her chest and she timidly 

walked past the struggling students to the desk at the front 

of the room.  "Congratulations, Ms. Granger," Professor 

Meyers immediately began.  "The research team said 

they'd be glad to have you on board."  Hermione felt a 

gigantic smile take over her face, which was promptly 

returned by her professor.  "This," she said, addressing a 

figure sitting next to her that Hermione had not noticed 

before, "is Professor Penny Yang, and she will explain 

what's been going on and help you get started.  Good 

luck," she finished, smiling.  Hermione thanked her 

professor and followed Professor Yang out of the room and 

down the hallway.

	"Nice to meet you, Hermione," she said as they left 

the room, extending her hand.

	"Nice to meet you as well," Hermione replied, 

shaking her hand.

	"We've made a lot of progress in the past several 

months," Professor Yang began as she opened a locked 

door and they both stepped inside.  "I was told you know 

about your headmaster's involvement in the project."  

	Hermione nodded.

	"That was the rough version of the spell; it is 

extremely complicated, and as you know didn't work 

effectively as we'd hoped."

	Hermione nodded again.

	"What we're doing now is trying to fully dissect 

Avada Kedavra again, and then combine it with a reflective 

shield charm that we are currently in the process of 

inventing.  Once that's finished, then we will call all of our 

voluntary test subjects back and try the charm on them 

again and hope for the instance of one of their attempted 

murders, and of course that the curse is successful."

	Hermione nodded yet again and asked, "What did 

the charm consist of the last time you tested it?"

	"It was supposed to be just a complete reverse of 

the spell employing the use of many counter-curses, but 

something in the makeup of the Avada Kedavra curse was 

mapped wrong and/or contained some currently 

incomprehensible aspect that does not allow counterspells 

to interfere."

	"Well, it lets the victim remain alive; that's an 

achievement in itself."

	"It was so difficult to perform that we had to bring 

Albus Dumbledore himself in to perform the spell on 

everyone who was testing it; none of us came close, not 

even our best professors."

	Hermione nodded once again in understanding.

	"Here we are," Professor Yang said as she opened a 

door to reveal a large room resembling a Muggle laboratory 

in an old castle.  The eight occupants of the room all looked 

up and nodded at the new member of their group.  

Professor Yang proceeded to point out everyone in the 

room, and handed Hermione a rather large book.

	"This is your notebook; your section is at the end.  

We all have books like this.  They've been enchanted to 

make whatever someone writes in their section appears in 

everyone else's book as well.  It makes it much easier to 

compare notes and decide what to research or experiment 

with.  Document whatever you do in the notebook, no 

matter what the results are.  If you have any questions at 

all, go ahead and ask.  I'll be sharing a table with you, 

alright?"

	"Alright," Hermione answered, very ready to begin.  

Penny smiled and began to work; Hermione sat down with 

the notebook and began to read, feeling as if she had just 

entered heaven on earth.

***

	"Where the hell is she?" Ron snapped, looking at 

his watch for the twelfth time that minute.

	"Calm down Ron, she's only two minutes late, she 

probably got tied up on her way down here," Harry 

groaned, very exasperated.  Ron grumbled.  Harry 

proceeded to ignore his temperamental friend and began to 

daydream about Quidditch, trying to expel thoughts of 

Michele from his mind.  She had been talking to him 

whenever she saw him (when Ron wasn't near), and he had 

been eagerly talking back.  He found her boldness 

refreshing and her honesty brutally attractive, he admitted 

to himself, but he was still scared of her and wasn't really 

sure if she actually like him or if she was just being nice so 

she could use him for his Quidditch skills.

	In fact, they had just spent the afternoon together 

after Defense Against the Dark Arts.  He had been walking 

down the hall with her, talking...

"Snape iz assigning too much 'omework," she had said, 

amusedly watching Harry struggle under the weight of both 

his books and hers (he had offered to carry them).

"Yeah, I'll have to agree with you on that," Harry replied, 

shifting the weight from one arm to the other, trying not to 

show any evidence of discomfort and following the top of 

Michele's head because he couldn't see anything else over 

the pile.  Suddenly, he noticed they were taking a little too 

long to get to Michele's tower... "Hey, where are we 

going?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I 'ave to go to the potions room to 

get somesing zat I forgot," Michele admitted.  "I'm sorry 

for taking advantage of you...oh, wait, no I'm not," she 

grinned.

"That's it, abuse poor little Harry, the strong one who 

carries the books out of the kindness of his little heart," 

Harry muttered.

"No, out of ze need for him to prove his manhood to me for 

some odd reason," Michele answered.

"I don't need to prove anything," Harry replied, flexing his 

muscles just to show off even though it didn't occur to him 

that she couldn't see his arms through his robes, or that he 

wasn't exactly stronger than the average wizard anyway.

"Sure, 'Arry," Michele grinned as she walked through the 

potion dungeon door.  "You can put ze books down now, 

we're here."

Harry did his best not to put them down too quickly, but he 

failed and Michele laughed.  "I, um, dropped them," he 

tried to explain with a smile, but she would hear none of it.


"Oh be quiet, zey're 'eavy, I know."  Michele laughed.


Harry just grumbled.  "So what are we here for anyway?"

"I 'ave to get my book on ze famous one-eyed witch 

Yolanda de Rousseau, she was famous for her work wis 

various poisons."

"Really, a one-eyed witch?"  Harry asked.

"Yes, why?"

"There was a statue of a one-eyed witch at Hogwarts, I was 

wondering if it were the same one," Harry replied.  For 

some reason, the tables had all been pushed off to the side 

of the room.  The bricks all formed a pattern that converged 

in the center where they met a large, pentagon shaped 

brick, upon which Harry sat.

"Why do you remember zat?  I 'ave never been to 

'Ogwarts, but from what you 'ave told me zere were lots of 

statues."

"This statue was special," Harry responded, smiling in 

recollection.  "It was a secret passage to Hogsmeade, the 

wizard village by the school.  You tapped its hump," Harry 

tapped his wand on the floor, "and said Dissendium-

AUGH!"  Harry was cut short as the ground below him 

suddenly collapsed and he fell down into the darkness.

"'ARRY!" Michele yelled and ran over, looking into the 
hole he had fallen into.

"I'm alright," he called from below.  "It's not too deep, and 

the landing's soft.  This must be a secret passage or 

something...come down, let's look around!"

Michele didn't answer, but a second later Harry sensed that 

someone had landed beside him.  "Lumos," they said 

simultaneously, and grinned as their faces came into each 

other's view.  

"Well, let's go!" Harry said eagerly, and they were off.  

Admittedly, it wasn't very exciting; there were some twists 

and turns, and at the end of the passageway there was a big 

room that held many ancient looking things that seemed to 

belong in a prison.

"Zis looks like a secret dungeon," Michele muttered in awe 

as she looked all around her.

"Yeah...and I think this is it, I don't see any way to leave 

here except the way we came.  But this is still very cool," 

Harry replied, walking around and looking at some of the 

shackles attached to the walls.  Michele followed, and 

together they examined what looked to be a torture device 

from the middle ages.

"Zis is interesting, I sought zat ze castle was built recently," 

Michele said, running her hand along part of the top.

"Hermione told me that the foundation had been here for 

awhile, and that it was restored for this school," Harry said, 

picking up a piece of a broken cuff and examining it.  As 

Harry leaned down to put it back, he bumped heads with 

Michele, who giggled shamelessly.

"Sorry about that," Harry exclaimed, smiling, putting his 

hand to her head to see if she was alright.  

"I'm fine," she replied, putting her hand on his and drawing 

it away from her head.  Harry found himself staring into her 

clear brown eyes, which held two reflections of light, one 

for both of their wands.  Suddenly, he was very aware of 

the feel of their hands touching; if she felt the same, she 

certainly didn't seem to mind.

"Are-are you sure?" Harry stammered, doing the only thing 

that seemed natural and taking her other hand, not moving 

his eyes from hers.  

"Yes," Michele answered quietly, pulling Harry a little 

closer with her hands, "very sure..."

Harry's heart began to beat faster as he noted that he could 

hear her breathing, and felt himself slowly drawing her 

closer to him.  Her eyes didn't move as their arms touched, 

and he felt himself silently leaning down to touch his 

mouth to hers...

	"...With stupid Krum, sucking his brain out by way 

of his mouth..." Ron continued to mumble, fading back 

into Harry's reality.  Suddenly Ron stopped, waved at the 

door, and muttered "finally" under his breath.  Harry, upset 

that his recollection had been disturbed, ignored him and 

waved to Hermione as well.

	"Sorry I'm late," she breathed as she made her way 

over to them.  "I made that research project; I was in the lab 

and I lost track of time." Ron opened his mouth, but Harry 

kicked him in the shin before he had a chance to say 

something.  Hermione didn't notice since she was making 

her way toward her dorm room.

	"I'm going to get ready; I'll be down in a minute," 

she called as she ascended the staircase.

	"Ron," Harry began sternly, "I suggest you 

congratulate her when she gets back, and don't say a word 

about Krum tonight, alright?"

	Ron glared and began to grumble again.  Harry told 

him to shut up, and watched the staircase for Hermione's 

reappearance. 

	She soon emerged with braided hair and Muggle 

clothing (Ron thankfully seemed to obey Harry and did not 

say anything about Krum), and they walked to the portkey 

room.  Harry enjoyed the freedom the college offered; it 

was a refreshing change from the extreme security of 

Hogwarts.

	"So, Hermione," Ron began.  She looked at him 

suspiciously.  "Congratulations on making that thing," he 

said hurriedly, eyes not moving from the hallway ahead of 

him.

	"Thank you, Ron," she smiled.  He sneaked a 

glance in her direction and smiled a little as well.  Harry let 

out a sigh of relief at the exchange, then waved eagerly as 

he saw Michele passing by with her two silent friends.

	"Salut 'Arry," she waved, grinning.

	"Hey," he replied, and smiled back.

	Hermione gave him a sideways glance, and inquired 

after his friend.

	"Oh," Harry answered, reddening slightly at the 

ears.  "That's Michele.  She's the seeker for Tower six."  

Hermione nodded, and thankfully didn't pry any deeper 

into the matter.

	They took an empty soda can to the small hidden 

wizard section of Toronto, and they embarked into the 

Muggle section for their stereotypical night on the town.  

Two hours later they exited the theatre, excited about their 

viewing experience.  Though Harry had lived as a Muggle 

for almost the entirety of his first eleven years the Durselys 

had never taken him to a movie theatre, and of course Ron 

had never been, but they both thoroughly enjoyed it (even 

though Ron was easily confused by references meant for 

Muggles, and kept asking why spells weren't used because 

they could make things so much easier).  They were 

surprised to feel how cold it had become when they 

emerged from the theatre; Hermione, who had relied on the 

weather forecaster's prediction that temperatures would not 

drop under 60 degrees, had not brought a coat and 

immediately began to shiver.  Ron took one look at her, 

shed his jacket, and offered it to her.  She gave him a 

surprised look and a shy smile, and accepted.  Harry shook 

his head, but did not dare comment as he hoped not to 

disturb the rare and amicable conversation that had 

developed between the two; they were talking school, 

Hermione's classes, Quidditch, and some other things-and 

they weren't fighting!  Harry treasured the extraordinarily 

rare moment; it was almost like old times (well, like a rare 

moment in old times).  After awhile Ron, who was 

beginning to feel his stomach growl, asked,

	"So, where do you want to eat?

	"How about there?" Hermione suggested, pointing 

to what looked like an esoteric Middle Eastern restaurant.  

Harry controlled his snort of laughter as he saw Ron blanch 

and reply,

	"Alright then."  Hermione grinned and walked 

quickly to the door.  Ron was right behind her, his face 

suggesting that he was about to regret this, and Harry went 

cheerfully behind the both of them, very willing to risk 

horrible food to see how Ron would handle the situation.

	The light was dim in the small restaurant, and ethnic 

music was playing softly behind the bustle of the waiters 

and waitresses and the conversation of the customers.

	"Hermione," Ron began, taking a deep breath.  She 

looked at him expectantly.  "Yoolonistnight," Ron 

mumbled.

	"Yes?" she asked, unsure of what she heard.

	"I said, you, um, look nice, tonight," Ron repeated, 

going very red.  Hermione pulled a stray piece of hair 

hanging in her face back behind her ear, and sheepishly 

said thank you.  Harry reaffirmed Ron's compliment, 

causing her to act even more embarrassed.  

	"Three?" a waitress asked, interrupting the Kodak 

moment. 

	"Yes," Ron replied, snapping back to reality.  The 

waitress led them to a table next to some plants and a wall 

with faux gold trimming.  She gave them menus and the 

ordering process began.

	Hermione merely took a minute to read the menu 

over, and immediately made her selection; she proceeded to 

close her menu with a triumphant movement of her hand.  

Ron eyed her suspiciously and asked,

	"What are you ordering?"

	"Tabouli and Kibee," she responded.

	"What the hell is that?" 

	"Tabouli is a parsley salad, with onions and wheat 

and tomatoes-"

	Ron put his hand to his mouth and let out a cough 

that suspiciously sounded like "birdfood."

	"-and," Hermione continued, trying to control her 

urge to giggle, "kibee is heavily flavored and very lean 

beef, raw or-"

	"Raw meat?!" Harry exclaimed.  "Never mind, let's 

go, Ron."

	"No, it's good," she tried to reassure him, though 

she was laughing.

	"It's raw meat!" Harry shot back.

	"I think I'll try it," Ron suddenly interjected.  Harry 

turned and looked at Ron like he was from another planet.

	"Are you insane?" he asked.

	"No, just feeling adventurous," Ron replied.  His 

face once again told otherwise.  Hermione, not wanting to 

disturb this utterly amusing and very curious situation, 

decided not to mention the fact that it also came fried on 

request.

	The three got back to the school around midnight, 

and Harry quickly retired to his dorm, saying that he was 

extremely tired and needed to rest for the Quidditch match 

the next day against Tower 3, Malfoy's tower.  Ron was 

left looking curiously at Hermione for a moment before he 

blinked, raised his eyebrows, touched her gently on the arm 

and said goodnight. 

	Interesting, thought Hermione, furrowing her brow.  

She didn't understand Ron in the slightest, and though this 

bothered her to the point where she felt uneasy, she wasn't 

sure she wanted to.

***

	The next morning, Harry woke with his alarm and 

literally leaped out of bed.

	"Wake up, Ron, Quidditch game!" he said pertly.  

Ron, instead of moaning and rolling over as he usually did, 

leapt out of bed as well.

	"Oh, incidentally," Harry said as he pulled a shirt 

over his tantalizing, muscular chest (A/N: sorry, I'm 

kidding, I just couldn't resist, hehe), "good show last 

night."

	Ron winced and began to put some clothes on.  

"How do you mean?"

	Harry donned a high, sarcastic voice and replied, 

"Oh Hermione, I'll eat raw meat for you-"  He was forced 

to stop as Ron threw a pillow at him.  

	"Shut up.  I wasn't like that."

	"You're right, you were worse.  You had this look 

on your face, it was all I could to stop myself from 

laughing."

	"I did not!" Ron started digging for his Quidditch 

robes.

	Harry just laughed.  "You know, you could score 

more points if you stopped acting like an arse 99% of the 

time," he said, sticking his wand in his shirt like he always 

did before a Quidditch game, out of habit.

	"I don't act like an arse!  I'm a nice and sensitive 

guy!"

	"Who frequently acts like an arse because he's-" 

	Ron shot him a look that was worthy of Draco 

Malfoy in his finer days, and Harry thought it best to obey 

Ron's initial order and shut up.

	Hermione, who had been awake for hours, was in 

the common room reading out of the notebook she had 

received the day before.  Just as she was closing it, having 

both finished reading everyone else's notes and formulating 

a few ideas of her own, Harry and Ron came bursting down 

the stairs.

	"See you in an hour," Ron yelled as he and Harry 

ran right back out through the exit into the school.

	Hermione shook her head, grabbed her bag, and left 

to find Viktor so they could sit together during the 

Quidditch game.

***

	"That was great!" Sirius commended four hours 

later after Harry had joined him outside the Quidditch field.  

Harry smiled as they began to walk to his tower so he could 

get some robes for the next day.

	The game had been an especially good one for both 

Harry and his team; Ron hadn't let a single quaffle by 

despite the valiant efforts of Angelina Johnson (whom 

Harry still hadn't spoken to, incidentally) and co.  The 

Tower 7 chasers had scored 30 points by the end of the first 

30 minutes, and there were many close calls with bludgers.  

Harry had eventually caught the snitch, though he could 

have gotten it sooner; Draco Malfoy, though he didn't say 

very much, had pulled several stunts (such as blocking him 

and signaling to beaters) to ensure that he didn't catch it 

any sooner.  However, Harry had finally managed to get by 

him by executing the Wronski Feint, causing Draco to 

crash to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs, and then 

grabbing the snitch while Draco was still incapacitated.  

The crowd had screamed and Tower 7 had won the game.  

As he and Sirius were walking back, Harry's head was 

pulled out of its little cloud when Madame Jennings called 

from some ways behind them.

"POTTER!" they heard her yell, "WAIT UP!"  Sirius gave 

Harry a questioning look, but the look of doubt was soon 

replaced by a look that said "Hello" (that Harry was sure he 

pulled from his old school days) as the woman running 

after them came into clear view.

	"Fantastic job today, Potter," she commented, 

slapping him good-naturedly on the back.  "Haven't seen 

that good of a Wronski Feint in a long time. You have a 

definite shot in the pros if you decide to aim in that 

direction."  

Harry almost blushed.  "Thanks," he answered sheepishly.

"So, who's this?" she asked, motioning toward Sirius.  

Before Harry could answer, Sirius cut in and introduced 

himself.

"Black, Sirius Black," he said proudly with an air of 

mystery, extending his hand.

"Oh," she replied, surprised, but extending her hand to 

meet his.  Instead of shaking it he kissed it, causing her to 

smile and Harry to sigh with exasperation.

"Harry lives with me now," he commented, answering her 

unasked question of how he was currently connected to 

Harry.  "Great kid; I hope he's that way here as well."

"Yes, he's very good," Madame Jennings replied, oblivious 

to Harry's rolling eyes.  "I'm Maggie Jennings, by the 

way."  Sirius nodded, furrowing his brow in sudden 

thought.

"Weren't you pro once upon a time?"

	"Yes, until last year."

	"You were excellent from what I remember."

	"Thank you," she replied happily.  The small chat 

continued until they reached the hallway that led to the 

cafeteria.

	"I'm going to get something to eat; it was very nice 

meeting you," she said, looking at Sirius.

	"I'll see you again when Harry has another game, I 

promised him I'd make them all.  Hopefully, no plans will 

change," he replied, giving her his trademarked Sirius 

Black look and hoping that its effect hadn't waned over the 

past 17 years.  She gave him a sideways smile with a hint 

of mischief in her eyes, which then swept over to Harry.

	"Well, great job again Harry; I'll see you at practice 

on Monday."	

	"Bye," Harry said pleasingly as she disappeared 

down the hallway.  Harry had definite place to ridicule his 

godfather, but they had walked no more than two steps 

when they were stopped by a French accent calling to them 

from down the hall.

	"'Arry!" Michele yelled, jogging to catch up. 

	Oh no, thought Sirius, It starts.

	"You were fantastique!" she cried, kissing him 

solidly on both cheeks.  Harry blushed slightly and raised 

his eyebrows, hoping that this was as a result of yesterday 

and not some bizarre French custom.  They hadn't spoken 

since the incident the day before.

	"Ahem," Sirius grunted.  Harry was again brought 

back down to earth, and decided he'd better make an 

introduction.

	"Michele, this is Sirius, my godfather," he began 

grudgingly.  "And Sirius, this is Michele, seeker for Tower 

2."

	"'Ello, nice to meet you," Michele said.

	"Pleasure's all mine," Sirius responded, trying 

desperately not to laugh.

	"Well, I will see you later 'Arry," she commented 

as she squeezed his hand and left down the hall with a little 

wave over her shoulder.  "Congratulations!"

	Sirius gave a low whistle.  "Working quickly then, 

Potter?" he asked.

	"'Hopefully, no plans will be changed,'" Harry shot 

back in a high voice, giving him an imitation of the look 

that Sirius had given his Quidditch coach.

	"Hey now, I'm the older one, I have seniority, I'm 

allowed to tease," Sirius said, unaffected, as they entered 

the common room.  Hermione was sitting with Viktor at a 

table holding her research notebook.

	"Harry!" she called happily.  "Great job!"

	"Thanks," he replied, smiling.

	"You haf gotten better, I look forward to playing 

against you," Viktor complimented.  

	Harry's grin widened.  "Four months, Krum," he 

stated.

	Viktor Krum just laughed.

	"I'll see you Sunday night or Monday," she said, 

getting up from the table and giving him a hug.  Harry 

grabbed the bag he had packed beforehand from the corner.

	"Don't fight with Ron too much," he commented, 

ignoring Hermione's retort of,

	"Tell that to HIM."


	Harry and Sirius began to make their way to the 

apparation room, but were continuously interrupted by 

Harry's well-wishers, so no conversation worth mentioning 

took place (it was all interrupted).  They finally reached the 

room, and with two small "pops" they were behind the 

Leaky Cauldron.  They entered through the back and were 

greeted ceremoniously by the evening crowd, took a table, 

ordered their first drinks, and resumed conversation.

