Chapter 1
Strength and Comfort

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



"And in the end there are three things that remain-faith, hope and love-and the greatest of these is love."
1 Corinthians 13:13


Mid-Afternoon, 11 September 1997
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry


It was finally over… well, almost.


All his friends wanted to accompany Harry to McGonagall’s office, but he refused their offer and left them standing at the south lawn entrance. Trudging slowly through the empty corridors, where every step drummed like a slow-march cadence, every one of the school’s stones seemed to listen for words from the shaking teen. What had happened? Was it over? Even Dobby and Winky stood silently as Harry turned to ascend the stairs. He stopped and turned towards his little friend. In the elf’s face he seemed to read a message. I told you, Harry Potter! Harry continued, unable to reply.

The true reason for leaving his friends behind had nothing to do with privacy or him earning the right to tell Albus Dumbledore about what had just happened. No, Harry was in a state of disbelief. At every step, every turn, he wondered if Voldemort would jump out at him and wreak his vengeance. Would his scar suddenly flare up causing him to retch in pain? Or… was it really, truly, finally over?

Harry felt odd entering the office, with its previous owner dead and the animated portrait of him watching every movement. He really did not want to be there, but felt it was his duty, perhaps his last duty to perform concerning events surrounding the recent death of Lord Voldemort. No, that’s not right, there’re still the memorial services…

“Good afternoon, Harry. How are you?� inquired the portrait of Albus Dumbledore pleasantly.

Good question! “I’m fine, professor. It’s... It’s finally over, sir,� Harry stated plainly, emotionlessly.

The animated picture of the late Headmaster looked shocked for just a second and then leapt to its feet. “Harry! That’s marvelous news! Please, pull up a chair and tell me about it.�

But there was something about Dumbledore’s request that irked Harry tremendously: It was his lack of interest in casualties. Didn’t he care? Could he care? Nevertheless, Harry conjured a chair and sat silently in front of, and beneath, the portrait. One couldn’t really blame the ‘man,’ Harry realized, he did not truly exist as he once had...

“Thank you, sir...� But Harry couldn’t say what had happened.

“I can tell that the news is not all good. Were you able to destroy the remaining Horcruxes?�

Harry nodded, remembering that if Dumbledore mentioned the accursed objects any other time over the previous weeks, the neighboring portraits would rise up to shout him down. It was different now. “Yeah, we were. Can you talk about them now, sir?�

“Harry, I made a terrible mistake when I taught you about Horcruxes. If you had not discovered their secrets from Martin, you might have spent time and lives destroying Horcruxes which were already expended.� The figure in the frame rubbed his face with both hands. “To answer your other question now, as you recently saw, Harry, this part of me exists in a place that is neither here nor there. And as a resident, I can see things you can not. Shortly after my arrival I came to learn the details of Martin’s work. But the rules of existing here are very, very strict. Since I had not discovered this information about Horcruxes in life, I could not speak of it to you after my death, unless you discovered it on your own. I am sorry, Harry.�

Harry just nodded.

“Who has been hurt, my boy? Certainly not Ms. Weasley?� There was finally a hint of concern in Dumbledore’s voice.

“Remus Lupin is missing, Boris Titov is out looking for him. Martin Morley-Mauer is dying, sir, from injuries he received when he destroyed the Coin Horcrux. He’s not expected to live much longer. And...� Harry choked back a sob, “…Neville, he was... killed.� There, he had said it.

“Harry, I am truly sorry. Would you care to talk about it?�

“No... at least not now. It just happened a little while ago.� Then jumping back to his feet, unable to stay any longer, Harry backed away. “Look, professor, I have to go, there’s a lot to do. I... I just wanted you to know. Goodbye.� Harry left the office as quickly as possible, hoping he would never have to return, but knowing he would.

-|-|-|-|-|-

Harry’s friends waited where he had left them. In the distance a few smoldering scraps of clothing could be seen here or there. Emergency personnel from St. Mungo’s attended to the ghastly job of collecting more than four hundred severed arms that lay about the trampled green grass. This last horrible task made necessary when the burning Dark Mark on the Death Eaters’ arms finished their work. There would be no trouble identifying any of Voldemort’s most loyal followers now.

“Why did they take the Mark knowing this might happen?� asked Diane Bradley, her voice not much more than a whisper. She, too, was clearly in shock.

“Maybe they didn’t know?� suggested Ron.

“Perhaps it was an incentive to protect their master,� Hermione guessed.

Silence returned; there were simply no adequate words to express the emotions running through them. After a few more minutes, Jason Graham approached, tapped Diane’s shoulder and drew her aside.

“Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you; are you ok?�

“Yeah, I just wish I knew how I did what I did,� the American witch said shakily, holding herself until Jason pulled her into an embrace.

“Another mystery for you to work on this year. I have to go soon, is there anything you need?�

She shook her head no and started to sob quietly. Ginny, having overheard the conversation came over and took her new friend from her former Principal, comforting the frightened and confused girl. Jason gently kissed the top of Diane’s head, said his goodbye and walked off to the other adults who were about to walk in Hogsmeade and Apparate to the Ministry of Magic.

Ron and Hermione stood alone, holding hands, trying to absorb the events of the day, but their minds were overloaded. As they saw Harry approach, his chore complete, they released each other’s hand and walked over to meet their oldest and best friend.

-|-|-|-|-|-

The initial shock of victory was beginning to wear off. The hundreds of guests who had been at the castle the day before were mostly gone now. Only a few of the staff were present, even the Headmistress was mysteriously absent, though most thought she was at the Ministry of Magic finding out what would happen next. Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Diane were the only students remaining. The others, DA members and supporters of the school, had long departed. Yes, the initial shock of the victory had passed, but another shock was settling on the entire Wizarding community in England. It was the shock of sorrow; but even more, it was the shock of uncertainty.

Unlike sixteen years earlier, there would be no all-night parties this evening, only a few celebrated Harry Potter this time. The English wizards and witches, with very few exceptions, knew nothing of Horcruxes, so they tempered their enthusiasm with the fear that You-Know-Who may return yet again. And in a twisted, immature and distinctly selfish way, The Chosen One had reverted back to The-Boy-Who-Lived.

That same child probably buggered it up and didn’t do it right this time, either. That seemed to be the consensus.

Fortunately, Harry had not heard this… yet.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley approached the table after watching the teens push food around their plates with no apparent appetite. Heightening the tension, Hermione stood, glared at Mrs. Weasley and walked away before they arrived. Ron looked at Harry with a regretful expression and followed Hermione out. When Mrs. Weasley called out to her son, he stopped for a moment, but then kept walking.

It was an embarrassing situation, and Harry felt it keenly. Bickering within their small community was one thing, but now they had a guest from a foreign country, a guest who might have been nearly as responsible as Harry for Voldemort’s defeat, or at least their victory, as anyone else. Then he felt both Ginny and Diane, one on each side of him, take and squeeze his hands. It generated a curious feeling; from Ginny he received comfort, from Diane he received strength.

“Ginny,� Mr. Weasley began wearily, “we’re returning to the Burrow tomorrow morning. We want you to come home with us and start putting things back together. And you, too, Harry.�

Harry knew that was what they were going to ask, just as he knew he could not go. But he would talk to Ginny about that later. For the time being he just thanked his adopted parents.

Then Mrs. Weasley spoke. “Harry, would you please speak to Ron? With Percy back, it would mean so much to have the whole family together again. I never thought we would make it through this without one of the kids…� Then she stopped, she had recalled the Boggart from Grimmauld Place of two years earlier. Harry thought she might have been prepared to say more, but she remained silent.

“We’ll both talk to him, mum,� Ginny answered; she could tell that Harry was not sure what to say.

Mr. Weasley looked at the three teens and smiled. “You were all magnificent today. Thank you.� Then he and his wife walked away in stunned disbelief and weary thanks.

Diane leaned behind Harry to get Ginny’s attention and asked quietly. “What’s wrong with Hermione? PMS?�

“I don’t know,� Ginny replied honestly.

Harry looked back and forth between the two girls. “What’s PMS?�

Diane answered first. “Pre-Menstrual Syndrome.�

“Sounds like… is it related to, er... sex?� Harry whispered the last word, giving Diane his full attention. But Ginny leaned over and whispered into his ear. “Not exactly, Harry.�

“Oh... brilliant! Can you tell me about it?�

“In a couple days I’ll give you firsthand experience,� Ginny said flatly.

Behind Harry, who had now given Ginny his full attention, Diane was rolling her eyes. I can see this is going to be an interesting year.

Later that evening, Harry and Ginny found Ron alone in the common room and started to talk him into going home. But it didn’t take much work, he agreed almost immediately. A while later he said something about Quidditch and left the room.

“Ron’s acting barmy, Gin. What’s wrong with him?�

“Dunno, love.� Then Ginny changed the subject. “Listen Harry, I want you to come home with me tomorrow, but I think you have other plans. Am I right?�

“No... I mean yes. I didn’t want to leave Diane and Hermione here alone. Would you mind terribly?�

Ginny pouted briefly and then kissed him. “Of course I mind, but I think it’s very noble of you to stay here.�

Harry grimaced. “Cut the noble stuff, Gin. You know how I feel about...� Ginny silenced him with another kiss. “...being called...� Another kiss. “Ok, you win.� Smiling, Harry explained a bit further. “If they got along better I’d go, but they need a buffer. When are you coming back?�

“Sunday, at the latest. We have to be ready for... Neville’s...� But she couldn’t finish. Harry understood and they both sat in silence for a long time.

The end of the most important day of Harry’s life was quiet and peaceful. By nine o’clock he and Ginny were ready for bed, both were mentally and physically exhausted. They kissed goodnight and went to their respective rooms. Twenty minutes later, Ginny climbed into bed with Harry.

“We only have a few more days to be together like this. Do you mind?�

Harry’s answered with a light kiss on Ginny’s cheek just before he extinguished the candles.

-|-|-|-|-|-

That same evening, the Ministry of Magic building, well beneath the streets of London, was in complete chaos. Dolores Umbridge’s aborted attempt to take over as temporary Minister of Magic had failed miserably. She was now under lock and key in one of the many temporary holding cells in the Ministry’s basement. But removing the toad-like witch did little to help the situation a few floors above. Almost eight hundred wizards and witches, some proudly sporting wounds from the afternoon’s events, were crammed into the Parliamentary Hall, and nearly every one of them was speaking (or shouting) at the same time.

Off to the side, Arthur Weasley, Gilbert Wimple, Phoebus Penrose, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a few other current and former Ministry officials were trying to decide the best way to proceed. While they were arguing amongst themselves, Penrose, an elderly gentleman with a distinguished career in many Ministry departments, walked onto the stage. Placing his wand at his throat, the elderly man silenced the crowd with his thundering voice.

“PLEASE QUIET DOWN!� The crowd did as they were told. “There, that’s much better. I believe we are all here for the same reason: Putting the Ministry back together. Anyone who has another agenda, please leave now and your concerns will be addressed in due course.� No one left. “Very well, the first thing we have to do is…�

The groups and sub-groups that were formed over the following hours broke up early the next morning. And in the truest example of democracy, little of substance was accomplished, either good or bad, except one thing.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was voice-voted in as interim head of the Aurors and tasked with reestablishing order in and around the Ministry and other key buildings, such as St. Mungo’s. He was also given the authority to establish temporary teams of Aurors and other skilled wizards to seek out the homes and businesses of the known Death Eaters. Eyewitnesses at Hogwarts had compiled extensive lists of suspects, but Shacklebolt directed his lieutenants to only detain the persons who had multiple witnesses’ report them present at Hogwarts and on Voldemort’s side. He knew it was an imperfect system, but over time the kinks would be ironed out, the guilty identified and the innocent released with apologies.

And Arthur Weasley was tasked with the unenviable job of contacting the Muggle Prime Minister and informing him of the end of the war.

It was a start, of sorts.


Amidst the hubbub and chatter ringing throughout in the Hall, three wizards stood off to the side, expressing their satisfaction with the proceedings that evening. All three agreed that changes were needed, and that Penrose was just the person to get things organized, if anyone could. One of the friends, Gilbert Wimple, hushed his voice and asked in a confidential manner what the other two men thought about the American witch. They shared glances and then spoke their fears.

“You know the facts, Wimple, there’s no possible way for her to be able to…� He hushed his voice quickly as two witches in a spirited conversation about parliamentary rules walked briskly by. “It’s impossible, it is. Even Dumbledore would never have allowed it.�

“I’m not so certain; did you see her face when she cast the Charm? She was as surprised as anyone. And that bloody bastard, V-V-Voldemort,� he had just forced himself to say the name for the first time in his life, “nearly soiled Potter’s pants.� The other two chuckled.

Wimple spoke again. “I’ll see what I can find, but it’s more than obvious the girl bares absolutely no resemblance to any of those bastards who lost their arm.�

The three nodded wisely, hoping fervently that they were correct.

-|-|-|-|-|-

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, only had a few hours to check on business at the school before she needed to return to the Ministry of Magic. Sifting through a small pile of mail on her desk, she saw one from Jason Graham, her counterpart in Salem, and opened it immediately. What could he want? I just saw him ten hours ago... The answer to her own question came out as a shout.

“Status reports?! What do these Americans think I am?� she asked herself irritably. “I don’t have time for this.� Stuffing the papers back into their envelope and slamming it down on her desk, the elderly witch removed her tall pointed hat and pushed a few stray locks of graying hair from her face.

From around her office, not a few of the portraits chuckled at the comment. Two laughed right out loud. McGonagall was sorely tempted to demand their silence until she recognized one of the voices talking in the background. “Albus! Stop leading them on, it’s bad enough when it’s just you!� Scowling, the Headmistress picked up the envelope that she had just thrown down, and walked over to the portrait of her late friend. It was almost three months to the day and hour since he had died.

“Look at this, Albus,� McGonagall said testily, holding up a letter from the envelope. “Graham wants status reports for Miss Bradley! Can you believe it? And he even sends me the forms to fill out; look!� Dropping the letter, McGonagall pulled out a number of sheets of paper (not parchment) stapled together. It’s thick, and she waves it in front of the portrait. �See this, Albus? He wants me to fill this out four times a term!�

Much to her dismay, the face of her late friend smiled and shook its head. “You always said you wanted more international magical cooperation. Here it is.� McGonagall could tell that Dumbledore was just able to hold back a laugh. But then he sobered up. “Minerva, you are allowed to tell him ‘no,’ you don’t have to do it.�

“But what if he...�

“He won’t, and you know why. Miss Bradley is here because of Harry and our school. She could never get what she needs at Salem; and we could never get what we need if she isn’t here. Mr. Graham was forthcoming about that the other day. My guess is that he didn’t even send that monstrosity you’re holding. He probably told his secretary to do a standard... American standard transfer and he simply initialed it.� In fact, this is exactly what had taken place.

“Be that as it may, Albus, he should know what he’s signing...�

“Yes, yes, Minerva,� Dumbledore sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice, “and he’s also faced with something of a crisis of his own.�

This surprised McGonagall. “How so, Albus?�

“I understand he has enough admission requests to fill his school, and then some. Many wanting to start this term. You should consider yourself lucky he only sent one student.�

“Oh, very well, Albus. I suppose you’re right.�

“My friend, your job is going to be demanding, especially this year. Have you given thought to changing anything?� Here it was, the subject McGonagall was dreading talking to Dumbledore about. “Ah, I see from your expression that you have some ideas. Please, tell me about them.�

McGonagall looked warily at the portrait, wondering if she should do this. She decided she should. Conjuring a chair, just as Harry had done the afternoon before, McGonagall sat and began to share her ideas. Long into the early morning hours of the day, Minerva McGonagall headed back to her room. In spite of the annoying letter from Graham, she felt good; progress had been made and her changes, she was now certain, were for the best.

-|-|-|-|-|-

The second night after the victory, Harry lay in his room in a near panic. All the Weasley’s had returned to the Burrow. Hermione and Diane Bradley were the only other two students present and Harry was worried about Diane. Everyone she knew at the school had left, except for himself and Hermione, and the two girls did not get along well.

But first Harry decided to speak with Hermione about her situation with Mrs. Weasley. However, Hermione had other ideas. She politely declined, even after Harry insisted, to discuss anything. So Harry went back to just sitting around the common room and relaxing. He picked up one of Ron’s Muggle paperbacks and tried to get his mind involved with the plot, but invariably Diane or Hermione or Dobby would appear and break his concentration.

Early Saturday morning, Harry and Diane were sitting on Harry’s bed, as they had done in Salem, chatting, talking about everything, yet trying to avoid the subject of Voldemort and what had happened Thursday. The conversation moved on to classes and what Diane should expect from some of the teachers Harry knew. And while the American was not certain which courses she would take, she could see that many of Harry’s tips would be useful.

“I can’t believe this, Harry. My freshmen year, that’s like your fourth year, I had two pathetic courses dealing with magic. No practical applications at all. My sophomore year wasn’t much better. Last year we finally got a couple good teachers. You met them, but even after three years of schooling I barely have as much knowledge as your first year students. God, I’m going to make a fool out of myself here. I don’t know what I was thinking coming over!�

Harry nudged Diane’s foot with his owl and reminded her that she had cast the first Shield Charm ever known to stop a killing curse. If she did nothing but that the rest of her life she would still be in every Wizarding History book. “And your Patronus! No one’s ever killed a Dementor before… that I know of. And that’s the first non-living form I’ve seen a Patronus take. You could probably write your own ticket in the Wizarding World.�

But Diane pushed his foot right back. “Right, Harry. They’d dissect me to find out how I work.�

“Maybe,� he allowed, “but you’ll have to face it soon anyway. There were plenty of journalist and reporters on the grounds. They’re bound to make up some wild stories.�

Diane shook her head and groaned. Harry laughed. “Get used to it!�

“Did you?� Diane shot back.

“Get used to it? No, but that’s me, not you.�

“Think so? We’re not so dissimilar, Harry.� The way she said this caught Harry’s attention, but then Diane moved up and lay curled up next to Harry; she appeared to fall asleep almost immediately. Panic flashed through Harry’s mind for a second. Not this again! But no, he knew Diane – and himself - better now. She was a friend, not a threat; more like Hermione - though he didn’t think he and Hermione would ever be comfortable together like this.

He sat in silence for a long time, deep in thought, contemplating the life altering events they had both been through. Finally, weariness told him to get more rest and Harry slipped his arm under his friend’s neck, like he would do with Ginny, and pulled the American witch in closer. Her breathing slowed, a sign of deepening sleep, a fact Hermione had taught him a couple years before.

An hour later, Diane woke to find herself in Harry’s arms. It wasn’t an intimate sort of position, just... comforting. Harry was warm, alive... and he was there for her. For just a moment the personal issues she had been dealing with for six years seemed so far removed that she didn’t want to change a thing. Here was someone who was non-threatening, kind, understanding... and powerful, so much like me! Why couldn’t life be this simple? she asked herself, trying to hold back the tears. Unconsciously, she moved in closer to Harry and laid her left arm over his chest. Again she fell into a content slumber.

Harry smiled as he watched Diane. It was obvious she had rearranged herself and was now sleeping with her head on his chest. Her feet seemed to be holding his, seeking out warmth. At times like this Harry wished he could offer his friend more; not intimacy, just the kind of comfort Ginny showed him when he was anxious or pained. He made a minor adjustment, laying his cheek on the top of Diane’s head and putting a hand on her arm. She stirred, but Harry lay still and soon both were asleep again.

Near lunchtime, Diane and Harry finally woke up completely. Following a few humorous seconds of untangling themselves, the American thanked Harry and went off to shower and dress. At noon, Harry saw her and Hermione chatting in the common room – civilly, for once; his long-time friend telling the exchange student more about classes and N.E.W.T. exams. Diane looked like she might need more comforting later.

-|-|-|-|-|-

The paparazzi, which had, only two weeks before, become infamous for their role in the death of Princess Diana, had become, overnight, a bunch of blood-sucking, heartless, opportunistic bastards. But the worst of the lot, by unanimous consent, was Michael Allen, an American ex-patriot. On their way into custody, the paparazzi who had made themselves a nuisance at the crash scene were happy that, for once, Allen had missed the action. Digger, as Allen was known, had played hardball with the tabloid photographers for almost thirty years. He had some ambiguous source of wealth that allowed him to piss-off every “respectable� paper, publication, periodical, magazine, monthly, journal and tabloid in Britain – and their editors – and still maintain a comfortable lifestyle. If he really irritated someone important, he would lay low for a few months and then pop back into the scene, obnoxious as ever.

Between 1970 and 1989, Digger lived and worked primarily in England. In late ’89 he moved to France and was living a couple floors above one of the most famous bordellos in Paris: Le Baton Rose. During his stay in Paris, the raunchier tabloids enjoyed a renaissance spurred by an excess of fine pictures, mostly of their Government Ministers, in compromising positions. Digger made excellent use of state-of-the-art technology to capture the best shots.

But Digger was, at heart, an investigative journalist. He wrote for a number of papers under the pen name of Mickey Dee, a name he’d chosen decades earlier as a joke and stuck with once he started getting his stories and exposés published. It was fortunate, he knew, that no one had ever made the association between Michael “Digger� Allen and Mickey Dee.

Of all the stories Digger had worked on over the years, the one that intrigued him the most had never been finished. It began in the autumn of 1981 while he was living in Surry. Amidst a frenzy of odd phenomena, (things like unusually high numbers of owl sightings, magnificent but untraceable fireworks and oddly dressed people,) he’d heard many of these strangely dressed people muttering a name that stuck in his head: Harry Potter. Then, in just a few days, the strange people, the fireworks and owls all vanished. When he consulted local phone books he found dozens of Potters, and even a few Harry Potters, (or Henry Potter, a brainstorm that sent him back to the books at three o’clock one morning.) But try as he might, he was never able to break the case, so to speak. For sixteen years his scant notes lay buried in a filing cabinet, almost forgotten.