	"So, what's with Ron and Hermione?" Sirius asked, 

taking a large gulp of his drink.  "Going for each others' 

throats?  Wink wink nudge nudge?"

	"No, not yet," Harry answered, taking a large gulp 

of his own.  "They're just always about to kill each other.  

Ron's so jealous that I think his hair's turning green.  You 

know."

	"Yep," Sirius agreed, pouring himself another.  "So, 

what's been going on with that girl we saw in the hall?  

You haven't mentioned her."

	"Oh, well..." 

	Harry's ears are reddening, Sirius noted in 

amusement.

	"Nothing really.  Just talk.  She's a rival in 

Quidditch."  Harry had decided not to mention what had 

happened the day before until he got some answers.

	"Mmm hmm," Sirius responded, pouring himself 

yet another glass and also refilling Harry's.  "Did she go to 

Beauxbatons?"  Harry nodded in reply.  "Well then, I've 

been meaning to tell you; watch out for those Beauxbatons 

girls, they're trouble."

	Harry laughed and asked him whatever made him 

say that, and the next three hours were spent drinking and 

listening to Sirius talk about the French exploits of his 

younger years.  When closing time was called, they each 

had one last drink and began to walk back to the flat, albeit 

a little wobbly.

	"Oh," Sirius started as they plodded down the street.  

"I forgot.  We got a new roommate, I hope you don't 

mind."  They had reached the door, and Harry stopped, 

confused.

	"What?" he asked.  "Not a woman?"

	"No, unfortunately," Sirius answered, shaking his 

head vigorously as they began to climb the stairs.  "I tried 

to do what you said, but it just hasn't worked out."

	Harry laughed in spite of himself.  "Jogging on the 

other side of the tracks then?" he inquired, smiling.  

	Sirius again shook his head vigorously and 

responded, "No, you dolt."  Harry had a brief notion that 

Sirius might fall down the stairs, but decided not to pay 

attention to it.

	"They reached their door.  "I'll show you what I 

mean.  WE'RE HERE!" he yelled as he opened the door 

and slammed it behind them.  Harry heard a clatter from the 

previously unoccupied study/junk room and out of the 

doorway emerged none other than Remus Lupin, whom 

Harry hadn't seen since his 6th year at Hogwarts.

	"Go to bed you git," Remus croaked groggily, 

slamming the door as he ducked back inside the room.


	"Hey, 's no way to speak in front of Harry, you 

know," Sirius called, perhaps a little too loudly.


	"Harry's here?" Remus replied sheepishly, opening 

the door again and stepping out.

	"Hi!  Sirius didn't say you were coming home!"  He 

greeted Harry and shook his hand as best as he could.  

Remus sighed.  "Not you too..."  He walked back toward 

his door.  "Sleep it off, you idiots," he muttered as he shut 

his door.


	"What's up his arse, it's only..." Sirius sat on the couch and looked at his watch, but collapsed sideways and 

fell asleep before he could announce the hour.

	"3:00am," Harry finished, grinned, and went back 

to his room to sleep.

***

	The party in the Tower 7 common room went on for 

quite awhile that evening, and initially, Ron was happy.  

Girls of all ages were eager to meet the "tall redhead that 

hung out with Harry Potter" and Ron would have been 

lying if he said that he didn't enjoy the attention.  He even 

met up with Angelina Johnson, his former schoolmate at 

Hogwarts and his brother Fred's girlfriend.  

She was doing well, she said.  School treated her right, and 

she was studying to be a medical specialist; she hoped to 

get a job at St. Mungo's after she graduated.  They shared a 

few Fred stories and conversed about the successful joke 

shop the twins owned in Diagon Alley, and then she 

decided to sleep because she felt that she might be getting 

sick herself.  He bid her goodnight, and then joined the 

chasers on his team in flirting with their throngs of adoring 

female fans.  

Ron had a pretty good time, until he saw Hermione 

walk in on Krum's arm.  For one second their eyes locked, 

and nothing else was noticeable in the noisy room.  He 

knew that she knew what he was doing, and what she was 

up to was rather obvious, and for that fateful moment he 

almost thought he saw a look of shame in her eyes...but 

then the second ended, and he came crashing back to reality 

(and Janet and Nell), and she sat down on a couch with 

Viktor and a glass of spiked punch.  He didn't speak to her 

that night, nor she to him.

***

	Harry woke the next morning initially thinking that 

his scar hurt, but then realizing that it was just his head.  He 

groggily looked at the clock (noon) and made his way into 

the kitchen for a headache healing charm, some coffee, and 

hopefully some breakfast.

	"Well, one of them's up," Remus sighed from the 

table as Harry emerged from the hall.

	"Morning," Harry grunted, grabbing the "Quick and 

Easy Healing Charms" book from the shelf.  A quick look 

around the room told him that Remus was eating lunch and 

that Sirius was still out cold on the couch.

	"Page 53," Remus said without looking up from his 

sandwich.  Sure enough, page 53 bore the heading 

"Common Drinking Ailments and their Cures."

	"Had some experience with this?" Harry asked, 

pulling out his wand and scanning the page for headache 

cures.

	"A little," Remus answered, smiling and shaking his 

head, "A little."

	"So," Harry began, pouring himself some cereal.  

"When did you move in?"

	"About a week ago."

	"I don't mean to sound rude, but why?"  Harry 

poured milk, brought the bowl and book to the table, and 

sat down.

	"Sirius was bored, I was lonely and low on money, 

so we came to this wonderful mutual arrangement."

	Harry nodded and turned to the next page in the 

book.  "Have you found another job?" Harry asked 

thoughtfully, looking up at his former professor.

	"Not yet, I'm working on it though.  Had an 

interview this morning...don't think it went very well," he 

said, answering Harry's question before he asked it.  "But 

I'm trying, and something's bound to come up eventually."

	"Yeah," Harry replied, leaning back from the book 

and trying to ignore his headache; the print was awfully 

small.

	"How are you doing in school?" Remus asked.

	"Pretty good.  It was hard doing everything at first, 

you know, Quidditch and homework and all, but I'm doing 

alright now."

	"Yeah, auror training's tough.  I went through it, 

except they used to give it to you right on the job.  You'd 

have to follow someone for a year and go through intense 

schooling before you could start work.  I guess that's what 

you're doing now?"

	"Something like that.  Lots of Defense Against the 

Dark Arts."

	"Oh, I see."  Remus took a bite of his sandwich.  "If 

you ever need help with any Defense Against the Dark Arts 

stuff, just owl me and I'll do anything I can."

	"Heh, you'll hear from me around exam time."

	Remus grinned.  "Anything for you, Harry."

	"Oh," Harry started suddenly; "Did Sirius tell you 

that Snape's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

	Remus about choked on his sandwich.  


Harry laughed and simultaneously felt triumphant as his 
eyes located the headache curing charm.


"How did that happen?!" Remus exclaimed, wiping his 

mouth.

"Rid me of this headache," Harry said, handing Remus the 

book, "and I'll tell you."

Remus took out his wand and muttered the incantation; 

however, after it had been performed Harry still felt a low, 

burning pain...

	He suddenly turned white and clutched the front of 

his forehead.

	"Harry?" Remus cried out, alarmed.  For some 

mystical reason, their eyes simultaneously traveled to the 

kitchen counter where the unread Daily Prophet was lying, 

still tied from delivery.  Remus walked over, picked it up, 

and untied it with Harry looking over his shoulder.

	In the other room, Sirius Black woke with a yawn.


	"Morning...hey, what's wrong?" he asked sleepily, 

stretching and observing the two panic-stricken faces in the 

kitchen, one of whom was holding his forehead.  What 

Sirius didn't see was the headline of the paper,


	MINISTER OF MAGIC FOUND DEAD,


	and the accompanying photo of crime scene, 

featuring the words "The Dark Lord has Returned" 

scrawled on a desolate wall in the background.

 
Chapter 7
 

	Remus immediately started rummaging for a quill 

and parchment, but finding nothing, finally gave up and ran 

into his room.

	"What happened?" Sirius asked again, now getting 

worried and beginning to sound panicked.  "Harry are you 

- is your scar - you're not going back, you're staying 

here!"  He rushed over to Harry and pulled a chair from the 

table.  "Sit," he ordered.  Harry ignored him, and Sirius 

didn't seem to notice, and began to pace and mutter to 

himself.  "Oh my - he's - what if..."  Suddenly, he 

stopped and proclaimed, "Dumbledore!  Remus, get some 

parchment and a quill so we can - "

	"Write a letter to Dumbledore," Remus finished, 

tossing Sirius a finished letter.

	"Good.  Where the hell is the - "

	"Sid," Harry called to the curtain rod, where Sirius' 

owl usually was during the day.  Sid flew down and 

allowed Sirius to attach the letter to its leg; they all watched 

it fly out the window and off into the distance.

	"Harry, get dressed, we're going back to that school 

and getting your things and-"

	"No, Sirius," Harry answered coldly. 

	"But-"

	"I'm an adult now, I can't run forever.  I'm safer at 

the school anyway; there are teachers, and more 

precautions taken, and lots more qualified witches and 

wizards.  You know that."

	Sirius resignedly sat down in the chair he had 

ordered Harry to sit in.

	"If Dumbledore says not to go back, then I won't," 

Harry offered, pulling out the other chair and sitting next to 

him.

	"Oh calm down, both of you," Remus suddenly 

snapped.  He had seemingly regained some of his 

composure.  "Voldemort might not even be back...Harry's 

scar hurt before when he wasn't, remember?  It's probably 

all propaganda, brought on by disgruntled former death 

eaters.  The ritual probably failed."

	"You're being idealistic," Sirius muttered.

	"Well,even if he did come back, he'll need to regain 

power.  Whoever the new Minister of Magic is-"

	"Stephanie Mills," Harry interrupted.

	"Well, she won't be able to ignore the fact that 

Fudge died.  She's probably investigating the matter 

already, and there's a good chance that he'll be found soon, 

when he's still weak."

	It was obvious that no one in the room, himself 

included, believed what he was saying.

***

	Ron woke up that morning, rolled over, and felt 

another body directly next to his.  Uh oh, he thought, 

quickly sitting up and trying to remember the night before, 

who this person was, and where he was.  While the 

previous evening was covered in a pleasant alcohol-

induced haze, he remembered meeting the person beside 

him (Amanda?  Astrid?  Alicia?), and with a deep sigh of 

relief realized that they were on the carpeted floor of the 

common room, under a blanket but surrounded by other 

sleeping (and fully clothed) partners.

	As he contemplated standing up, he saw Hermione 

coming down from the girls' dorms.

	"Hey," he whispered as loud as he dared and 

vaulted himself up.  She sniffed at him and shook her head.

	"Have fun last night?" she asked wryly.

	"What's that supposed to mean?"  They walked 

toward the common room door together.

	"You were quite the man of the hour, if you know 

what I mean."

	Ron concentrated hard on the night before, and 

vaguely recalled lots of kissing...  "Huh, guess I was," he 

said, shrugging.

	Hermione glared.

	"Hey, what's wrong with that?  I'm not attached to 

anyone," he remarked as they entered the cafeteria to get 

breakfast.

	"Well, have you ever considered being more, I 

don't know, selective as to whom you give your 

attentions?"  She tapped her plate and said "Cocoa 

Krispies;" she had developed a taste for the almost 

sickeningly sweet chocolate cereal.

	"How so?  Corn Flakes," Ron answered, remaining 

boring.

	"Well, for starters, Amelia."

	"Who's Amelia?" Ron questioned, shoveling some 

cereal into his mouth.

	"The twit you were snogging before you both 

passed out on the floor."


	So that was her name, Ron thought.  "Yeah, what's 

wrong with her?" Ron asked, cautiously.

	"She's my roommate, and she's an American 'ditz,' 

as I believe they would say.  She's completely stupid and 

has no personality whatsoever."

	Ron mumbled something about what she did have.  

She was a supermodel for Enchantment, the famous 

designer robes company, after all; he remembered that 

much.

	"Well," Hermione snapped, "what I'm saying is that 

maybe you could do better than her, Janet, Nell, and 

Patricia, who, incidentally, are all as bad as Amelia."

	Wow, four girls?  Ron thought.  I'll have to tell 

Harry.  "I think I did pretty well," Ron said, wiping his 

mouth on his napkin.  Hermione sighed huffily and quickly 

tapped her dish, pushed out her chair, and stomped toward 

the door.

	"'Ey, 'Ermione," Ron called through a full mouth, 

but she was already gone.

***

	"Hi Ron, Hermione," Harry said as he entered the 

common room later that evening, noting uneasily that they 

were sitting on complete opposite sides of the room.  

Hermione and Ron both walked over hurriedly to meet him, 

and spoke at the same time.

	"Are you alright?  Voldemort's probably back, you 

know.  Does your scar hurt?" Hermione asked, concerned.

	"Harry, guess what!  At the party after the 

Quidditch game I hooked up with four extremely fine 

women," Ron proudly announced.

	There was a short pause as they all took in what had 

been said.

	"What?!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, turning toward 

Hermione.

	"You heard me," she mumbled.

	"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Ron yelled, 

furious.  Hermione just stared coldly at him; Harry, 

meanwhile, sighed, sensing that it was going to be a long 

night.

	"Yes, Ron, Hermione's right.  And yes, Hermione, 

my scar did hurt...you should have seen Sirius, he threw a 

fit.  I'm lucky Remus was there, he had to force him to let 

me go back to school."

	"Remus?  Remus Lupin?" Hermione interrupted.

	"Yeah, he's living with us now."

	"Weird," Ron commented, the look of anxiety 

remaining on his face from the previous shocking 

announcement.

	"You'd better be careful, Harry," Hermione 

advised.  "You know he'll be after you again...Did you owl 

Dumbledore?"

	They all sat down on a couch, disagreements and 

arguments forgotten for the moment.

	"Yeah, hopefully he'll write back by tomorrow..."

	Ron suddenly stood up, muttering something about 

owling his family to make sure that they were all right, and 

left.

	Harry and Hermione went to bed shortly thereafter.

***Part 2***

	Ron closed his eyes as he felt the familiar jerk in his 

stomach that told him the portkey destined for London was 

moving.  He wished that he had passed his apparation test 

when he had taken it over the summer; his father had 

trained him whenever he could, but Ron just hadn't caught 

on quick enough for the scheduled test.  In short, he had 

ended up lost and scared in the United States, thousands of 

miles from where he was supposed to be.  He had stood in 

the middle of the busy New York City sidewalk he had 

landed in until someone from the ministry was able to 

retrieve him.  It was obvious even to him that he hadn't 

passed the test.

	When he landed he stood up and immediately 

thought of moving toward home, but was stopped when he 

felt a hand on his shoulder.  Of course, he remembered; 

there were other people going to London on the portkey.

	"See you after Christmas, Ron," said Bridget, his 

current/former girlfriend of the week.  Ron brought on a 

forced smile and told her goodbye and likewise, though 

they both knew that wasn't likely to happen.  Ron mounted 

his broom, flung Harry's invisibility cloak over himself and 

the Firebolt, and took off for home.

	It's not that he didn't miss The Burrow.  He did.  He 

just dreaded going back because of what he might find.  

The fear he had felt when Hermione so delicately revealed 

Voldemort's return only magnified as the Daily Prophet 

began reporting deaths accompanied by the Dark Mark.  He 

tried to forget this as the cold wind blew against the cloak, 

but the dread still remained.  

Nothing helps, he lamented, and it was true.  No matter 

how hard he tried he couldn't shake the nagging feeling 

that his friends and family were all in danger. He had 

trouble sleeping at night, and woke each morning filled 

with dread; he usually spent the rest of the day doing stupid 

things, like going through girlfriend after girlfriend, to try 

and keep his mind off of his fear.  It was true that he had 

become quite sought after, but fortunately many of the 

witches he dated had a short attention span.  He had tried to 

talk with Harry and Hermione about his worries, but all 

they had told him was not to worry.  Ron privately felt that 

neither of them knew what he was talking about; neither of 

them had lost a close family member or friend (besides 

Harry, and even though Harry had lost his parents he didn't 

remember it).  They didn't know what it was like to lose 

someone you loved...


Ron started as a bird almost flew into him and he was 

forced to take evasive action.  As he dove, he noted that he 

was directly over Ottery St. Catchpole and that The Burrow 

was in sight.  With a sigh of relief, he took in the view of 

his home (that, incidentally, had no trace of the Dark Mark 

anywhere near it) and noted how deceptively quiet it 

seemed from above.  Fred and George were there, he 

thought, bugging Ginny or something.  Percy was in his 

"office," refusing to put the Ministry on hold during his 

vacation and losing the argument taking place with his 

mother to go downstairs and be a member of the family.  

Bill was watching Fred, George, and Ginny go at it; he 

could be helping Ginny, or maybe he was conversing with 

Percy, who could have lost the fight by then.  Despite the 

fang earring, the two of them got on well.  

It was still too early for his father to be home yet, but his 

mother was definitely cooking dinner; he could almost 

smell it.  Ron would be the last to get home, since everyone 

else had arrived two days before.  He hoped she was 

making his favorite, chicken and potatoes.

***

Harry eagerly read his owl from Ron to discover that things 

were going fine at the Weasleys; he admitted that things 

were definitely different without Charlie, but maintained 

that everyone was doing as well as could be expected.  

Harry sighed and looked at the ceiling, almost wishing that 

he were at The Burrow.  He hoped everyone, especially 

Mrs. Weasley, was doing as well as Ron said they were.  At 

the moment Harry was in his room, sitting on his bed and 

repeatedly throwing a random Muggle baseball at the wall 

to let off steam; he and Sirius had just had their first 

argument, and it had been, well, a "doozy" to say the least.

Harry had wanted to go for a walk, but Sirius had refused 

him leave from the flat without him, saying that it wasn't 

safe.  Harry, used to being able to do what he wanted, had 

gotten upset.  They had gone on for about 10 minutes, 

getting progressively louder and meaner, until Harry had 

said something very harsh and unnecessary that he had 

instantly regretted.  Remus, of course, had chosen that 

moment to walk through the door (fresh from another failed 

job interview) and Harry had stomped off to his room, 

more than a little ashamed.  He was a smart boy and knew 

that he would eventually have to apologize, but it would 

take time and he was working up the nerve to do so.  There 

was a knock at his door.

"Come in," he called glumly, throwing the ball especially 

hard.  The door opened and Remus entered, eyes weary.  

The full moon had ended the day before, and he was still 

showing the effects.  As he opened his mouth, Harry sighed 

and cut him off with, "I know, I was horrible back there 

and that I need to go apologize."

"Good, at least you're smart enough to know that.  That 

was, to put it blatantly, a stupid thing to say," Remus 

replied.

"I know, I know...wait, how's he taking it?  He's not..."

"He's very, very upset, if that's what you mean."

Harry gritted his teeth and threw the ball so hard that he 

was sure the wall would have cracked had he not had the 

foresight to cast an unbreakable charm beforehand.  "I 

didn't mean it," he muttered, looking quite close to tears.

"Well, he's thought what you said many times himself.  Do 

you think he doesn't regret his actions or the time he spent 

away from you while you were at the Dursleys?"

Harry shuddered at the mention of the name.  "It wasn't his 

fault, it was those idiots who wouldn't believe us."

"You know he still blames himself."

Harry was silent, and stopped bouncing the ball.

"I think the sooner you apologize to him, the better.  It is 

Christmas Eve, after all."

Harry stared at the snow falling on the windowsill.  "Fine," 

he finally said after a minute.  Remus held the door open 

for him, and Harry timorously made his way out into the 

kitchen to where Sirius was sitting, elbows on the table, 

hands shielding his eyes.  Harry, not sure of how to begin, 

pulled out a chair and sat down.  The noise of the chair 

scratching across the floor was much louder than would 

have liked; it disturbed the silence, but still didn't cause 

Sirius to look up or even make any sign of 

acknowledgement that Harry was there at all.  After two 

minutes and 31 seconds of stillness, Harry finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he began quietly, though it sounded 

louder due to the utter stillness of the room.  "I-I didn't 

mean anything I said earlier.  I was mad and stupid, and 

I'm really, really sorry."

Sirius took a breath and looked up, eyes still filled with 

hurt, but he forced a smile and said, "I already forgave 

you...don't worry about it."

Harry knew Sirius was lying, and even if he had forgiven 

him he was going to worry about it for awhile.  "I mean it, 

Sirius...I'm really, really, really, really, really-"

"The biggest git that ever walked the earth, I know," Sirius 

deadpanned, leaning across the table to mess up Harry's 

already untidy hair.  Harry felt a little better after that; 

maybe things would be all right after all.  "Now, if you will 

excuse me, I have to go check on the chicken, make a 

salad, and start on the potatoes, which, incidentally, you are 

going to wash and peel."

Harry snorted and shook his head as they both pushed out 

their chairs and moved over to the counters.  "You sound 

like a housewife," he teasingly remarked.

"Makes the ladies crazy," Sirius answered, tossing Harry a 

bag of potatoes that was, Harry noted as he caught it and 

was thrown back against the counter, heavier than it 

looked.

"What ladies?  I haven't even seen you with one lady, let 

alone more than one, which would constitute the use of a 

plural," Harry grunted, righting himself and dropping the 

bag on the counter.

"No more dime words or I'll make you peel them the 

Muggle way."

"Yes, Master Snuffles, forgive me for disrespecting you-" 

Harry laughed as he was splashed with water from the sink, 

and ducked out of the way of the next attack.

"No more from you.  And for your information, there is a 

lady in the picture."


Harry smiled as he saw Sirius gain some color in his 

cheeks.  "Let me guess.  It's my Quidditch coach.  Ever 

since your one fateful meeting you have been exchanging 

secret love notes, but she wouldn't agree to date you 

because she's my coach, but then you finally got her to 

cave, and now you have a romantic and cheesy dinner date 

all planned out in your painstakingly anal way?" Harry 

teased, pleased with his fabrication until he saw Sirius 

redden more.  "You mean..."  Harry's mouth dropped open 

as his godfather began to laugh.

***

"Please pass the potatoes, Hermione," Mrs. McGreggor 

asked sweetly.  Hermione forced a smile and obliged, 

wishing her parents had allowed her to accept Ron's 

invitation to spend Christmas at The Burrow.  However, 

they had told her that they rather liked having her around 

for the holidays and that she must come home.


Hermione loved her parents and didn't mind their company 

one bit; they always enjoyed hearing about her school and 

learning little things about the wizarding world and how it 

operated.  In fact, it had been even more enjoyable since 

she graduated from Hogwarts due to the fact that she was a 

licensed witch and could demonstrate what she had been 

describing all through the years.  No, she loved coming 

home, save two things: having to pretend in front of most 

of her extended family (besides her grandparents and her 

favorite aunt, but that was all that the Ministry had 

allowed), and dinner with the McGreggors. 

The McGreggors had a son Hermione's age whom she had 

gone to grade school with; they had hated each other then 

and the feeling had not decreased as they gained in years.  

They were both bright - him less so than Hermione but he 

had been far more popular and therefore everyone had 

thought him the more intelligent one.  Despite the 

objections of their children, the McGreggors and the 

Grangers were partners in the same dental firm and 

maintained a semblance of friendship; however, as of late 

the "friendship" had become more of a "my kid's better 

than your kid" contest.

"Sean loves it at Oxford, don't you Sean?" Mrs. 

McGreggor began to brag as she spooned herself some 

potatoes.  "He's the top of his class and the president of the 

Science Club-only a freshman at that!"  She looked 

toward Mrs. Granger as she chewed.  Hermione glumly 

pushed her food around on her plate.  When she looked up, 

she saw Sean giving her the most contorted, disturbing 

smile she had ever seen, and quickly looked down again to 

her chicken and potatoes.  She was interested to see how 

her mom would get out of this one, and wished that her 

parents wouldn't invite them over when she was home.


"Well, as you know, Hermione is doing simply 

extraordinarily at Yale.  She was even picked to research a 

cure for a deadly disease on a special research team 

normally only open to sophomores and above-as a 

freshman, nonetheless."

Hermione cringed, and took a bite of chicken.

"What have you been doing with the project, Hermione?" 

Mrs. McGreggor asked.

"Well," she began, trying to ignore the continued silent 

harassment from Sean, "I'm not really at liberty to discuss 

it.  It's confidential, you know."  She turned toward her 

mother with a quick, pleading look.  Thankfully, she got 

the hint.

"Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" she asked pointedly.


"Not really, now that you mention it.  Would it be alright if 

I went to bed?"

"Yes, of course 'Mi," her father interjected, looking 

worried.

Relieved, she stood up.  "Goodnight, then, good seeing you 

all again," she said, and hurried from the room as fast as 

she could without seeming obvious.


She landed on her bed without ladylike regard, took a quill 

and parchment from a drawer in her bedside table, and 

began to write her Christmas letters.

 
Dear Viktor,

	I miss you so much.  Sorry we couldn't spend Christmas together, it 

would have been fun.  I'm so glad you're coming to visit for a week before we 

go back to school.  I hope you like your gift, I think of you often and 

always-

Love, Hermione
 

She attached Viktor's letter to the multi-functional watch 

she had bought him (it told the time, but could switch 

functions to show the positions of the planets, phase of the 

moon, locations of people that the wearer chose, a compass, 

and Quidditch scores).  For a second, she wondered if the 

letter had been too easy to write, but she shrugged it off and 

moved on to Harry's letter.


 
Dear Harry,

	I'm going crazy!  My parents' friends are here and their son is just 

awful.  My mum is making up stories about where I go to school and I hate 

playing along.  Anyway, I almost feel like you at the Dursleys, stuck with 

some of the biggest Muggles on the planet.  At least mum and dad don't show 

me around like some prize cow (not too often, anyway) like the McGreggors 

do with their horrible son.  Blech.

How are Sirius and Remus?  I'm glad that you finally have the home you 

deserve, Harry.  You're just about one of the best friend I've ever had, and I 

love you (platonically, of course).  Hope you like the gift!


Love, Hermione.

 
She smiled as she taped the letter to the gift she had bought 

him from Diagon Alley earlier that week: a Wizard Radio 

that could be attached to a broom for lengthy flights (or just 

during a casual Quidditch practice).  She glanced at Ringo, 

her owl, fearing he wouldn't be up to a long trip with lots 

of packages, but noted with delight that Ringo was 

practically hopping in anticipation of leaving.  She smiled 

(Christmas presents always made Hermione happy for 

some reason), and continued writing letters and attaching 

them to gifts.  She finished Hagrid's, Professor 

McGonagall's (they were keeping in touch), Professor 

Dumbledore's (she had written to tell him of her position 

involving the anti-Avada Kedavra spell, and they had kept 

the correspondence going; she had, on Harry's suggestion, 

bought him a nice pair of socks), one of her friends from 

school, and finally there was only one letter left to write 

and one gift left in the pile.
 

Dear Ron,

	Hi, I hope everything's alright at your house and that everyone's 

having a good Christmas.  How are Ginny, Bill, Fred, and George?

Listen Ron, I know we've been fighting with each other every other second, 

and that I haven't talked with you for more than five minutes for over a 

month, or even seen you for over five minutes for a month.  I just want to say 

that I don't like it either, and I'm sorry.  I really miss you; we were really 

close in our last year at Hogwarts, and I feel like we've lost that.  It's not 

always your fault that we fight; I've brought on some of it as well.  I'm 

sorry for doing that.  I hope we can be better friends again back at school; 

please forgive me for my lack of time, and please forgive me for anything mean 

I said to you in general.  I hope you'll write back and ask the same of me.


Love, Hermione
 

She had barely finished signing it when she suddenly 

crumpled it up and threw it across the room.


"Stupid prat would never let me live that one down," she 

muttered as she started a new letter.
 

Dear Ron,

	Merry Christmas!  Hope you and your family are well.  I miss you 

and Harry, and wish that I could spend Christmas with you, but you know, 

parents.  I'll see you back in school.

Love, Hermione
 

She signed as she taped the letter to a box containing his 

present, an amulet that she bought in a charm store in 

Diagon Alley; the witch who ran the shop had told her it 

helped guide the wearer down the road to true happiness.  

Ron could use that about now, she thought as she tied the 

presents into a sort of ladder structure to make them easier 

for her owl to carry.  She was glad that she had bought the 

largest owl in the shop; she had immediately taken a liking 

to its odd feather "style." Ron had told her that between the 

owl and Crookshanks she was becoming the owner of an 

ugly animal sanctuary.  He had also made fun of the name 

Ringo; "Who the hell is named Ringo?" he had asked.  She, 

as usual, hadn't commented.


"Bye Ringo, thank you," she said, tying the package to his 

legs, kissing his head, and giving him an owl treat for the 

road.  He hooted appreciatively and was off.  


Hermione sat on her bed and wished for life to be simple.

***Part 3***

	"Good work, Granger," Professor Yang commented 

from over Hermione's shoulder.  She was one of the ones 

trying to re-map Avada Kedavra, and it was very slow, very 

hard, and very tedious work.  The shield charm the group 

had been inventing was running into difficulties; it 

currently wouldn't hold up to anything stronger than the 

jelly-legs curse, and every time they prodded with the 

formula it would become weaker instead of stronger.


	Work had proceeded with more of an urgency since 

Voldemort's return.  Hermione had been excused from all 

of her classes in order to continue with her work, but still 

kept up with her homework.  Ministries from many 

different countries were offering grants to allow the group 

more supplies and speed things along.  Needless to say, 

Hermione had had a lot on her mind.  She had been 

working more than not, and even her relationship with 

Viktor had become more strained lately.  She would still 

see him after the typical school day ended, but the project 

continuously weighed on her mind.  


And then there was Harry.  Harry had been trying to seem 

normal, but Hermione could tell that he was very worried.  

He had been writing to Sirius at least once every two days, 

and going home every other weekend regardless of whether 

there was a Quidditch match or not.  Socializing had taken 

the backseat while his studies and Quidditch (but especially 

his studies) had taken the front; she theorized that he felt 

learning as much as possible about self-defense would be 

advantageous, and she had to agree with him.  Despite this, 

it was hard for her when a good portion of the time she 

spent with him was spent watching him silently stare into 

the couch and forgetting to answer her feeble attempts at 

conversation.


Ron continued to make her mad.  One minute he was nice; 

the next he was moody and sullen.  His mood swings 

vaguely reminded her of those of her pregnant cousin, who 

had visited her over the Christmas break.  When she had 

told him this, he had muttered something that she was glad 

she didn't hear and stormed away.  What was going on with 

him?  At that point she didn't want to associate with him or 

think about him...he was too much trouble and he clouded 

her mind.  He was getting in the way of her work.  


Work, and work and work....  She knew that the weight of 

the world did not lie on her shoulders, but she couldn't help 

but feel like it with the way teachers were pressuring her.  

It was obvious to her that she was expected to do extremely 

well; as a first year student on a traditionally third year 

project, she had to earn her keep and do it well.  Her eyes 

began to scan the five parchments that she had spent the 

past six hours working on; the purple ink shone in the light, 

and everything looked perfect until she got to the top of the 

second page.  She found that she had made an elementary 

addition error (according to the parchment, 2+3=6), and 

everything she had done from that page onward was 

incorrect and had to be redrawn.  She suddenly flung her 

quill down in disgust and threw her head into her arms on 

the table, and tried not to cry.


Professor Yang looked up, startled, from across the table.  

"Hermione?" she asked delicately.  Hermione sniffed in her 

continuing and unsuccessful effort against tears and looked 

up, wiping her eyes.

"Why don't you call it a day, and I think maybe take a few 

off...you've been working too hard."  


Hermione groaned and put her head back into her arms.  


That's it; I've failed, I'm done.

"No no, I didn't mean it in a bad way," she expressed 

quickly, moving to her side.  "You work about the hardest 

out of everyone here; you've learned as much as a third 

year student knows in four months' time, and you need a 

rest."  

Hermione broke down into a full-fledged sob.


"Shh, come on, let's go."  Her professor led her out the 

door and into the empty hall.  "You going to be alright?" 

she asked soothingly, guiding her toward her tower.  


Hermione swallowed, nodded, and began to apologize 

profusely as they walked.


"Don't worry hon, rest up and sort everything out, and 

don't think about anything here, alright?"

Hermione thanked her and entered her common room, eyes 

still overflowing with tears.  Ron was sitting on a couch 

reading a book when he saw her hurrying toward her dorm.  

He looked up as she walked by.


"Hey!  Hermione!  Wait!" he called.  She avoided him and 

increased her speed, but she wasn't fast enough; he 

managed to grab her arm and stop her.  "What's wrong?" 

he asked, very concerned and more than a little frightened 

as Hermione wasn't the type to cry unless there was a very 

good reason.  She wasn't able to speak, just to cry.  Ron 

didn't know what to say, so he did all he could.


"I-I'm sorry about what I said this morning, if that's any 

help.  Really," he tried, putting his hands on her shoulders.  

"Please, what's wrong?"  She continued to shake from her 

sobs.  Finally, he hugged her in desperation, though she 

failed to react to his action in any way.


"Hermoninny?!" Viktor Krum cried from the entrance.  

Though he had eventually learned to pronounce her name 

correctly, he tended to lapse back to the old way when he 

was distressed.  Ron let go of Krum's girlfriend and 

watched as they embraced; with unease he noticed that his 

hug was returned. He wondered vaguely why Viktor was in 

that tower when his girlfriend had work all day, but pushed 

the thought out of his mind and, though it killed him to do 

so, took his book upstairs to give them some privacy.


A few hours later Harry reentered the dorm laden with 

books and parchment.  Harry's advanced Defense Against 
the Dark Arts class required a great degree of 

memorization; when in the field, aurors do not have books 

(or the time to use them if for some reason they do).  He 


hadn't had a break since Christmas with Sirius and Remus; 

as he thought wistfully back to that time, he was happy 

with the fact that he finally enjoyed being home just as 

much as, if not more than, being in school.


Voldemort remained dormant, which did not mean that 

Harry didn't worry about him; he did, and quite often.


And then there was Michele.  Ah yes, Michele....  The 

incident in the dungeon had not been mentioned (or 

repeated) again.  He had tried to both bring it up and ask 

her out several times, but she had nervously changed the 

subject without giving him a straight answer.  Despite this, 

they had undeniably grown closer, and Harry wished that it 

meant what he hoped it meant and that "the incident" was 

not a mere fluke where two people were in the wrong place 

at the wrong time.

	"Hey Ron, Quidditch game tomorrow, Tower 1," 

Harry announced gleefully as he threw his things on the 

floor.
	Ron grunted, lost in thought.

	"You know, Krum's tower," Harry continued, intentionally using Krum's name to provoke some sort of 

reaction from his moody friend.


	"So?" Ron snapped.  Harry knew enough by now to 

disregard his tone, especially since he had brought it on 


with his attempt to ground his friend's thoughts.
	"Where is Hermione anyway?" Harry asked.  

"Usually I see her coming back from wherever she works 

all day on my way back here."


	"Something's wrong with her," he muttered in 

reply.

	"What?" Harry questioned, concerned.

	"Don't know...she was crying.  I'm a bit worried; 

she wouldn't talk.  Krum came and took control of the 

situation, so I left."

	Harry thoughtfully sat on his bed.  "I think we 

should go see what was wrong, it could be serious."

	"Well, it could also be some sort of girl thing, and 

in that case I don't want to know."

	"You just don't want to find her up there with 

Krum."

	Harry had said the magic words; in a matter of 

seconds, they were on their way up to room 704 with Ron 

in the lead.  He knocked tentatively, almost as if having 

second thoughts, but was soon granted a muffled "Come 

in" from inside.

	By then, Hermione had stopped crying, but her eyes 

were still red and she still looked worse for wear.

	Ron absolutely melted at the sight of her and 

immediately went to sit next to her on her bed.

	"You alright?  What happened?  You had me so 

worried-"

	"Nothing, Ron," Hermione interrupted, swallowing 

some more tears as Ron put his hand on her shoulder.  "I 

just had a sort of nervous breakdown, that's all...I'm sorry 

you had to see it, I-"

	"Shh, don't worry," Ron interrupted, taking her 

hands.  "Are you alright?" he asked again, obviously not 

satisfied with the last answer she had given him.

	"I...well..." Hermione seemed to be searching for 

the words she wanted to say.  "No...yes-yes, I'm fine.  

I'm going to be fine."  She closed her eyes and opened 

them with a more resolute look in place.  "Just under stress, 

that's all.  I'll be fine."

	"You sure?" Harry asked from the doorway, 

moving to where his friends were and sitting on the other 

side of Hermione.

	"Yes, I'm-I'm alright," she sighed, and flopped 

backwards.  "I was just thinking too much."

	"Finally realized it, eh?" Ron asked, falling 

backward as well, and turning his head to look at her.

	"Shut up you prat, I'm worried sick about 

Voldemort."

	Ron was silent for this comment, and didn't even 

make his usual "You-Know-Who" correction.  Harry 

decided to speak and flopped backward with the other two.

	"No use in worrying so much Hermione.  You know 

that."

	"You should talk; don't think I don't see it, Harry," 

she replied.  They all stared at the ceiling for a 

contemplative few minutes.

	"Doesn't help with this idiot next to me fighting 

with me all the time either," Hermione shot, obviously 

trying to lighten the mood.

	"Well, Harry I think you'd better apologize now, 

shouldn't you?" Ron announced authoritatively, sitting up 

and looking at Harry.  Hermione grinned and hit him with a 

pillow.

	"'Ey!" Ron cried.  "What was that for?" Hermione 

just stared at the ceiling again and continued to smile.

***

	Harry paced around the locker room with his 

broom, trying to calm down.  After all, it was just another 

Quidditch game, just another leisurely flight on his broom.  

It was just a match that happened to pit him against Viktor 

Krum, one of the best seekers in the wizarding world.  It 

was just a match against a team that hadn't lost a game that 

would probably determine if they won the school cup or 

not.  Harry suddenly dunked his head, glasses and all, into 

the sink and turned on the cold water in an effort to calm 

his nerves.  It didn't work, unfortunately; all it did was 

make him cold and wet.  He shook himself off and began to 

pace again, dripping a little on the floor.

	"Ready, Harry?" Ron called, sticking his head 

around the corner of the doorway.  "We're about...where 

have you been?"

	"The sink.  Don't ask."

	"Nervous?" Ron joked.

	"Shut up," Harry muttered, obviously not in the 

mood.  As he walked onto the field, he saw Sirius sitting in 

his usual place next to Hermione.  He observed Michele a 

few rows down...maybe if he caught the snitch she would 

finally accept his invitation to the movies?  He came back 

down to earth when he heard the announcer clear her 

throat.  Harry smiled when he realized that it was Angelina.

	"Hello, welcome to Wizard University Quidditch!"  

The crowd cheered.  "This week's match will pit Tower 1 

against Tower 7!  I'm Angelina Johnson; I'll be 

announcing this week instead of Emmett Jeter, who has a 

nasty cold.  Anyway, this week's match looks to be very 

intense.  So far they have been deemed the two best teams 

in the school; neither has lost, and neither is projected to 

lose any other games this year.  This could decide the 

championship!  And now...Tower 1!  I give you Smith, 

Jolie, Irving, Austin, Prine, Wells, and Krum!"  The crowd 

roared as they took their lap around the stadium.  "And 

now, Tower 7!  Here are Weasley, Sawyer, Finn, Svening, 

Wilson, Bennett, and Potter!"  She cheered along with the 

crowd, forgetting for a moment her amplified voice.  

"Anyway," she giggled sheepishly.  "Sorry about that, used 

to be on a team with Ron and Harry back at Hogwarts.  

Won the cup twice!  But anyway, let the game begin!"

	And it did.  Harry vividly remembered the 

numerous strategy talks he had been given by Madame 

Jennings; he had been told to watch Viktor Krum like a 

hawk, almost to the point where he would be following 

him.  Though she had said that she had no doubts in 

Harry's seeking skills, Viktor had more experience and 

they couldn't lose this game if they wanted to win the cup.  

Harry tried not to tail Viktor too obviously, and darted his 

eyes around nervously in search of the snitch.  With a bit of 

a laugh he noticed that Viktor was tailing him slightly as 

well.  This would be interesting.

	Harry watched from above as his team scored four 

times, earning them 40 points.  The chasers were in top 

form, along with Ron, who so far hadn't let any by.

	Suddenly, Viktor dove, and Harry immediately 

dove with him.  Halfway to the ground he could not see the 

snitch anywhere, and realized that it was probably the 

Wronski Feint.  He took a chance and pulled out.

	"Viktor Krum's Wronski Feint has failed!  Potter 

saw through it and has gone back to circling the field."

	Harry nodded in Angelina's direction, and she 

waved.

	The game went on, and still the snitch was nowhere 

in sight.  Harry was beginning to lose his nerve.  He had to 

catch it; the team depended on it, his honor depended on it, 

he was almost sure that Michele depended on it...then, on 

the other side of the filed, he saw a flash of gold and was 

off.

	With a sickening gasp he realized that Viktor had 

seen it too, and was ahead of him by about 20 feet.  

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, as Harry 

usually had a better broom than whomever he was up 

against and therefore could go faster than his opponent; 

however, like him, Viktor had a Lightningbolt and they 

were going at virtually the same speed.  Harry felt a 

sickening feeling begin to form in the pit of his stomach; he 

couldn't lose, but he was going to, there was no way he 

could catch up to Viktor...then, as if the Lord had graced 

his mind, he had an idea.  He tipped his broom so that it 

was tilted in a downward slope.

	"What's Potter doing?  He's going down!" he 

thought he heard Angelina shout.  As Harry 

planned/prayed, his broom quickly gained on Krum's.  Like 

most objects, magical or not, brooms travel faster when 

working with gravity.  Harry pushed as hard as he could, 

and soon he was five feet under Krum and directly even 

with him, then six feet under and slightly ahead...

	"He's going to miss it!  He's way too low!  Krum's 

going to get it!" Angelina yelled.

	The snitch was dangerously close, and Harry knew 

it was time.  He jerked his broom to a straight upward 

incline, cut in front of Viktor, extended his arm, felt the 

merciful struggle of the snitch, went (upside-downwardly) 

over Viktor Krum, and turned himself right-side up, 

thrusting the fist holding the snitch victoriously over his 

head.

	First there was silence.  Harry could hear himself 

panting, and pushed his sliding glasses back into their 

proper place on his nose. Then, suddenly, there was a 

deafening roar, and over it he could hear,

	"POTTER HAS THE SNITCH!  FINAL SCORE IS 

220-50; THE MATCH GOES TO TOWER 7!"