On the morning of Friday, 12 September 1997, Digger was breakfasting with an obnoxious French photographer who claimed to have the Princess Diana photos from the night of the wreck. Digger was trying desperately to cool his coffee and make a hasty departure, when he heard it. Could it be? He motioned to his fellow professional in a way that instantly silenced the man. Both were hunters, of a sort, and one had alerted the other that the hunt was on. Digger’s ears were now tuning out everything but a single voice, his companion was getting his camera ready for… something.

There it was again! He was absolutely certain of the name: Potter… Harry Potter. But the real test had not been passed. Over nearly two decades he had heard people use the name Potter many times, but they all lacked one other attribute that connected them with that odd day after Halloween in 1981, none had spoken the name in the presence of those oddly dressed people. Digger knew there was a connection, probably a cult, or something similar. Casually standing, he motioned the other man to stand. He touched his right eye in a way that would make anyone believe he was clearing out a speck of sand. As he did this he also nodded his head in a direction and the photographer brought the camera up. In seconds he had taken a dozen photographs. In that time, Digger had vanished, but the other man wasn’t worried, he knew how and where to find him. He also knew that for his deft action he would be paid very well. He dropped a ten franc note on the table, gathered his things and departed.

-|-|-|-|-|-

There was an unseasonably chilly north wind in the air for the Ides of September, and it swept through the open church doors, extinguishing candles and lifting the pall from Neville Longbottom’s coffin. Harry fought the urge to jump up after the billowing shroud, but releasing the handle rod would be poor decorum, so he waited as the situation reinforced his feeling of helplessness. The doors slammed shut an instant later and the pall floated back down where it was quickly re-set upon the wooden box by the Funeral Director.

Behind Harry were Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Opposite Harry, on the right side of the casket was Ron Weasley, followed by Colin Creevy and a boy Harry had never met before this day, Terry Mason. A distant cousin of Neville’s, Mason was one of only four Longbottom family members present. The six pall bearers, Harry had learned, were selected by Neville weeks before. Just in case.

Leading the recessional parade were the three alter servers, the first carrying the cross. Behind the three youths was the Anglican minister whose name escaped Harry at the moment. Trailing the casket were Neville’s grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, Terry Mason’s parents, and then the remainder of the attendees.

Exiting from the dark cathedral into the sunlight, each processor was, in turn, briefly blinded by the abrupt shift in brightness. Down the steps and to the side of the building, the Funeral Director led the pall bearers to the hearse. In seconds they were finished. Standing aside, the hearse and automobile drivers patiently waited for the family to enter their vehicles, whereupon they left with the Funeral Director in the lead, his limousine blazing their trail far out of the city.

The last goodbye Harry uttered was brief and woefully inadequate, spoken as the hearse departed for the long drive north. Being excluded from the graveside ceremony hurt him, and many other. But Augusta Longbottom wished that only the immediate family attend, and she was bringing Alice and Frank, Neville’s parents, to the graveside ceremony. The family matriarch was not ashamed of her son and daughter-in-law, but simply believed in having only the family present as their kin was committed to the earth.

A warm hand slipped into Harry’s, this time it was Ginny’s. She pulled him into an embrace and then led him off to mingle with the crown for a few minutes. The turnout for the service was heavy, and it was not unexpected. Word of the defeat of Lord Voldemort was immediate throughout the Wizarding world. But the details, while spreading, had just made their way through England. If Harry was the hero, Neville and Diane were very close seconds; but he would have given up his “fame� in an instant to have Neville back.

As usual, Harry was disgusted by the attention given him and he made every effort to credit all who made the victory possible. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. He knew Aberforth and Martin would never receive the public recognition for their work. The lone Daily paper that did mention Aberforth also had the gall to bring up his goat ‘experiments’ from decades earlier. So in spite of Harry’s best efforts, he remained the center of attention.

Harry and Ginny mingled with their friends, schoolmates, and guests for nearly an hour. Tonks finally had to drag him away, fearing he would lash out at an imbecilic busybody who insisted on pestering Harry for details of the “great battle,� as he called it.

“Some people just don’t get it, Tonks. Why?�

“Harry, some people don’t want to get it. That bloke’s perception is more interesting, you have to admit. He could care less about reality.�

Grunting a response that he’d heard Tonk’s message, but did not necessarily believe it, Harry sat on a step and looked around. The crowd was thinning, the wind had died out, but Muggle traffic was thick with people heading to lunch, or wherever. Across the street was an old bank. Looking absently for a name, Harry noticed something on the front of the building. He pointed it out to Tonks.

“It’s damage from the Blitz. 1940 or ’41, can’t recall which. This part of the city was hit pretty hard. My parents were kids at the time, but remember it well.�

Looking around, Harry saw other buildings with their stone façades chipped. Very few had been repaired; they appeared to wear their scars as badges of honor. Without realizing what he was doing, Harry put his hand to his forehead.

“So, is the, er, operation still on for Saturday?� asked Tonks, her voice lowered.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, and thanks.�

Tonks playfully slapped at Harry’s hair. “Don’t mention it. Ready to head back to school?� Harry nodded and they rose to find Ginny. Minutes later they were back at Hogwarts.


Now it really was over.

Chapter 2
A Parting of Ways

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


Following Neville’s funeral, the remainder of the week passed awkwardly for the five reunited friends. There was an omnipresent pall over Ron and Hermione, and they were seldom together with Harry, Ginny and Diane. Also, the tension between Hermione and Diane was palpable, though when Harry and Ginny asked Diane about it she replied that she had no clue what was going on. And when they asked Hermione, she refused to acknowledge a problem. Ron was unapproachable and seldom seen.

Ron and Ginny were in and out during the week, Flooing between school and The Burrow. As Prefects, they met with McGonagall and suggested to the Headmistress that they call the other Prefects together towards the end of the week, for one day. (Slytherin was only granted one Prefect due to the low return rate.) Both argued that having a day together, without the pressures and distractions caused by the presence of the student body, would benefit all of them. They also discussed adding more guidelines about giving and taking house points, a practice often abused by Prefects over the years. Ron even suggested that any point awards or penalties be accompanied by the memory from the Prefect involved. McGonagall considered this and decided to let them try it for the first two months of the term. If it was not too cumbersome, she promised her continued concurrence.

Harry and Hermione had a number of meetings with McGonagall, too, about their Head Boy/Head Girl position, and the Headmistress told them about the first Owls arriving with letters of intent to return; the majority of students would be back. The many notable exceptions were from Slytherin House, so far only a couple dozen would be returning, and a few of those were rejected due to their family association with Voldemort or his followers. Harry expressed his happiness for this bit of information. All his past tormentors were gone: Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Malfoy, being the most notable. But Hermione, Harry could tell, seemed a little disappointed at first, though that wore off after a time.

The person with the busiest schedule this week was Diane. McGonagall had left her a few notes concerning catch-up work she could perform, and the American was glad to immerse herself in something – anything – to be distracted from the tension. She spent most of her time studying and practicing her spell work, usually with Harry or Ginny’s assistance. But she also had not told anyone about an Owl she had received from a Ministry ad hoc committee desiring to schedule a meeting to discuss her display of power the previous Thursday. She replied that she would be available late October hoping they would leave her alone.

Knowing of his plans for the next couple weeks, Harry moved his possessions into the Head Boy suite Wednesday. When Hermione asked why he was moving in so early, he just shrugged.

-|-|-|-|-|-

By mid-week, Rufus Scrimgeour had finally been found, but he had been tortured into insanity like Frank and Alice Longbottom. Many other missing persons turned up when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s teams of investigators discovered numerous hideouts and safe houses used by Voldemort’s followers.

There were serious disappointments, too. Even after the horrific ‘disarming’ the Death Eaters had suffered, only a handful provided any useful information. In the long run, this only hardened the resolve of prosecutors when they were brought to trial. Harry and those that knew about Horcruxes suspected, however, that the Death Eaters were afraid of a repeat of Voldemort’s last rebirth. Knowing it could not happen again left them in an uncomfortable position. Should they tell the defense attorneys about Voldemort’s failed bid for immortality so their clients knew their position was hopeless? Or should they remain silent and let the Death Eater hang themselves with their own stupidity and cruelty? It was another one of those �what is easy and what is right� choices.

Finally, the decision was made to inform the defense teams about the Horcruxes under a most unusual and rarely used legal procedure. A panel of three judges would be informed of the Horcruxes, how they operated and how they affected Riddle’s return. Then, under the supervision of the three judges, each suspect and his or her legal representative would be told the story of Voldemort and his Horcruxes. If the suspect, upon hearing this story, and under the advice of his solicitor, chose to offer aid and renounce their ways, the evidence would be collected. If the suspect, upon hearing this story, still refused to aid in the investigations, this choice would also be noted.

In either case, the memories of the suspect and the solicitors, concerning Horcruxes, were obliviated. When the process was complete, only the three judge panel would know how each suspect chose to react to the news. Those that cooperated were told that they would receive some form of leniency, the others received none.

As the process played out over the following weeks, the vast majority of Death Eaters received death sentences, those receiving leniency would still spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban. But that begs the question: Was a life sentence in Azkaban a more lenient sentence than death? Without the Dementors present, the cold, isolated prison was still gravely inhospitable.

Another early Ministry action was to seize money and assets of the Death Eaters. Gringotts was paid a fair fee for their cooperation and the Ministry took a portion, but the majority was placed into a trust for those injured during the war. When all the assets were accounted for it added up to a significant fortune. The Ministry also earned a great deal of good will for this prompt action. Had they waited any longer, the families of Death Eaters might have transferred their gold to other institutions out of the English Ministry’s reach.

-|-|-|-|-|-

Arthur Weasley was perspiring heavily even before he met the Muggle Prime Minister. Fortunately, his robes hid all evidence of his nervous condition. Alerting the portrait in Scrimgeour’s old office, (that connected to the Muggle PM’s office,) Arthur announced that he desired a meeting and waited for an answer. He had intentionally chosen seven o’clock in the morning in the belief that the Muggle Minister would not yet be busy with the day’s activities. He was correct. Not even a minute later he received a response and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Shortly he was discharged in the office at 10 Downing Street.

The Muggle Prime Minister was a smart man and had learned from the two previous meetings with his magical counterpart that ‘no news’ was not ‘good news.’. Ever since his first meeting with Fudge a few years before, then with Scrimgeour fifteen months ago, he had anticipated word from his magical counterpart about the progress of the wizard’s war. But as time passed, and no further word was received, the PM began to rely upon his country’s own law enforcement and intelligence gathering agencies to (discretely) track the ‘battles.’ While the general population would only hear bits and pieces of tragic deaths and destruction, he had been able to map out, to a fairly accurate degree, what was happening in the world of magic.

The biggest tips he received were the ones where noises of destruction were heard, and people disappeared, but no one knew anything about anything. Only a few weeks before he received word of lights and screams and destruction just outside the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. Of all places! the PM thought to himself. What could any wizard want from that isolated spot? And now the new Minister of the wizards, Arthur Weasley, wants to talk with me; let’s hope he has good news.

The fireplace at Downing Street roared out a cool green flame and a tall red-haired man emerged, a bit unsteadily, before him. Walking resolutely around his desk, he approached the man and held out his hand. “Minister Weasley, it’s an honor to meet you. And congratulations on your election,� Anthony Blast said warmly.

Arthur was surprised for a second, then smiled warmly. “Mr. Prime Minister, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. But I believe you don’t understand. I’m just an acting department head; we have no Minister of Magic at this moment.�

“What happened to your chap, Scrimgeour?� Blast asked with curiosity, perhaps forgetting the war.

“Well, he, er… he was incapacitated in the later days of the war. We’re putting things back together right now.�

“I’m sorry to hear that, Weasley. Would you like some tea?� The PM motioned for Arthur to join him at a small table covered with a tea setting and various pastries.

The two men sat and served themselves tea, Arthur with milk, Blast with sugar. Looking for an opening, the Muggle PM asked his most important question. “Am I correct in assuming your war is over?�

“Yes, just last Thursday, thanks heavens. That’s my reason for intruding here.�

“Nonsense, these things are best discussed as soon as possible; I was beginning to wonder what was happening.� Blast made it clear by his tone that he was a bit annoyed by the lack of recent news, but Arthur Weasley ignored the mild admonishment.

“Yes, well I’m here now to let you know that the wizard who fancied himself as Lord V-Voldemort has finally been destroyed. And many, actually, most of his followers are in prison and we’re starting to get things put back together.�

“Excellent, Weasley, I’m delighted to hear this. Now I’m certain you will need some time to get your government back together. When you are ready, we can begin discussions on war reparations…�

War reparations? Arthur’s head snapped up from his cup of tea, spilling a few drops down the front of his robes. “Pardon me, Prime Minister. What is there to discuss about reparations?� It was the first thought Arthur had pop into his mind.

“There has been quite a bit of damage here, Weasley, directly related to your war. I’ve managed to keep it quiet, thank heavens for that. I’ve made a few rough estimates, and from infrastructure alone we’ve incurred over one hundred million pounds in damages. It will, of course, take many more weeks to tally the loss of person property and bodily harm claims…�

Arthur Weasley was stunned. Sitting across from him was the leader of one of the Muggle world’s most important countries, and he was, in effect, laying down terms. He had never heard of such things happening, even after the Second World War where losses were thousands of times greater than these. What to say…?

“Yes, I see your point. I’ll raise this issue with the cabinet when we have things rebuilt. You have my word, you’ll hear back from us about this.� Arthur wondered just what the response would be. Perhaps a few memory charms? A hundred million pounds was about two hundred fifty thousand Galleons! And that’s just part of it!

-|-|-|-|-|-

“Damn you, Hebert, turn the lights on!� Digger howled. I should have learned to curse better in French.

“This isn’t called a ‘dark room’ for nothing, Digger,� Hebert replied testily. It had taken him three days to find the annoying American, but he had done it, and now he had the man. “I have seven or eight excellent shots, one I’m sure you’ll like.�

Digger rubbed his shin where the corner of a large box had dug out a divot of skin. He could feel the blood through his trouser leg. “Fine, let me see them.�

“Patience my much unliked friend. Let’s discuss the price first, then you see the pictures.�

“Kiss my bloody ass, Hebert. You know full well that I have the right…�

“You have nothing, Allen. I, one the other hand, have everything.� Hebert paused, Digger sensed the smile on the man’s face.

If he was this sure of himself then he probably did have something good. “Alright, Hebert, I’ll guess you have seven peripheral and one ringer. Ten thousand, after I see the ringer.�

“Fifteen, and they’re worth every franc.�

Damn the man! “Hebert, if you fuck me over, it’s the last time we do business.�

“Yes, Mr. Allen, I’ve heard that one before. Take out your check book and start writing.� The French photographer flipped on a normal room light and heard Digger curse yet again. He hadn’t needed the room darkened after all, except to irritate his guest. Pulling a manila envelope from a drawer, he took the bank draft and handed the prints over. The negatives were in a very safe location.

Allen tried to hide his excitement as he fumbled to open the envelope; Hebert politely held his amusement quietly to himself. The first seven pictures showed the backs of what appeared to be two very well dressed females, one much smaller than the other. Probably a mother and daughter, or sisters, Digger calculated. Their dress is… out of fashion, but not absurdly so… He flipped through them and stopped on the last one, examining it closely.

“Yes, Monsieur Allen, if you hadn’t gone chasing them your grosse tete would not have blocked everything. Still, I think it’s worth the price, don’t you?�

Digger Allen said nothing, he didn’t have to. He would have paid twenty thousand if he’d known what the bastard Frenchman had in his possession. He now had two names to go on in his search for the mysterious Harry Potter. Two names and what appeared to be the name of a school. But thinking back to that day, he didn’t recall seeing any sort of name plate on the younger girl’s cape. How odd…

-|-|-|-|-|-

The second Saturday following Voldemort’s defeat, Harry made good on a promise he made to Ginny weeks earlier. Accompanied by Diane, Remus and Tonks, they ‘disappeared’ to the States, leaving Charlie with an unambiguous note stating that no one should follow, (and that Remus and Tonks were playing chaperone.)

Following the departure, Charlie and Ron delivered the note and spoke with their father about the ‘holiday.’ Arthur didn’t believe his sons, completely, when he was assured that Harry and Ginny were truly vacationing and not just on a two week binge of sexual debauchery with their new American friend. Of course, he now had the unenviable task of telling the missus that their sixteen year old daughter and her boyfriend had basically run off unsupervised. (Arthur was not sure Remus and Tonks were the best of parent figures for the kids.)

Scratching his head, Arthur gave his sons a disgruntled look and went off to find his wife. Molly Weasley’s eruption, when she saw the note, made the one with Hermione seem trivial. Ron and Charlie heard it from the kitchen, looked at each other and Floo’d back to Hogwarts.

“So little bro, why aren’t you and Hermione doing the same thing? You’ve certainly earned it,� asked Charlie as they walked from McGonagall’s empty office. It had the only fireplace in Hogwarts which allowed incoming floo’s. Ron looked at his brother and made a face. “Oh get off it, Ron, I know what’s been going on with you two, and I don’t hold it against you…�

“Shut it, Charlie,� snapped Ron. He knew this subject was going to come up; the brothers had spent far too much time together the past two months. The only thing preventing an earlier broaching of the subject was the war. Wars do tend to distract people from life’s everyday occurrences.

“What’s got you in such a twist? Trouble in ‘Lover-land’?� Charlie laughed

Ron stopped, they were half-way down the stairs to the third floor. Part of him felt like punching Charlie, part of him felt like... “We, er—Hermione and I aren’t together any more. So just shut it.� Ron turned and continued down the stairs, leaving his slack-jawed brother behind.

“Bloody hell!� Charlie whispered to himself. “Wait up, Ron!� he then called out. Catching him a moment later and rounding on him, Charlie placed a hand in his chest. Ron was a good five inches taller, but the older brother had the weight advantage. “What happened, Ron?� he asked carefully.

Sighing, Ron’s face fell. “I don’t know, our relationship had disaster written all over it from the start, I guess. The last two weeks of the war were…� Ron was about to say wonderful, but changed his mind. “…well, just awful, Charlie. Hermione was so bloody pissed at mum and I was caught in the middle.�

“Did you two have a fight?�

Did we fight?! When didn’t we fight? “Nah, wasn’t that. I… I don’t know, I just felt used. Hermione had… we had this fight with mum…�

“I heard.�

“...and Hermione, she wanted more than… never mind. Anyway, I guess it’s over.� Ron’s voice was even, but as he reached for the door to the Gryffindor common room Charlie could see his hand shaking.

“You two still friends?�

“I guess… she says so, at least. We’ve been so close for six years, I can’t imagine not…� but Ron couldn’t finish, and he wouldn’t entertain that possibility.

The brothers stood in the doorway to the common room, now much easier to linger in without the students present or the Fat Lady demanding a password. Charlie wondered if this was part of the reason Ginny and Harry had left town. After Neville’s memorial service, the four teens and the American girl were definitely out-of-sorts. From what his father had said, Ron and Hermione had been quite the item during the summer. What happened? Not that it’s any of my business. Or maybe it is.

“Okay, Ron. If you want to talk about it I’ll be here a few more hours.� Then he had an idea. “In fact, I know this is bloody well out of the blue, but Tré and I are going back to her family home in France tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us for a bit? A change of scenery might do you good.�

Ron brightened noticeably at the offer, but then he sobered. “Have you heard anything about school reopening?�

“Minerva says early October. They have a lot of changes to make: Faculty, admissions criteria, curriculum, that sort of stuff. But the earliest date I’ve heard is still three weeks away. Think about it, will you?�

Ron pursed his lips in a way that reminded Charlie of Hermione. “Yeah, I’ll go with you... unless something happens here…� His voice trailed off and his head turned downward.

“You mean with Hermione?� Charlie asked, looking carefully at his brother. “If she asks you back, would you go?�

Ron looked up and kept a steady gaze at his brother, though his heart was breaking. And then he shook his head. “No,� he said softly, “I don’t think I would.�

Charlie nodded; his face told Ron how much he felt for him. And from the stories he’d heard about the two’s intimacy the past few weeks, he was appropriately impressed with Ron’s maturity. Putting an arm around his youngest brother, the two walked up to their room. Ron was glad that the sounds of shuffling feet hid most of his sobs.

-|-|-|-|-|-

That same afternoon, Hermione was packing the last of her belongings before transporting them to the Head Girl Suite. A miniature House unto itself, she would share it with Harry, the Head Boy, for the remainder of the term.

The Head Boy/Girl Suite was fairly modern concept for Hogwarts, originating in the late 1960’s as a reward to the two students who had earned the honor. The layout was simple: Each had a two-room suite with private bathing facilities and joined by a large common area with an exit to an adjoining corridor. There was also a private fireplace they could use to make Floo calls. Also, they each had a private study area, like a small office, off their common room. And much to Hermione’s chagrin, they shared the service of one House Elf. That was something she would talk to Harry about.

Hermione was perfectly happy to be leaving the Gryffindor tower; the idea of sharing a room with Diane Bradley made her antsy, though she wasn’t certain why. The American had never done anything remotely offensive to her, or anyone for that matter. She simply felt uncomfortable around the newcomer. Neither she nor Ron had become as close to her as Harry and Ginny. Perhaps that was the cause of the tension, she considered. But the point was moot now anyway.

Breaking up with Ron was the correct thing to do, Hermione told herself, as she threw a book into her trunk. She knew it was her fault; she had pushed him too hard and too fast. Their intimacy over the past few weeks had been nothing short of unbelievable, physically. But emotionally, spiritually, socially… it was a disaster, and it was hiding a truth that she had grown to realize over the summer: She loved Ron Weasley dearly, but she could never be happy with him as a husband, and she could never be happy as part of his extended family. Was that being petty? She wasn’t sure.

To her amazement, Ron had accepted each reason she had given him for their split, and he had agreed to their amicable parting with far more maturity than she expected. This left Hermione with still more guilt. Had he known it wasn’t going to work, too? Was he just letting me use him to ease my pain and insecurities? These were good questions, Hermione realized, flopping onto her bed. Lord! All the nights I spent here over the past six years dreaming about Ron Weasley… Ron the student… Ron the friend… Ron the jealous git… Ron the fighter… Ron the lover.