	Harry looked behind him to see a stunned Viktor 

Krum staring at him, mouth open in disbelief.  As he 

landed, he could make out some of the crowd leaving the 

stands and entering the field, all still cheering.  Sirius 

reached him first and gave him a huge smack on the back, 

telling him how amazing he was at Quidditch and how 

proud he was.  Hermione, to Harry's immense surprise, 

gave him an all-out kiss and then told him that she was 

sorry but she had to leave him and go comfort Viktor.  By 

then, Harry was getting congratulated by all of Tower 7.


	Then, there was Michele.  When he saw her run 

over to him, the noise in the stadium seemed to stop and he 

could hear only her angelic French voice.


	"'Arry Potter," she began, shaking her smiling head, 

"You are amazing!   And yes, I will go to ze movies wis 

you."  Then she took his face in her hands and gave him a 

very long kiss, which Harry had to remind himself to return 

due to the fact that he was so blissfully happy.

***

	"Good, Potter, you've improved.  For homework, I 

want an essay detailing how you would react if you were 

cornered in dragon nesting grounds.  It's due tomorrow, no 

exceptions.  Good day everyone."  Severus Snape watched 

as his students packed their things and smiled his 

traditional oily smile.  He truly loved his new job.  

Dumbledore had begged him to stay, but he felt that it was 

time to move on, and the headmaster had understood.  As a 

result, he had finally gotten to do what he had always 

wanted, and felt that the students really connected with him 

and his subject.  Basically, he had rediscovered the joy of 

teaching.


	He even had his old favorite from Hogwarts, Draco 

Malfoy.  The boy had been going through hard times with 

the arrests of his parents because of connections with 

Voldemort, and Severus had been trying to help him as best 

as he could.  He didn't know if he was making a difference, 

but he was trying.  He had even managed to reconcile with 

Potter, Weasley, and Granger, though he almost didn't go 

through with it when he heard one of them insulting him on 

the first day.  Still, they had been less bothersome than they 

could have been, and they had all been doing well.  He 

even admitted to himself, albeit grudgingly, that Potter 

would make an excellent auror.

	Yes, he thought as he made his way to the portkey 

room, I could use a drink.  He decided to go to St. Quili, a 

village similar to Hogsmeade with a pub that rivaled even 

The Leaky Cauldron.  He bid hello to students and teachers 

he met while walking down the hall, already tasting his 

Grindylow Surprise.  The portkey room was mercifully 

empty, and he was soon at his destination and tasting the 

drink that he had fantasized about for real.  What Snape did 

not notice as he conversed with the bartender and the 

person next to him was a hooded figure sitting 

unassumingly near the back.  The night wore on, and so did 

both Severus and the hooded man; when the former finally 

declared that he had better get back, he paid and went for 

the door.

	He had begun to say the apparation spell when the 

door of the bar opened again.  Snape looked up and 

immediately reached for his wand; however, it was in vain, 

for the man was ready and had whispered a dreaded word 

before Snape had time to do anything other than think.

	20 minutes later, Severus Snape was back in the 

halls of the school, again greeting teachers and students 

alike, but this time forced to ignore the tiny presence in his 

mind that fought to regain control.

 
Chapter 8
 

	Ron walked into his dorm room and blatantly 

ignored the PG-13 spectacle that was occurring on Harry's 

bed.  As Harry and Michele struggled to sit up and untangle 

their limbs, Harry blushing all the while, Ron threw his 

books onto the floor and sat down on his bed with the force 

of a collapsing elephant.  He looked upon the formerly 

passionate couple with scorn.


	"Oh, don't mind me," he snapped sarcastically.  

"Carry on."  He looked as if he were about to explode.  

"Why the hell can't you ever do that in HER dorm?" Ron 

asked meanly.  He still didn't like Michele, and she still 

didn't like him.

	"Fous le camp, leche-cul," she mumbled as she 

pulled Harry back down for another make-out session, 

public this time, just to piss Ron off.  Ron noted that Harry 

had no objections.


	"Should I get a picture?  That way you can watch 

yourselves go at it later."

	At this, Michele abruptly bid Harry goodbye and 

stormed out of the room.  Harry stifled a laugh and 

addressed his steaming friend.

	"Geez, you didn't have to do that you know."

	"Potter, your girlfriend's a bi-"

	"'Ey," Harry stopped him, a little upset.  "That's not 

very nice, Ron."

	Ron continued to glare at the wall, and replied, 

"Neither is she."

	"What's up your arse?" Harry asked, leaning back 

against his pillows and staring out the window.

	"Her-frickin-mione and her," he put on a high, 

mocking voice, "Oh, I'm better and more important than 

you are, my boyfriend is a professional Quidditch player, 

I'm smart, I'm busy, I don't have time for you, blah blah 

blah.  She is so...augh!" Ron spit.

	Harry sincerely doubted that this was the case, but 

as usual did not say anything to provoke his hot-tempered 

friend.  Unfortunately, this resulted in a lengthy period of 

time spent listening to Ron grumble.  Harry tried to pull 

himself through by starting on his homework and dreaming 

about Michele; however, both were difficult to do, for 

whenever he got to a crucial point in either his homework 

or his daydream Ron would increase his volume and jar 

Harry out of his other world.  Harry got a little frustrated 

after the sixth time this happened, and finally rolled over, 

grabbed his broom, and threw it at Ron.  Ron stopped in 

mid-complaint and caught it, looking questioningly at 

Harry.

	"Take a ride and cool off," Harry muttered.  Ron 

looked a little offended, but it was a Lightningbolt, after 

all...he opened the window and left, grumbling all the way.  

Harry, meanwhile, was getting bored with his homework 

and didn't want to fantasize too much about his girlfriend 

for fear of jinxing it from ever happening, and decided to 

go for a walk.


	As soon as he turned out the door he felt a pair of 

arms glide themselves around his shoulders, and a breathy 

voice whispered into his ear,


	"I knew you'd be out 'ere sometime."  Harry 

gleefully allowed himself to be steered back into his dorm 

room, where they resumed what they had been doing earlier 

until Harry woefully interjected and said that they should 

probably leave.  Ron would be returning soon, and 

although they weren't doing anything that required a locked 

door Harry didn't think that Ron would appreciate finding 

them there for the second time in an hour.

	On his suggestion, they took a walk, his arm around 

her shoulders and her head resting near his neck.  Progress 

was slow, but neither of them minded.

	"'Ave you 'eard about ze test in Advanced Defense 

Against ze Dark Arts?" Michele asked.

	"Yeah, I heard Joe talking about it; he said he heard 

Snape talking to a teacher.  We're going to be put in a real 

field battle against some monsters, no help, no lightened 

consequences, unless it's obvious we're about to be killed 

and then Snape will save us...but I doubt that."

	Michele laughed.  "Why do you say zat?"

	"Well," Harry began, "I know I told you he was the 

potions master at Hogwarts."


	Michele nodded.

	"He hated Ron, Hermione, and basically anyone in 

Gryffindor, but especially us."

	"I can see why 'e 'ated your stupid red-'eaded idiot 

of a friend."

	"Michele, that's not the point.  He called a ceasefire 

of sorts earlier this year, because he said he wanted to get 

off to a good start, but I still don't trust him."

	Michele just sighed.

	"You know Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked.

	"Yes," Michele answered quickly.

	"He favored Draco...still does, but you know."

	Michele didn't answer, and they walked in silence 

for awhile.  Harry thought curiously about his second arch 

nemesis; he hadn't heard so much as a peep from him since 

the first Quidditch match, and he had even been silent 

then...something was up, Harry decided, but he would not 

pursue the situation; he was enjoying the silence too much.  

By that time they had walked around the small park behind 

the castle and were nearing the doorway.

	"What are you doing tonight?" Harry whispered.

	"'Omework, I 'ave a paper due on Monday."

	"Oh, okay," Harry resigned, a little upset that they 

couldn't go out.	"I will see you later, 'Arry," Michele 

mumbled, kissing him deeply before she walked down the 

hallway, leaving Harry looking longingly after her until she 

disappeared around the corner.

	When Harry got back to the common room he saw 

Ron, still fuming from before, sitting on a couch.  Great, 

Harry thought.

	"How was your ride?" he asked, sitting down next 

to him.

	"How was yours?" Ron shot back.

	Harry whistled.  "Uncalled for," he replied, leaning 

back and starting to relax.

	Ron swore at him and remained upright.

	"So, what's up your arse now?" Harry inquired, 

waving at a few people.  


Ron ignored both his exiting friends and Harry's question, 

but he unintentionally answered the question with his next 

statement.  "Where the hell is she?" he growled.

Harry knew he needed not ask whom the pronoun "she" 

was referring to, and closed his eyes in anticipation of the 

oncoming vocal attack.

"What the hell is taking her so long?"

"She couldn't possibly have been gone for more than an 

hour, Ron, and it's not like you had plans with her."

Ron continued to fume, and began to fidget with his wand.  

"How do you know?"  Sparks soon began to fly from its 

tip, and Harry had to jump to avoid some that singed the 

couch in place of where his head had been resting.  Ron 

furiously shoved the wand back into his robes and spat, 

"What the hell is she doing?"


"Probably the same thing she was doing when you asked 

where she was 30 seconds ago," Harry muttered, hoping 

that Ron's wand would stay where it was.  Harry's wish 

was answered, and Ron got up and began to pace.  After 

going back and forth twice, he sputtered,


"If she takes one more minute, I'm going to-"

"Do you have to get like this every time she goes on a date 

with Krum?" Harry finally growled.


Ron plopped back onto the couch and glared.  Harry began 

to wish that he had brought something to do; Ron was not 

the best company at the moment.


"Her and Krumikins make me sick," Ron began again.

Harry sighed and dropped his head back to its position of 

exasperation.  "I know, Ron."


Ron made a face and resumed the mocking voice he had 

donned earlier.  "'Oh, today I have a date with Viktor, he's 

so cute, and his accent is so dreamy...'"

Hermione has never said anything like that in her life, 

Harry thought.


"'Sorry Ron and Harry, but I'll shove you both on the back 

burner while I deal with more important things, like 

determining the exact angle of my darling Krummy's 

nose.'"

"Ron."

"'And after that, sorry boys but I have my research to do, 

and then it's on to my darling Krummy's ears.'"

"Ron."

"'I even wrote a pretty little song about him: Oh, my 

darling Krummy, you look just like a bunny-"

"RON!  ENOUGH!" Harry finally hollered.  A few people 

from the next couch laughed and applauded.  Ron ignored 

them and his glare increased as he began to glower into the 

fireplace.  Harry suddenly saw a flash of blonde hope at the 

door, and gave Ron a meaningful poke."


"Look Ron, it's Amelia," he said pointedly, trying to draw 

his attention to another subject."  Amelia and Ron had been 

on-and-off for most of the year, mostly "on" right after 

Quidditch games.  Ron didn't seem to mind, and they 

seemed to have a mutually beneficial arrangement.  

However, at the moment even Amelia couldn't draw Ron's 

attention away from his absent friend.

"Hi-Joe-hi-Sean-hi-Luc-hi-Harry-hey, Ron," Amelia rattled 

off, sliding in between Harry and Ron.  Harry didn't mind; 

he'd had more than enough of Ron's whining to last him a 

few hours.

Ron grunted in reply.

"You doing anything tonight?" Amelia asked, tracing her 

finger on Ron's shoulder.

Ron grunted again.  She gave him very calculated puppy 

eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.  She stuck out her lower 

lip, but met with more indifference.

"Amelia, come here!" one of her friends called.  She gave 

Ron one last look and left, a little disappointed that her 

conquest for the evening was unsuccessful.

"What's your problem?" Harry finally shot, though he 

knew.  Ron grunted again.  Harry's head fell back into his 

hands.

People were fast leaving the common room to go out, and 

before Harry knew it he and Ron were the only ones left.  

Eventually, with a lot of work, he was finally successful in 

forcing Ron to talk about something besides Hermione 

(Quidditch), and was working on coaxing him out of the 

castle for a drink when Hermione herself walked in.  She 

was looking a little flushed and seemed to be in a hurry to 

get to her bedroom.

She had opened her mouth to speak when Ron muttered, 

"About fucking time."  Hermione stopped, looked harshly 

at him, and asked,

"What did you say?"

Ron, although pissed, obviously did not mean for her to 

hear him.

"Nothing important...according to you, we aren't 

important, after all," he mumbled. 

Harry was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable, and began 

edging toward the far end of the couch.

Hermione, knowing exactly what he meant, dangerously 

asked, "Just what do you mean by that?"

"Well, you never spend any time with me - us, anymore.  

Just Krum, research, Krum, research, Krum, research, 

Krum...you obsess over him so much that I'm starting to 

worry about your sanity."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes.  She had had a 

feeling it would come to this.  "Look, I have my own life, 

and I can live it as I choose.  Now I'm tired so goodnight," 

she said in a forced calm.  She proceeded to walk up the 

stairs to the girls' dorm.

"Fine, avoid the situation, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO," 

Ron called, his voice getting progressively louder as she 

ascended the stairs and disappeared into the unknown.  

Harry was about to excuse himself to bed when Hermione 

came unexpectedly rushing back down, and he felt obliged 

to stay still.


"Exactly WHAT situation am I avoiding, Ronald?" she 

imposed, especially annunciating his full name, fire in her 

eyes.  

Ron had not actually expected her to do anything about his 

yelling; in fact, he had expected her to ignore him and stay 

in her dorm.  He began to lose his cool and sputtered,


"Well...um...your avoidance...of...your friends," he 

finished, then suddenly regained his composure.  "You 

always ditch us for that hook-nosed freak!  He's all you 


care about!"

"I do not ditch you for him!"

"Well, sorry to burst your little intellectual bubble, but you 

do!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do NOT!"

"Do TOO!"

"DO NOT!!!"

"DO TOO!!!!!"

Harry chose this moment to make a dash for the stairs, 

where he could both comfortably wait out their argument 

and hear everything that was going on.

Hermione threw her hands up in disgust.  "You are so 

immature!"

"I'm not the only one who took part in it, Hermione!"

"Well it doesn't matter!  You are just a-a jealous slut, 

Ron!  Just because I can maintain a relationship for longer 

than one week doesn't mean you have to fly off in a tizzy 

every time it's mentioned!"

"Well just because I'm not desperate enough to carry on 

with the first arsehole that shows even an inkling of interest 

in me doesn't mean that I'm a slut!  In fact, one could argue 

otherwise!"

There was a very, very pregnant pause, which ended with, 

from where Harry was sitting, the noise of flesh against 

flesh.

"For your information," Hermione began, her voice 

wavering desperately.  She swallowed and continued, "The 

'arsehole' and I just broke up."

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione continued speaking 

and never got the chance to make a noise.

"And, Ronald Weasley, I never want to speak to you, ever, 

again," she finished, breathing loudly, looking as if she 

were evading tears.  Hermione proceeded to run up the 

stairs to the girls' dorms, where the layers of stone walls 

mercifully (for her) blocked the noise of her sobs.

Harry finally dared to look around the corner, and saw Ron, 

head in hands, sitting desolately on a couch.  As Harry 

neared him, he saw a large red imprint of a hand on the side 

of his face.

"So," Harry began, sitting next to him and slapping him on 

the back.  "Good show, worth every penny.  Want to go 

drown your sorrows?"  Ron didn't answer, but got up and 

walked toward the door.  They went to St. Quili's where 

Ron drank himself senseless and Harry nearly so, and they 

talked about every possible subject besides the one 

weighing on both of their minds.
 

Chapter 9
 
"Interesting resume," Headmaster Richard Stanley of Elliot 

Stanley's School of Magic commented to a well-dressed 

and professional looking Remus Lupin.


"I have held a wide range of jobs, but as you can see I have 

an ample amount of teaching experience," Remus 

answered, a hint of nerves slipping through his calm 

demeanor.

"Yes, yes, I see," Richard Stanley commented, twirling an 

end of his long mustache.  "A year at Hogwarts School, and 

a year at Mumpsty School; and I see that you have a 

personal letter of recommendation from Albus 

Dumbledore."


"That is correct."


"In fact, you have a letter from Alastor Moody from your 

first job, proclaiming your usefulness as well."

Remus cringed inwardly at the use of the word 

"usefulness;" the man seemed to be objectifying him 

already.  He knew what was coming.  "I committed myself 

to every job I have had, and will continue to do so in the 

future," he offered, knowing it was a feeble attempt at 

repairing his chances for this job, which had been 

irreparably damaged two years beforehand.


"Indeed."  Richard Stanley stood from his desk and began 

to pace the front of his respectably furnished office, staring 

intently at the wooden floor.

"Mr. Lupin," Richard Stanley began, sounding as though 

he were struggling to speak.  "When my great-great-great-

great-great-grandfather Elliot Stanley founded this school 

in 1650, he intended it to be a safe, stable, and top-quality 

learning center for young wizards.  We began to allow 

witches into the school in 1690 to comply with the 

changing of the times, but since the establishment of this 

school that is the only major change that has been made."  

Richard Stanley sighed and looked up to face Remus.  "I 

won't deceive you by claiming that this is the best school in 

Britain."  He began to pace again.  "Far from it in fact; 

quite honestly, we are near the bottom, and many of the 

classes we teach involve teaching the students to live as 

Muggles due to the fact that the great majority of our 

students are squibs, or nearly so."  He paused to take a 

breath, as he seemed to be getting nervous.  His pace 

quickened.  "Nor will I attempt to fool you into thinking 

that it is stable; teachers come and go two or three times a 

year due to better positions being offered, and the ones that 

do stay are, to put it bluntly, horrible.  As a result, the 

Ministry has been threatening to close the school since 

1803.  No, Mr. Lupin, we are by no means stable."


Remus looked at the ground, the feeling of disappointment 

finally settling into his stomach.  

"However, I can assure you that this school is as safe as 

any other.  You are a dark creature, Mr. Lupin, and a great 

threat to those around you even with this so-called 

'wolfsbane' potion.  I, personally, have no reason to believe 

in its effectiveness or possibly even its existence.  Parents 

would complain even if I did trust you; who would want 

their children schooled by a werewolf?  Please put yourself 

in my position, Mr. Lupin, and understand that I could not 

hire you with even remotely good conscience.  Safety is 

everything this school has, and I'm afraid I'd like to keep it 

that way.  Good day, you may see yourself out."  The man 

walked from the room, much quicker than he normally 

would have left and shut/slammed the door behind him, 

leaving Remus sitting in his chair, biting his lip, and staring 

at the floor.


Afraid is one word for it, he thought as he snapped out of 

his melancholy trance and began to hastily gather his 

resume from Richard Stanley's desk.  It was his fourth 

interview in three days, and it had ended nearly the same as 

all the others.  As he opened the door to leave, he wished 

for the anonymity he'd had before the whole fiasco had 

occurred, before he had tried to become a hero and save 

anyone, before the Daily Prophet had ruined his life...


He had saved Cornelius Fudge from an assassinator, and he 

had been widely praised for it.  Remus didn't like the 

recognition, but it all seemed innocent enough until he 

woke up one morning, sat down with a cup of coffee, and 

found the Daily Prophet's headline to be, "REMUS 

LUPIN-WEREWOLF?!"  He had spilled the coffee and 

burnt his hands, but the burn was nothing compared to what 

the article had said.  It contained an interview with Lucius 

Malfoy, who accused Remus of deceiving everyone into 

believing that he was on the "good side," when in fact he 

was working for Voldemort.  The byline read "Rita 

Skeeter," but Remus was too stunned to notice.


He had gotten over the initial shock of complete strangers 

hating him for a newspaper article, but even though 

Hermione had turned Rita into the authorities for being an 

unregistered animagus and Lucius Malfoy had been almost 

literally thrown into Azkaban, the scars still remained.  As 

a result, in two years Remus had been unable to get a job 

even though he had been to at least one interview a week 

since.


It's too much for me, he thought as he walked down the 

stairs by a group of schoolchildren who stared as he passed.  

As he neared the exit, he heard a small voice holler, 


"FREAK!" but when he looked back he only heard the 

excited chatter the group was emitting as its members 

scampered away.  Despite having experienced derogatory 

statements many times before and being able to shake it 

off, Remus felt tears well up in his eyes.


"Hey, steady on, you're not a freak and you know it.  

Besides, the little thing who called you that?  You could 

strangle him with one hand.  He deserves it, you know."


Remus turned, surprised to see Sirius standing against the 

edge of the building with a newspaper.  "What are you 

doing here?" he managed to sputter, trying to hold back the 

childish tears that were fighting to come out.

"Thought I'd congratulate you on not having to work in this 

horrible place," Sirius said, walking evenly with his friend 

and motioning to the building behind them.  "This school is 

just wrong.  The headmaster, Richard Stanley?  His parents 

named him 'Dick' for a reason."  Sirius paused as he 

noticed Remus still hadn't cheered up.  "Hey, what did the 

bastard say to you?" he asked gently, sitting him down on a 

bench.  Remus bent over, shoulders shaking, and tearfully 

mumbled,


"I've had enough, Sirius.  I can't fucking take it."  Sirius 

was surprised at the swear word; Remus usually had very 

good control over his foul language.  "I'm hated and they 

don't even know me.  I can't lie it away, like I could 

before, and now even children-children, Sirius-are 

insulting me...I just can't take it.  I can't even get a bloody 

job.  It's been two years!"  He suddenly sat up, voice loud.  

A teenage couple glared at them in recognition from the 

sidewalk, and crossed the street.  "I've been trying for three 

years, and no one will hire me because I'm..."  He resigned 

back to his bent over position and began to clutch his scalp.  

Sirius bent over as well and put a hand on his back in a 

lame attempt to comfort him.  "Padfoot," Remus began, 

still crying.  Sirius started; Remus hadn't called him 

"Padfoot" in awhile.  "I'm sorry...I'm taking advantage of 

you, staying in your flat. I'll find something soon and I'll 

pay you back-"

Sirius pushed him off the bench as if they were both in 

school again and nothing had ever changed.  Remus 

jumped up with a look of shock.

"What was that for?" he asked, bewildered, watching his 

friend as he gave him a smug look.

"Because you're being a pretentious git," Sirius announced, 

expression unchanging.  "I don't give a damn whether or 

not you pay me or not, and I never want to hear you 

mention money again.  As far as I'm concerned, you owe 

me nothing."

Remus just stared at him from the ground, mouth half open.  

"Oh get up, I have good news for you anyway," he 

muttered, pulling Remus up and back onto the bench.

"What good news could you possibly have?  I just made a 

fool of myself in public, I don't have a job, and those kids 

walking by just gave us the finger."


Sirius couldn't help himself, and let out a laugh and waved 

at the children, whose looks of scorn quickly turned to 

looks of fear as they hastened out of sight.  "Old Dick 

must've told the kids you were coming; there's no way you 

would have been recognized by so many people in one day.  

Anyway, read the paper."  He handed Remus the paper he 

had been reading, and though Remus had doubts he 

resigned himself to Sirius's will.  He observed that the 

paper had been opened to the classifieds section, and he 

shot Sirius a look that clearly said, "Yeah, right."  Sirius 

gave him a look back that said, "Keep looking."  Remus 

glared and his eyes scanned the page until they stopped at a 

small ad circled in pencil:
 

BOOKKEEPER (AND MORE)

DESPERATELY NEEDED!
Sense of humor a MUST

Interested applicants 
may interview from 
9:00am to 5:00pm with  
Fred and George Weasley of 
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes
No advanced owl required.
 

Remus looked at Sirius.  "Isn't that..."

Sirius nodded.  "I'm not sure, but considering that to enter 

the store, you have to say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to 

no good,' which is engraved above the door with credit 

given to Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, I'm pretty 

positive they'd give you a good, fair amount of 

consideration for the job."


Remus gave him a look that could only be read as meaning, 
"what?"

Sirius looked right back at him and said, "It's a respectable 

enough sounding job, 'Moony,' and I think you might enjoy 

it.  Now let's get back to the flat, Maggie's coming over for 

dinner in 20 minutes."

Remus laughed.  "The truth comes out, Mr. 

Compassionate," he said as he stood up and apparated with 

a small "pop."  Sirius laughed as well, and followed.

***

Ron opened his eyes and sat up quietly in bed; a quick look 

at the clock told him that it was 2:07pm.  Deciding it was 

time to get up, he yawned, stretched, and pulled up the 

shades to let some light in (he had decided that it was time 

for Harry to get up as well).  Harry groaned and rolled over, 

pulling the covers over his head.

"Wake up, it's after 2," Ron said, pulling a sweater over his 

head.


"You're kidding!" Harry suddenly yelled, and practically 

catapulted himself out of his bed.  From there he began to 

throw clothes on.  Ron stopped and stared at his frantic 

friend.

"Geez Harry, you've got time.  The portkey for Hogsmeade 

doesn't leave until 3:00."

"That's today?!" he said, stopping as he was about to run 

out the door.

"Er, yeah, why else would you be running off like that?"

"Gah," Harry grimaced as he realized his error.  "Ron, I 

promised Michele we'd practice for the Defense Against 

the Dark Arts final today at 2, I'm already late.  You don't 

mind, do you?  Sorry, I'll make it up to you," Harry spat 

and, not waiting for Ron's response, ran from the room.

Ron glared and proceeded to mutter several choice phrases 

about Harry's girlfriend and Harry's definition of 

friendship.  As he grabbed his cloak, he suddenly 

remembered that this meant he might have to be alone with 

Hermione and started to swear even louder.  At least he was 

supposed to see Ginny; Hogwarts had designated that 

Saturday as a Hogsmeade visit day and Ron was happy to 

find that there was a portkey scheduled from his school as 

well.  They had plans to meet up at 4:00 in The Three 

Broomsticks, and Ron was looking forward to it (if not just 

for the butterbeer).  As he passed some windows he 

stopped; it was snowing pretty heavily, even for Canada.  

Transfixed by the snow, he didn't realize that time was 

passing until his watch said,

"Get moving you prat, the porktey leaves in 5 minutes!"  

Ron started, then ran down the hallway toward his 

destination, making a mental note to forgive Harry for 

abandoning him and thank him again for his birthday 

present (the talking watch). 


When he reached the room, he saw two students he didn't 

know and Hermione gathered around an empty milk carton, 

and a look at his watch told him he had only a minute to 

spare.

"Hi everyone," he said to the two girls, who smiled coyly.  

"Hey Hermione," he said quietly to Hermione.  She refused 

to even glare at him, and did not reply.


Ron was beginning to get worried; usually when they 

fought it was over the next day, or at the most two days 

later.  The last time they hadn't spoken to each other for 

over a week was when Hermione's cat Crookshanks "ate" 

Ron's "rat" Scabbers when they were 3rd years at 

Hogwarts.  Ron did not want a repeat of his 13th year on the 

planet.


"Hermione," he began solemnly, "I'm sorry for-" he was 

cut off as the portkey left for Hogsmeade.  He braced 

himself for the landing, and as soon as his feet were on the 

ground he opened his mouth to continue his apology.  

"Hermione, I'm sor..." he started, but trailed off as she 

dropped her hold on the milk carton and walked away, 

along with the two giggling girls from before.  Sighing in 

defeat, he did the same and went to do some shopping, 

sightseeing, and conversing with people from his past.

An hour later, Ron had visited all of the usual places when 

his watch started yelling at him again and he realized that it 

was time for him to be at The Three Broomsticks to meet 

Ginny.  Upon walking out of Honeydukes, he was almost 

blown back into the store with the force of the wind; it was 

snowing almost as hard there as it had been in Canada.  

Righting himself, he trudged out into the sea of white and 

muttered a spell that would point his wand in the direction 

of The Three Broomsticks.

At last he could make out the outline of the building 

through the blinding snow, and soon the door was visible.  

As he went to lay his mittened hand on the knob, a gloved 

one reached it at the same time.  Startled, he looked up only 

to be greeted by the eyes of Hermione, who quickly shifted 

her look from one of surprised curiosity to one of harsh 

apathy.  Ron decided to be a gentleman and stepped back to 

let her in first; however, she mistook his kindness for 

mockery and increased her look to an all out glare before 

walking in first anyway, slamming the door behind her.  

Ron sighed, re-opened the door, and followed. 


The pub was filled with people talking, laughing, and 

sipping their drinks.  Ron took off his winter hat and looked 

for an empty seat.  He found the only open seat at the bar, 

but to his dismay he saw that it was next to Hermione.  

Choosing her painful indifference over his painful feet, he 

bravely walked over, sat down, and ordered a hot 

butterbeer.  As soon as Madame Rosmerta had gone to get 

Ron's order, a group of people across the room left and 

Hermione hastily stood and walked to one of the just 

vacated seats.  The two girls from before, whom she 

apparently had become acquainted with, were with her.  

Ron shot a desolate look in her direction that she did not 

see.  Just then, Madame Rosmerta came back with Ron's 

butterbeer.


"Thank you," he said sadly with a sigh.


"Well," Madame Rosmerta chuckled.  "My butterbeer isn't 

that bad, is it?"


"What?  Oh, no!  I'm sorry," he said, snapping out of his 

trance.  "I've, er, got a lot on my mind."

"Really," Madame Rosmerta said, wiping out some glasses.  

"Like what?"


"It's just, well...I can handle it.  I'll be alright."  Ron 

decided that he would not tell Madame Rosmerta his life 

story.

She gave him a smile.  "I hope she forgives you soon."


Ron returned her grin with a weird look; she ignored it and 

continued to wipe out the glasses.  Sipping his butterbeer, 

he stole another longing glance at Hermione, who was 

involved in conversation with the two unnamed girls.  

Sighing, he took out a book he was reading and began to 

read (and read, and read) while he waited for Ginny.  He 

was just getting worried when Madame Rosmerta began to 

speak to him again.


"Are you by any chance Ron Weasley, a.k.a. the tall red-

headed dimwit with freckles and a big nose?" she asked.

Ron glared.  He was beginning to dislike this woman.  

"Yes, why?"

"This came for you before you got here, by owl.  I just 

remembered," she replied, tossing him an envelope.  It was 

from Ginny; she told him she was sorry but that Hogwarts 

had cancelled the Hogsmeade trip due to the weather.

"Great," Ron mumbled, exasperated by this point at how 

lousy his day had been going.  Just then, there was a 

tapping on the window, and Madame Rosmerta frowned 

and walked over.  She ducked and opened it, successfully 

avoiding the large gust of wind and snow, and also the 

feathery torpedo that crashed onto the bar.  The customers 

all laughed, and continued on with their conversations.  

Ron observed as Madame Rosmerta picked up the poor, 

shivering owl and draped a towel over its wings, taking the 

letter out of its talons in the process.  Her eyes scanned its 

contents, and then she shouted, "'Oy!  Anyone here from 

the Wizard University in Canada?"  Ron nodded, looked 

back, and saw Hermione and the two girls wave their 

hands.  "Just got owled by the school; they say that you're 

to stay here tonight because of the weather.  And for all the 

rest of you, I'm closing now for the same reason, so out!"  

Everyone let out a collective moan and began to protest.  

"Oh be quiet!  It's getting late, and the weather's horrible; 

most of you've been here since 5:00 anyway.  Go home to 

your families."  The customers resigned, and began to 

shuffle out (with much shooing from Madame Rosmerta).  

When everyone not staying overnight had cleared out, there 

were only the four students and their charms teacher 

Professor Moore left.


"Since you all insisted, I'll stay open a bit longer for you 

five."  The remaining people cheered, and Madame 

Rosmerta gave them all a round of free butterbeer.


Ron read and drank, read and drank, and read and drank 

until his book was finished and he had run out of money 

(simultaneously), and until he had to go to the bathroom so 

badly that he doubted he could make it to the other side of 

the room without wetting himself.  With a pang, he realized 

that to get to the bathroom would mean passing Hermione's 

table, but at that point nature was screaming louder than his 

senses, and he trotted away to pee.  After he had relieved 

himself, he realized that to get back to his seat he would 

have to pass by Hermione again, and this time he wouldn't 

be distracted by his full bladder.  Taking a deep breath (and 

ignoring the small voice in his head that told him it would 

be better to just take the long way and walk around the 

room), he set off, expecting the worst and getting 

something even worse than he expected; as he passed by 

her table she ignored him completely.  Ron stopped in 

exasperation.

"You could at least acknowledge my presence, you know," 

he shot.  The conversation that had been taking place 

between Hermione and her two new friends screeched to an 

abrupt halt, and she looked up at him dangerously.


"Why, Ron?" she began.  "I don't particularly like you 

anymore.  You're mean, contemptuous, and have no 

consideration for my feelings.  So please, leave me alone."

"I just want to apologize, Hermione," Ron answered in a 

supercilious tone.


"Well, I don't want to accept your apology!"  She was 

getting louder.  The two girls were beginning to get more 

and more involved.

"Geez, you point out all my faults all the time; maybe you 

could do to be a little more forgiving and a little less 

nitpicky, and maybe a little nicer!" he replied in a mean 

tone, suddenly no longer caring.


"That's it!" she shouted, throwing her hands down on the 

table and standing up with a loud creak as she kicked her 

chair back.  "Get away from me!  I don't want to talk to 

you ever again, didn't I make myself clear yesterday?"  The 

remaining two people who had not been staring before 

were now as engrossed as they could be.


"Well, you know what?  Good!  Because I don't want to 

talk you again either, and I sure as hell don't want to 

apologize anymore!" screamed Ron, stepping forward.  

Ron had never seen Hermione more livid than she was at 

that moment.

"Good!  Because I hate you, Ron!"

"Well, I love you-" Ron stopped as he realized the 

magnitude of what he had just said, and in fact, what he had 

just said (he was pretty sure he meant to say, "I hate you").  

The two girls, Professor Moore, and Madame Rosmerta 

were hanging on Ron and Hermione's every breath.  

Hermione looked frozen in horror.

Ron swallowed; his eyes darted around the room, observing 

the scene he had, in essence, created, and his lip began to 

tremble.  Then he did the only thing in the world that 

seemed logical for him to do at that moment in time: he 

ran.

***

Remus Lupin, dressed in the nicest robes he owned, stared 

up at the inscription above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes 

with apprehension in his eyes.  How many times had he 

said that phrase?  How many detentions had it resulted in?  

How often had he thought of it during later years, long after 

it was clear that nothing would ever be the same again?  

Shaking himself back to his senses, he stood tall and proud 

and recited, as if saying an old familiar prayer: 


"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."  The door 

creaked open, and Remus Lupin pushed through and into 

the great beyond.


He was instantly aware of a small tinge in the back of his 

mind that jumped in excitement and wanted to buy 

everything in the store.  One look around told him that the 

Weasleys' inventions had probably revolutionized the 

pranking profession (and doubled the quantity of items on 

the list of forbidden objects at Hogwarts).  He wistfully 

wished it would have been open when he was in school; 

how much fun they would have had, how many more gray 

hairs they would have given Filch...

"Excuse me, may I help you?" Remus heard Fred or 

George call from the counter behind him.  When he turned, 

he saw a look of pleased recognition pass over Fred or 

George's face.

"Professor Lupin!" the as yet unidentified twin grinned as 

he vaulted over the counter to shake his hand.  Remus was 

surprised; he hadn't been greeted like that by anyone but 

Sirius since the newspaper article.  "So, what brings you 

here?  Oh, it's George by the way," George said, to Remus' 

relief.

"Good to see you George, the shop looks great," Remus 

began.  George bowed.  "Actually, I came for a job 

interview..." he paused as he saw George get a little 

confused.

"Aren't you a teacher?" he asked Remus.

"Well, I'm a bit of an everything," he answered, 

uncomfortably.

"Okay then, I'll go get Fred," George dutifully answered, 

showing Remus to the "office," which was filled with piles 

upon piles of papers and three chairs.  Remus sat himself 

down and waited, well aware of the muted conversation 

that was taking place outside the door.

"Wait, Lupin?"

"Yeah, I told you, Remus Lupin."

"Our Defense Against the Dark Arts werewolf teacher 

Lupin?"

"Yes, like I said."

"Are you sure?"

"It's definitely him."

"Didn't he see the part where it said something about a 

'sense of humor?'"

"He could have a sense of humor."

"He's a teacher, none of them have a sense of humor."

"We at least owe him the interview, Fred."

"Fine, let's go."

"After you."

Remus couldn't help but laugh at the account he was going 

to give Sirius.  The interview was going so well, and it 

hadn't even started yet.


The door opened, and Remus greeted Fred, who returned 

the hello, and then sat with his twin in the two unoccupied 

chairs.

"So," George began, paging through Remus' resume, 

"extensive collection of jobs here, Professor Lupin-"

"Look," Remus said, sighing resignedly, "Let me give this 

to you straight."  Fred and George stared at him with 

surprised interest.  "I've been looking for a job for two 

years now.  Not one person will hire me; I'll leave the 

reason unsaid, I think you both know why.  I have 

bookkeeping experience, I can do whatever you want me to 

do and probably more."

	The twins looked at each other as if silently reading 

one another's thoughts.  George finally spoke.

	"Professor Lupin, that's all well and good, but you 

were our teacher at Hogwarts...how much of a sense of 

humor can you have?  We've had plenty of people apply, 

all with qualifications like yours, but we don't want 

someone who's going to leave when they find out how we 

conduct business...which, incidentally, is very 

unprofessional, if you will."

Remus looked down.  It had come to this, had it?  "I have 

much more of a sense of humor than either of you know," 

he said.

"Oh really, professor?" Fred said, leaning back and putting 

his feet up on a large pile of papers, crossing his legs 

defiantly.  "How so?"

Remus took a breath.  "You're familiar with Moony, 

Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?" he asked quietly.  Fred 

and George nodded.  "Well, I'm Moony."  The twins 

attained identical looks of bewilderment.

"Excuse me?" George asked.

"Moony," Remus answered.

"You're WHO?" Fred questioned.

"Moony," Remus answered yet again.

"No," Fred said, shaking his head.

"Yes," Remus replied, nodding his.  "The Marauders Map 

that you treasured so dearly at Hogwarts?"

Fred and George nodded.

"My idea."

Fred stood at this.  "Prove it," he affronted.

Remus coolly stood as well and accepted the challenge.  

"Secret passages to Hogsmeade that Filch never found out 

about, excluding the whomping willow passage: statue of 

the one-eyed witch.  Tap her hump with your wand, say 

Dissendium, her rear will open and you come out in the 

basement of Honeydukes.  The second one is behind the 

small mirror in the first floor hallway, right next to the huge 

mirror that everyone pays attention to.  Tap the mirror and 

say 'Let me in,' and you'll end up below Zonko's."

"Too easy," George said, shaking his head.

"Fine.  Secret passage to the Slytherin common room from 

the Gryffindor common room: climb halfway up the 

fireplace.  Tap the black brick with your wand and 

command it to open; the brick will expand and open up, 

and you turn left at the first fork or else you end up behind 

a portrait in McGonagall's office, and then turn right at the 

second, or else you end up in Snape's, and then you push 

aside the third tapestry and you're there."

Both Fred and George were rendered speechless, and then 

suddenly both were groveling on the floor.

"Forgive us for doubting," Fred said.  "We knew not what 

we were doing!"

Remus began to look oddly at them.  "Get up, stop it," he 

said, a little surprised (and a little frightened).  They obeyed 

him immediately.  "So, can I have the job then?"

"Can he have the job then.  Of course you can have the job, 

professor-"

"You can call me Remus, Fred, you're my superior now if I 

remember correctly," Remus smirked.

"No, we will never measure up to your greatness."

Whatever you say, Remus thought, trying to contain his 

laughter.

"You can start Monday, is that alright?"

***

Ron didn't run far; he stopped just outside of the door to 

the pub and leaned against the building, resisting the urge 

to pound his head against the wall while the snowflakes 

stung his face.  It wasn't long before he felt frozen (his 

cloak was still inside on the bar counter), but given the 

choice between death and facing the incorrigible mess he 

had created inside, he would have chosen death in a second.  

It was for this reason that he sat, huddled against the wall, 

wishing that everything was just a dream.  After a few 

minutes, the door to the pub opened and Professor Moore 

appeared, squinting out into the distance for some sign of 

Ron.

"Inside, inside!  You'll freeze," Professor Moore said when 

he saw Ron, and held the door open for him.

"That's the idea," Ron mumbled, closing his eyes and 

bracing himself for the real ice storm inside.

However, when he entered he heard nothing, no laughter, 

no heckling, not even talking.  Opening his eyes, he saw an 

empty pub save Madame Rosmerta, who was cleaning the 

bar, and his Professor who, with a pitying look, almost 

immediately bid him goodnight and ascended the staircase 

to the rooms above.  Ron walked over to one of the tables 

and lay his head in his arms, wishing it all to end, not 

realizing that he was dozing off.

Several hours later Ron woke up, and for a blissful second 

thought it was all a dream; then he realized he was at a 

table in the darkened pub and reality collided into him with 

the force of a truck.  The darkness surrounded Ron; a single 

lamp was lit near the staircase, and by its meager light Ron 

was able to see a note with a key attached to it (reading 

"Room 3, sleep well), his book, and his cloak lying on the 

table next to where his head had been.  He had finally 

resigned himself to the reality of his irreversible 

predicament, and was about to take his things and ascend 

the staircase to his room when he saw a pair of big eyes 

staring at him from across the pub.  Further observation led 

him to see that the eyes belonged to Hermione.

The first thought that came to his mind was that he should 

say something, so he opened his mouth to speak.  After he 

did this, he realized that he had no idea what to say, so he 

closed it again.  Immediately following this, he got the idea 

of reiterating his rehearsed apology from earlier, so he 

opened his mouth again; however, he remembered that she 

hadn't wanted to hear the apology, so he closed it again.  

After that, he thought that he should tell her how he felt, 

how much he loved her and how sorry he was for having 

caused her pain, and opened his mouth yet again, but he 

thought that he might sound like a pansy, so he shut it.  

Then the thought of taking everything back and running 

upstairs dawned on him, so he opened his mouth yet again; 

however, a little voice in the back of his head told him that 

this was a stupid thing to do so he closed it-

"You look like a fish," Hermione said with a smirk on her 

face.  Ron finally accepted the fact that he didn't know 

what to say, and for once said nothing.

There was a long pause.  He stared in her direction, a look 

of anguished sorrow residing on his face, watching her 

stare harshly at him and wishing that this would all end. 

"So this is why you've been so horrible; you've been 

jealous."

"Congratulations, you've figured me out," Ron mumbled, 

though he knew Hermione could hear him.

"Look," Hermione sighed, voice remaining strict.  "You 

were a real prick, Ron and you really hurt me...don't deny 

it, because you know it's true, and don't grab your stuff and 

run away either."