That last one shook the bushy-haired witch, it brought a choking sob out which she had difficulty fighting back. She knew she was to blame for that debacle, not Ron. Not that he ever showed any disinterest! For all their fumbling and frantic passion, Hermione realized, it was he who had been the perfect gentleman, the selfless giver, the best… friend. Now she had lost her virginity and self respect. Who would ever want used goods? And for the first time since their break-up earlier in the week, Hermione Jane Granger let it happen: She cried.

-|-|-|-|-|-

After dropping Diane off in Salem, Harry, Ginny, Remus and Tonks, both of the later still recuperating from injuries sustained in the final days of the war, holidayed for two weeks in Florida. Harry had promised Ginny that they would go off together after Voldemort had been destroyed, by themselves, and try to make up for a lot of lost time in their relationship. But both soon found they had no idea about how to arrange for such a trip in the largely Muggle country. Harry enlisted Remus and Tonks to assist with the travel plans and accompany them, insisting he pay their way from the large Potter and Black estates he now had complete access to.

Harry had another reason for asking Remus and Tonks. He secretly wanted Lupin present because he worried that both he and Ginny might need counseling for the emotional and physical aspects of their relationship, in case things changed over the next two weeks. While they had been nowhere near as ‘active’ and Ron and Hermione, the physical side of their relationship had become deeper and more... well, physical. Remus, himself exhausted after two long bloody wars, agreed in a heartbeat, and assured Harry that he and Tonks would always be available if either needed anything.

The holiday turned out to be the most relaxing time of Harry’s life, up to that point. They all traveled under false names and stayed in a wide range of accommodations, sampling both first class and tourist accommodations. They saw sights they never dreamed about, used almost no magic and seldom missed it. After the first week, Diane joined them in Key West. She fit in perfectly with Harry and Ginny, completely comfortable with both of her new friends, and glad for the first real ‘vacation’ she’d had since she had been orphaned. They grew closer and spent all their time together, giving Lupin and Tonks an opportunity to talk and plan their future.

They were all introduced to snorkeling in the Keys, shell hunting on the gulf coast, the Disney World experience, freshwater springs, the Kennedy Space Center, Miami and, at Tonks’ insistence, South Beach. Diane knew why Tonks was taking them, but held her tongue. (She, too, was curious as to whether the famous beach lived up to its reputation.) Arriving at the shore early, they set up their ‘camp’ and spent the morning alternating between sunbathing, swimming and bodysurfing, an activity Harry instantly loved, until the first time his chest scraped bottom. The necessary healing charm was one of the few times they needed to use magic.

After lunching at a nearby deli, the five headed back to the beach, which they saw was now significantly more crowded. Diane explained that the nearby American Colleges and Universities often contributed thousands of afternoon students to the shore. Some studied, others played on the beach, most just sunbathed and swam.

Harry, Ginny, Remus and Tonks took long afternoon walks on the beach their first week, and Diane joined them enthusiastically for the second. As they started out that afternoon, the two older girls lagged behind, waiting for what they both knew the others would come upon at any moment. It only took two minutes.

Harry froze suddenly, holding Ginny’s hand, preventing her from advancing. Remus, not having noticed his companions stop, took a few more steps before halting to let three coeds cross in front of him. A second later he turned around; his face appeared to instantly sunburn and his eye were wide open. Harry’s expression was similar. Ginny just stood, gaping at the topless female swimmers walking by. Tonks burst into laughter and then whispered something to Diane; she blushed and started laughing, too.

Harry looked at Remus and said something about being set up; Remus gave Tonks a disapproving look, but only for a moment. Not wishing to admit defeat, he turned and continued walking, Harry and Ginny followed momentarily. Their stroll that afternoon was a good bit longer than usual. When they returned to their ‘camp’ two hours later, Remus told the girls not to get any ideas, but only Tonks appeared disappointed.

The only potential glitch in the entire two-week break was a full moon at the start of the second week. But before leaving England, Jimmy Twofeet, the Native American who helped Harry find Nagini, had insisted Lupin visit his home the next time his ‘furry little problem’ cropped up. He introduced Lupin to some Native American meditations that significantly lessened the strain of the transformation. When Lupin returned a day earlier than expected, healthier and happier than he’d been in years, he swore that he might be tempted to live in Arizona for the rest of his life. Tonks held her tongue, she had no desire for the hot American southwest, but she did smile and made sure Remus knew how happy she was for him.

The final three days were spent off the coast of Venice Beach on a barrier island. The geography of the narrow, sandy land mass meant that they would see the sun rise over the mainland and the narrow strip of water known as the Intracoastal Waterway. It was quiet, hot, and the three younger vacationers were in a melancholy mood. The prospect of returning to school and the lingering issues with Ron and Hermione weighed heavily upon them, Harry and Ginny most of all. The first evening they joined a group of teens at a beach campfire and tried to mingle in. Diane fit in best; Harry and Ginny felt they were accepted mainly because of their ‘cute English accents.’ But the local teens were polite, inviting them to play volleyball and Frisbee, though neither Harry nor Ginny had had any experience with either sports and were very self-conscious.

After dinner on the second day, the three teens accompanied two elderly couples on a walk far offshore into the Gulf. The four locals explained that the tide had just gone out and it was the best time to find seashells. They were correct. An hour later, Harry and Ginny returned to the shore in utter amazement at the variety of shells they had gathered. Diane sat, amused, watching the couple trade and whisper in awe at their treasures.

But the evening had only brought sadness to the American; her family’s last vacation had been just south of Venice Beach at Fort Lauderdale, the winter before she was orphaned. Ginny commented to Harry about their friend’s sad look and they decided to share their finest finds with her. Diane thanked her friends, but told them nothing about why she was down. She returned to the cottage they shared with Remus and Tonks, leaving the Harry and Ginny believing she was just down due to the anticipated end of the holiday.

The final full day in Florida started as most late summer days in Florida, hot and humid. Harry and Ginny had risen very early and headed off to the canal to watch the sunrise and then have a pre-breakfast swim in the Gulf. They also wanted some time alone, but their plan was postponed when they saw Diane sitting alone in the sand on the Gulf side as the tide slowly crept in towards her outstretched legs.

“Gin, let me talk to her. I think there’s more to this than the holiday ending.� Harry gave Ginny a quick kiss and left her at the small boardwalk where she sat alone and waited for the sun to appear.

Sitting next to his American friend, Harry put an arm around her shoulder. It felt a bit awkward with Ginny behind him, especially since he knew Diane had not told Ginny about her orientation. “Hey, Di, you okay?� he asked gently. Harry could tell she had been crying.

“I’m better now, Harry, thanks. I’m just torn between England and the States.� Diane then proceeded to tell Harry about her family’s last vacation together, her apprehension about living overseas, the lack of acceptance she felt from Hermione, and her concern that she was the reason Hermione and Ron were no longer hanging around with him and Ginny.

Listening patiently, Harry addressed each issue Diane had brought up, as well as he could. He assured Diane that she did have friends in England beside himself, and would have more once the students returned. He explained that Hermione and Ron’s relationship had always been a fiery on/off thing, fraught with fights, misunderstandings and jealousy. In some ways, he admitted, he was surprised they had lasted this long, in others, he hoped they would be together for life. (Ron and Hermione had agreed to hide their break-up from Harry and Ginny until they returned, lest it ruin their holiday.)

But it was Diane’s pain of losing her family that Harry was best able to identify with and help his friend. He intentionally avoided saying that she should be grateful for the time they had together, and that he would have felt fortunate to have fifteen years with his parents. Instead, Harry provided Diane with what she needed: A shoulder to cry on and the quiet presence of someone she could trust.

Ginny watched them talk and was moved. Harry’s self confidence and maturity had blossomed over the summer and she was glad their new friend benefited from it, along with Harry. Moving off the boardwalk, Ginny sat in the sand a few meters behind Harry and Diane as the sun broke the horizon behind them. In minutes it topped the houses. Looking back to the east, Ginny was temporarily blinded in the dazzling brightness. The momentary distraction also prevented Ginny from seeing Diane turn to Harry and give him a brief kiss on his cheek. When she turned back towards the beach she saw Harry pulling Diane to her feet and embracing her.

That evening, all five were invited to a neighbor’s house for a barbeque. While the ‘kids’ had been doing their own thing the past two days, Remus and Tonks had met a friendly couple from Virginia (lottery jackpot winners) who called Florida their home from September through March. The large house, two down from the English travelers’, boasted a pool and hot tub as its external extravagance. Inside it contained a spacious second floor master suite with an enormous picture window overlooking the canal on the east side to watch the sunrise and another facing west where the occupants could watch the sunset. Ginny told Harry she felt like flopping down on the huge bed and waiting for the sun to come up the following day. Harry felt the same way and wondered if his small fortune in Gringotts could buy such a place.

Saturday morning, their last in the United State, found the five eating quietly and thinking back on their long holiday. Remus and Tonks were ready to return, not used to being inactive for such a long time. Harry and Ginny were wondering how to mend the rift between themselves and Ron and Hermione. Diane busied herself with packing and picking up after her friends to the point where Harry playfully picked her up, set her on the sofa and sat on her so she couldn’t get up. Ginny howled in amusement and Diane surrendered, spending the remaining time watching the television.

At eleven o’clock, Remus activated the international Portkey and a moment later they found themselves in one of the ‘arrival’ rooms at Hogwarts. A few minutes of warm hugs and kisses goodbye followed, and then Remus and Tonks headed off to their room and Harry helped the girls take their things to the Gryffindor tower. Classes would begin in two days and Harry had to be ready to assume his Head Boy duties and Ginny her Prefect responsibilities. Diane would be meeting with a number of the professors about a schedule, since her educational path had been so different that anyone else’s.

-|-|-|-|-|-

The first thing Harry and Ginny noticed upon returning to Hogwarts was that all the first year students had already arrived, two days early. Terse notes from the Headmistress lay on their beds explaining the changes in new student orientation and admonishing them for leaving without providing a forwarding address. Both also had two Howlers, one each from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Diane sat and watched, amused, as Harry opened his two. They could also hear Ginny’s echoing all the way from the girl’s dormitory.

Later that evening, Filch, the castle caretaker, gave Diane two letters delivered by Muggle post while she was away; he’d nearly frightened her to death, popping out of a room when she walked by. The top letter was from her friend, Billie, back in Salem. Running to a quiet niche she’d found in the Gryffindor tower, Diane tore it open.

Hi Di!

Sorry I missed you visit.

We’ve been hearing some wild rumors about you. Are they true? Knowing you, the answer’s probably yes. We tried to pick Graham’s brain but he just said to write you and ask. So… the word is that you performed some righteously wicked magic and blew away a few hundred weirdoes. Did you really kill them or just knock them out? It’s okay with me either way, if they were threatening you or your “boy friend.� LOL!

The past few weeks here have been insane. There are more students this year than ever, mainly freshmen. They all started arriving last week, half-way through the first quarter. What goobers! I can’t believe we were ever that small and obnoxious. Well, maybe Bob was. Hehehe.

Now don’t you go giving away all our secrets to the Brits, hear me? Write back and let me know what it’s like there. We miss you on the nightly kitchen raids.

Hugs (and kisses) (-;

Love,

Billie

Diane sat for a long time, rereading the letter over and over. Wilhelmina Jackson had been her first friend at Salem. She’d come from the Deep South and made everyone aware that her name was Billie. Diane laughed at her accent one day, soon after they’d met, and it was the last time she ever laughed at her. Billie’s father was a Drill Sergeant and his language and intimidation techniques were well represented in his daughter.

The massive window well in a stairway of the Gryffindor tower was mostly obscured and gave Diane the privacy she wanted, and it was easier to ignore the hustle and bustle around her. In retrospect, she knew, sitting in the common room would have been far more comfortable. But the possibility of having to hear Hermione patiently explain to a ghost, portrait or new student, for the umpteenth time, how Harry defeated Voldemort, made her gag.

What was it that disturbed her so much about being around Hermione Granger? The first time they met she had felt none of the unconditional affection she shared with Harry, Ron and Ginny. Did Hermione suspect something unnatural about her? No, Jason Graham had told her – had convinced her – that her ‘orientation’ was her own business, and completely natural. Her former principal’s deep passion to make the orphaned student welcome and comfortable had built a powerful bond between them, and Jason, over the next two years, had become a sort of father/big brother to her. And Diane trusted him completely.

Did Hermione feel threatened by her outward signs of affection to Harry? Not likely. There had been a couple awkward moments between Diane and Ginny, but Harry’s girlfriend learned that there was a deep bond between him and the brash American brunette. Diane and Harry had sat with the sixteen year old and assured her that their affection was strictly platonic, and Ginny believed them. In no way did Diane’s trait of overt physical affection bother either of them. If anything, Harry, Ginny and Diane had become something of a new ‘Trio’ after Voldemort’s fall.

Perhaps Hermione resents me for butting into their friendships, Diane considered, as another first year student stopped next to her window to read their room assignment. No, that wasn’t it. Ron had tried to be friends, but one day it looked like he had been given a choice between his girlfriend and the ‘other group,’ as Hermione was heard to call Harry, Ginny and Diane. Nothing about the bushy-haired witch made sense to the young American. She stopped thinking about it and helped the first year witch with directions.

The youngster trotted up the stairs a moment later with hasty thanks, and Diane returned to her thoughts.

Was she responsible for the ‘breakup’ of the foursome? Possibly, Diane admitted, since it had become painfully obvious to Harry and Ginny that their two best friends had taken to using sex as a way to prove their adulthood. Diane thought it proved just the opposite. Awkwardness had permeated the foursome soon after the final confrontation with Voldemort. Diane had learned that since the four had become two couples they did everything together, but her observation was also that Hermione’s idea of ‘doing something’ was ‘doing it.’ Even Ginny, the most open-minded of the four, wasn’t about to consider that sort of double date!

The second letter, which Diane immediately recognized, was from the Law Firm of Kent and Bass, the firm that was responsible for her Trust dispersements and her parents’ estate. Didn’t take them long to find me... Knowing it was unavoidable, she opened the formal letter.


Dear Ms. Bradley:

As we explained in our previous three correspondences, your presence is required at our office to sign papers concerning the release of your Trust Funds and the final disposition of your family’s estate. Mr. Graham’s limited Power of Attorney does not allow him to perform these duties, you must sign them yourself and have the signature notarized. After the release of the funds, you may deal with them as you see fit.

Please contact us as soon as possible so we may schedule the signing.

Please also note that your Trust, by the terms of its establishment, will start being charged for our services on the day following your nineteenth birthday, December 3, 1997.

Respectfully...





With far more questions than answers, Diane reread Billie’s letter yet again and remembered back to her years in Middle and High School. They were painful memories, though sufficiently distracting to remove her mind from Hermione.

The urges and passions of adolescence had clobbered her hard in sixth grade and left her utterly confused. Her Christian parents, she believed, would not consider her ‘sexual identity’ to be anything other than straight, any more than they would consider converting to Judaism.

Diane had been fortunate to make all her (early) stupid mistakes with boys and girls in middle school. As a result, the two years had been horrible; there was simply no other way to describe her beginning of adolescence. Academically, Diane excelled. Socially, she was shunned by the boys who found her (rightfully) very attractive but unreachable, and the girls who found her hugs and touches a bit too friendly. It only took one mistake, an affectionate kiss on a female classmate’s cheek and a misunderstood comment, to start the rumors. The last six months of eighth grade enlightened Diane to a new vocabulary where words such as lesbian, queer, fag, gay, homo and dyke, to name just a few, became her new monikers. The list went on, and Diane stopped trying to remember them all, the accuser’s tone told her everything necessary.

Then she chose Salem for High School where she could start anew.

Magic had been in the Bradley family for generations, though like Harry, Diane’s mother was Muggle born. The Bradley’s lived in Manchester, New Hampshire, and practiced the American style of witchcraft and wizardry, that is to say, they only used it when they needed it; it was not a part of everyday life. Diane knew, by the time she was ten, that she wanted to study her special skill, as magic was often called. It would require a lot of hard work, luck and money. Attending Salem, considered among the senior Wizarding families in the States to be preppy and snobbish, was also expensive. Two full academic scholarships were offered each year to rising freshmen and Diane Bradley won her erudition easily, and with a record score on the standardized test among the forty applicants. Thus, the academic and monetary requirements were met, which left only for her to convince her parents that she was in earnest about her choice.

Harry and Ginny confronted Ron the day before leaving on their holiday and he confirmed the physical relationship, but more disturbingly, the serious rift between his mother and Hermione. He explained how his parents had come upon them in a compromising position in mid-August. A confrontation ensued, a confrontation that had, apparently, destroyed the relationship between Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. When his sister pinned him down, however, he admitted that neither side had really attempted a reconciliation. This allowed Harry and Ginny, and soon thereafter, Diane, to understand the situation better. But it did little to help fix it.

Then right after their return from the United States…

Harry and Ginny confronted Hermione and demanded answers. What they got was far more than they expected. Hermione told them that she and Ron had broken off their relationship… their dating relationship. Harry and Ginny were shocked, to an extent. She also to them that Ron had left the country right after they did, with Charlie and Tré, and no one had heard from him directly since then.

Harry felt terrible. He imagined Hermione alone in the castle for two weeks; it must have been hell for her. Maybe she went home... And what was Ron going through that he had to leave the country? But possibly the most crushing feeling was that he, Ron and Hermione would no longer be the best friends they’d been for the past six years. Harry knew when he and Ron started dating Ginny and Hermione that it could happen, but this was reality.

Asking Hermione how she was getting along she said she was alright, but Harry and Ginny knew better. Ginny said she hoped they would all remained friends, but Hermione’s assurances were less than convincing.


A/N: In the U.S. schooling system, most states require six years of elementary school (usually grades 1-6) and two years of middle school or junior high (usually grades 7-8.) Though high school is not optional, many adolescents drop out before finishing. High school covers grades 9-12, (freshmen, sophomore, junior, senior.) To compare this with the English grade level you would see:

U.S./English
6th grade/1st year
7th grade/2nd year
8th grade/3rd year
9th grade (freshmen)/4th year
10th grade (sophomore)/5th year
11th grade (junior)/6th year
12th grade (senior)/7th year

Diane Bradley, as a senior, is in 12th grade, or 7th year in the English system. She is 18, however, so she would probably have been one year ahead of Harry and the gang if she had lived in England. In the U.S. it is not uncommon to have kids graduate from high school between the ages of 17 and 19, it depends more on the choice of their parents and where their child’s birthday falls.


Translations:
grosse tete – Big head

Chapter 3
Digging for Answers


Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



Quote of the day: “Me flunk English? That’s unpossible!� Ralph W.



“Who’s this Paquin bloke?� Ron asked. “You don’t sound too happy about meeting him.�

Tré didn’t answer immediately, she was consulting a small notebook Ron had seen her reference on occasion. As she flipped through the pages her face became more and more grave. “He’s was a spy, Ron, just like Bissette. They worked together for years before taking jobs at the Ministry.� Tré motioned them forward, through a narrow garbage strewn alley. As they approached the corner, Ron saw the Eiffel Tower come into view, perhaps two or three kilometers away.

“Wow!� Ron exclaimed softly, Charlie was crouched down mostly hidden behind a crate, also admiring France’s most famous landmark.

“Sightsee later you two, we have to go back.�

“What?! We just spent all morning getting here.�

Charlie shushed his youngest brother and turned to Tré. “What do you see?�

“Nothing, it’s what I feel. If the building was still safe it would have at least two lookouts. I don’t see or feel any. I think it’s been abandoned, or turned into a tr…�

Before Tré could finish saying “trap,� two green bolts crashed into the ground between Ron and Charlie.

“Bloody hell!� exclaimed Ron, looking around. A red bolt crashed into the wall, inches from his face, spraying razor sharp shards of brick at him and his brother, opening several small cuts.

“UP! They’re above us,� Tré gasped out, choking on the dust stirred up by the three blasts. Ron felt Charlie grab his arm and pull him back towards the far end of the alleyway. Tré was crawling on her hands and knees towards them as two more killing curses smashed into the space she had occupied a second before. Not a moment later a blast threw the French woman through the air and she landed atop Charlie and Ron, unconscious and bleeding from numerous wounds.

A light blue spell washed over them, but had no apparent affect. Charlie wrestled his friend off himself and reached into the collar of her blouse. When his hand came out it was holding what appeared to be a miniature Eiffel Tower, like one you would find in a cheap souvenir shop. Tapping it twice with his wand, the three vanished and the Portkey deposited them in a copse of bushes adjacent to a Euro-Disney car park. Neither Charlie nor Ron had known where the emergency Portkey would land them, but the noise from tourists, mostly excited children, disoriented them momentarily.

While Charlie attended to Tré’s injuries, Ron crawled around and made certain their location was secure and adequately hidden. Behind him, Ron heard his brother whisper a timely silencing charm; Tré had begun to moan as she regained consciousness. At first glance, Tré’s injuries appeared superficial, but when Charlie tried to move her arm from under her back she cried out in pain. The limb was obviously broken.

“Ron, I can’t take care of this arm and I don’t know what other internal injuries she has. We have to get her some help right away. I want you to take Tré back to Vernon. In the town there’s a retired Healer that might be able to help, his name is...� But before Charlie could continue they heard the distinct pops of multiple Apparitions nearby; they had been traced.

Ron felt his brother roughly push him atop Tré and heard him cast the Portus spell, the next instant they landed in a small garden behind a house. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

Disoriented yet again by the relocation, Ron whispered for Tré to remain quiet, but she appeared unconscious. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on the French woman and crawled off towards the house to ask about a doctor. Charlie had just told him there was a Healer in Tré’s home town, but he hadn’t time to give the name or directions. For that matter, Ron didn’t even know if he was in Vernon, he could only hope that was where they’d been sent.

Moving along the side of the house, Ron peeked around the front and was relieved to find no one in sight. Praying that the tracking spell that must have been cast on them in Paris had worn off, he slipped his wand into his shirt and walked as casually as he could onto the street. The beautiful village was so calm and peaceful, Ron was tempted to just keep walking and find a sidewalk café, sit and have tea; however, Tré needed medical attention and that was paramount.

It only took seconds. The very house they had been Ported behind had the universal Wizarding Healer symbol inconspicuously displayed on the front door lintel. Charlie had known what he was doing. Walking to the front door, Ron, in his excited state, knocked a little too loudly and was greeted moments later by a scowling elderly man. Ignoring the man’s glare, he mimed that he needed a healer and gently pushed his way into the house, showing the man his wand. It worked.

Within two minutes, Tré was lying in the Healer’s old examination room and the man was waving his wand over her, acting much like a male Madam Pomfrey. Ten minutes later, with Tré’s cuts and abrasions healed, her arm expertly set and on the mend, and the Healer’s guarantee of no serious internal injury, Ron collapsed in a chair. Over the past half-hour, he had been attacked twice; but he’d also kept his cool under fire and followed his brother’s orders without question. For all the hype and hoopla of the expected “final battle� against Voldemort, the past two weeks had been far more dangerous. And Ron had never been more thrilled in his life.

The Healer invited his male guest into the parlor and they tried to communicate, but Ron knew virtually no French and the Healer’s English was limited to phrases like, “Where does it hurt?� and “Sit still.� When Ron finally mentioned Tré’s name, the man instantly recognized it and motioned for him to stay where he was. “You stay, I be back, one minute,� and he ran out the front door. Ron moved over to the curtained window, stealing looks every few seconds. He still wasn’t sure how much he should trust the old man.

While Ron was waiting for the Healer to return, his thoughts turned to Charlie. Though he had never learned the Portus spell for travel, he did recall hearing or reading something about direct Teleportation. And it wasn’t good. For the Portus spell to work exactly as expected, it had to be cast upon an inanimate object, but Charlie hadn’t done that… Now, between Tré’s injuries, Charlie’s absence and a twinge of panic from not having Harry or Hermione with him, some of Ron’s earlier excitement faded away.

Standing, he strode to the examining room door and looked inside. Tré was starting to stir, which made him feel better; he felt better still as he heard the front door open and the Healer speak French to someone. A moment later, the two came around the corner. “Essie! Are you alright?� called out the young woman who accompanied the Healer. Ron was particularly happy she had said it in English.

“Er—she’s just waking up now…� stammered Ron, still standing in the doorway.

“Pardonez moi!� the female snapped, rather rudely, pushing Ron aside and entering the examining room.

“Son soeur, eh… Madam Mellanson’s seester,� the Healer said, a broad toothless grin on his face. Ron nodded that he understood, wondering where the Healer’s teeth had disappeared to over the past ten minutes. Entering the examining room, the Healer closed the door, with Ron on the outside.

Left with nothing to do for the moment, Ron made himself comfortable in the Healer’s parlor until he got antsy, then walked around looking at the array of Muggle pictures covering the walls. Most of the pictures appeared to be of the house’s sole resident, whose name he saw was Dr. Francois LeVasseur. One picture showed the Healer standing with another family: Tré’s family. By the look of the photograph, the Healer was well acquainted with the Mellanson’s. There was a salutation of some sort, in French, near the lower right corner, and each of Tré’s siblings had their name and what appeared to be a date of birth above each head. Ron counted eight Mellanson’s, including Tré; five girls and three boys.

Sitting back down and waiting for the doctor and Tré’s sister to reappear, Ron’s thoughts turned back to Charlie.

-|-|-|-|-

This is why they told us to never cast a Portus Spell that way, Charlie laughed ruefully to himself. He had not been followed, or traced, this time, but he also had no idea where he was, except that it was far too cold to be near France in September. And his wand was nowhere to be seen. He had to hike for three hours before finding any sign of civilization; three hours without water, in near freezing temperatures, and there were no trees or bushes to burn: warming spells only worked when you were sitting still, and he didn’t have his wand, in any event.

What Charlie did know was that he was near a volcano, dormant, hopefully! The ground was mostly old lava flows with an occasional green sprout of some hearty grass poking up here and there. As he hiked along, he saw the lava fields thin until they gave way to a tundra-like field of gently rolling hills. In the distance, maybe a mile off, was what appeared to be a flock of sheep. That’s where Charlie saw a rough road. An hour later, as the sun was getting low in the sky and the air much colder, he came upon a house.

The moment Charlie knocked on the door he realized it was a mistake. Even the kindest of souls would want an explanation of who he was and how he had come to this isolated spot, and he had only seconds to think of a cover story.

“Halló,� a young boy greeted him.

“Hello, is your mother or father home?�

“Mamma! A maður er hér,� the boy replied, beckoning Charlie into the house. A second later a woman came into the room.

“Já, mega Ég hjálpa þú?�

“Er—do you speak English?� asked Charlie hopefully.

“Já, and do you speak �slenska?� was the less than friendly reply. But he recognized a word.

“Iceland? I’m in Iceland?� Charlie exclaimed in surprise and without thinking.

“Já, �sland, Iceland, vere did you think you ver?�

“Er—I’m sorry, could you tell me the way to the nearest town?�

The woman looked on suspiciously as she gently pushed her son behind herself. “Zee nearest town is eight kilometers,� she pointed in the direction Charlie had been walking. “But you aren’t dressed for the weather. You can wait in here until my husband comes home. He should be here shortly.�

Moving out of the hallway, the Icelandic woman gestured Charlie into a small parlor where she sat with her son, watching him closely. The youth pointed at their guest a number of times asking his mother, what sounded like, the same question over and over; the mother kept shaking her head. Finally she said something to her son and he ran off, returning shortly with a wet cloth and handing it to Charlie. He made a motion with his hand that seemed to indicate Charlie should wash his face.

The dampened cloth stung when it touched, and when Charlie looked at it there was blood all over it. He had forgotten about brief battle and the cuts he’d sustained. No wonder she’s so hesitant, I must look dreadful! “I’m sorry about this, I had a little accident and forgot to clean up.�

The woman gave him a disbelieving look and said something in her native tongue to the lad. He took the cloth from their guest and returned it rinsed out. Charlie thanked him and his mother again.

Following a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Charlie heard a car pull up and someone, presumably the husband, approach the house. Seconds later he was facing a huge man with blonde hair and a surly scowl on his face; his wife was speaking furiously behind him.

“So, you vant a ride into town? Get in the car.� Charlie thanked the woman and made a quick exit, waiting outside; a moment later the man appeared and pointed at the passenger door, apparently irritated that Charlie had not done as he was told. “Let’s go,� was all he said.

The “short� ride into town turned into a long trip directly to Reykjavik, the capital. Charlie tried to start conversation a number of times but the man said little, grunting occasionally to one comment or another. When he asked to be taken to a local doctor, the man nodded and finally dropped him off at a small clinic. Thanking the man for the ride, Charlie received a curt nod that reminded him of Minerva McGonagall. Then his benefactor drove off.

Feeling immensely lucky, if not at all closer to Vernon, France, Charlie entered the Muggle clinic and looked for any sign of a Healer from his world. The small reception area was empty but for an elderly woman behind the desk who watched Charlie with interest. To her, the strangely dressed man with spots of blood on his neck and shirt appeared disoriented. “Sir, do you need assistance?� she finally asked, in heavily accented English.

“Yes, may I borrow your qu… er, pen please?� Taking the offered writing implement, Charlie drew the Wizarding Healer’s Sign on a piece of note paper and showed it to the woman. “Do you know anything about this?�

Much to Charlie’s concern, the look of surprise on the woman’s face was quickly replaced with a scowl. Then she stood and pointed to a door. “Go in there and wait, you’re lucky it’s quiet tonight. I’ll be there shortly.� Following the odd directions, Charlie entered a small room with three chairs and a small table. Ten minutes later the woman came into the room. As soon as the door closed she drew a wand from an unseen pocket and cast a silencing charm on the room.

“You are lucky we know how to do things here in Iceland, young man. Who are you and what happened?�

Over the next ten minutes Charlie explained his plight to the lady and asked for assistance returning to France. Agreeing to help repatriate the Englishman, the witch also warned him that getting in and out of France was still dicey; she suggested he first go to Belgium to purchase a new wand and then travel by Muggle rail to his final destination. Charlie agreed and was told to stay put until an international Portkey could be arranged. When he asked how long it would take she told him a day or two.

-|-|-|-|-

For a man of words, Digger Allen spent very little time in a library unless it was related to researching a piece. He had hemmed and hawed for more than a day about whether he should start his research in Paris or London; both cities had world-class research facilities, French resources were across the street from his flat, but London’s references were primarily in English so he was off to England. The TGV carried him through the Chunnel and in a few hours he was back in London, seated at a small cubicle in the London Library, exploring the World Wide Web on his laptop.

In the few years since the Internet had become known to the general public, its popularity as a reference and research aid was surpasses only by its usefulness as the repository for every know form of smut, audible and visual. But that did not concern Digger today. He was looking for something very mundane, and he knew a good source and a worthless second-hand rumor, and how to distinguish them: As in written journalism, it was largely references that made the work credible.

So he started where, in 1981, he could not, doing a simple search for “Harry Potter� and “H Potter� using the AltaVista search engine. Not surprisingly, he had over six hundred hits; the name was not at all uncommon. He pondered the screen in front of him but was momentarily distracted by the voices of two other researchers sitting nearby; and it was a serendipitous incident. Jotting down a word, Copper nick?, he set the research aside for a moment and pulled up the tool he’d heard the other researchers speaking about. It took a moment for him to find the correct name: Copernic; he smiled as he read the creators’ claims. In ten minutes he was using the tool that searched other search engines and his six hundred Harry Potter hits became two thousand. Refining his results narrowed it down further to England, 1981, and Halloween. Two hits remained.

The first site was an ambiguous reference and helped little, or so he thought.

"Take, for example, the enigmatic non-persons A. Dumbledore[sic] and Harry Potter. Both names had been heard briefly in public, the former in May of 1945 and the later around Halloween, 1981. But when researchers investigated, neither person seemed to have ever existed. Of course, this unusual evaporation of information ignited all sorts of conspiracy theories that ranged from the incongruous (prominent underworld figures) to the ridiculous (magicians.)�

Digger cut and pasted the text and reference information into his laptop’s hard drive and set to look at the second reference.

“The mysterious disappearance of James and Lily Evans Potter, and their son Harry, of Godric’s Hollow, at the end of October, 1981, was categorized as suspicious by local law enforcement officials. Neighbors say that the young, newly situated family had lived in the old cottage only a few weeks before their sudden disappearance Halloween night.�

Thanking his good fortune, this reference, too, was stored. Now he had far more names to work with: Harry Potter, apparently the son of James and Lily Evans Potter, an A. Dumbledore, plus the new pictures and the two bits of information they provided: A name ending in …brielle Delacour, Gabrielle Delacour, Digger supposed. And below the name, the word Beauxbatons.

Returning to his newly rented hotel room, Digger pulled out his “Harry Potter� file from 1981 and began to piece together the additional clues. The first and most important clue was the town of Godric’s Hollow, apparently Potter’s last known location. A simple atlas should help him find the spot. The most unusual clue was Harry Potter’s age. If the neighbors, whom he fully intended to interview, observed that Harry’s parents were a “young� couple, it was likely that the child was in the infant to five year old range. This, in itself, troubled the journalist. How could such a young boy be so popular?

Setting aside his doubts about the boy’s youthful age, Digger next considered why Harry Potter and A. Dumbledore would be mentioned in the same article. Could this Dumbledore person be Potter’s grandfather or grandmother? Probably not, he reasoned, though it certainly was not out of the question. He decided to do further research on Dumbledore/Potter and Dumbledore/Evans connections later.

Next, Digger made some notes about the word Beauxbatons and Delacour. Both were obviously French, beautiful sticks? and of the heart? if his translations were accurate. And the only obvious connection between the clues in different countries was the name Harry Potter… Tired from travel, and sporting a migraine, Digger left his work and took a long, hot shower to relax his excitement with the breakthroughs and soothe his aching head.

When finished, and feeling refreshed, Digger did what he had done almost every evening over the past thirty years, he recorded the days events into an old Dictaphone machine. Seeing there were only a few inches remaining on the recording tape when he had finished, he removed the spool and put a new one on the machine for the next day; he placed the old reel into his house coat pocket to file away later.

Early the next morning, Digger departed his flat and walked the eight blocks to Paddington Station to catch an express to Bristol, the ride was quiet and uneventful and he even managed to sleep a bit on the ride. Two hours later he was in Bristol’s Temple Meads station searching for the local bus that would take him the final thirty miles to the village of Godric’s Hollow. Traffic out of Bristol was light and the local bus made few stops that morning, finally depositing the journalist in the center of the village at just past ten o’clock.

The sleepy little community was still shrouded in fog which made seeing more than two blocks in any direction difficult, and no one, other than a vagrant, was about. Digger eventually found the office of the small local paper, but it was closed until mid-afternoon, something not uncommon for early edition dailies. A few blocks further along, he ran across a small cafe opened for breakfast; it held about a dozen older citizens, all jabbering to each other. When Digger entered, the customers fell silent as they eyed the stranger, then, just as suddenly, they resumed their conversations.

Sitting at a small two-person booth, Digger ordered tea from the waitress, the only youngish person in the establishment. Over the next three hours, the masterful journalist went from table to table, introducing himself as a local historian, and gathering bits and pieces of information. Names, from those who would supply them, were recorded, and by early afternoon, though no one had mentioned the name Potter, Digger was certain at least two of the men he spoke with would have more information. Both of the contacts, Giles Mellon and Alfred Mountjoy, spoke freely of how the town had changed about sixteen years ago. BINGO! 1981! When he left the cafe, Digger knew he had made more progress in a few short hours than in the previous two decades on just who this elusive Harry Potter was.

A friendly tip from Mellon told him where to find a room to let for a few nights. On this recommendation, Digger visited the house of a widow named Peachy, though he was not certain if that was a surname or a nickname, the sign out front read simply: Peachy Boarding, Short Stay Rooms to Let. Presenting himself to the widow, and mentioning the people he had met earlier, Digger was welcomed into the house by the ancient looking woman. His room was small, but it had a desk and a clean bed, perfect for his short stay.

A quick dinner at a pub yielded nothing of any consequence, except a case of heartburn. Returning to Peachy Boarding, Digger was delighted to find that the widow had tea ready for her three boarders. Fetching a bottle of light Jamaican Rum from his travel case, and offering liberal portions to all, the most recent boarder quickly became popular: The age-old method of loosening tongues would triumph again.

“Another hit?� Digger asked the thin man on his right, who obviously had little tolerance for alcohol. He answered by belching loudly and holding out his tea cup.

The fat man on his left wasn’t shy to ask for thirds. “Well now, Diggy, I wouldn’t mind a bit more, too.�

“Digger, my friend,� he said, doling out another portion. This man hiccupped in response.

“And what about you, my good lady? Another drop to help you off to sleep?� The landlady smiled shyly but thrust her cup forward so violently that the remains of her last portion sloshed onto the table. She looked horrified for a moment, but laughed it off.

Then Digger began to show how he had earned his nickname.

“Now, here’s a bit of excitement for our sleepy little town, eh, friends?� he said, holding up the half-full bottle. They all tittered, probably more than they intended to, as they sipped their tea and rum. “When I arrived this morning I knew I’d found the perfect place for peace and quiet. That’s what I said to meself: ‘Here you are mate, a little town where nothing ever happens.’ I may just move here, my friends. The widow there,� he pointed to the now droopy-eyed woman, “would know best. What say you, Peachy?� Digger ended his question with a grossly over-dramatic wink that made the old lady blush and fan herself with one hand.

“Oh, Mr. Allen, this is a lovely little place to live, so peaceful and quiet.�

“Yes, my dear, and that’s just what I want. Peace and quiet, no excitement.� The other two men nodded knowingly.

“I imagine nothing dramatic has happened here for centuries; a veritable Brigadoon, eh, Peachy?� This time Digger smiled at each of hisvictims. It wasn’t a friendly sort of smile, but a broad obsequious grin, and had the lot of them been more sober they might have noticed it. It was a condescending grin; the grin of a cat as it prepares to pounce.

“Well, Diggy,� the fat man said to Allen, mispronouncing his name yet again, “Peachy and I ‘ave been ‘ere the longest and there ain’t nothing like The ‘Ollow.� He drained the last of the rum and held his teacup out for more. Digger obliged. “Oh sure, we get our share of oddballs now and then…� Peachy giggled. “…but it’s been ages since the ‘big stink’.� He looked at Peachy; they both nodded and then burst into fits of inebriated laughter.

Digger hardly had to say a word from that point on. His hefty housemate started asking all the questions: “What was the ‘big stink’, Tubby?�

“Well, you see, ‘Skinny’,� now everyone laughed, though Digger’s was forced, “it was about, let me think, sixteen or seventeen years ago when this new family moved into the north part of the village…�

‘Tubby’ and ‘Peachy’ talked on for another hour while ‘Skinny’ and Digger listened closely. By the end of the story, ‘Skinny’ had drifted off to sleep, but Digger was quite wide awake.

He thanked his house mates, helped the old lady back to her room, and then retired for the night to fill up another reel of audio tape with dictation of the day’s events. Like the previous night, he removed the reel of tape when finished. Then he recalled that there was another tape in his house coat pocket. He removed the robe from his travel bag and placed the second tape with the first, so they would be filed together; ‘H. Potter, 1981-1997’ clearly written on the labels. He thought for a moment about transferring their contents to his laptop, but that would take two hours and he was quite ready for bed.

-|-|-|-|-

Ron escorted Tré to her sister’s flat a few blocks from the Healer’s home late the same evening she was injured. Her arm was still in a sling, but Dr. LeVasseur assured them both that it would be fine the following day. Tré’s sister, Antoinette, or Nettie, as Tré called her, prepared a small back room for her sister and then asked Ron if he would mind sleeping on the parlor couch. Thanking his hostess, Ron sat at the kitchen table for a long time, thinking about his future.

His seventh year would be starting in just a couple days and he knew he couldn’t return, at least not yet. The hungry monster in the pit of his stomach gnawed painfully whenever he thought of Hermione. Seeing her every day would be torture. Not seeing her every day would be torture, too! Charlie and he had talked about his options a number of times over the past two weeks, and the older Weasley offered to speak with Tré to see if Ron could remain in France. There was much work to be done to clean up the lingering mess Voldemort’s followers had caused by refusing to relinquish their hold on the French Ministry. In fact, the situation was far more unstable than in England, and people were still dying on the continent.

Tré came to Ron after speaking with Charlie and offered to let him stay at her parent’s hideout in Normandy, at least for a while; he would be expected to help, where he could. Ron leapt at Tré’s offer and asked to go with them on their reconnaissance into Paris, the one that had earned Tré a broken arm and missing boyfriend.

Sitting at the table, Ron knew he had to write his parents and Harry… and Hermione. No, just Ginny and dad, he would write to Harry and Hermione later. About to get up and look for parchment and quill, he was startled by Tré’s sister.

“Bonsoir,� Nettie said to Ron, near midnight, peeking around the corner of her bedroom. “Can I get you anything?�

“Oh, thanks, Nettie, I was just going to write a couple letters before bed.� Ron’s feeble attempt at a smile concerned his hostess so she sat at the table.

“Essie told me how you saved her life today, thank you, Ron.� Reaching across the smallish table, she took his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I apologize for snapping at you earlier.�

Ron had to think back to what she was talking about. “Oh, no worries, I’m sure you were concerned, especially after….� Ron grimaced, he had almost mentioned her recently murdered brother. Nettie nodded sadly. “What do you do here in town?� Ron asked quickly, trying to change the obviously painful subject.

“I am training to be a Healer. I worked with Dr. LeVasseur last year and I was planning to attend our Healer’s University until this mess started.� She sat back and flung her arms out dramatically, her face a mask of frustration.

“Didn’t know there was one of those, I thought all Healers went through an apprenticeship.�

“In most countries that is the case, but France has the second largest Wizarding population in the world so the Ministry decided, oh, about a hundred years ago, to offer interested persons the choice of either. If Dr. LeVasseur had not taken ill, I might have stayed on as his apprentice. He offered me the position when I graduated from Beauxbaton two years ago.�

“Ah, then you were in Fleur Delacour’s year?�

“No, Fleur was a year ahead of me. How do you know her?� Nettie asked in surprise.

“Fleur married my brother, Bill…�

“Yes, of course, how silly of me; you’re a Weasley! I should have known; that’s why you’ve been hanging around with Essie and Charlie.� Nettie smiled and instantly relaxed.

“Yep, another Weasley, I thought the hair would give it away.� Off Nettie’s puzzled look, Ron continued. “All my brothers and sister have this red mess up top. It’s sort of a family identifier back in England. Haven’t you met Charlie?�

“No, not yet; Essie sent me a picture of him last week but it didn’t show much of his hair.� The girl rose and walked over to a cabinet and withdrew a few letters. Choosing one, she opened it and brought out a small picture and handed it to Ron. “It was obviously taken by one of those Muggle machines at a store, you know the ones where you sit in a booth, feed it money and it takes four pictures. I hope that one wasn’t the best,� she chuckled. It wasn’t.

“Yeah, the black and white Muggle pictures aren’t worth much.� Ron handed the picture back, thanking Nettie. They sat in silence for a minute or so.

“Would you like pen and paper to write with?� Nettie asked, jumping up to the same cabinet where she had retrieved the letter. She brought out a pad and pen.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Nettie; I forgot that I don’t have my owl to deliver it…�

“No, use mine, she doesn’t get out much.� Nettie handed Ron the pen and pad then left the room, returning a moment later with a yawning brown owl that instinctively jumped on the table and walked over to Ron.

“Clever girl, this one,� Ron said, tickling the owl on the back of its neck. She hooted back appreciatively and nipped his fingers gently.