Damn, Ron thought, there go options one and two.  More 

silence passed, though it wasn't as harsh this time.  

Hermione had softened noticeably; apparently, she had 

gotten part of the message that his face was trying to 

convey.  An expression of pained thought crossed Ron's 

countenance as he realized what he would have to do.  "I'm 

sorry about you and Viktor...I know you loved him."

"Probably at one point," Hermione said, sighing.  

"Well, I'm still sorry.  How have you been doing?  Have 

you been okay?"

"I've been managing...it's hard, but I'm alive."  She 

shrugged and began to play with a napkin.

"What happened between you two anyway?" Ron asked 

innocently.

Hermione reddened, and looked down.

 "Come on, you can tell me..." 

Finally, Hermione sighed.  "Promise you won't laugh?" 

"Weasley honor."

"I'm not convinced."

"Well, it's all I've got."

"Fine," Hermione huffed.  After a brief pause, she 

mumbled "Hedumefermila."

"What?"

"He dumped me for Amelia.  You know, my supermodel 

roommate..."

"Oh," Ron said, surprised, "I'm...er, sorry..." Stop it, 

Weasley, he thought as he tried to contain his laughter, 

contorting his face in the process.

Hermione gave him a stern glare.

"Wh-what?  I'm not laughing," Ron replied, his voice 

wavering desperately.  They both stood in silence for a 

minute, but finally Ron couldn't hold it in any longer and 

let out a snort.

"Ron," Hermione threatened.

Ron continued to shake with his laughter, and began to turn 

red from the effort of keeping it bottled up.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione continued, but the effect was 

lessened as her voice was broken by her own giggles 

seeping through her stern tone.  Soon, they were both 

laughing together, on separate sides of the room.  

When they had stopped a few minutes later, Hermione, still 

with a hint of a chuckle in her voice, said,

"You can come over here and sit down, you know."

Ron immediately grabbed his things and obliged, but when 

he got there silence again took over the room and the two 

carefully avoided each other's glances.  Ron was beginning 

to get antsy from the intense quiet.

"Are you still mad?" he asked.

She shook her head; he felt relief fall upon him like a 

grateful summer breeze.

  The ticking of the clock on the wall soon became 

noticeable as the conversation lapsed again.  Hermione's 

eyes finally met Ron's, and their gazes stuck for a minute 

or two.

"You really are a dolt.  You know that, don't you?" she 

quipped.

Ron smiled and nodded, still staring into her eyes.  

Hermione was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable.

"And another thing, you really need to find a more 

effective way to express your feelings."

His grin widened and he nodded even more broadly than 

before, his eyes not moving from hers though her eyes were 

darting around in nervousness.

"Also, you-"  Ron suddenly leaned closer to her and put 

his finger to her lips, effectively shushing her for the time 

being.

Her eyes no longer moved; they were fixed in his.  The 

sound of both of their breathing became painfully apparent 

to her as he began to lean his face closer to hers.  She could 

soon feel his breath on her cheek, her skin tingled where his 

hand touched her face, her heart began to beat faster...

"Goodnight!" she squeaked when his face was millimeters 

away, and shot out of her chair and toward the stairs.

"Hey!" Ron yelled, offended, stopping her halfway across 

the room.  "What gives?"  When she turned back to look at 

him, he had a hurt look on his face and was about as red as 

she had ever seen him before.  "I mean...don't you..."  

For the fifth time that night, they were both rendered 

speechless.

Ron slowly walked over to where Hermione was standing, 

and put his hands on her arms.

"Ron..." Hermione began shakily, "I don't..."  The 

crushed look that appeared on his face stopped her from 

going any further.  Hermoine found herself unable to 

answer.

She had meant for it to be a quick kiss and a dash up the 

stairs, but he had held her there much longer than she had 

meant to stay.  She soon pushed away from him and ran, 

tripping over a chair as she did so but continuing on 

anyway.  Ron watched her with reverence from behind, 

sitting in a chair and staring after her for a bit before he 

finally went up to bed.

***

"Good seeing you again, and thank you," Remus Lupin 

said, shaking the hands of both Fred and George perhaps 

more vigorously than he would have liked.  "Mind if I 

apparate?"

"No, not at all," George said.  "See you Monday, 

Professor!" 

Remus smiled and nodded, and with a small pop he was 

gone from the store and in the kitchen at the flat.

"Sirius, I'm back!  I got the job!" he called, waiting for 

Sirius to bound in and yell, "Yes!  I knew it!" and say 

something witty.  However, nothing happened.  Must still 

be asleep, Remus thought; he isn't on call today.  Oh well, 

it's time for him to be awake anyway.  "Black, I got the 

job!" Remus yelled, opening the door to Sirius' room and 

expecting Sirius to yell something rude, roll over, and fall 

back asleep.

However, a very different sight greeted Remus' eyes when 

he burst into Sirius' room.  The first thing he noticed was 

that the bed was empty.  The room had been literally 

trashed; the curtains were torn, the floor was scratched and 

charred along with various items of clothing, and the bed 

had been broken, the bedclothes torn, and the mattress 

ripped apart.  On the floor near the door, there was a piece 

of parchment with writing in a distinct red ink.  Shaking, 

Remus leaned over and picked it up, afraid to read the 

contents, eyes unwilling to believe them when they did.

***

Hermione looked at her watch; it was 3:00.  Ron had to be 

awake by now.  She excused herself from the nearly empty 

pub (the weather persisted and patrons were few) and 

climbed the stairs to Ron's room with intentions of waking 

him.  Where they would go from there, she didn't know; 

when the other four inquired after what had happened the 

night before, all she told them was that they had forgiven 

each other.  Room 1...Room 2...Room 3.  Hermione 

knocked.

"Ron, you there?" she called.  No answer.  "I'm coming in, 

you lazy prat," she called again, tapping the doorknob with 

her wand and muttering "Alohomora."

What she saw inside caused her to gasp.  The room was in 

shambles; there had obviously been a struggle.  The bed 

was empty, and blankets and little bits of the dilapidated 

mattress were torn, charred, and spread about the room.  

The window was broken.  Near her feet she saw a note and 

did not hesitate to pick it up and read it.  Scrawled in what 

looked like red ink (Hermione did not want to think of what 

else it could be) were the words:

 
This makes two.  You're next, Harry Potter.
 

Chapter 10
 

	"Is something wrong, Michele?" Harry asked over 

lunch.

"No, nossing is wrong," she said quickly, with an angelic 

smile.  "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Harry began, suspicions fading as he looked in her 

eyes.  "You've been...distant lately," he murmured as she 

drank from her pumpkin juice.

"I sink zat you are full of it, 'Arry.  Loosen up a little."

He smiled at her, grateful of the way that she could make 

him melt.  Maybe he was in love.

"Are we still going to practice today?" Michele asked.  "I 

'aven't forgiven you for being late yesterday, you know."

"I'm really, really sorry about that," Harry replied, a look 

of genuine repentance on his face.  "It will never..." he 

stopped as she started to laugh.

"I was just kidding, 'Arry.  Besides, any grudges I 'ave will 

end when I beat you in our Quidditch match next week."

"Heh, you wish," Harry grinned.

"No, you do.  Now come on, let's go," Michele said, 

smiling mischievously and, or at least Harry liked to think, 

seductively.

They had just reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts 

practice room when Snape emerged from his office.

"Potter," he said, surprisingly without a sneer, "I need to 

speak with you.  Alone.  Please step into my office."

"What about, sir?" Harry asked, unwilling to leave 

Michele.

"It's a rather personal matter, and will be discussed in my 

office.  Now, if you please."

Harry sighed and turned toward Michele, who was looking 

a little exasperated.  He then looked back at Snape.  "How 

long will this take?"

"Honestly, I expect it to occupy a good portion of your 

day."

"You can go, then," he told Michele, disappointed.  She 

walked off in a huff, upset that her afternoon had been 

spoiled, and he looked after her, surprised that Snape was 

being as patient as he was.

After she had disappeared around a corner he followed 

Snape into his office, and the sight of the interior caused 

him to jump.  Seated in chairs were a worried Remus, a 

tearful Hermione, and a solemn Professor Dumbledore.

"What..." Harry began, a funny feeling forming in the pit 

of his stomach.

"Please sit down.  We have some bad news," said Snape as 

he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk.  Harry 

slowly sat in the only vacant seat.


"Harry," Professor Dumbledore began, "You know that 

Voldemort is back."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked suddenly, realizing that Ron's 

absence was an oddity due to Hermione's presence.  The 

feeling became worse as Hermione began to cry.  "Wait a 

minute, where's Sirius?  If this is such a serious situation, 

where's Sirius?"  No one spoke.  Harry's breath choked to 

a stop in his throat.  "Are they...did Voldemort..."

"We don't know, Harry.  They've been taken," 

Dumbledore finally said gravely.  "Between last night and 

this morning, both Sirius and Ron have disappeared from 

their beds; their rooms were found in shambles and notes 

were left.  Here they are," Dumbledore stopped, showing 

Harry two pieces of parchment and answering his silent 

question, "but please, do not be too alarmed at their 

contents, someone is obviously trying to scare you-"

"They're doing a bloody good job!" Harry yelled, 

momentarily losing his temper.  He sat back and closed his 

eyes, trying to regain his composure.  "Sorry," he said 

softly.  Hermione was now crying more than ever, and 

Remus moved over to put a hand on her shoulder.  "May I 

see the letters, Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore silently obliged, and Harry silently read them 

over.  
 


Here's the first one.
 
This makes two.  You're next, Harry Potter.
 


The Dark Mark was at the bottom of both pieces of 

parchment. 

Harry closed his eyes again, pushing himself to keep the 

little amount of composure that he had left.  "What now?" 

he asked.

"We have people looking.  There are already some leads," 

Dumbledore said.

"Don't lie when you answer this question.  Do you honestly 

think that they are alive?"

"I don't know.  It is likely that they are alive, and 

Voldemort is trying to lure you into looking for them."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.  

"What am I to do, then?"

"Stay here in school.  Increased security measures are being 

taken, and you are not, under any conceivable 

circumstances, to leave the protection of the grounds and/or 

go into an area where you know there will be any kind of 

trouble.  Understood?"

Harry nodded numbly, unaware of the fact that his lip was 

trembling.

"I will owl you every day to tell you any news regarding 

the situation." 

Harry nodded again.

"Severus will be watching out for you here.  Please make 

an effort to continue with your studies, and if anything-

and I mean anything-out of the ordinary happens, you are 

to owl me immediately and then go to Severus.  Is 

everything clear?"

Harry nodded yet again.  "Sorry about earlier," he muttered 

apologetically.

"It is alright and understandable.  Now, I must get back to 

Hogwarts.  Miss Weasley is in quite a state, and I am afraid 

that panic may spread once word of the disappearances 

travels.  I will contact you soon.  Please accompany me, 

Severus, I would like to speak with you."  Dumbledore left 

with Snape, and soon only Remus, Harry, and Hermione 

were in the room.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice wavering.  "Why the hell is 

this happening?  Why doesn't he just take me and be done 

with it?"

"Don't say that," Hermione said quietly.

"I will be looking for them personally," Remus said.  

"Believe me, this won't be a pathetic attempt at a search."

Harry nodded.  "I know," he said.

"I wish I could stay longer, but I have to get started," 

Remus said, standing up.  "Right when I get a job, I have to 

go and ask my employers for time off so I can search for 

their missing brother."

"Who?" Harry asked, pleased that Remus had finally gotten 

a job but too upset to show it.

"Fred and George Weasley.  I'm their bookkeeper and 

more."

"They don't know yet?"

"No.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were owled before we came, 

and probably have yet to even read the letter let alone write 

their children.  Hermione owled Ginny from Hogsmeade, 

or else she wouldn't know either."

Harry nodded, and Remus bid him and Hermione goodbye 

and then left.

Harry found himself staring at the floor, but was interrupted 

when Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get out of here, it gives me the creeps," she 

muttered.  Harry nodded, and they both left for their tower 

and eventually ended up in Hermione's dorm room.  She 

proceeded to burst into tears again, and Harry resumed 

staring at the floor.

"It's going to be alright, Harry, I think, I hope," she 

moaned, still crying.  He started to laugh despite himself.

"What a picture we must make, eh?" he joked, hugging 

Hermione tightly.  "You crying your eyes out, and you're 

comforting me."  She returned the hug and also started to 

laugh through her tears.  They pulled apart, and both 

managed to regain some semblence of composure.

"What happened at Hogsmeade?" Harry asked

"Just what Dumbledore said.  I walked upstairs to get Ron, 

and his room was torn apart.  There was a note on the floor; 

you saw it.  No one heard anything suspicious before then, 

it was a complete shock."

"No clues at all as to whom it may have been?"

"You know what I know."  

Harry went back to staring at the floor.  Hermione stared 

nervously at him, wishing he would do something else.  

"They want you, Harry."

"No, really?" he mumbled.

"Don't be sarcastic with me right now!" Hermione snapped, 

turning away from him and wringing her hands.  "I can't 

take it, alright?"

"Sorry," Harry said tentatively, looking at her.  "I stand by 

what I said earlier; I wish they would just take me and have 

it over with."

Hermione didn't answer; she was crying again.  Harry went 

back to staring at the floor.

"Well, what are we going to do about this?" she asked, 

suddenly moving her watery gaze to him.  Harry looked 

oddly at her.

"Um, what Dumbledore said," he answered.

"Oh please, Harry," Hermione shot, her voice contradicting 

her tear stained face.  "Spare me.  You always say that, 

then sooner or later you get lured out of the school and into 

danger, unprotected, and are forced into a head to head 

battle with Voldemort."

Harry paused.  "Oh yeah.  Well, I suppose we wait until 

that happens then."  

"I hate this.  We're in this situation too often...we're 

running more than we're living."

Harry felt something solidify inside him, and he knew that 

he wasn't going to run anymore; however, he didn't 

vocalize his thoughts.  He sat with Hermione, her 

comforting him and vice versa, until dinner.  

***

Ron was sweating and trembling; he was clad only in his 

shorts and he felt the heat of nearby fire stinging him all 

over his exposed skin.  There was a high, cold laugh in the 

background, and then the pain began.  It coursed through 

every capillary in his body, and his every last cell was 

screaming in hot, burning agony.  His pupils were dilated; 

his breath came in short gasps; it was nearly impossible to 

see his surroundings, even after the blinding pain came to 

an end.  It didn't matter.  Nothing mattered anymore.  The 

pain would return in one way or another, it was all a matter 

of time.  He could have sworn he heard thunder, but the 

only concrete thing he had deduced was that he was 

underground.   It didn't matter because the pain was back 

again, like fire, burning, throbbing, and pulsing...

Harry woke up, sweating, trembling, and scared until he 

realized that it had just been another dream.  He flicked on 

the light, pulled out a parchment, and blindly scribbled,

 
	Dumbledore,

		Dream.  Ron.  Cruciatus Curse. Fire.  

Darkness.  Pain.  Underground.  Scar's hurting.

	Harry
 

	"Hedwig," he called groggily, trying to ignore the 

blinding pain (he had been keeping Hedwig in his room 

instead of the owlrey due to his dreams).  His owl obeyed, 

and he tied the note to her leg and collapsed backwards 

onto the bed.  Unwilling to close his eyes again, he took a 

quick glance at his watch ("Go back to sleep") and sighed.  

He hadn't slept well for a week.  Each time his head hit the 

pillow, he dreamed of either Sirius or Ron, always waking 

up trembling around 4:00am in a pool of sweat with his 

scar hurting.  Though their surroundings seemed vaguely 

familiar, he always woke up before he had time to place 

them.  He grabbed his glasses, put a shirt on, and walked 

down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast, disregarding 

how he looked because he just didn't care.  

	This week was sent with compliments from hell, he 

thought as he walked.  There had been no news on the 

whereabouts of his missing friend and godfather, and the 

only clues they received were in the form of Harry's 

dreams (Dumbledore supposed them to be true).  He had 

been practicing with Michele all week for the Defense 

Against the Dark Arts exam, but he still got the nagging 

feeling that something wasn't right.  She usually kissed it 

away when he was in her presence for more than 10 

minutes, but he still felt apprehensive over something.  It 

was probably love, he decided.  Maybe he would tell her 

his feelings after he cleaned her clock in Quidditch later 

that day. 

	Reaching the cafeteria, he found it empty, as it 

usually was at that time of the morning.  Sitting forlornly 

with his orange juice and pop tart, he prayed that Sirius and 

Ron were alright.

***

	"Potter and Bender are circling the field, no doubt 

looking for the other to either mess up or find the snitch.  

Potter, as I'm sure you all know, defeated Viktor Krum in 

an amazing race for our favorite little winged golden ball 

earlier in the season; however, Bender has proven herself a 

very worthy seeker as well, losing only once so far to the 

great Viktor Krum himself.  And it looks like St. Michael is 

all patched up down there, so on with the match!"

	Harry vaguely heard the commentary as he darted 

around, trying to shake off

Michele.  Something's wrong, he thought; the way she was 

acting did not suggest friendly competition, but it did hint 

that she was out for blood.  He heard cheers and saw that 

Tower 2 had scored yet again; he flew down behind the 

reserve keeper and shouted a few words of encouragement.  

It seemed to work, and he caught the next few quaffles.

	Harry darted left, and Michele darted left.  Harry 

dove, so did Michele. He looked back; he could see the fire 

in her eyes.  As he was doing this, she suddenly accelerated 

and pulled ahead of him; he saw the snitch at the same time 

and was off like a shot.  The cold wind slapped against his 

face and pushed back his hair.  It easily penetrated his robes 

and he could feel his skin tingling at its touch. He 

accelerated as hard as he could and he pulled ahead of 

Michele, just in time to grab it before she did.


	The crowd roared, but Harry didn't notice; he was 

flying next to Michele, who was giving him a defeated 

smile and telling him quietly that he had done well.  He 

halfheartedly accepted the congratulations he received from 

members of his tower and teachers alike, all the while 

knowing that Sirius and Ron should have been there.

	Through it all, he noticed Michele disappear.

***

	"Michele!  Wait up!"  Harry called, sprinting to 

catch up to her in the hall.  She stopped and smiled.

	"Salut," she said as he kissed her hello.  She 

returned it halfheartedly.

	"Are you mad at me for catching the snitch?"

	"No, 'Arry-"

	"Good, because there's something I need to say to 

you, Michele," Harry said happily, not noticing just how 

forced her smile had become.

	"Wait, 'Arry, I-"

	"No, you wait, if I don't say this now I never will.  

Michele, I think I'm in love with you."

	"'Arry-"

	"Look, I know it's sudden, but I'm so sure about 

this.  You've been so good to me this past week...I don't 

think I could have survived it without you."

	"Please, 'Arry-"

	"Wait, I'm not done.  This isn't being brought on 

just because of this week though, I swear."

	"'Arry please let me-"

	"I really, truly, honestly love you, I have for awhile, 

but I just haven't had the courage to say it-"

	"'I'm seeing someone else!" Michele finally cried 

out.  

Harry literally froze.

	"I've been trying to tell you ever since you started 

talking..."

	"Oh," he replied shortly, blinking.

"I am sorry, 'Arry, but it iz over...."  With that, she walked 

away very quickly without so much as a hint of wanting to 

look back.

	Harry didn't move.  It wasn't true, he wasn't going 

to believe it, this was all a dream...and yet, there she was, 

walking away from him.  A single desperate thought 

suddenly crept into his mind.  "Wait!" Harry called just as 

she was about to turn the corner.  She stopped and looked 

at him.  "Who?" he asked.  People were crossing between 

them in the crowded hallway, laughing and talking as if the 

world had not just ended.  Michele hesitated.

	"...Draco Malfoy."  Then she was gone.

	Harry walked around in a daze, looking for 

someone, anyone he knew that would offer him solace.  

Ron was gone, Sirius was gone, Hermione was holed up in 

the lab, Remus was busy and wouldn't reply to his owl for 

days, and his girlfriend, the only one who had been a help 

to him for the worst week of his life, had just dumped him 

for his worst enemy.

	Unable to hold up his manly façade for any longer, 

he climbed the stairs to his room, lay on his bed, and cried 

to himself for over an hour before going to practice as hard 

as he could for his exam the next day.  He had foolish 

hopes that he would become so tired that dreams would not 

plague him, and perhaps he could finally have a normal, 

only semi-tortured sleep.

***

	Hermione had entered the zone, and she had no 

plans to stop working anytime soon.  It was 5:00am, and 

she hadn't slept since the night before, but it was nothing 

that a handy energy charm couldn't fix.  Her hands moved 

the quill across the parchment like fire going through dried 

grass, and her mind was working as it never had before.  

Everything was clicking, everything was working, and she 

could do no wrong.  She didn't notice that the only candle 

still lit in the room had burned itself down to a nub or that 

the fire had extinguished itself long ago.  All she knew was 

the parchment, her quill, and the melding of Avada 

Kedavra to the shield spell.  She didn't notice the sweat 

dripping down her temples until it landed on the parchment, 

and with a quick wipe it was gone.  Ron, she thought, 

wherever you are, you'd better appreciate this.

***

	They were both there this time, in the familiar 

underground cavern, surrounded by fire, surrounded by 

pain, surrounded by darkness.  Something was different, 

though, however similar the circumstances were...This 

time, he could see him.  His beady, snake-like eyes 

protruded from his sick, gray face; the sinister smile he 

gave sent a shiver down his spine.  