After staring at the blank paper for a minute, Ron heard Nettie say good night again, pat him on the shoulder, and walk off. He started the letter to Ginny, then blinked, finding that his eyes were watering heavily. Dear Ginny…

-|-|-|-|-

Arthur Weasley, Gilbert Wimple and Phoebus Penrose were very self conscious of being seen together outside of the Ministry. But the fact remained that the bulk of the detailed work they desired accomplished could not be done in Committees. The progress made in the initial two days was all they had to show for the past two weeks. One faction after another threatened to logjam the entire process if their agendas were not considered. In short, the process to rebuild the Ministry was in shambles.

Weasley, Wimple and Penrose had started meeting in the evening at the Burrow, secreted away in Fred and George’s old room, trying to work around issues and find consensus; after the first week they realized their efforts were pretty much hopeless. Every time they inconspicuously advanced one of their ideas or compromises to a Committee, it would be discussed for a few hours and rejected. It made no sense at all.

They knew, for example, that the Committee dealing with Parliamentary Orders wished to amend the rule for debate time allowed on bills returned to various Committees; the current process of three days having been deemed far too long. A majority of Committee members desired reducing it to a single day, or ten hours, but were meeting opposition from the Pureblood members who were insisting on no less than two days. Penrose and Weasley had casually discussed the impasse with both sides and had been assured that fifteen hours would be an acceptable compromise. But when the change was formally introduced to the Committee, neither side stuck to their pledge and the squabbling went on. It was maddening.

Neither did it help matters that Gilbert was pushing Arthur Weasley for a separate investigation on the actions of September 11th by the American witch, Diane Bradley. Arthur had heard murmurs over the previous week, mainly concerns about the power the young girl displayed. He agreed with them, in principal, but when Harry, Ginny and Diane abruptly left the country his hands were tied. When the concerned parties heard about their disappearance Arthur was placed in a very uncomfortable position of defending Harry, Ginny, Remus and Tonks for actions he too did not agree with.

And to make matters worse, Penrose’s emergency Ministerial powers were due to expire on October 12th, but it was obvious to everyone that one month was far too little time for both rebuilding and restructuring the entire Ministry of Magic. But with so many department and ministerial position vacant (they had been former supporters of Voldemort,) the three began to discuss extending the emergency powers. It was a heated discussion at the Burrow the night of Saturday, October 4th, when an owl from Ron Weasley arrived, addressed to his father, informing him he was leaving Hogwarts for a year to help his brother in France.

Arthur abruptly ended the meeting, apologizing for the sudden interruption. Upon seeing his colleagues out of the house, he went to speak with his wife and tell her of the latest development with their family.

“This was my fault, Arthur,� Molly Weasley said softly after reading Ron’s letter. “I wish we had never gone on that walk.� Arthur watched his wife carefully as she reread the letter. She was, of course, referring to the night they came across Ron and Hermione in a state of partial undress. Neither she, Hermione nor Ron was blameless for the problems between them the past few weeks, neither did any of them attempt to patch things up.

“Molly, why don’t you go see Hermione? We were all under enormous strain; maybe you’ll be able to... I don’t know. Even if she and Ron are no longer dating they could still be friends.�

“I don’t know, dear. I’m more upset with Harry and Ginny right now, how could they? Maybe in a few days, after I’ve calmed down.�

“All right, Molly, that’s probably best. I’ll write Ron back and encourage him to return to school, though things are a mess on the continent, I’m sure he’s a big help to Charlie. And even if he doesn’t return this year he might be able to finish with Ginny’s class.� Smiling, Arthur kissed his wife and returned to the meeting room to gather his notes and compose a letter.

-|-|-|-|-

“What are you worried about, Di?� asked Harry. “It sounds like they just want to close everything up.� Harry, Ginny and Diane were sprawled out on the furniture in the Head Boy/Head Girl lounge mid-afternoon Sunday. Diane had been talking to her friends about the lawyer’s letter. The welcoming feast and Sorting would take place in just three hours.

“I know, Harry. I guess I just don’t want to deal with the personal articles at home, I haven’t been back since the accident.�

“That was two and a half years ago, Diane. You haven’t gone back once?� Ginny asked in amazement.

“Nope, I stayed with my aunts and uncles over the summer breaks, and Jason was kind enough to handle all the details of the...� she looked away, unwilling or unable to say ‘funeral.’

“Who’s paying the note, er... the mortgage, I think you call it?� Harry asked.

“It comes out of the estate. I’m sure that’s part of the reason the firm wants to close all this up. They’re not real estate lawyers.�

“Yes, but every month you put this off eats into your trust, you could run out of money if you’re not careful.� Harry, Diane and Ginny looked up, surprised; Hermione was standing next to them.

“Don’t you think I know that?� snapped Diane, turning away. Ginny gave her a disappointed look and the American apologized. “Sorry, Hermione, it’s harder than you know, you haven’t lost anyone from your immediate family, have you?�

Hermione sat on the arm of the sofa Harry and Ginny shared and nodded. “No, thank God, I haven’t. I was just pointing out that it’s a drain on your assets.� But the Head Girl stopped talking when she saw her words were not registering on the American. “Sorry, I’ll butt-out.�

“No, it’s ok. I do need to do this. Maybe Jason would...� Diane stopped, the expressions on Harry and Ginny’s face (she couldn’t see Hermione) told her that she had to do this herself. “Ok, I’ll go. Maybe McGonagall will give me a week off to do this in early November.�

Diane excused herself and went off to write a letter to the lawyers and Jason, asking the later for a place to stay while she was in town. Back in Harry and Hermione’s suite, the three friends sat around quietly. Harry and Ginny were missing Ron; Hermione was thinking about a letter she’d received an hour earlier from Molly Weasley and how to respond.

Chapter 4 - Coalescence

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


Coalescence: To unite so as to form one mass or community.


The Hogwarts Express arrived in Hogsmeade at five o’clock Sunday afternoon, carrying all the returning students. The first years had arrived the previous Friday to begin their orientation, and would be Sorted at the Start of Term Feast. Hagrid had agreed to continue his former duty and escort the students to the school, even though he was no longer obliged to perform the chore. His job was made much easier by the twenty percent drop in enrollment.

Harry and Hermione, already in town as the train arrived, helped the Prefects coordinate the students for their carriage rides to school. This went particularly smoothly as all the students had done this at least one time before. Minerva McGonagall, and a few other staff members and professors, led the first years out into the lawn to greet to the returning students, then they all went into the Great Hall together for Sorting, speeches and the feast.

Filius Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster, reminded the first years of the Sorting procedure. But unlike previous years, where they would not have been prepared for the process, these newcomers were not frightened by numerous rude or rowdy students assailing them with horror stories of the Sorting ‘trials.’ So the procedure went off without a hitch… almost. Of the sixty-seven new students, only two were Sorted into Slytherin. Sixty-four were evenly Sorted between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And the remaining one, Diane Bradley, awaited her turn, as the last student.

The Great Hall was already stirring with conversation about the unusual Sorting when Flitwick rose to introduce the American. “Students, for the first time in many decades, we have an exchange student joining us. Miss Diane Bradley, from the United States of America, is joining us for her seventh year. As many of you have undoubtedly heard, Miss Bradley has been with us here at Hogwarts since early September and took part in the, eh, ceremony that ended Lord Voldemort’s reign of terror. I ask you to respect her privacy as, no doubt, there are many fantastic and fanciful stories floating around concerning her role that day. Now, Miss Bradley, if you would, please step forward to be Sorted.�

Diane walked up to the stool used for the Sorting and placed the worn cap on her head as she sat. Then she closed her eyes and waited.

Ah, another Colonial! It’s been quite a while since we’ve had an American join us. Well, Miss Bradley, you’ve certainly proven yourself already, I see. Not a Slytherin, that’s for sure. You have an outstanding mind that would fit in well with Ravenclaw, and you have already proven yourself courageous, and a worthy Gryffindor. Yes, this will be a difficult decision… what’s this I see? Most interesting, most interesting indeed! And unexpected…�

What do you see? Diane thought.

Oh, nothing that time won’t reveal, my dear. Yes, you will have a most interesting year ahead of you in…

“GRYFFINDOR!�

The Hall erupted in cheers and clapping; Harry and Ginny stood to welcome their friend and sat her between them. With the Sorting complete, McGonagall stood and announced, “Let the feast begin.�

As in the previous years, the welcoming feast was the most lavish of the year. Harry, Diane and Ginny ate casually and chatted with many others at the table. Hermione, however, was remained quiet unless a student asked her a specific question. And since she was not sitting close to the other “Trio,� Harry could not easily draw her into conversation.

When the meal was complete, McGonagall clapped her hands and the dishes were cleaned. She rose and took a step up onto a small platform so all the students could see her.

“Again, welcome to, and welcome back to, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This term begins with our lives, and the lives of our families, under a cloud of uncertainty. First and foremost, the man fancying himself as Lord Voldemort is dead... and I can assure you he will remain dead this time.� Harry caught McGonagall glancing at him as the crowd cheered, (even some of the Slytherins joined in.) Those that didn’t were hunched lower on their benches with sullen looks. “In the process of defeating Voldemort, this school lost one of its brightest pupils and truest friends, Neville Longbottom. I would like each of you to remember Mr.... remember Neville as a courageous and gifted wizard and a true friend. He will be sorely missed.�

McGonagall paused and walked back to her seat at the head table. She reached down and picked up a goblet. At the same instant, every student had a goblet appear before them and they also raised it, as their Headmistress had.

“To Neville Longbottom.�

“Neville Longbottom!� the students exclaimed out in response. Harry looked over to the Ravenclaw table; Luna was still missing.

“There have been a number of other changes to our school over the summer holidays, some expected, others not. There is one other student who will not be returning to Hogwarts this year, though for different reasons. Mr. Ronald Weasley has chosen to take a year off to assist his brother with some work in France. As you may know, the situation on the continent is still unstable. Mr. Weasley, and a number of others, are attempting to help the lawful French Ministry of Magical Affairs return to power. His presence will be missed by his friends.�

“And the Gryffindor Quidditch team,� Harry heard Dean Thomas remark. Ginny sent him a scathing glare.

McGonagall took a deep breath and returned to the raised platform. “I’m sure you have noticed that there are very few Slytherins at Hogwarts this term. The vast majority of these students are under investigation as accomplices of Lord Voldemort, and as such are ineligible to attend this school. A few died in his service. Their names will be posted outside the Slytherin common room.� Harry had to resist the urge to cheer; the nearly empty Slytherin table was a vindication of work over the past six years. Ginny sensed this and reached behind Diane to squeeze his arm.

“There are also quite a few staffing changes. Returning to Hogwarts for his second year, and the new head of Slytherin House, is Horace Slughorn.� The cheers were noticeably subdued, though Harry found this somewhat curious. The man was odd, but he was also infinitely better than Severus Snape with his people skills.

“Taking over the Care of Magical Creatures from Rubeus Hagrid is Mr. Argo Ogreski. Professor Ogreski taught in Italy and Spain before joining us. Welcome, Argo.� The tall, thin man who had been sitting three seats to the left of McGonagall rose briefly and waved to the students.

“Professor Hagrid will return to his previous full-time position as grounds keeper for the school.� Hagrid received far more cheers than Ogreski had, though many wondered if it was because they could look forward to safer Care of Magical Creatures classes.

“The final position being filled is that of Defense of the Dark Arts. As you know, over the past decades this position has been considered rather... problematic. None of those taking the job have held it for more than a single year. With this in mind, know it was a difficult position to fill, but I received an acceptance letter just this past Friday from Madam Jacqueline La Porte. Madam La Porte taught at Beauxbaton Academy for the past six years. Unfortunately, she has become involved in the situation in her homeland, France, and cannot join us until that is resolved. I have asked Professor Remus Lupin to sit in for Madam La Porte until she becomes available.�

It shouldn’t have surprised Harry when a voice from the Slytherin table called out that Lupin was a Werewolf. Harry yelled back, “So what?� The Hall silenced immediately.

“That is quite enough!� McGonagall declare loudly. “Yes, Professor Lupin is a Werewolf; but he is no danger to this school and I will sanction no disrespect or rudeness to him. He will be in a safe location two days every month when he transforms, and his classes, if Madam La Porte has not joined us by that time, will be conducted by me. If you have concerns about Werewolves, please feel free to read up on them in the library. Professor Lupin is also taking the Wolfsbane potion to mitigate the difficulty of his transformations.�

“Those are all the staffing changes for this term. As for the students,� McGonagall smiled stiffly, “I am very please to announce our Head Boy and Head Girl this year. From Gryffindor House, please congratulate Miss Hermione Granger.� The students stood and cheered enthusiastically. “And also from Gryffindor, the Head Boy this year is Harry Potter.�

The Hall again erupted in cheers. Harry was lifted up by many of his Housemates and carried over to Hermione who was trying, unsuccessfully, to shoo off the students who wanted to give her the same adulation. Harry thought half of them were just trying to take advantage of placing their hands where they normally couldn’t.

The two honored students were set on the platform holding the head table and the Headmistress invited them to stand on either side of her as she finished her remarks.

“Due to the role that Mr. Potter played in the defeat of Lord Voldemort, I know many of you wish to hear, first hand, about what happened that day.� McGonagall glanced at Harry and saw him grimace. “However... Mr. Potter will not be giving any speeches or demonstrations about the events of September the 11th, unless, and until, he chooses to do so. Like Miss Bradley, you are expected to show consideration for his privacy.� Then even more seriously, McGonagall added, “The war against Voldemort, as we so recently were reminded,� she held up her goblet, “was not all victories and happy endings.�

McGonagall whispered to Harry and Hermione to return to their seats. “Now, with business complete, I bid you goodnight. Prefects, please escort the first years to their dormitories.�


-|-|-|-|-


Late that night, Harry and Hermione sat in their shared common room and discussed the evening’s events. Hermione had a Muggle notebook and ball point pen, and was jotting down comments.

“Why the pen, Hermione?� Harry asked through a yawn.

“It’s much more practical than a quill and bottle of ink, don’t you think, Harry? I mean, if I have to stop and take out a piece of parchment and find a quill and ink, I might have forgotten what I was going to jot down.�

Harry grunted. “Yeah, like you’d forget something.� When she gave him a wounded look, Harry quickly changed the subject. “What’re you doing?�

Hermione finished the sentence she was writing and slapped the pad shut. “If it’s any of your business, I’m putting down some thoughts about what to write back to Ron’s mother.� As she finished her declaration, Hermione seemed to deflate and sink into the sofa. Harry thought she looked particularly vulnerable.

“You ok, Hermione?� he asked sincerely. His friend nodded, but put her hands to her face, wiping away the tears that had suddenly run down her cheeks. “We going to be living with each other the next nine months, if you want to talk to me I’m sort of use to have girls cry on my shoulder.�

Hermione gulped down a small laugh and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief she conjured out of the air. “Yes, I guess you had some experience with Cho. Does Ginny cry much?�

It was a decidedly odd question, but Harry answered it truthfully. “Not as much as me, recently. But then, I have a lot of lost time to make up.� That familiar, uncomfortable feeling Harry constantly had to fight with to control his emotions exhibited itself again, and he started to make an exit. But he stopped himself this time. Instead of retiring to his room for the night he sat next to his friend. For a long time neither said a word. Hermione would occasionally seem as if she was about to say something, but the time passed quietly.

When the grandfather clock in the room struck midnight, Hermione jumped up, finally speaking. “Let’s get to bed, Harry, we have a busy day tomorrow.� Then looking back to him, “Thanks for sitting with me, I appreciate it.� With a pat on his shoulder, the Head Girl left for bed.

Early the following morning, Hermione sat at the desk in her office reviewing her timetable for the day. When she was satisfied everything was in order, her school-related books and parchment packed away, she took out the notes she had made the night before and started composing her simple response to Molly Weasley.

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

Thank you for the kind note and invitation. My parents and I already had plans for the Christmas holiday, so I must decline. Perhaps you would consider a weekend in November. I am free the first and last weekends of the month, would either of those work for you?

Your information about Percy is wonderful and I am delighted that you and Mr. Weasley have finally been reunited with your son. His bravery and courage the past few months were truly characteristic of the spirit of Godric Gryffindor. We all owe him a debt of thanks.

I will pass on your greetings to Ginny and Harry when I see her later this morning.

Regards…

Sighing, Hermione read over the letter, signed it and put it in her pack to post later that morning. It was time to move on.


-|-|-|-|-


Diane ran into Harry, Ginny and Hermione as they exited the Great Hall, both the Head Boy and Head Girl looked cross about something. After Ginny waved goodbye and headed off to Potions, she asked what was wrong.

“The first full day back and I’m ready to throttle Colin Creevey,� Hermione answered in a huff. “He let half the first years oversleep… and where were you for breakfast?�

Diane stopped. “If it’s any of your business, Hermione, I was busy getting lost. I got caught on one of those stupid moving staircases and had to kick Peeve’s ass when he wouldn’t tell me how to get to breakfast. Satisfied?� Harry glanced at Hermione, slightly amused. What could Diane do to Peeves?

Then he suddenly sobered. “Di, what exactly did you do to him?�

“I just banished him, Harry, why do you care?�

“Diane, it’s not that I really care much for Peeves… but what happened to him?� asked Hermione. There was just a hint of concern in her voice. Harry knew why, too. It was obvious that the scope of Diane’s powers were still unknown, the shield she had cast on the 11th of September to save Percy from the killing curse was proof. But with all the problems putting the ministry back together, no one had had the opportunity to evaluate her true power.

Diane pushed around Hermione and walked on a bit further before answering. “I used a standard ghost banishing spell on him and he disappeared. I learned it at Salem.� Hermione looked at Harry, at a loss for how to continue.

“Ok, Di. Er—what class you off to now?� Harry said, trying to calm his friends.

“None, Mr. Flitwick wanted to meet with me before deciding which class I should attend. Can I go now?� Diane walked off leaving Harry and Hermione wondering what had hit them.

“Was it something I said?� asked Hermione.

Harry honestly wasn’t sure. “Probably not, let’s get to class.�

Double Transfiguration was followed by Charms, where Diane rejoined them, walking into the room together with the diminutive Professor Flitwick. Harry smiled tentatively at her and the American joined Hermione and him for the two hour class. Since it was the first period in a N.E.W.T. year, the time was spent reviewing expectations and scheduling practices and evaluations with Flitwick. Diane seemed to have calmed down, Harry noted, so he ventured a question. “How was the meeting with Flitwick? I mean, you’re in this class so I guess he thought you were up to speed.�

“Yes, I’m glad of that, but he gave me a couple hundred Charms to work on over the term. He also had me show him the shield I used on Ginny’s brother.�

This peaked Harry and Hermione’s interest, but the Head Girl wasn’t about to ask for more information; Harry saw the pleading look she gave him.

“Yeah, Di, about that; we, er—I was wondering how you managed that…� Hermione looked irritatedly at Harry and shook her head in frustration. She didn’t notice Diane watching her.

“It’s ok, Herms. Mr. Graham, told me I shouldn’t keep it a secret, just be selective about who I showed it to.� It was perfectly clear, by the way Diane made the statement, that she had no intention of showing it to one particular seventh year.

But that did not bother her as much as how she had been addressed by the American. Diane had called her Herms; of all the nicknames one could make out of Hermione, that was her least favorite. Harry knew she would have preferred to have been called an insufferable know-it-all. He also noticed that the students passing by in the corridor were giving them a very wide berth. The air was charged with hostility, but Hermione said nothing.

“In America, we rely more on the raw force of magic than the finesse you practice here. To us, fancy wand movements are a waste of time and do nothing but give your opponent an edge.�

Harry glanced at Hermione, her eyes were wide and her face had the approximate color of an over-ripe tomato. Saying that wand motions were unnecessary was tantamount to telling her book-knowledge was unnecessary.

“Don’t look like that, Herms, it’s nothing personal…� Like heck it isn’t, Harry thought. “Want a demonstration?�

Becoming concerned, Harry tried to step in and say it wasn’t necessary, but Hermione had already snapped back at Diane, pointing to a staircase. “I have just the place,� she said, and rather nastily, too. It was obvious she meant the Room of Requirement.

A few minutes later the three entered the magical room and found it set up as a target range. Hermione set her bag down, turning to her opponent. “You first, Di,� she spat, pointing at the target. The next thing Harry knew, both targets at the far side of the room had been obliterated. And Diane hadn’t even drawn her wand or spoken a word. She was standing with her arms folded, scowling at Hermione.

As the magical room reset the targets, Hermione ignored Diane’s display of power and arrogance. She drew her wand and cast Reducto, but with a hand movement Harry had never seen before, and no light emanating from her wand. The new targets seemed untouched and Diane looked at Harry questioningly. Hermione, however, walked forward at a leisurely pace and lightly pressed the index finger of each hand to the corresponding left and right target. The top half of each fell to the ground, both having been neatly cleaved in two.

Harry was amazed. Diane was not amused. “Very nice, Herms. It looks like we both have a place in the world of magic. Would you care to duel?�

In a heartbeat Harry was between the two girls. “No, you’re both too, er—emotional to duel. Someone will get hurt.� But Hermione and Diane were already lining up.

“Call it out, Harry,� Diane said sharply.

“NO! Hermione, leave, go. NOW!� Harry yelled, but his friend wouldn’t move. “Listen you lot, cut it out. I don’t know why you’re both so bloody pissed at each other, but grow up.�

The American witch spoke first, working her jaw angrily and practically spitting out her answer as she pointed at Hermione. “I’ll tell you why, Harry. She’s been treating me like the plague since the day I arrived. Ginny and Ron accepted me at once, but she’s hardly said a civil word to me in the past month, and I’m tired of it. If she doesn’t want to be my friend, that’s fine with me, but I don’t want her interfering with my personal relationships.� Diane turned and started pacing, obviously trying to calm herself. Her long black hair had come undone and was trailing out behind her. When she turned around, it cut back across her face like a cape, momentary giving the witch a decidedly evil appearance. Enraged, her hazel eyes pierced whomever she gazed at.

Harry then looked at Hermione who, he could tell, was somewhat successfully fighting back tears. But what kind? She opened her mouth to say something, stopped and walked over to a chair, sitting and composing herself before finally speaking. “She’s right, Harry, I haven’t been fair to her.� Then she looked up to the exchange student and in a steady and honestly remorseful voice said, “I’m sorry, Diane. I know it isn’t an excuse, but when you came back with Harry, I just… couldn’t handle it. Ron and I were off doing our own thing and you fit in so perfectly with Harry and Ginny. Then Ron went away and I felt left out. Harry, Ron and I had always been best friends, well, almost always,� she stole an embarrassed glance toward her first friend at Hogwarts. “When Harry and Ginny started dating she was a natural addition to our group. I – I think I saw you as a threat to Harry and Ginny’s relationship, like you were after Harry. It was very immature of me.�

For what seemed like an hour, Harry stood watching his two friends. Finally Diane walked back to Hermione and spoke quietly to her. He could not hear what they said, but it was obvious both had reached some sort of understanding, and that was good enough for now.

“Harry, would you mind getting Ginny and a couple others you trust, and bring them back here? I want to show you the shield I used.� Hermione looked up to Diane in surprise; she had told Harry a dozen times that she wanted to know how the shield worked. Harry knew that it would still be a while before the two girls felt comfortable around each other, but the overt hostility was, apparently, a thing of the past. Feeling better about them, he departed.

The girls were speaking quietly, each with a serious look on their face, ten minutes later when Harry returned with Ginny, Seamus Finnegan and Ernie Macmillan. The American spoke up, per Hermione’s directions, and the Room of Requirement altered its shape to accommodate the slightly larger group, and changed to a single target at the far wall. Diane then told of her ‘secret.’

“Harry and Hermione saw how I destroyed the target earlier,� Diane addressed Ginny, Seamus and Ernie. “Hermione is now going to do the same thing.� With that short introduction, the bushy-haired witch cast a blasting curse and the target exploded. Unlike Diane, she had used her wand and spoken the incantation, but the effect was the same. The room then reset the target and Diane continued her story.

“I know that a blasting curse isn’t as strong as the killing curse, but it will work just as well for this demonstration. I’m going to cast a simple shielding spell this time and Hermione is going to try to penetrate it and destroy the target. Ready?� Diane asked. Hermione nodded.

Harry, Ginny, Seamus and Ernie all watched eagerly as Diane cast her shield, this time using her wand and speaking the Protego incantation. A faint yellow glow appeared in front of the target. When Hermione threw her curse, one far less powerful than the Avada Kedavra, it went through the shield with ease. As if on cue, everyone but Diane started asking how that could happen.

“Ok, here’s the secret,� Diane said, smiling, as the room reset the target for another round. “Hermione’s going to cast the same spell, as am I. But before I cast, Harry and Ginny will join me.� Holding out her left hand, Harry and Ginny took it in theirs, looking suspiciously at each other.

“What do we do?� asked Ginny.

“Nothing, just watch. Go ahead Hermione.�

The Head Girl repeated the blasting curse, but this time it barely made its way through the shield to the target, which lightly toppled over, and no other sign of damage.

“Cor!� Seamus exclaimed. “How’d you do that?� Both his and Ernie’s were wide-eyed with wonder.

She smiled shyly and ignored the question. “Again; Ernie, you and Seamus join Harry and Ginny this time. Ok, Hermione. Now!� This time Hermione’s spell dissipated as it impacted the yellow shield Diane had cast. Now everyone’s eyes were turned to the American, waiting for her explanation.

“Once more, but this time Ginny will cast the shield with us four,� she pointed to Harry, Ernie, Seamus and herself, “supporting her.�

Ginny cast the Protego Charm, but even with her friends’ support, Hermione’s curse sliced through it as if it weren’t there. Ginny frowned and looked at Diane.

“Have a seat, Ginny, we only have twenty minutes before class but I’ll give you the short version of why it works for me and not you.�

Crossing the room, Diane waved her wand and the wall turned into a map of North, Central and South America. As she spoke, lines and shadows followed her story, illustrating the people and places involved. “The history of magic in the Americas is far different than here in Europe, though it has the same roots. An Irish monk named Brendan, who was the first known European to cross the Atlantic about thirteen hundred years ago, is largely responsible for magic in the Americas. Actually, Brendan himself was not the wizard, a pilot on his ship, The Spirit, was; his real name’s been lost over the centuries, but Native Americans called him the Ghost Maker. He stayed behind, when the monk returned to Ireland, in what is now Nova Scotia. Legends say that the Ghost Maker wandered for years and eventually into Central America, where he settled and raised a family.�

“Then American magic really started about the same time Merlin was living here,� Ginny stated.

“Right, Ginny. In fact, there’s been a lot of speculation and theories about whether this Ghost Maker guy really was Merlin, but it’s nothing more than guesses.� With the activity on the map complete, Diane sat with the others and finished the story. “The practice of magic in the Americas evolved largely without wands; that was the way the Ghost Maker taught it. Wands only came back into fashion over the last four centuries, under the influence of European colonization.�

“As for what I showed you with the shield charm, that practice appeared in the early seventh century, and all we know about its history is that it’s an inherited trait and the Ghost Maker had it, too. We call it Coalescence, or Channeling. It’s not a spell in itself; the person with the gift simply unites and focuses the magic of others through themselves.� Shrugging, Diane said simply, “I have it, but Ginny doesn’t.�

“I’ve never read anything about this. Is it rare?� Hermione asked.

“Don’t know. I’m the only one living that I know of, but I haven’t been looking, either.�

“That would explain why Riddle was so surprised when it happened. It was old magic,� Harry said. “He fell for it once when he tried to kill me as a baby. I felt his astonishment this time.�

“And there’s no real test for it except what you saw here.�

They looked around, for a second, wondering what the test had shown her that they had not noticed.

Hermione asked Diane tentatively, “The color?�

“Right, the shield’s color, did the rest of you notice it? Mine was a pale yellow, Ginny’s was the standard green. My Patronus also has a yellow tint, I noticed, but it’s so bright it’s hard to see.�

“The other wizards that I channeled last month knew of my ability from Mr. Graham. Some of them are powerful wizards and witches themselves. When I felt them touch me I somehow knew my shield would stop anything. I just wish I could have been there when Neville was attacked.� Diane bowed her head and looked miserable, but everyone who was listening immediately began to admonish her, as they had on the 11th of September. And as friends of Harry, they were well practiced in the routine.

“Then the stories of you killing all those Dementors are true?� Seamus asked a minute later.

“Yes, we did the same thing as with the shield, except I cast the Patronus Charm Harry showed me.�

“Blimey!� Ernie exclaimed softly. The others just nodded.

After a minute of silence, Hermione pointed to the clock and reminded everyone they had class in a few minutes. Harry again warned Seamus and Ernie that only Diane could choose who to tell about her power. Both acknowledged Harry’s words and thanked the American for sharing the story with them.

When everyone had left the room but Harry and Ginny, he asked for a few minutes alone. Ginny departed, giving him a questioning look, as the Head Boy returned to one of the chairs and slumped down. Somehow he knew, just as he had many times over the previous month, that Ankaa was approaching. Sure enough, a second later the Phoenix Flashed brightly into the center of the room and landed at Harry’s feet.

Hello, boy, I haven’t seen you in a while. Harry thought, smiling silently.

We both needed a rest, keeper, Ankaa replied, jumping up on Harry’s leg.

Harry laughed. “Bet you didn’t get a couple Howlers from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!� What brings you here? But as soon as Harry asked the question he saw… he knew the answer. The magnificent creature was looking a bit bedraggled. Is your Burning Day approaching?

Yes, a few more days. Will you be with me?

If you like, Harry thought. It had been years since he had seen Fawkes Burn in Dumbledore’s office. Having his familiar go through the process, however, was a little more… personal.

Is you American friend fitting in?

Er—yeah, I guess. Her and Hermione seem to have patched things up.

Good. You need to help her. She is not as strong as she believes, or appears, and her future holds many possibilities.

Oh, right then, I’ll do whatever I can, thought Harry, and he meant it. Did you, er, see these many possibilities for her in your other world?

More than you had a few weeks ago. But she must look to the past to understand her future.

I’m not sure I understand…

You may, just continue to help her.

Without waiting for Harry to reply, Ankaa leapt off his leg and Flashed out of the room. Harry was left with more questions than answers, but he was thankful that, for now, none felt at all life-threatening.


-|-|-|-|-


Another week of infighting and petty squabbles continued to blight the activities at the Ministry of Magic. Even a couple Muggle duels broke out in one Committee meeting, a sure sign of rising frustration and impatience. Phoebus Penrose was being called upon more frequently to settle issues and act as a judge for the ever growing list of topics which had reached an impasse. He was still meeting nightly with Arthur Weasley and Gilbert Wimple, too, trying to draw balance into his decisions, for his role was becoming more like that of a judge, or king, than a Minister. No one, least of all Penrose, wanted him to have dictatorial powers, but nearly everyone was unconsciously forcing it upon him.

But not everything about the Ministry of Magic was in disarray, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, still under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt, was one of only two branches of the Ministry operating smoothly and efficiently. However, even this good fortune had unpleasant side-effects. The large number of Voldemort’s supporters being rounded up was causing a rapid decrease in the number of available cells to hold them. Doubling up the prisoners only worked for a while; until the Wizengamot could be reconvened the numbers would continue to rise. Overcrowding, should it lead to escapes, would bode ill for the embattled Ministry’s reputation.

The other branch still functioning well, the Department of Muggle Investigative Research, had been established only two years before. The sole member of the department, a Squibb named Amanda Bright, functioned as a direct advisor to the head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes, (currently vacant,) and was responsible for using Muggle technology to monitor Muggle suspicions of the magical world. As a Squibb, Bright was perfectly suited (and educated) for the job. She occupied a smallish office two floors below the Minister of Magic, and monitored a small collection of Muggle computers.

The first few months on the job had been a typical bureaucratic nightmare for Amanda. Few in the Ministry wanted more Muggle technology, but more pressing issues, like a war, eventually distracted the dissenters. The computer constantly performed searches on the Internet for subjects such as magic, spells, wizard, witch and the like. When counters registered that a single IP address or user ID was exceeding a predetermined threshold of queries from a list of magic-associated keywords, a flag was raised for Bright to run additional investigations. If the person or persons identified were Muggles who had stumbled upon a little too much information, (or even speculation,) Amanda would notify the Obliviators and they would begin their own surveillance, taking whatever steps necessary to keep their world a secret. This usually entailed nothing more than a small memory modification and the removal of any evidence the Muggle(s) had collected.

The department’s sole member was, justifiably, proud of her work. Before 1995, the Obliviators had to rely upon word of mouth and notifications from the Improper Use of Magic office for assignments. These often arrived long after a problem started and the Obliviators had to scramble to keep up with nosey Muggles. The timely reports that Bright now provided made the Obliviators job much easier and the wizards and witches happier. Additionally, with the Ministry focused on the war against Voldemort the past twenty-one months, Amanda Bright had nearly free reign in running her one person domain.

Within the Department’s office there was also a second computer, which served as a backup, and upon which Bright developed new search tools and algorithms. Her current project dealt with name searches, famous Wizarding names like Merlin, Agrippa, Dumbledore and a recent addition, Potter. But it would be a few more weeks before her automated searches were ready to be placed in an active status. Meanwhile, Amanda busied herself with her everyday duties, noticing that the backlog of reports to the Obliviators was beginning, finally, to decrease.


-|-|-|-|-


An unfamiliar noise startled Ron Weasley, mid-snore, from a deep sleep and he rolled awkwardly off the sofa in Nettie Mellanson’s flat. The wood floor was hard and bruised his elbow when he struck. Still disoriented by the noise, he swore and tried to get up, succeeding only in banging his head rather painfully on the sharp corner of the coffee table. Swearing again, this time more enthusiastically, he began to identify the noise as a Muggle telephone. Just as he rose to answer it, Nettie ran into the room and picked up the handle.

“Oui?� she croaked, half asleep herself. Ron could make out another voice on the other end of the strange device. The past three days he had been eyeing it suspiciously until his host had allowed him to try making a call. Of course, once he had his hands on it he couldn’t put it down. Nettie had to explain that the phone would never ring unless he left it alone. Disappointed, Ron placed the handset back on the receiver and hoped for someone to call, then he realized they would not be calling for him.

Nettie started babbling in rapid French, but one word Ron easily detected was ‘Charlie.’ He approached his host, forgetting he was wearing only a pair of boxers, and put his ear up to the receiver, attempting to hear the voice on the other end. It was definitely Charlie! Nettie handed Ron the phone and went to wake her sister.

“Charlie, is that you?� asked Ron.

“Yes! Was that Tré’s sister?�

“Yeah, Nettie, uh—Antoinette is like that. How did you find us? Where are you?� Ron was rubbing his eyes and didn’t see Tré and Nettie return.

“I’m in Belgium. Merlin, what a mess I made of things, eh?�

But Ron didn’t get a chance to answer, Tré had tapped him on the shoulder; smiling, he handed her the phone and retreated to the sofa. Wide awake now, he jotted out a brief note to his parents on the pad of paper he’d been given the night he arrived. As he finished, Louise, Nettie’s owl, landed on the arm of the sofa awaiting its message. Ron tied the note to Louise’s leg, and gave her an affectionate tap on the beak. “Know where the Burrow is, girl?� Louise blinked at him and flew out the back entryway Nettie had just opened.

“You want some breakfast?� his host asked after closing the door. Tré was deep in conversation with his brother and it was doubtful he would be able to get much more sleep.

“No, don’t bother, thanks. I’ll just go to the, er—bull-an-jerry? Is that what you called it?�

“Oui, that’s close, just be sure you ask for la lait in your coffee this time, not la vache, they won’t overcharge you.� Ron looked crestfallen, he obviously needed more practice with the language than he thought. Nettie laughed. “Hang on, I’ll go with you.�

“Oh, thanks… I’ll, eh, get dressed.�

Nettie looked him over. “You know, Ron, there are some places in France where you would be overdressed wearing that.�

His eyes bulged. “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you? You aren’t!� Grabbing a handful of clothes he’d purchased the previous day, with no particular attention to what it was, Rob backed out of the parlor and into the bathroom to change.

The damp, misty morning air of Vernon carried the first chills of autumn as Ron and Nettie walked the half-mile from her flat to the café; the eastern sky was only just beginning to show the pale grey light that heralded the dawn. Ron had insisted they take the back streets, and he carried his wand at the ready, but hidden within the folds of a jacket Dr. LeVasseur’s had lent him. He had the feeling his guide found the behavior amusing; for his part, Ron could not understand her lackadaisical attitude.

“So, Ron, who is this woman you are suffering over?� Nettie asked out of the blue.

“I’m not suffering over anyone,� he retorted harshly. When his partner laughed he knew he’d confirmed her suspicion. Then he wondered… “Did Tré or Charlie tell you something?�

“Moi? Non, how could zey tell me somesing zat iz not?�

Ron could not stand it when she got like this, very know-it-all-ish… far too much like Hermione. And she intentionally throws in that ruddy thick accent.

“Alright, Ron, I’m sorry.� She patted him very condescendingly on the head, but smiled when he turned to say something rude to her.

“Bloody women!� Ron muttered, only to hear Nettie laugh again, as if she could read his mind… But then, she was Tré’s sister. “Wait a minute, can you do that thing your sister does, you know, read minds and all that rubbish?�

“Essie doesn’t ‘read minds,’ and neither do I. And why do you call her ‘Tré’?� They had stopped walking and were standing in the middle of an alley, next to a particularly foul smelling garbage bin. Ron nodded in the direction they’d been traveling, as if to indicate a rapid departure was desired. Antoinette agreed and they continued their walk.

“I don’t know, that’s how Harry and Charlie introduced me to her. Why do you call her ‘Essie?’ Wait a minute, you’re changing the subject.�

“Ok, Ron, turn left at this corner,� she said, pointing to the approaching intersection. “Essie has very well practiced and refined Empathic skills, she senses emotions and thoughts. But unlike Legilimency, she does not have to physically see the person. She can also project… um, I am not sure of the English word for this… ideas, perhaps, into a person’s consciousness. Under controlled conditions she can even transfer images and specific thoughts into another person’s mind.�

“Oh, right, that’s what she did with Harry.� They turned the corner, both walking slowly to finish the conversation before reaching the café.

“Oui, all the females in our family have some level of that ability. I’m probably the least gifted, I can only sense emotions.� She stopped again and looked at Ron. “So you see, no one had to tell me you were, eh… in pain, heartbroken, a bit, yes?�

Ron unsuccessfully tried to hide his scowl. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to talk to a stranger about his failed relationship with Hermione, least of all someone who could easily tell if he was lying to cover up something.

“You see, now you are uneasy and you are trying to hide it. Don’t worry, Ron, I will not speak of it to anyone, including yourself, unless you want me to. This ability we have is also a curse, you know.� Now it was Nettie’s turn to scowl.

“How’s that?�

“We cannot just turn it off. Even an accomplished Occlumens is easy for me to sense, and they stand no chance against Essie… and Jackie, one of my other sisters.�

“You have three sisters, what about the other…?� As soon as he asked, Ron could tell it was a painful subject. Even the Frenchwoman’s skills could not hide her reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.�

“You are, perhaps, a bit Empathic, too, I think, no?� Nettie turned away for a moment before continuing. “Essie is my oldest sister, then Jacqueline, Marie and me.� She paused. “Marie is in an institution in Switzerland. She could not handle the… voices, I think you would say.�

“Voices?�

“Oui… yes, eh, what we hear and sense when we are around people. It is not too uncommon for sensitive Empaths to crack under the constant strain of other’s emotions. Some recover, some don’t. Marie has been gone ten years, it was very difficult on my parents…�

Nettie’s voice drifted off and she turned to continue walking, but Ron took her arm gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.�

“Thank you,� she said quietly, neither turning back to Ron nor continuing on her way. “We all have our pains, yes? Sometimes it helps to talk, sometimes not.�

“Right, er…�

Ron was suddenly very uncomfortable with his own emotions. He had a strong desire to embrace Nettie, to comfort her, but he really did not know her well enough, he thought. And for the past few months, physical affection towards a female had been almost always associated with physical intimacy. That was something he didn’t want. But Nettie solved the problem, giving him a brief hug and locking her arm in his as they started walking again. The last few blocks to the café were spent in silence. The eastern sky had become noticeably lighter, and off to one side or the other they could hear an occasional voice speaking or dog barking as they day began.

Arriving back at the flat thirty minutes later, Tré was sipping coffee and reading what appeared to be some type of official documents; when Ron and Nettie entered the room she covered them with a newspaper. “Did you bring me a croissant?�

“Never mind the croissant, what did Charlie say?� asked Ron, his face lighting up.

Nettie placed a small waxed bag on the table in front of her sister. “Ignore Monsieur Weasley, he did not get his beauty sleep today.� Tré looked at both of them and laughed. Ron grumbled something that sounded very unlike the expression on his face and sat down, taking a bite from a large muffin.

“Charlie is taking a train to Paris and should be in about two this afternoon. He has to get a new wand, apparently his was lost when he sent us here.� Tré flexed her arm and rubbed the spot where it had been broken.

“Is it still bothering you, Essie?� Nettie asked. Walking over and taking her sister’s arm, she began to massage it with her thumbs. Tré grimaced, trying to suppress her obvious pain. “No complaining, you big baby, this will teach you not to get yourself blown-up.�

“And you, my baby sister, need to work on your bed-side manners.� Both laughed at the elder woman’s chastisement. “Oh, Doctor LeVasseur came by a few minutes ago,� Tré added, searching through the mess on the table for a scrap of paper, “and asked it you would see go see Captain Girard. Apparently his foot is acting up again.�

To Ron, the request seemed unusual, Nettie could not be far along in her Healing studies and attending a patient alone was very uncommon, but her face lit up with the request. He suspected the captain might be a potential suitor. When Nettie asked him if he would like to go with her, Tré spoke up immediately. “Please, Ron, would you? My sister will make a wonderful Healer but she’s dreadfully average when it comes to defending herself.� Nettie stuck out her tongue at the older woman and left the room.

Ron finished his muffin and coffee, waiting for Nettie to return. Apparently it would be a few minutes; he noticed the shower was running. When he looked up from his drink, Tré was watching him. “Feeling better today, Ron?� He nodded. “Good! Today is the first day I’ve seen you happy in a long time.� Tré stopped speaking, but continued to watch her boyfriend’s brother closely.

“Take it slowly, my friend. She is dedicated to her Healing career and still very young. And we will be leaving here tomorrow.� Tré did not need her Empathic skills to notice Ron’s face fall.

“It’s not like that, Tré,� Ron attempted to correct her, but stopped. Or was it? He tried to change the subject. “Uh, Nettie’s what, twenty, twenty-one? She said Fleur was a year ahead of her at Beauxbaton.� When Tré gave him an enormous smile he began to feel like he’d put his foot in his mouth.

“Ron, Nettie is only seventeen, the same as you.�

“Bloody Hell!� he exclaimed. He knew she looked young but assumed it was only her youthful appearance. If she finished Beauxbaton two years ago, he thought, she should be at least twenty…

“She was something of a prodigy… perhaps more than Miss Granger, no? You do like the smart one, eh?� Tré said, flashing a brief, friendly smile his way. Ron’s ears and neck turned scarlet and he looked down to the dregs of his coffee.

When Nettie appeared a quarter-hour later she wore what would be considered in most places a Muggle doctor’s outfit: Dark trousers and a white coat with the universal Muggle symbol for doctors embroidered on the front; a smaller Wizarding Healer’s pin was on her lapel. Any non-magical person seeing her dressed as such would not think the attire unusual in any way. But now, with her hair up and relaxed, she looked seventeen. Ron glanced at her as she gathered a small case and her now lukewarm coffee.

“Ready?� she said brightly.

“Sure.�

Nettie called out to her sister that she was leaving and the two walked out.