	"I know you can hear me, Potter," he sneered.

***

	Hermione suddenly pushed too hard on the quill and 

it snapped, splattering ink all over the blank parchment.  

Without a second thought, she grabbed her wand, muttered 

a spell, and watched the parchment return to its previous 

state of order.  She glanced at her watch; four hours had 

gone by, and the candle she lit three hours ago suddenly 

went out like the one before it, and the one before that.  

"Accio Candle," she said, waited for a candle to jump into 

her hand, and then lit it with her favorite fire spell and 

continued.  She didn't dare believe it, but an end was 

coming into sight.

***

	"Have you been having a good week, Harry Potter?  

Especially in your dreams?" Voldemort asked as he put the 

Cruciatus Curse on Sirius and allowed Harry to 

simultaneously watch and feel his pain. "Enjoying this little 

slice?"

	He prodded Sirius with his wand and the curse 

stopped, leaving Sirius panting and trembling from the wall 

he was hanging on.  The metal cuffs clinked against the 

stone and made his breathing oddly apparent.  Something 

was suddenly familiar about the surroundings, but he did 

not have time to reflect.  "Don't answer, I can tell you've 

been having fun."  He moved on to Ron, and Harry felt his 

insides burn.  Voldemort snorted.  "Harry, love, don't 

worry...they will be put out of their misery shortly.

***

	She pushed, and pushed, and pushed, ignoring the 

pain in her hand, praying that it was the right thing to do.  

Her watch said 12:00pm, but it was Sunday and that meant 

that no one would be coming in to work.  She didn't care; 

she didn't have time.  Something inside her told her that it 

was then or never, and so she pushed more, finishing yet 

another parchment.  Checking it carefully for nonexistent 

errors, she moved on to the next and possibly last 

parchment that she would need.

***

	"I can just feel you panicking, you insolent child.  

Barely wizarding age, and already infused with the thought 

that you or anyone else could possibly stop me."  Harry 

couldn't have answered even if he had wanted to.  

"Remember this?"  Voldemort suddenly pointed his wand 

at Ron and shouted a familiar curse; Ron proceeded to 

violently retch slugs down his front and onto the stone 

floor.  "I know it all, Harry Potter. I've been aided, of 

course, but he hardly did it of his own accord, so I will take 

the credit.  I know your hopes, your fears, your silly and 

pointless ambitions...and the manner in which the two 

people you care for most will die."  He put the curse on 

Sirius as well, seemingly just for kicks.  "Am I the only one 

out of the two of us that is able to see the irony in that?" he 

asked with a hint of a cold smile.

***

	Time had flown and dragged simultaneously.  She 

was virtually at the end, and only one problem remained: 

would she be able to cast the spell once it was finished?  

The last one had been so difficult that no one could perform 

it except for Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the 

world.  She was not Dumbledore.  Therefore, even 

according to Darwinian logic, she could not perform the 

spell if it were as difficult as the last one.  She saw the 

sample spiders in the jar to her right and, as she hesitantly 

wrote down her final equation and solution, hoped.

***

	"I'll be generous, Potter. I am feeling generous 

today."  With that, he again performed the Cruciatus Curse 

on both of his victims; Harry could neither watch nor look 

away.  "I'll give you the time."  He stood back and watched 

Ron and Sirius tremble on the wall and spew slugs out of 

their mouths.  Harry would have gasped if he could have; 

Ron's eyes had rolled back into his head.

	"Let's say, oh, 8:00pm tonight.  No, even better, 

9:00pm.  I'll let them live in another hour of pain, just for 

you."  Voldemort finally removed the curse; by this time, 

both Ron and Sirius were even more limp and motionless, 

if possible.  As Harry took in the appearance of the wall 

and the shackles, a memory that he never wanted to think 

of again began to play inside his head.  "And as for where 

they are," Voldemort sneered, "I'll leave that to you...Oh, 

and good luck on your exam; I wouldn't miss it-if I were 

you, anyway.  Good evening, Potter."

***

	A purple jet of light seemed to fly from Hermione's 

wand and engulf the frail body of the spider in a purple 

bubble; the spider kept crawling, and soon the bubble faded 

into transparency.  Hermione fell back into her chair, 

panting, breathless, and speechless.  She could not actually 

test the spell, of course; if it were successful, she would be 

killed when the killing curse reflected off of the 

unassuming spider and hit her, the person who had cast 

Avada Kedavra.  However, she did not think of such things; 

it had to work, it just had to.  

	She was finished.

***

Harry tried to hang onto his vision, despite the pain and 

torture, as he was forcefully brought back into 

consciousness.  Everything was more familiar than he 

wanted to admit; the stone walls and the floor, the 

atmosphere... Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

	He knew where they were.
 

Chapter 11
 

	Harry jumped out of bed and looked at his watch.  It 

was 5:00pm; the dream/vision/whatever it was had 

obviously kept him asleep for that long.  He ignored the 

fact that he was sweating and hungry; his Defense Against 

the Dark Arts exam was to begin at 7:00 that evening, and 

he had a feeling that if he missed it something very, very 

bad would happen.  Hermione, go find Hermione, he 

suddenly thought.  First, Owl Dumbledore; second, find 

Snape... he had no idea what to do first, his thoughts were 

so jumbled.  Dumbledore is first priority, a mercifully sane 

voice in the back of his head told him, and he called 

Hedwig from his perch, thankful for Canada's efficient 

international owling system that would get his letter to 

Dumbledore in 4 hours instead of 3 days.  It's still too late, 

he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, but 

continued writing anyway.
 

	Professor Dumbledore,

		I had another, more vivid dream.  Voldemort 

has Sirius and Ron in the secret dungeons underneath the 

school.  He is going to kill them at 9:00 tonight, I just woke up, 

please believe me, or I would have written earlier.  I'll figure 

something out, but whatever is going to happen, please let the 

Weasleys know that I did everything I could, and tell them that 

I love them like parents and thank them, just in case.

	Harry.

	P.S. To get into the dungeons, go to the potions room, 

tap the pentagon brick in the center, and say Dissendium.

 

	Harry practically threw Hedwig out the window and 

then hastily grabbed the first things he found on the floor 

and threw them on.  Snape was next, he decided, and 

sprinted to the Defense Against the Dark Arts wing, not 

believing that he was actually going to confide in Snape.  

Out of breath and heaving, he reached Snape's office just 

as the teacher was leaving and almost crashed into him in 

the hallway.

	"Potter?" Snape asked, confused.

	"Professor," Harry panted, "I know where Ron and 

Sirius are!  He's going to kill them at 9:00 tonight-"

	"Calm down," Snape said.  "Did you owl 

Dumbledore?"

	"Yes!" Harry shouted, deeply distressed.

"Harry, please sit down and listen to me."

Harry did not sit down, but he did listen.

"Voldemort was just threatening you.  If you go to 'rescue' 

them, you will be walking directly into a trap.  In my 

opinion-and believe me, I was a Death Eater, it's well 

founded-you should stay and wait for Dumbledore's reply 

before you do anything rash.  You have the Defense 

Against the Dark Arts exam to take tonight, and you have 

to be there.  Understand?"  

Harry blinked; he could have sworn he saw Snape 

twitching oddly throughout his unusually calm (and 

unusually nice, and unusually uncharacteristic) speech.  

Something - he couldn't put his finger on it - wasn't right.  

He nodded slowly in response to Snape's inquiry.

"Good.  Now go eat something and prepare; the exam 

begins in an hour and a half."

Harry walked out of the dungeons, but began to sprint 

again as soon as he turned the corner.  Snape stepped into 

his office and muttered to a dark, cloaked figure.

"He'll be at the exam, I'm sure of it.  Carry out as 

planned."

Meanwhile, Harry was racing toward Tower 7 when he 

literally bumped into Hermione as she was doing the same.

"Sorry," they both said without thinking and continued to 

run.  "WAIT!" they both yelled when they realized that 

they had bumped into the exact person they were looking 

for.

"Hermione," Harry began hurriedly, "Voldemort kept me 

asleep.  I had a dream, but he was speaking to me...he 

knew I was listening."

"What-"

"He's going to kill Ron and Sirius tonight at 9:00.  They're 

in the secret dungeons under the school; they're below the 

potions dungeon.  The big stone in the center of the room?  

Tap on it with your wand and say Dissendium, like with the 

one-eyed witch at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded.  "Did you owl Dumbledore?" she asked.

"Yes, he'll never get it in time."

"Did you go to Snape?"

"Something's wrong with Snape," Harry replied, eyes 

beginning to get a little wild.

"What?"

"Something's just not right about the way he's acting, I'm 

serious.  He's trying to make me go to the exam...the 

dream I had, Voldemort hinted that something would 

happen at the exam...Hermione, I have to be at the exam. 

I'm sure that if I'm there Voldemort will be there too.  It 

will keep him away from Ron and Sirius."

Hermione stared.  "What do you think you're going to do?!" 

she half shouted.  "Think about what you're saying, Harry!"

"I can't run forever," Harry stated firmly.  

Hermione looked at the floor, seemingly indecisive about 

something.  Momentarily, she straightened up and 

swallowed.  "Fine.  I'll be getting Ron and Sirius then?"

Harry looked hard at her.  "Can you handle it?"

"I better be able to handle it, because I'm going."

Harry nodded.  "You'll be alright."  He sounded more 

confident than he felt.

"Don't get yourself killed, Harry," Hermione said, hugging 

him breathlessly.

"Likewise, 'Mione.  You're my best friend, besides Ron 

whom you're even with, and I love you.  Now I have to get 

something to eat, the exam starts in-" he looked at his 

watch "-1 hour and 15 minutes."  He started to run off, 

but Hermione stopped him.

"WAIT!" she yelled.  He stopped.  "Stand still," she 

ordered, taking out her wand and pointing it at him.  

"Repercutio Nex Necis," she recited, watching the purple 

line shoot out and engulf Harry in a bubble of purple light.

"What was that?" he asked as it faded to transparency, 

bewildered.

"Just hope you don't find out," she whispered.

"There's no time for this-look, whatever you do, don't 

start until 7:00, alright?  Don't go anywhere near 

Voldemort.  He doesn't want you, he wants me, and-"

"Don't worry, Harry," she said, hugging him once more 

and sprinting away, leaving him free to get some food 

before his exam, and disregarding her own well-founded 

advice.  I'll do the worrying for the both of us...

***

Harry walked calmly into the Defense Against the Dark 

Arts room, trying to hold up the façade that he was as calm 

as he seemed.  Really, he was about to boil over with worry 

and fear.  Calm yourself, he tried to tell himself, but it 

didn't do much good.  He smiled and nodded when Snape 

gave him a reassuring grin, and tried to go over everything 

he had ever learned, ever.  He had no idea how he was 

going to pull this one off, and he had a sick feeling that it 

would be over quickly with lots of green light involved.  

Shuddering inwardly, he forced himself to look collected, 

cool, and calm, and also forced himself not to notice as 

Draco and Michele walked in, arm and arm.  

Michele, Michele, Michele, he thought sadly, mentally 

beating himself for not realizing where Ron and Sirius were 

as soon as the dreams had started.  The dungeons had been 

"their" place since the Quidditch match he had won against 

Tower 1.  They had stopped going in recent weeks, and 

now Harry could only assume it was because of Draco.  

Why didn't I see it in the beginning? he thought anxiously, 

all the while knowing that it was too late to do anything 

differently.  He would have to work with what he had, 

however little it amounted to.

"Is everyone ready?" Snape asked, long robes billowing 

behind him as he began to walk.  The answer was a weak 

and pathetic "yes," and Snape led the way to the fast 

darkening outdoors.

***

7:00, Hermione thought, and tapped the large pentagon 

brick, just as Harry had said, and muttered "Dissendium."  

It lowered, and she lit her wand and looked down.  All she 

could see was blackness.  Taking a deep breath, closing her 

eyes, and extinguishing her wand, she jumped; she landed 

on a hard floor a few feet down and fearfully debated what 

to do next.  A minute later, her eyes had adjusted to the 

light and she was able to see the faint reflection of fire, 

which in turn created a barely lit picture of the area and 

revealed the path that she was to follow.  Trembling with 

fright, she crawled to the corner, being wary of any 

invisible spells lingering in the air, scared to light her wand 

in case guards would see her.  She was right to worry.  It 

wasn't long before she heard two distinct voices.

"The Dark Lord has left the dungeons.  He is preparing to 

face the Potter boy."

"We can expect no resistance then?"

"Hardly any.  Master purposefully kept the boy asleep so 

that he could not owl Dumbledore in time for him to react.  

It will be all over by the time the old codger even sees an 

owl on the horizon."


"Potter was convinced to take the exam then?"

"Evidently.  He is there now, after all."

"Mmm."

Hermione knew that it was then or never, but she was still 

shaking and wishing for the presence of Harry and/or Ron.  

I was never any good at this, she thought, trying not to 

shake. It was them.  Never me...Stop it, Granger, you can 

do this.  Gathering up every ounce of her courage and 

praying she was strong enough to whisper the curses and 

have them work, she focused all of her energy, held her 

wand as far away from her as she could, aimed at one of the 

Death Eaters, and whispered, "Stupefy!"  The spell worked 

and the targeted one fell; the other shot "Crucio!" into the 

air where Hermione's wand had been.  Dodging it, she 

stunned the other one as well.  Neither had screamed or 

made a noise loud enough to give her presence away.  She 

forced herself to remember a very powerful sleeping spell 

she had picked up from somewhere and cast it on both of 

the stunned bodies, along with a memory charm (just in 

case).  They would only wake up if someone knew the 

counterspell or, at the very least, after three days had 

passed.  She hoped neither would occur while she was 

down there, and carried on, fearful and shaking, listening, 

waiting, and anticipating the next set of traps.

Turning down the next corridor, she slowly crept onward.  


Instantly, her skin felt surprisingly tingly and she stopped 

dead as the words of Professor Laughlin, her Defense 

Against the Dark Arts teacher in the 6th year, replayed in 

her head:


If you're ever in a situation where traps are a plausible 

means of protection and you happen to suddenly feel very, 

very tingly, stop immediately. You've walked into an 

invisible wall, and on the other side of it is a definite death 

trap, either fire or electric current.  It doesn't matter; 

either way, cast the stone spell on yourself and walk 

through quickly.  You will be able to survive the shock or 

heat when you're made of rock.  

The next phrase repeated in her head as well:


But most of you won't have to worry about that, because 

most of you will step over the 3cm barrier and will be dead.  

The window of realization is very small.


Hermione silently thanked her late professor as she 

whispered "Saxeus" and walked through, unfazed by the 

electric current that was running behind her once she 

stepped beyond it.  However, she had no sooner turned 

back into flesh when she heard voices again; panicking and 

fighting to control her loud and fearful breathing, she hid 

behind a giant stalactite and wished she'd had the foresight 

to bring Harry's invisibility cloak.  There were three this 

time.

"How long has it been since you heard from them?"

"Eleven minutes.  They were to check in every ten."

"What if he's here, and..."

"He's not.  We were told that he was at the exam.  No one's 

here, they're just idiots and don't know how to read a 

watch."

Heart pounding so hard that she felt it would burst through 

her chest, Hermione leaned over the back of the rock and 

whispered "Impedimentia," effectively slowing the guard 

closest to the rear of the crowd to a near halt while the 

others continued on, failing to notice.  She did the same 

with one of the others, and when the last one turned around 

to see where his companions had gone, she stunned him 

and he fell.  She put the same sleeping and memory charms 

she had put on the others on the three before her and 

continued onward.

The temperature was rising, and she was beginning to 

sweat even more than she was before.  There was definitely 

a lot of fire ahead; she could hear it crackling, feel its heat, 

and see its light flickering at the end of the stone corridor.  

Despite her dread, she knew she had to continue on.  Her 

progress was painstakingly slow, but she needed to be sure 

that she didn't run into anymore invisible walls or other 

horrors; it would be no use hurrying if she was going to die 

before she reached her goal.  Her watch told her it was 

8:52; she knew she was almost there...

Finally, she reached the entrance to what looked like the 

main room.  There was fire everywhere; high on the wall 

near the ceiling hung Sirius and Ron, both unconscious.  

Common sense told her to gasp, but luckily survival 

instinct intervened and she stayed silent.  There were five 

Death Eaters guarding the two prisoners, and they were 

conversing as the others had been.

"Can we kill them yet?"

"Oh, we have 5 more minutes."  There was a pause.  

"Besides, I know how we can pass the time."

"How?"

Hermione felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her 

face.

"There's a poor little mudblood lurking in the mouth of that 

corridor."

***

"The exam will be conducted as follows: I will summon the 

beast that you are to deal with.  You will deal with it.  

When the monster ceases attacking you, your test has 

ended.  Is everyone clear?"  Everyone nodded silently.  

"Good.  Mind, I don't expect many of you to finish 

unscathed.  Zucci, you're first."

It quickly became very apparent that the exam was hard.  

Snape summoned a Vysage, a rare monster only consisting 

of a horrific face, to Zucci; she eventually defeated it, but 

was left so weak and injured that she could not even walk 

back to where the class was standing.  Snape immediately 

sent her to the portkey room, where the nurse was on hand 

to deal with the injuries.

"Bender, you're next."

Harry watched as Michele fought even harder than Zucci 

had on her monster, a disgusting looking, flying creature 

known as a Jellyeye, but was taken out by a torrent of fire 

before she could defeat her opponent.

And so it went; student after student was pushed and 

pushed to his or her limit, and each met a grisly and painful 

near end, only to be transported away.

Harry looked at his watch; it was 8:29.  His thoughts were 

with Hermione; he barely noticed as Malfoy was 

summoned and he was left to stand alone until Draco was 

defeated by a Bogart who took the shape of his father and 

began to scream that his son was a failure.  Draco ran off 

out of Harry's field of vision.  Why did he freak out like 

that?  We covered Bogarts ages ago...it's 8:50, he thought.  

Please let Hermione be alright...

"Potter!  Your turn," Snape yelled.  Alright, Harry thought, 

feeling adrenaline begin to pump through his veins, bring it 

on.

To Harry's surprise, his monster was nothing they had 

covered in class that year.  It was a dragon, and a rather 

large one at that.  Go for its eyes, Harry thought, 

immediately remembering the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  As 

the dragon howled in pain, he aimed a powerful spell into 

its mouth, which, in turn, caused the dragon's head to 

explode.  Lovely, thought Harry.  Surprisingly, he didn't 

receive any injuries.  Now all he had to do was turn around 

and-

"Avada Ke-"

"STUPEFY!"

Harry instantly turned, and saw Snape as he hit the ground.  

Silence invaded the dark air.  Behind Snape, Harry could 

make out Draco holding a wand and staring at his 

handiwork.  Harry gave him a look of horrified confusion.

"I don't like you, Potter," Draco sneered, "but I don't want 

you dead."  Harry continued to stare.  "He," Draco 

motioned to Snape, "was under the Imperious curse."

"How did you know?" Harry inquired suspiciously.

"He told me the monster I'd face would be a firebird, it 

wasn't, and that a bogart wouldn't be included in anyone's 

exam at all due to the fact that we had covered it in depth 

during 3rd year at Hogwarts and only mentioned it during 


the first week of review.   It was awhile ago, but I know 

Snape, and Snape doesn't lie...to me."

Harry nodded but was stopped from answering by a 

sudden, sharp pain in his scar and a very ominous feeling.  

He looked at his watch.  8:56.  Harry felt goosebumps go 

up and down his spine, and then he remembered...

"Kill the spare..."

"DRACO!" he suddenly yelled, horror filling the pit of his 

stomach.  "CAN YOU APPARATE?"

Draco looked at him oddly before responding, "Um, yes..."

"DO IT NOW!  AND TAKE SNAPE!"  Harry hollered, 

becoming desperate.  Draco didn't move, and continued his 

odd look.  "I MEAN IT!"  Harry was panicking; however, 

Draco obeyed and was gone.  Harry was alone.  Monster 

corpses lay in the grass.  A cold wind ruffled his hair, the 

clouds swirled, and Harry knew it would soon storm.

"I'm here," Harry said sternly with gritted teeth.  "Now, 

Voldemort."

"So, Potter has decided to face me like a man," Voldemort 

hissed, appearing in front of Harry, who, to his credit, did 

not start at his sudden presence.  Snow began to fall.  "Get 

ready to die, boy.  Incidentally," Voldemort added, "The 

core of this wand has been modified ever so 

slightly...Priori Incatatem and any variants thereof will not 

save you this time."

Harry did not answer, but his stare became more and more 

concentrated as each second ticked by.  Time slowed as 

they squared off.  There would be no taunting this time.

"Cremo!" Harry called into the night.  Voldemort snorted 

as the spell hit him, and he shook a bit.

"Tickles," he sneered.  Harry decided that it was over; he 

was not going to play this game.

***

They had all come upon her so suddenly that Hermione 

hadn't had time to react any faster than to stun one.  They 

soon had her wand.  

"Alerting charms come in handy," the leader of the five 

muttered with glee, raising his wand.  "This will be fun...."  

Hermione saw a flash of sudden surprise take over his eyes 

and watched as he flicked his gaze away from her for some 

reason.  She didn't stop to wonder, and took it as the chance 

she had been waiting for; she dove under his robes and 

through his legs, and grabbed the stunned Death Eater's 

wand from the ground.