The day had warmed significantly over the intervening ninety minutes and the town was far more active than it had been the previous two days. First they stopped at Dr. LeVasseur’s house where Nettie disappeared into the old examining room for a bit, presumably to receive instructions, or medicines. Ron was quite certain that even a brilliant teenage Healer would not be allowed to write prescriptions. When the girl returned waving a piece of paper and looking disgruntled, his suspicions were confirmed. The trainee called out her goodbye to the old man as they exited. Ron thought he caught an annoyed look when he insisted on checking the street for trouble first. “There has been no trouble here since September, I wouldn’t worry, Ron.�

Still, he kept his hands in his pockets, near the wand in his belt, ready for anything.

The two looked decidedly odd together. One carried herself as the professional, the other with long hair, slouching a bit, and eyes darting every which way. As they walked along, Nettie told Ron about Captain Girard. “He’s an old hero from the second world war and a friend of Dr. LeVasseur. They served together in the French fleet at Toulon when the British attacked them in 1942. The captain hates the English so you probably should not tell him where you’re from.�

Oh, brilliant! “I’ll try not to inflict my French on him, don’t worry,� Ron said, trying to sound upbeat. Having just survived a civil war in his own country, he would now face an elderly navy bloke with an axe to grind. “What’s wrong with the old codger?�

“Oh lord, Ron, you’ll never be a doctor, that’s for certain.�

“What’d I say?� he asked innocently.

“Nothing at all. Well, here we are.�

They turned into an old apartment building and Ron followed as the Healer climbed the stairs to the second floor. Coming to apartment 21, Nettie knocked and waited. A strong voice called out a moment later for the guests to enter.

“Bonjour, monsieur, ca va?� Nettie asked pleasantly. The old captain was seated in an extremely uncomfortable looking chair, his right leg propped up on a stack of magazines. The foot was wrapped in a bandage and Ron had to concentrate to keep from covering his nose; the foot was obviously infected and the accompanying stench was gagging.

Nettie and the captain spoke, exchanging pleasantries, Ron thought, by the tone of their voice. After a minute, she turned around and tried to mouth something to him but was interrupted by the old man in heavily accented English. “And ou ahr yoo?�

“Eh, bon-ger, muss-your,� Ron said in his best French.

Nettie rolled her eyes and walked over to him, trying to hide her message by feigning a kiss on his cheek. “Ron, please wait outside.�

“Er—we.� Then turning to the man and waving he said, “A-joe-do-we, muss-your.�

Nettie turned bright red and covered her eyes with one hand in embarrassment.

After Ron had exited the apartment and closed the door, he heard Nettie jabbering rapidly in French. The old man barked out what sounded like a laugh. This helped calm Ron’s nerves down a bit.

An hour later, Nettie exited the building and found Ron waiting for her in the small, dank smelling lobby. She wore the same look Ginny had when she was trying to decide whether to hex or hug him.

“Sorry about that…�

“Ron, do you have any idea how bad your French is? Do you even know what you said?� But try as she might to scold him, she just ended up smiling in the end.

“Not really…�

“I thought not. Come on.� She took his hand, pulled him up and then pushed him through the building exit. Ron felt a flutter in his stomach when their hands touched. Perhaps there is life after Hermione…

“First of all, mister or sir is pronounced monsieur, NOT ‘muss-your.’ Now you try it.� He did… sort-of.

“No! monsieur, listen to me… monsieur.�

“Monsieur?�

“Oui, bon, encore. Again!�

“Monsieur?�

“No! It is not a question; say ‘monsieur’.�

“Monsieur.�

“Tres bien! I’ll make a Frenchman out of you yet. Now, when you greet someone it’s salut, bonjour or allô. Let’s stick with just one, salut, it’s less formal…�

“You mean you have to say hello different ways to different people?� he asked in obvious distress.

Nettie stopped and looked at Ron very seriously. “You will love the masculine and feminine nouns, I’m sure.�

Ron’s face went blank. “We leave tomorrow, Nettie,� he said apologetically.

This she had not heard, yet. “Oh… Well that takes care of the lessons, doesn’t it?�

Ron wanted to believe there was a trace of disappointment in her voice, she had to have known, didn’t she? They continued on in silence for a bit. “I’m sure I’ll be back, now and then. Maybe Tré will teach me some…� But when he looked to his right, Nettie had a hard, almost expressionless look on her face. Ron recognized it as the face he had seen on her the past few days, the face that made him think she was so much older than she really was.


Translations:
lait - milk
vache - cow

Chapter 5 – The French Connection

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.

Rita Skeeter was not a happy woman. Never mind that she was seldom a happy woman, but sometimes she noticed her own unhappiness more than others. Today was one of those days. More accurately, this week was one of those weeks, and she could make good argument for it being one of those years, too.

As a tabloid journalist, she received a level of respect befitting her job, and although she would never admit it, this was a monumental achievement. But ever since Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, her quiet, obnoxious, backstabbing, repugnant and vile opinions of the young man and his friends fell upon deaf ears; but only until the middle of October.

It was now barely a month since the confrontation at Hogwarts and Rita Skeeter sat at her usual table in the second-floor pub on a corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was more of a private club than a public pub, and that suited the middle-aged woman well. Few patrons were around at this time of the morning, just a couple men looking as if they’d worked all night at some menial labor involving grunting, sweat and heavy objects. They smelled the part, too; Rita gave the barman a dissatisfied look, which he returned, followed by an apathetic smile.

The later morning hours passed more pleasantly after the laborers left, and, except for a few irritating disruptions from the one man staff, Rita could dictate to her Quick Quotes Quill at her leisure. When the clock tower at Gringotts struck noon, as was her custom, Rita signaled to the newly arrived waiter that she was ready for lunch. This one meal a day, hearty by most people’s standard, would be the only real nourishment she had each day of the week. She kept this routine except on Sundays, when she ate at a fancy Muggle establishment off Trafalgar Square.

The afternoon wore on and by tea time a number of the regulars were filtering into the pub/club, as was their routine. A few greeted Rita from across the room and one stopped by to pass on a piece of new gossip. First making himself comfortable and ordering ale, the squirrelly middle-aged man made no pretense of timidity, as his appearance might suggest.

“Afternoon, love. ‘Ow’s the business these days?�

“Until you arrived it was pleasant. Do you have something for me or are you just sponging again?�

Jimmy Squeerek regarded the woman as the waiter brought his drink. He took a long pull and wiped his mouth on the tablecloth, an action he knew Skeeter hated. “Oh, yes, love, I do ‘ave something for you.�

“Stop calling me ‘love.’ What is it?� she asked a second time.

Again, Squeerek took a drink and watched Rita react to his uncouth behavior. “It’s a good’un this time, Rita. Your favorite subject, the Potter boy.�

Looking down to her tea, Skeeter hid her delight. “Hmm, that may be interesting, Jimmy. I hope it’s better than that last ‘tip’ you gave me.�

“Do you want to ‘ear what I know or not?�

“Alright, but I expect something better than that last load of codswallop you fed me.�

“It’s gonna cost you, this time.�

“You’ll get a cut, if it’s worthy.�

“Oh, it is. Actually, I’m surprised you ‘aven’t ‘eard it yourself.� Squeerek looked around the room. He noticed that the reporter’s eyes followed his gaze. “Potter’s in trouble…�

“Potter’s always in trouble, what do I care…?�

“Don’t interrupt me, Rita… it ain’t… lady-like.� He watched Skeeter until she had given him her attention. Most of Squeerek’s gossip over the years had been ‘newsworthy.’ “Potter’s in trouble with the people – the regular people. They’s saying ‘e botched the job again. You know, killing You-know-‘o, jus’ like ‘e did the last time. There’s ugly talk I’m ‘earing. Personally, I can’t blame ‘em, either.�

“Yes, Jimmy, I’m sure. For some reason you and ugly things do go together.� Squeerek gave her an appropriately ugly stare, but said nothing. “All right, so some people are unhappy…�

“I says all the people are un’appy. You ask ‘em.� Squeerek stood and called across the room to a table with a middle-aged couple enjoying an intimate conversation. “You two… yeah you. Wha’d’ya think of that ‘Arry Potter kid? The ‘ero, eh?�

The two looked at each other for a moment. When they turned back both had a scowl. The man spoke up first. “A sodding prima donna, that’s what I think of Harry-bloody-Potter. Supposed to have killed You-know-who, but I haven’t heard one word from the Ministry. Have you?� he finished, looking at the woman sitting with him.

“He’s God Himself, from what his friends say. But it was the poor Longbottom boy what killed the old bugger.� The woman’s partner nodded in agreement.

The couple rambled on for another minute and the waiter joined in, confirming that he had heard the same thing. Adding, too, that ‘the Potter boy’s got himself a harem, and an American tart.’ The others sounded off in agreement. All the while, the grin on Rita Skeeter’s face grew wider. When everyone had had their say, she turned politely to Squeerek and thanked him. Gathering her things, the ‘journalist’ made a hasty exit and returned to her flat.

Today didn’t turn out so bad after all.

-|-|-|-|-

With the students settled into a routine, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry enjoyed an unusually sedate first week of classes. Outside of the expected confusion many of the first year students experienced, only Diane Bradley appeared troubled by the previous six days. She explained to Harry, Ginny and Hermione that her evaluations with all her instructors were complete and that only in Potions would she be studying lessons below her grade level. But this did not irritate her as much as what she talked to Harry about the first Friday of the new term. Following their final Charms lesson that afternoon, Diane approached her other three friends in the Gryffindor common room and asked Harry if they could take a walk around the lake. Ginny immediately spoke up.

“That’s a great idea, Diane, Hermione and I were going to visit Hagrid. We’ll see you at dinner.� And giving Harry a quick kiss on his cheek, she and Hermione left to visit their half-giant friend. It was obvious that Diane had made these arrangements with the other two girls ahead of time.

A short while later, Harry and Diane were watching the giant squid sun itself on an outcropping of rocks near the center of the lake. Although it was clear Diane had initiated the outing, Harry spoke first.

“Things going well, er—in classes?�

“Yes, they’re fine. It’s a lot more work than I expected it to be, but I’m not complaining.�

Harry knew this statement to be true. Diane was the only person he knew who studied more than Hermione. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t Sorted into Ravenclaw.�

“The Sorting Hat thought about it. It appeared as if it would, but suddenly changed its mind. That’s partly why I wanted to talk to you, Harry.�

“It almost did the same to me, you know; it wanted to put me in Slytherin.�

“How nice. I’m sure you would have done well there, Harry!� Diane gave him a pained look. Harry laughed.

“Professor Dumbledore always said it’s our choices that define who we are; he was spot on with that one. I told it I wanted Gryffindor, even though Ron was the only person I really knew at the time, and his brothers.�

“But I didn’t choose Gryffindor…�

“Maybe it felt like you needed to be with a house where you knew someone.�

“Could be. Look, Harry, about Ginny’s brothers. I, uh, I received an Owl yesterday from Fred.… He asked me out.� Diane stopped walking. Harry was suddenly very aware of the discomfort his friend must be feeling.

“Have you responded?� he asked, trying to buy a little time to think of something intelligent to say.

“No.�

Say something else! “Er—is going out with a bloke completely repulsive to you?�

Diane didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, what she said helped little. “I’ve never been out on a real date with a guy.�

This statement truly shocked Harry. He knew it wasn’t his affection for Diane that clouded his opinion, but Diane was, without a doubt, one of the more attractive females he knew, probably even more so than Ginny and Hermione, both of whom he considered very attractive.

“Why is that? I mean, is it just because of your… you know, your… ?�

“Harry, don’t be a jerk,� said Diane disgruntledly. “I don’t have an affliction. Actually, I don’t know what I have, I mean, what I am. But no, the idea isn’t repulsive, but the idea of going out with a girl isn’t completely appealing, either. Sometimes I feel stuck between the two. I don’t know, does that make sense?�

Harry had no idea. “Who do you look to, er—for companionship?�

“That doesn’t help, now does it? You have male friends and don’t date them, do you?�

“No, I guess not.�

“I think I turn guys off, and I have no idea how to find a girl. Even saying that seems bizarre.�

“Diane, you don’t turn guys off, at least not physically.� Harry cringed inwardly. “You might intimidate some with your smarts; I know that happens with Hermione. And finding someone, well, it can’t really matter if they’re male or female, can it? It seems like friendship should be someone’s first goal, not finding a partner for life.� Harry shut up and thought that this was probably the extent of competent advice he could give on the subject.

“Well, Hermione is a bit of a prude; at least she acts that way.� Harry caught a hint of their recent mutual animosity in Diane’s voice.

“Not really, but she was interested in Ron for so long, and it was obvious to everyone except them, so no one made any moves on her. At least no one I know about.�

“I suppose…�

They continued their walk in silence for a while. A few other couples were also strolling together around the lake; some disappearing into the bordering woods for what Harry guessed was a quick snog.

“Di, are you sure you’re a… er…� Harry started to say, but stopped himself. Too late. He had placed himself into the very awkward situation of asking his friend what was possible the most personal thing he had ever ask someone, outside of a few intimate conversations with Ginny. But he was rescued by his sincerity.

“You really are too much, Harry.� Diane paused and looked intensely pensive for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t be honest if I said I was certain. But how do you know you’re heterosexual?�

The question caught Harry by surprise, though in retrospect, it should not have. “I like… I mean, well, Ginny’s a girl…�

“So I noticed,� Diane said impatiently.

“Well, I’m… attracted to her, I guess…�

“You’re not sure?�

“NO! I mean, YES, I’m sure.� Harry suddenly felt much warmer than he wanted to.

“How would you feel if a guy kissed you?�

“WHAT?! That’s… I don’t think I’d fancy it, Diane.�

“Well, I’ve been on the receiving end of a kiss from both sexes… it didn’t help my decision making.�

“I thought you said you hadn’t dated blokes.�

“I didn’t say I’d never kissed one. And I would’ve thought you’d remember that.� A teasing smile appeared on Diane’s face and Harry suddenly cringed, recalling the impulsive peck he’d given her in August.

“Was it that bad?�

“NO, HARRY! Don’t take it personally, but you were hardly passionate that afternoon.�

“I wasn’t trying to be passionate. I was…er, trying to figure you out.�

Diane laughed; it didn’t help Harry feel any less guilty. “Look, Harry, I’ve scared guys off my whole life. Maybe it’s a religious thing. I’m the proverbial virgin, you know, saving myself for marriage, and all that crap.� She paused, then continued more soberly. “In some ways my family dying was a relief. Mom and dad would have completely freaked if they knew I was more interested in girls than guys.�

“But you’re not really sure yourself. And that kiss I gave you was hardly one to judge all us blokes by.�

Diane couldn’t resist her next comment. “Then kiss me again, Harry, but really mean it, like you do with Ginny. Then I’ll let you know.�

“WHAT?!� Harry’s voice cracked, but he saw a smile creeping into his friend’s face. “You’re bloody insane, Diane. Don’t joke like that.�

“Harry, I am kidding. But you’re right, it was mean. I’m sorry. Unfortunately, my indecision can’t be resolved by one kiss.� Diane threw up her arms out in frustration. “But what you said about friendship is true. I guess I’ll just have to look for friends and see what develops.� She walked up to Harry and gave him a quick hug.

“So, er—what are you going to tell Fred?�

“Not sure. Actually, yes I am. I’m too busy to date anyone right now so I guess I’ll tell him ‘thanks, but no thanks’.� Harry didn’t say anything in response, and they began walking back to the school for dinner, purposely avoiding the field where Neville had died a month earlier.

Dinner that evening was quiet, too. Ginny and Hermione came into the Hall a few minutes late, with Hagrid, who thumped Harry rather hard on the back on his way to the head table. “Alright there, Harry?� he asked as Harry choked on a bite of food he had been chewing on.

“Yeah, Hagrid, and you?� he managed to get out after catching his breath.

“Never better. Well, I best be off ter dinner.� Diane and Harry looked up to the head table where McGonagall was giving the late arrivals an irritated look.

“Have a nice visit, Gin?� Harry asked, after his girlfriend settled on the bench next to him.

“Very. Hermione and I got Hagrid to tell us the story of the fake dragon back in September. He even has the parts that couldn’t be transfigured behind his hut….�

“I just wish Hagrid would try to clear his name,� said Hermione in frustration, forgetting that only she, Harry and Ginny knew the real story of why Hagrid never officially became a wizard.

“Why, what happened?� Diane asked.

The rest of the meal was spent in storytelling and remembrance of Ginny’s first year. She didn’t seem to mind as much as she had in years past, and they made no effort to keep their stories private. So by the end of the meal, a good dozen more students knew some details of the Chamber of Secrets.

-|-|-|-|-

Charlie Weasley greeted his youngest brother with an affectionate hug before turning to Tré and pulling her into a somewhat more-than-affectionate kiss. When finished, Tré took the two Weasleys into her sister’s flat where they settled down with Butter Beers while Charlie related the events of the past few days. When he had finished, he showed off his new wand.

“I would have preferred Olivander, but this one is excellent; mahogany with a dragon heartstring.� Charlie pointed the wand at a vase on the mantle and levitated it to the kitchen table. Just after it clunked down solidly, the three were startled by another voice.

“You must be Charlie Weasley,� Nettie said, having quietly entered the front door. She set her bag down, walked over to the table, picked up the vase and returned it to the mantle. Folding her arms, she stood in front of it as if she were daring Charlie to move it again. Tré sighed, Charlie gave an uncomfortable chuckle and Ron shook his head. Here was the Antoinette he knew until early that morning: Stiff, formal… professional. And far too old for her real age.

“Yes, and you must be Antoinette,� Charlie responded, standing and offering his hand. For a moment Ron thought she might not take it, but she did. Tré asked her sister to join them and Nettie appeared as if she would, then she noticed the seating. Charlie was next to Tré and the only empty seat was next to Ron. Her hesitation caused Charlie to throw a questioning glance at his sibling. But Nettie ignored them and went into the kitchen for a drink, while she was gone, Charlie discreetly moved over to Ron’s sofa, leaving a spot for Nettie next to her sister. When they were all together again, the atmosphere was a bit less strained.

“So, you are all leaving tomorrow, then?� asked Nettie.

“Yeah, we’ll go to you’re parent’s place in Normandy and then off to meet some other… er, others.�

“And what time will you leave?�

Tré looked at Charlie. “Early. Portkeys and Floo are still not safe, so we’ll take the train to Caen and then Apparate to our destination.�

Tré looked at her sister. “Sure you don’t want to join us, Nettie? We could use a Healer if we run into trouble.�

The offer startled the young girl, though she did not show it. This was the third time her sister had asked for her participation, and Nettie knew it would be her last invitation. Weighing her options and responsibilities was not too difficult. Her formal education was on hold until the legitimate Ministry of Magical Affairs was back in place. “Oui, Essie, I will go.� Her acceptance was so unenthusiastic the other three almost thought she was joking.

“You will?� Ron replied first, and a little too earnestly. Charlie rolled his eyes at Tré.

“Yes, but you had better improve your French, Monsieur Weasley,� Nettie replied sternly. It wiped a bit of the smile off Ron’s face. “I had better go tell Dr. LeVasseur I will be away for a while,� their host continued, jumping up and walking briskly to the door. As it closed behind her a second later, Charlie and Tré burst out laughing.

“That’s my little brother, Mr. Subtlety himself.� Winking at Ron, Charlie told them the rest of his story, after which they began to make their travel plans.


The train to Caen the following morning was crowded and smelly. Not being one of the more widely used expresses, or the Train à Grande Vitesse, the route had become a footnote to the normally excellent train service the country offered. But it was the perfect place to blend in and avoid detection, or even suspicion. Tré had performed two coloring charms, one each on Ron and Charlie’s head to make their hair black; both thought it just made them look stupid.

The brothers sat in the rear of the carriage, (the Mellanson sisters sat near the front,) the elder trying to calm Ron’s irritation at not sitting with Nettie. Since boarding the train she had been approached twice by handsome Frenchmen, both of whom were politely but firmly rejected.

“Ron, clam down, you’re driving me spare. And if I feel that way Nettie’s going to feel it too. Give it time, for Merlin’s sake, Tré told me she just started to warm up to you yesterday. What’s your rush?�

Good question! “I’m not trying to rush it, Charlie…�

“Like hell you’re not. It took you, what, six years to notice Hermione?� Ron gave his brother a hateful glance. “You break up with her and three weeks later you’re chasing someone else. Don’t let Nettie become some meaningless rebound relationship. Sure, she’s attractive, but I’m not convinced you are the type of bloke she…� Charlie didn’t get the chance to finish, Ron had turned in his seat and his ears were scarlet.

“I’m not what, big brother? I’m not her type? I’m not smart enough for her? Is that what you’re saying?�

“Keep your voice down, Ron.�

“NO! I bloody well won’t keep my voice down. I decide who I like, and Hermione has nothing to do with it.�

“I didn’t say she did,� Charlie said in hushed tones, trying to prevent a scene. A number of nearby passengers were stealing annoyed glances at them. “I just… well, you were damn upset about you and Hermione, if you remember. The last time I saw you before yesterday you were still moping around.�

Ron struggled to keep his mouth shut, fearing an all-out shouting match with his brother.

“Monsieur,� a voice said.

Not wishing to be scolded or shushed by a passenger, Ron jumped up and nearly knocked Nettie into the old lady sitting across from him. “Bloody hell!� he started saying, in a tone that dripped with annoyance. Then he realized he wasn’t being reprimanded. Eyes suddenly apologetic, he answered as best he could. “Sorry, I, er—we were having a, er…�

“Yes, Ron, come with me,� she said simply, taking Ron’s hand and leading him to the front of the carriage. Tré was standing in the aisle, as Nettie and Ron passed she flashed him a brief smile and headed to the rear to sit with Charlie.

Nettie pointed at the seats. “Window or aisle seat, monsieur?�

“You sound like a bloody waitress, Nettie,� he replied, not really believing his luck. She gave him a warning look. “Sorry. You take the window.�

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Nettie spoke again. “What was the war like in England?� she asked in her perfect English.