Soon, a large explosion, one big enough to take out all four 

of the remaining conscious Death Eaters, erupted from her 

newly acquired wand and landed where they stood; 

unfortunately, Hermione was too close.  She felt herself 

flying through the air, and then smacking roughly onto the 

ground.  Panting, she looked up and around her.

"It's over," she mumbled, magicking Ron and Sirius from 

their cuffs, watching them slide to the stone floor, and 

passing out in the remains of the last Death Eater base.

***

Hermione, he thought, you've never been wrong before, no 

matter how many times Ron and I bugged you...Please 

don't make this the time you decide to try something new.   

"Enough!"  Harry said suddenly, stepping out of stance.  "I 

refuse to play games with you, Voldemort!"  He dropped 

his wand, breathing hard, and took a step toward his foe.  

"If you want me, take me!  NOW!" he ordered, voice a lot 

more resolute than Harry thought it would be.  His heart 

was beating so fast that he thought it would explode from 

within his chest.  Was this how my father felt?  Voldemort 

smiled, seemingly in slow motion, his sick eyes turning at 

an even sicker angle; he raised his wand, and Harry could 

see his lips forming the words that had killed so many 

innocents, the words that had killed Cedric, the words that 

had killed Charlie, the words that had killed his parents...

There was a flash of green, and then it was all over.
 
Chapter 12
 
Hermione woke with a start and looked around her, 

relieved.  She was in her dorm room and safe, for the time 

being.  

She had come to a few minutes after she had caused the 

explosion that put her in her predicament, and ignored the 

pain and the fact that three of the four Death Eaters that she 

had blasted were gone.  Creating magical stretchers for 

both Ron and Sirius, she had levitated them both out of the 

dungeons and into the infirmary.  As she was frantically 

explaining the situation to the nurse, the school's 

headmaster and several other teachers brought in the 

unconscious Harry; the force of the spell had knocked him 

out.  Closely behind them was Albus Dumbledore, bearing 

the lifeless body of one Tom Riddle.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she had cried, ignoring the 

nurse's attempts to keep her seated and calm, and ran over 

to him.  "The spell worked!"

"I can see that, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore replied, smiling.  

"Good work; I'm assuming that it was you who completed 

it, due to the fact that Professor Yang had no idea that it 

was even near completion, let alone finished."

"Oh, well, I worked overtime..." Hermione blushed.  "Will 

Harry be alright?"

"He will be fine."


Hermione smiled.  "Ron and Sirius will be alright 

according to the nurse, just suffering from some nasty 

curses..."  Hermione paused, then continued, "Professor, 

I'm sorry for disobeying your orders and going to look for 

them, but-"

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore interrupted 

sincerely, eyes twinkling.  "Thank you."

At the moment, two weeks after the incident, she was 

staring up at the ceiling, grateful for the events that had 

occurred as of late.  She ignored Amelia, who was listening 

to loud and tasteless pop music on a wizard radio charmed 

to play Muggle music.  She thought of getting cross with 

her, but decided that it wasn't worth it.  As she rolled over 

in bed, she felt a book underneath the covers, and chuckled 

to herself as she realized that she had fallen asleep while 

doing some extra reading for Defense Against the Dark 

Arts.  

Poor Snape, she thought gleefully, closing the book and 

putting it on her nightstand.  Professor Snape had been 

revived in the hospital wing shortly after she herself had 

come to, and immediately panicked.  Luckily, since Draco 

had attested to his innocence and Snape had volunteered to 

be questioned under Veritaserum, he was charged with 

nothing.  Ever since, Snape had understandably been 

avoiding them in the halls.  The afternoon before, Harry 

had told her that Snape had made him stay after class; after 

all of the other students had left, Snape had apologized.  If 

it had been any other person, Harry had said, he would 

have told him an apology wasn't necessary; however, Snape 

had been talking through one of the worst sneers Harry had 

ever seen adorn his face, and he had left the room as 

quickly as possible.  Hermione laughed as she imagined 

how difficult it must have been for the man (if she still 

didn't hate him for his malicious behavior toward her at 

Hogwarts, she would have felt sorry for him).


A glance at the clock told her that it was 11:00; she got up 

and went to take a shower.  There was a rather pressing 

conversation that she needed to have with Ron, who was 

still in the hospital wing; he had been badly cursed, and he 

would need at least another week to heal completely.  She 

knew that it was time.

She proceeded back to her dorm room 20 minutes later in a 

robe with a towel wrapped around her hair.  Viktor was 

there when she returned, sitting on her bed and speaking 

with Amelia.  Neither of them looked up when she walked 

in; it took an "ahem" and an "out" from Hermione to get 

Viktor out of her room (with the added expense of a 

"bitch!" from Amelia, who proceeded to storm out as well).


"One more month," Hermione muttered as she put on jeans, 

a tee shirt, and some robes.  Leaving her bathrobe on the 

floor (she never had any time for a clean room), she walked 

into the hall and in the direction of the hospital wing.  As 

she walked, she saw that a girl had taped an autographed 

newspaper clipping about Harry to her door, and her 

thoughts switched from Ron to Harry for a moment.  

Poor Harry had barely gotten a second of privacy since he 

had woken up.  Between his friends, admirers, the press, 

and the nonstop parties she wondered how he slept.  

However, it was all starting to calm down, finally; the 

world was returning to some semblance of normalcy at 

least.  The hospital wing loomed ahead, and Hermione kept 

walking.

Ron looked up from the book he was reading as he heard a 

knock at the door.  He had become quite a reader of the 

past year, especially of Muggle books (even though that 

meant he had to use A Wizard's Guide to the World of those 

Crazy Muggles every time he read).  At the moment he was 

deeply engrossed in what he considered a fine novel by 

Jane Austen.

"Come in," he called, regretfully closing his book just as 

Hermione walked in the room.  She eyed the book and let 

out a small snort, amused that Ron was so engrossed in the 

predominately girly book Pride and Prejudice.  "What?" he 

asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Hermione answered as she set next to where he 

was lying on his bed, not wanting to have that conversation 

at the moment but making a mental note to tease him later.  

"How have you been feeling?" 

"Tired.  Can't sleep; I dream."

"Oh," Hermione replied, letting the conversation lapse into 

a short silence.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked, putting the book aside and 

pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"He's out somewhere, I think he's practicing Quidditch.  

The last match of the season's tomorrow, against Tower 4.  

If we win it, then our team gets the championship."

Ron shrugged.  "Figures," he said, a look of disappointment 

crossing his face.  

Hermione gave him an encouraging look.  "There's next 

year, Ron.  The only people graduating are Betty Finn and 

Veronica Sawyer.  You can get two new and equally good 

beaters."

"Yeah, I guess," he responded, putting his feet on the floor 

so he was sitting next to his companion.  Another silence 

lapsed between them; the window was open, and birds were 

chirping outside on the abnormally warm April day.  

Hermione stared as they flew by the window.

"So," Ron said suddenly, turning toward her, "I suppose 

you came here to talk about it."

"Yes," Hermione answered, sighing, "it."

Ron suddenly became self conscious that he did not have a 

shirt on, and he turned a tad crimson as he stood up and 

threw on a tee shirt that was adorned with what he had been 

told was the name of a 70's Muggle rock band.  Hermione 

watched him do this, unaware of the fact that she had made 

him uncomfortable.

"Ron, do you honestly think that you love me?" she asked 

so quietly and meekly that it sounded like a murmur.  He 

looked at her, tall, hair disheveled, face pale from curse-

related illness and lack of sleep, with surprise.

"Er, well," he stammered, sitting down next to her again, 

"Y-yes, I think so.  I already know you really well and all 

of that, and I'm still pining away at you for some ungodly 

reason, aren't I?" he grinned, silently wishing it was dark 

so she couldn't see the stupid look that he just knew was 

plastered on his face.

Great, he's trying to make it all a joke, thought Hermione, 

who was already dreading the effects of what she was about 

to say.

"Do you love me?" Ron suddenly asked rather desperately, 

an anxious look replacing the forced smile.  She didn't 

answer or look at him; she just stared at her feet.  

"Hermione?" he questioned, sounding like he knew he was 

about to be squashed.  

She took a deep breath.  "I don't know, Ron," she 

mumbled, biting her lip.  When she looked up, she saw him 

staring at her, shocked, as if unable to accept what she had 

just said.

"So you don't," he replied tersely after an uncomfortable 

pause.  "Alright then."  He turned away and forced another 

smile.  Hermione didn't answer.  "You know those 'movie' 

things?  They should make one about me, called 'Let's all 

watch Ron make an arse out of himself' or something - "

"I didn't say that I didn't love you, Ron."  

He stopped and swallowed.  "Well, can you go?  I'd like to 

feel rejected in peace, if you don't mind." 

"Please hear what I have to say...I don't not love you," she 

began.

"But you don't love me, so what's the point?" he inquired 

dryly, in the manner he took on when he was so upset that 

he couldn't be mean.  Hermione knew it well.

"Listen to me, please...I just ended a very, very long 

relationship," she continued.  Ron showed no emotion.  

"I'm confused about a lot of things right now, and not just 

dealing with you."  She paused, and the birds continued to 

chirp outside the window.  Ron's face hadn't changed; the 

blank look almost made her cry.  "Look, I'm really tempted 

to give in and say 'I love you too, Ron,' and then we can be 

in love and elope and move to Argentina and have 7 kids or 

something-"

"Then say it," he said, turning to her again, eyes pleading.

Hermione turned to face the floor.  "It wouldn't be fair, to 

me or you."

"Well, in that case," he mumbled.  "Look, can you please 

leave?"  Hermione had to stop herself from taking his 

advice; she had already been in one monumental fight with 

him that month and did not wish to get in another one.  She 

took a breath.

"Rushing into this would be incredibly stupid, Ron."

"Why?" he asked in a dark tone.

"Because we've worked for 7 1/2 years just getting to the 

point where we're as close as we are!" she spurted.  He 

stared into her eyes.  "You saved me from a troll, 

Voldemort, Filch, you were actually nice to me when I was 

the little 11-year-old snob that I was!" she continued.  "I 

don't want to lose that, and that means I don't want to just 

use you as a person that helps me get back on my feet after 

my last boyfriend.  It would be a waste."

They stared at each other, and neither said anything.

"Well, can't you just use me for that and then like me 

afterwards anyway?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"So we're better off 'just friends' then?" Ron replied, 

unblinking.  "Would be like kissing your brother, is that 

it?"

"I didn't say that."

"It was definitely implied somewhere in there."

She turned away.  "I need time to get used to the idea and 

see if it's what I really want."

He stared down at his large feet.  "Let me guess.  You want 

us to carry on just like the night in the pub never 

happened?"

She shook her head.  "It did happen, and we can't change 

that..." 

"Well, what do you want then?  Why are you still here?"

Hermione was silent at this.  Something was causing a 

commotion in the hallway; it sounded as if someone had 

dropped something.  The bustling soon stopped, and the 

hospital wing was returned to its previous state of 

mechanical silence.  Hermione finally looked up and 

mumbled,

"I guess I'm asking if you'll wait."

"Wait for what?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Me," she almost whispered, crossing her ankles and 

fidgeting with her fingers.  Ron didn't answer.  The birds 

continued to chirp as he put an arm around her shoulder; 

she leaned into him, and they stayed like that for a long 

time.

***

Harry glided above the Canadian landscape, noting how 

odd it was for it to be so warm, and marveling that snow 

still remained on the ground from the storm that had 

attacked a week before and the flurries that had followed.  

He was a hero again, even more so than before.  When he 

had woken two weeks ago, right after he had defeated 

Voldemort, he hadn't a clue where he was or that he had 

even begun to take his Defense Against the Dark Arts test.  

It turned out that a side effect of Hermione's spell was 

temporary memory loss, but as it was only temporary his 

memory returned soon after with a vengeance.  Panicking, 

he had asked if Ron and Sirius were alright but before 

anyone could answer he was bombarded with questions by 

the press, due to the fact that possibly every member of said 

profession had crowded in his open doorway.  Through the 

din, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore (who had been 

sitting by his bedside) nod, and then he walked over and 

shut the door, giving Harry much-needed time to sort 

through everything and come up with an official statement 

that Dumbledore gave to the vultures on his way out.  

Harry's former headmaster had stayed for a few more days, 

but had to leave in order to return order to Hogwarts, which 

was in chaos.  The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, 

the only one who had lasted more than a year in ages, had 

turned out to be one of Lord Voldemort's biggest 

supporters and had played a major role in the kidnapping of 

Ron and Sirius.  Harry happily accepted an invitation to 

visit Hogwarts at the end of the term as Dumbledore's 

guest so that he could be a guest speaker at Ginny's 

graduation (he had no idea what he would say, but he knew 

that Hermione would help him).

Harry had never been so glad to see Sirius and Ron in his 

life, even though it took Ron a week to wake up and it was 

several days before both of them returned to any sort of 

normal state of mind; the torture had had its effects.  

However, both of them were recovering.  Ron was angry 

that he had to miss the last two Quidditch games, but his 

newfound interest in Muggle books had kept him busy.  

Harry was quite glad to have him back.  The past two 

weeks had given Harry time to sleep, and that was about it.  

He had finally escaped all of the commotion, and was 

doing something that he desperately needed to do: think.  

He might be "the boy who lived three times" at school and 

in the newspapers; he might have just defeated the Dark 

Lord and saved the lives of thousands, but for some reason, 

in his mind he was none of these things: in his mind, he 

was "the boy who's girlfriend dumped him for his worst 

enemy."  Not that he was exactly on bad terms with Draco; 

in fact, Harry thought they were on the best terms they'd 

been on in years (they had thanked each other for saving 

the other's life, and were on a mutual agreement not to 

speak to one another).  However his state of affairs with 

Draco, the wounds still stung, and Harry felt the ache full 

force.

What had he done wrong?  Should he have treated her any 

better than he had?  Taken her out more?  Punched Ron 

when he'd insulted her?  Complimented her more often?  

Was there just something wrong with him in general?  He 

looked down at the ground, so peaceful below him and so 

innocent looking.  Harry Potter, he thought, he can defeat 

Lord Voldemort but loses the girl he loved when he was in 

the middle of telling her that he loved her-he stopped and 

hastily looked back as something tapped the back of his 

broom.  To his surprise he saw Sirius flying behind him on 

what looked like Ron's Firebolt.

"Hey," Harry said, surprised, as Sirius moved even with 

him.  "Thought you were still in the hospital wing."

"I was, they just let me out.  Ron told he he'd heard you 


were out flying somewhere and he let me use his broom."

"Sure it's legal for an old man like you to be out here 

flying?"

"You're not an old man until you're 40; I've got 2 years of 

youth left.  Don't take them from me."

Harry chuckled and looked off into the blue sky, observing 

puffy white clouds scattered about like soft pillow-like 

landscapes.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asked, following Harry's gaze into 

the great beyond.  Startled, Harry answered, 

"What?" Oh, nothing."  They turned and began to fly over 

trees.

"You're upset about something, don't pretend," Sirius 

answered.  Harry still showed no signs of opening up, so 

Sirius continued.  "Now, what could it be about?  Let's see: 

you just defeated Voldemort and probably saved the world, 

tomorrow you're most likely going to win your school 

Quidditch cup and probably have scouts from England 

begin to try and recruit you, you got a 100 on your Defense 

Against the Dark Arts final exam-"

"I did?!  But-"

"Snape posted the grades.  You know that you know what's 

going on when you're under the Imperious curse; just can't 

do anything about it.  Anyway, that, your best friend is 

alive and recovering, and you're talking to me, which alone 

usually cures most ailments, and here you are staring off 

into the distance like someone just trod on your...hey, how 

are things with that French girl?"

Harry didn't answer, but his eyes told it all.

"Oh...augh, sorry Harry," Sirius said, looking very 

concerned.  "Want to tell me what happened?  All joking 

aside, I won't make fun of you for it, honest..."

Harry turned his head toward him and gave him a skeptical 

look.

"Alright, maybe I will later when you're over it, but no 

sooner."

Harry sighed and shook his head, keeping his mouth firmly 

shut as the wind ruffled through his hair.  Sirius was just 

about to begin begging again when Harry actually spoke.

"I wouldn't blame you for breaking 'em on me, it's a pretty 

funny story for everyone involved but me," he began. 

Sirius knew better than to comment on this, and kept his 

mouth closed during the brief pause Harry took to try and 

find the appropriate words with which he would tell his 

godfather his tale of woe. "It was about a month and a half 

ago when I started thinking something was wrong.  Less 

time together, not much talking, lots of kissing...I know, 

nothing wrong with that, but it wasn't like it used to be.  I 

liked her more every day, and then you and Ron went and 

got yourselves kidnapped and since Hermione was always 

holed up in her 'lab,' Michele was the only person who 

would comfort me.  Yes, I know, I'm a complete pansy, go 

on, laugh."  

Sirius, to his credit, didn't even let a snigger through.  

"Anyway," Harry continued, "I told myself that it was love 

and planned on telling her after the Quidditch match 

against her tower.  We won, and after the match I found her 

in the hallway and made a big fool of myself, pouring my 

poor little heart out to her.  She finally managed to get 

some words in edgewise.  Of course, those words were 

'Arry,'" he mimicked, "'Ah'm seeing someone else!'"

Sirius whistled.  "Ouch!" he said painfully, shaking his 

head.  "That was low."

"I'm not done yet," Harry almost laughed, though he really 

wasn't very happy.  "I asked her who it was, you know, the 

'other man,' and it was...no, I'll let you guess."

"Hmm, can't be Ron, you're still friendly with him."

"Nope, they hate each other.  Thank God.  Keep guessing."

"Viktor Krum?  Hermione told me that they had stopped 

seeing each other."

"Far worse."

"Not a woman?"

"No, if that happened at least I could understand why."

Sirius shrugged.  "I don't know then.  Who?"

"Malfoy...Draco freakin' Malfoy."

Sirius about fell off his broom.  "You should sell the rights 

to that story to one of those American soap operas; they'd 

have a ball with it.  Really, Harry, that's horrible.  If I were 

you, and Draco were Snape, who you know was my own 

personal Draco...well, I don't even know what I would 

have done, but it would have been bad."


As they flew alongside each other, Harry felt a little better 

at Sirius' words; at least he knew someone else would have 

reacted in the same manner.

"Yeah, well Draco just saved my life so I'm going easy on 

him."

"Understood."  Sirius silenced, and they dove over the 

shimmering blue lake and slowed to the pace of a snail as 

they floated above the lake's surface.  "Harry, the only 

advice I can give you is to keep busy, perhaps drink a little, 

and try to remember that there are other fish in the sea, 

even though you're stuck on that one."

Harry nodded and stared down at the lake; it was a ripply 

mirror of the sky and him and Sirius, slowly flying side by 

side over its mysterious waters.

"Eh, it'll take awhile, but I'm sure I'll live," Harry said.

"That's the ticket," Sirius answered, dipping his finger in 

and causing small, circular expanding waves to form 

around where his finger had touched the water.

"But right now I'll take to moping, since it's honestly 

almost all I can think about," Harry continued, imitating 

Sirius because it looked like fun.

"Don't want to talk about it anymore, I take it?"  Sirius 

shook the water off his hand.

"Not really."  Harry kept his fingers in the water and 

watched the small trail of ripples they created as he flew 

above on his broom.

"Alright then."  Sirius turned toward him.  "What else is on 

your mind?"

"How's Remus?"

"He's good, he went back to work today.  Poor man had the 

full moon right after he recovered from a week of no sleep, 

so that put him out again.  He's in a good mood though; he 

said he owled you last night, so you should be getting 

something today or tomorrow."

"Good, I was wondering when I was going to hear from 

him."

Sirius grinned and nodded, and a small silence eased its 

way between the two.

"Is it really over?" Harry asked, finally withdrawing his 

hand from the lake.

"Near as anyone can tell," Sirius replied.  The sun cast 

grateful warmth against Harry's black robes.  "Your dad 

would've loved this...right after we became aurors, he'd 

brag and brag about how he was going to be the one to 

bring Voldemort to his knees."

"What was my dad like as an auror?" Harry asked 

suddenly.  "You never talk about when you were aurors 

together."

"That's because we barely were aurors together, only a year 

and a half after training.  Besides, there wasn't much joking 

around when it came to battling Voldemort and the Death 

Eaters..."

"Sounds like a bad heavy metal band," Harry commented, 

"Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

Sirius chuckled.  "We were very serious in the field; it 

made us decent aurors, but it made for lousy stories."

Harry nodded, and began to zigzag just for fun.  "Mum was 

an unspeakable, right?"

"Right, and I know nothing about what she did, before you 

ask.  Lousy cook though; your dad made all the food."

Harry smiled and watched his reflection in the water do the 

same.

"They'd laid out the plans for the 'Voldemort's Dead' party 

on at least 12 different pieces of parchment.  Right now, 

they'd be ecstatic; they would've gotten to celebrate it three 

times, not to mention that their little Harry was the one who 

brought it about."  Harry laughed a little.  Small schools of 

fish could be seen just below the surface of the reflective 

lake, which they had taken to circling, still at their very 

slow speed.  Suddenly, Harry looked up anxiously.

"They'd be proud of me, then?"

Sirius' eyes gained their mischievous glimmer once again 

as they looked into Harry's. "Yeah, I think they just might 

have been," he answered.  

Content, Harry set his sights on the castle and took off.  

Sirius was close behind him.