Ron was momentarily shocked by the unusual topic. “The war itself was bad, but watching Harry be slowly destroyed by it was far worse. We met before our first year, on the Hogwarts Express, that’s the train that takes most of the students from London to the school… Why are you smiling?�

“Do I need a reason? No, it’s because I’ve been on the Hogwarts Express, my first year of schooling. My parents were living in Portsmouth at the time, where my father worked, and they did not want me at Beauxbaton at my age, even though I knew I would be there the following year.�

“Wait, you’re my age, when were you… oh, Tré told me you’re brilliant. You probably started a year or two before me, right?�

“Oui, Monsieur Dumbledore allowed me to attend because my father and he were friends. But I think he would rather not have let me.�

Ron found the information interesting, and it explained a lot. “Is that why your English is so good? How long did you live in England?�

“Partly, living in an English speaking country certainly helped. And we lived there three years. We returned to Vernon as my first year at Hogwarts was ending. I vaguely recall three other tall, red-haired boys, were they your brothers?�

“Possibly, Percy’s the third oldest in my family, then Fred and George, they’re twins. Then me, and Ginny’s the youngest.�

“Ah! I remember the twins. They were always in trouble, weren’t they?�

Ron laughed. “That’s them. They had a joke shop in London until a few weeks ago; some of Voldemort’s followers destroyed it. But they’ll rebuild, they were very popular.�

“I’m sure they will be successful again.�

The two lapsed in silence for the next quarter hour, looking out the carriage window, occasionally pointing at some interesting landmark.

“Why do you resent your brothers, Ron?� The question caught him by surprise. Then he remembered how angry he’d been a half-hour before. And Nettie was correct; it wasn’t directed just at Charlie.

“I’ve always been treated like the baby, even though Ginny’s the youngest. Fred and George were particularly….�

“Cruel?�

Ron thought carefully before answering, though it was difficult. He knew he was impulsive; could he also have been rash in judging his siblings? Speaking carefully, he answered. “Maybe, but if they were, it probably wasn’t intentional.�

Nettie watched Ron closely, though he did not feel she was searching for his emotions. “You are cute when you think, Ron. You need to do that more,� she said softly, almost in a whisper.

But the comment still brought Ron up short and he prepared to lay into his new friend, until he realized her challenge. With difficulty, he brought his emotions back under control and considered both why Nettie said what she had and what it meant. It took a full minute for the blush to recede from Ron’s neck and ears, but when it did, the French girl leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You see? You can do it.�

Shocked for a second, and delighted, but shocked nonetheless, Ron considered himself and the challenge Nettie had set before him. His mind was awhirl with a combination of pride and the electric jolt of pleasure he hadn’t really felt in a month. “Did you sense that in me?� he asked quietly.

Nettie broke out in laughter for a moment. “No, I was too busy feeling,� she leaned forward and pointed surreptitiously to the man sitting at the window seat across the aisle from them, “that man’s frustrations with… I think… his piles. And the woman next to him is irritated at her husband about something.� Sitting back and pointing at the seat in front of them, Nettie continued. “That was one of the men who approached me, he’s entertaining some… eh, fantasies. And the man next to him is concerned about the price of oranges this winter.�

It was impulsive, Ron knew, and probably premature, but he quickly leaned over and caught Nettie’s lips with his. He could feel her smile with his mouth and did so, too. Breaking apart a few seconds later, Nettie put her arm around Ron’s neck and rested her forehead on his chin. “Ron, this isn’t a good idea. I’m going to be in school and you’ll be going back to England when this is all over…�

“Yeah, I know, but that’s me, rash, reckless and impulsive.�

She laughed.

The reverie was interrupted a few seconds later when they heard someone clear their throat. “Are you two going to sit there or join us?� It was Tré; in the past two minutes the train had come into the station at Caen and was slowing to stop.

“Bugger!� Ron exclaimed, but not too loudly. Nettie and he released each other and stood, gathering their small collection of personal items. Charlie joined Tré, giving his brother a knowing smirk. Ron flipped him off.


“Who’s that?� Nettie asked as they walked down the platform towards the station’s entrance gate. Two men were walking swiftly in their direction. It was obvious they were coming to meet the four wizards.

“It’s Paquin and Bissette. You three stop here, I will see what they want,� Tré ordered, handing her things to Charlie. Ron whispered a derogatory comment about Charlie’s job as a servent and the older Weasley laughed. Walking to the men, Tré greeted her two acquaintances.

“Bonjour, Estrella,� the short ex-spy, Paquin, said with a smile. “It has been far too long.� Taking her hand, he kissed it and turned to his partner.

“I was happy to see you made it out of Vernon safely. My condolences to you and your family at Jacques’ death.� Bissette said sincerely, and then he too kissed Tré’s hand.

“Why are you here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow,� Tré said harshly.

“No, things have changed over the past twenty-four hours. We could not wait. Who are… ah, you have Antoinette with you. And is that Monsieur Weasley?� Bissette was looking over Tré’s shoulder at her small collection of travel mates.

“Never mind them, Bissette, what has happened? Are my parents safe?�

“Yes, yes, of course they are safe,� Paquin replied for his tall partner. “None of this suspiciousness, Madame Mellanson, we bring good news. Call your friends over and we shall retire to the café across the street.

Tré called to her sister, Charlie and Ron and introduced them to her fellow Ministry employees. Nettie had heard enough about the two men over the years to feel comfortable about her security, but the two Weasleys remained tense and cautious the entire time all were together.

Over a light snack (or in Ron’s case, a hefty meal) washed down with a strong local wine, Paquin and Bissette told their news. “The usurpers’ power is collapsing; there was a battle last night at Chartres and we,� he turned to Charlie and Ron, “the Resistance, hurt them.�

They could feel a hesitation, however, and Tré spoke up. “But? Something has happened that is not good.� Paquin and Bissette looked at each other, both cringing, having momentarily forgotten Tré’s empathic acumen.

“Uh, yes, too many escaped and have fled to the Ministry building in Paris.�

The one called Paquin did not need to say anything more to the Mellanson sisters; both had visited the Ministry building in Paris and knew it was a massive fortress. To dislodge the ‘usurpers,’ as they were known, many lives would be lost. The fact that they would be operating in the middle of one of the world’s best known cities only worked against them. Otherwise the last followers of the late Lord Voldemort could simply be blasted out of existence.

“Did you suffer many casualties… at Chartres?� Ron asked impatiently. Nettie looked at him, impressed; he had pronounced the city’s name properly: Shar’-tra with the second syllable trailing off, so the ‘ra’ was but a breath on the tongue following a softened t.

“Not as many as we inflicted, but Henri Paul was killed.�

All present saw Tré’s face fall. “C'est terrible! she exclaimed in a cry of sorrow.

“Who is this chap, Henri?� Ron asked Charlie, who appeared upset himself. Nettie had moved closer to her sister to offer comfort.

“A good friend of Tré’s, her Godfather, wasn’t he?� Tré nodded and wiped away her tears. It was the first time Ron had ever seen her really cry, she appeared much more vulnerable. She also looked much more like her much younger sister.

Tré regained her composure a minute later and the conversations continued, though more subdued. One of the reasons Tré wanted to return to Normandy, and the reason for the ‘secret papers’ Ron had seen the previous day, was to meet with a group from England. Although the situation on the island was still in flux, a number of wizards and witches had offered their service to the French Resistance. Paquin and Bissette had met them at the station to see if Tré still wanted to proceed with the plans, especially in light of the news from Chartres and Paris.

�Yes, I think we should still accept their assistance. Our Ministries have not enjoyed the best relations in recent years and we cannot afford to snub them, even if that might be an absurd interpretation.�

As she finished her statement, Paquin looked at Bissette and pulled an envelope out of his bag, handing it to the senior Ministry official present. “Tres bon, Madame Mellanson, a wise choice; here is your commission from Monsieur le President. Bon chance.� With this wish of good luck, Paquin and Bissette rose abruptly and bowed to Tré. Paquin turned and walked off, Bissette gave the newly appointed Minister a brief smile and nod before taking his leave.

Tré’s hands shook as she opened the envelope. All eyes were on her. She knew what it would say – she hoped she knew what it would say! Out came a single piece of heavy stock paper and she read the commission. When finished, she turned to Charlie and threw her arms around him. The paper sat on the table and Nettie and Ron huddled together to read it. Both suspected it was a cabinet appointment. It was.

The party traveled swiftly from Caen to the senior Mellanson’s hideout in St. Mère Église, a sleepy village on the Cotentin Peninsula made famous by a great tragedy in the Second World War. The reunion was happy, especially when Nettie’s parents saw her, but tears were shed when their murdered brother was mentioned. The funeral and burial had been a brief, private affair and most of the family, Nettie included, could not attend for safety reasons. Also, the news of Henri Paul’s death had reached the village earlier in the day, and though a good friend of the Mellanson family, his death had not been in vain and he was remembered with great respect.

The remainder of the day was spent in preparation for the meeting with the delegation from England. Charlie had looked over the list of names, and while he had recognized a few, none were who he considered acquaintances. Ron grew frustrated with Nettie’s ‘capture’ by her parents and they spent almost no time together until dinner. There he was delighted to find his seat marked next to hers, but the young girl’s attentions were with her family. He found it a trial to remain calm and patient, but he did notice Nettie smile shyly at him twice when her parents were busy speaking with others.

At eight that evening, Tré, accompanied by Charlie and Ron as informal bodyguards, and four others who had been introduced as Resistance fighters, were standing at a small private dock on the northern side of the peninsula. An attractive cruiser came into the small harbor at an alarming speed, but slowed at the hand of what could only have been an expert pilot or captain, bumping gently into the old tires hanging alongside the wooden pier. Ropes were cast ashore by two deckhands and shortly thereafter nine English wizards and four witches disembarked.

Charlie cast his brother a concerned look as Tré walked forward to meet them, her first official job as Minister of Foreign Affairs (Europe.) Strolling casually to Charlie, while not taking his eyes off the pier, Ron asked what the problem was.

“There should have been thirty. I wonder what happened to the…� But before Charlie could finish, the remaining delegates began to appear, all far worse from the choppy Channel crossing. Two were being assisted by sailors and one could be heard shouting that Hell would freeze over before he got back on ‘that boat.’ Charlie chuckled, recalling Tré’s similarly miserable trip weeks earlier.

When the pleasantries were finished, Tré led the entire delegation into a house near the dock. Charlie had informed Ron earlier that it was a large ‘safe house’ where the visitors could refresh themselves and prepare to Apparate to their dispersed quarters for the night. When the last of the party had disappeared, more than two dozen other Resistance fighters came out of hiding, briefly startling the Weasley’s. Their commander, however, well aware of Charlie and Ron’s responsibilities, introduced himself in nearly flawless English, explaining the additional security. Shortly thereafter, the Resistance also filed into the house, leaving the two young English wizards alone.

The two walked out of sight as the cruiser gunned its engines and prepared to depart also. “Ready, Ron?�

“Sure.�

With a soft pop, they Disapparated to St. Mère Église.


“Tré’s off on her Ministry business and seems happy. Has she been trying for this position?� Ron asked Nettie later that night. He had finally found her alone after her parents retired for the night. They were sitting in a small garden behind an empty café, enjoying the cool evening air that had a faint smell of salt.

“She did not expect the top position, I am sure. She is still young for such a job, but I suppose she earned it in England, yes?�

“Yeah, she was amazing working with Harry and the rest of us. I was able to master Occlumency in no time. Does your Ministry of Foreign Affairs use Empaths a lot?�

“As much as possible, but there are not a great number of good ones. I’m biased, but Essie is probably the best in the service.�

“Well then, here’s to Essie,� Ron raised his glass of ice water. Nettie followed suit and the glasses touched gently.

“Come Ron, let’s walk. I haven’t been here for years and I miss the beaches.� Holding out her hand, Ron took it without hesitation. Before he had the opportunity to ask how close the beach was, Nettie Apparated them both to an endless strip of sand. There was no one in sight as far as either could see.

Standing side by side, Nettie pointed to the shore. “This is Utah Beach, where the Americans landed in World War II. The entire area is very famous in world history. Did you study the war?�

“A little. Grindelwald wasn’t in France after 1940, and we mainly followed his works in Russia, Poland and Germany, more so than the general course of the war. I don’t remember… and our History of Magic professor was pretty much useless.�

“It was a hard time, my parents told me. They were both very young, but they remember bits and pieces. This beach was one of the landing spots for the Americans when they came to liberate France. It was a close thing, I understand. Many on both sides died, but by the end of the day the Americans had held on.� Stepping forward, Nettie continued holding Ron’s hand and they strolled down the shallow dune to the sea wall, and then onto the hard, flat beach.

Standing still for a moment, Nettie wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to shiver. “I think the beach is haunted by the ghosts of the men who were not ready to die here. Could you believe that, Ron?�

“Uh, sure, I suppose.� He really didn’t, and he was far more interested in the girl than ghosts. Patience, patience… “Did you come here often, when you were younger?�

“Yes, but now I have so little time. It sounds strange, but I find their presence comforting. I think they are reassured by our being here, too, as if they are not forgotten. Have you talked with many ghosts?�

“A few, but just the ones at Hogwarts… and we have a ghoul in the attic of my home, too.�

Nettie stopped and took Ron’s hand again, hers was cold and damp. The night was still. Too still. Dead still. Ron realized they had wandered close to the water’s edge, but there was no sound of waves. The surf was calm. He felt a breeze on his face, and his hair blowing in swirls. Nettie’s hair was flowing out in front of her, too, but there was no sound flurrying in his ears. The sky darkened. It was utter silence, like being in a deep cave, absolutely alone and with no light.

And then Ron felt it, or them, he wasn’t sure. Nettie held his hand more tightly and he felt her tremble; he was beginning to shudder, too. When he looked at her, he saw she was saying something, but no sound was coming from her mouth. What had moments before been reflections of starlight on the uncommonly placid Channel were now specks of silver coming up from the water’s surface and swirling into the air around them. Millions upon millions of points of faint light were flying about. Instinctively, Ron pulled Nettie to his body to protect her and started to draw his wand. But she stopped his hand and pointed.

The points of light were converging and taking shape, forming slowly into what could only be described as figures; first scores, then hundreds of people. Soldiers.

Huddling in each other’s arms, Ron and Nettie watched the phantom parade fly around them. The images were clearly wearing their old battle uniforms and helmets, but none showed any signs of wounds. They were speechless with the wonder of the event, and it seemed to go on for hours. At times, one figure would break out of the group circling the two teens. It might approach them or fly off to an unseen location.

And just as suddenly as it started, it was over. They were standing exactly where they had been before, the moon and stars had not shifted, and they could hear and see again. The sound of the waves and the whistle of the wind over the sand had returned. Struggling with their feelings of the phenomenon, Ron and Nettie just stood together waiting for their shaking bodies to calm.

In time Nettie spoke. “My God, Ron, do you believe me now?� She could feel his head nod against hers. “This is what I saw when I was younger, but it seems so much bigger now. There must have been thousands of souls...�

“It was amazing,� was all Ron could say in agreement.

“Tell me, what did you feel from them?� Nettie’s voice was almost a command and Ron closed his eyes to think.

“They hurt… they can’t… I don’t know, uh… they’re searching…�

“YES! Ron, I was right about them, and I felt the same way, like they wanted something.�

“Our lives?�

“No, I don’t think so. When I last saw them, about ten years ago, it was as if they needed something I couldn’t give them. But tonight, some of them found what they were looking for… in me, or us.�

“But they can’t all be ghosts, you have to be a wizard to become a ghost.�

“I call them ghosts, but ‘souls’ may be a better name for them, or fragments of souls. Essie told me about the Horcruxes and how they work. Perhaps these souls are here, not because of a conscious attempt to make a Horcrux, but because of the terrible tragedy of the war, and each death. They all lost a little more than life that day.� She paused, searching for ideas. “Yes, that may be why they are here. There was no single soul present, but parts of thousands.�

Ron nodded again, still lost in the awe at what he had seen. “Has anyone else seen this?�

“Essie told me she saw it once, but I think she was just saying that. I was only seven or eight at the time, she might have been humoring me.�

“Uh, ok…. Maybe we should head back now,� said Ron, starting to break away from their embrace, but Nettie held on.

“I think they are why I want to be a Healer. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but… perhaps… as a Healer I can help a few people… oh, I don’t know!� Nettie stomped her foot in frustration. She was seldom at a loss for words.

“You might be right, and maybe Essie did see them. Look at what she does: Diplomacy, healing divisions across borders and building relationships. You two are a lot alike, just on a different scale. She prevents problems and you fix what she can’t prevent.� He scratched his unshaven chin.
Looking up to Ron, Nettie was clearly moved by Ron’s assessment. Taking both his hands, she backed off a bit. In the faint star and moon light he saw her smile. “Monsieur Weasley, I was right. You should think more!�

Ron grinned broadly and drew her hands to his face, kissing each of them. A strong emotion was building within him, something very comforting and… affectionate. The manifestation at the beach had drawn them even closer, and in a very short time. It was almost like two friends watching the birth of a child; they could not help but to be moved. Gazing at each other tenderly, their faces only centimeters apart, touching hands, Ron was suddenly shocked when he realized what he was thinking.

Nettie made the next move. She pulled him back towards her and into a passionate kiss. Their arms wrapped around the other, his gently caressing Nettie’s hair and she working her hands on Ron’s back and shoulders. It was a long, loving, emotional, exciting, yet gentle kiss. When they broke apart, Ron felt a strong wave of contentment fill him. And he realized there was something terribly important between himself and Nettie that had been lost, somewhere, between himself and Hermione. It was the gentleness of friendship and the blossoming awareness of love and fulfillment. He and Hermione had had love and friendship, but they had never truly been in love.

A wave of nostalgia and depression momentarily swept over Ron, and he knew Nettie had sensed it in him. In frustration, he let out a stream of vile curses until hands steadied his head and fingers calmly covered his lips. “Ron, you can’t force healing, give it time. She was a big part of your life, yes?� He nodded. “Many years?� Another nod. “You cannot rip her out of you like… like a painful tooth. Besides, I think there are many more good memories of this lady than bad.�

“Yeah… I know… maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Nettie… you and me. I’m rubbish at this emotional stuff…�

“Ah, and now you are trying to dump me before we even get started?� she asked playfully, pulling Ron’s head down and kissing the tip of his nose.

“Nah, you were right, this just isn’t a good idea…�

“Stop that, Ron! I’ve known what you feel. Don’t you think I’ve had my share of pain? We choose what we want, you and me,� she poked him rather painfully in the chest. “If it’s a day, then that’s all it is. If it’s more, bon!� Aggravated, Nettie then lapsed into a rapid stream of French that left Ron amused to the point where he had to put his hand over her mouth to get a word in.

“Ok, ok, sorry. I guess I’ll have to hang around you a little longer, at least until I can understand what you just said.� Seeing his friend calmed, Ron tried to push lingering memories of Hermione out of his head and look at his new friend without worrying about the past. After another kiss, they turned and headed back to St. Mère Église walking many kilometers before Apparating the rest of the way at three in the morning.


Dear Ginny,

Things are getting exciting here in France, but hopefully the end is near. You probably heard that Charlie returned in one piece and Tré got a big promotion. I’m ok. I miss you all but am happy to be here.

Please say hi to Harry, Hermione and Diane for me. I probably won’t see you until Christmas break.

Your brother,

Ron


“Never was one to use a lot of words,� Ginny laughed as she finished reading the brief note to Harry, Diane and Hermione. “But he sounds happy, that’s good.�

The other three nodded, each with very different thoughts about Ron’s absence and what might befall him as the war in France came to a close.

-|-|-|-|-

“It’s not impossible, Arthur, look at the schedules,� Phoebus Penrose exclaimed quietly, and for the third time that evening. The two wizards were speaking softly at the Burrow, meeting earlier than usual. Penrose had stopped Arthur Weasley at the office earlier in the day requesting a private meeting before Gilbert Wimple joined them. This in itself was of great concern. Up until this point, the three men had taken extraordinary measures to ensure they were always together when not at the Ministry building - to dispel any hint of a coup. But that had changed and Arthur was having trouble believing what his old friend was saying.

“I know… it’s just too much right now. Have you asked Kingsley Shacklebolt to look at this yet?�

“No, I’d like you to do that, Arthur, you know him better than I. Would you please do that after we finish tonight?�

Arthur was not at all surprised by the urgency of the request. But he needed more information and history. “When did you first suspect, Minister?�

“The first night, in the meeting hall, when I was speaking. After Shacklebolt was voted in, I saw Wimple and two others speaking off to the side. It was clear they were making some sort of plans.� Penrose held up his hand to stop Arthur’s protest. “I know, I know, Weasley, but the other two men with Wimple were Bailey Snodgrass and McKenzie Twittle.� Penrose paused to let the impact of these two names settle on the senior Weasley.

“Snodgrass and Twittle? I thought they went out of business years ago.�

“They did. But I ran into them last year at the retirement party the Ministry threw for me and they were as thick as thieves. I had a funny feeling then, and Wimple hasn’t done anything to assuage my fears since.�

A pall of dread fell over Arthur. Snodgrass and Twittle had made a fortune after the first war against Voldemort by acting as defense attorneys. Many prominent Pureblood family patriarchs such as Malfoy, McNair and Crabbe owed their freedom to the law firm of Snodgrass and Twittle. Most knew they were nothing more than intermediaries between the defendants and the Ministry recipients of bribes; even if their fees were but a small percentage, many hundreds of thousands of Galleons must have changed hands.

The implication of Wimple’s apparent alliance with the former men of ‘law’ was obvious. The Purebloods, now defeated in battle, would try anything to retain, and regain, their power. Arthur Weasley felt nauseous. The fact that Death Eaters were unmistakably identified by the terrible wounds the Death Mark had inflicted helped little; that virtually all had been captured didn’t matter much; Voldemort was now truly dead, but his specter remained. The cloud of hate and bigotry that hung in the air became palpable.

Why did I think it would end so easily? Arthur asked himself. Looking up to Penrose, he could tell the old man felt the same way.

-|-|-|-|-

Godric’s Hollow… where did the name come from? It was just one of many questions Digger Allen had been asking the town residents; and with some success, too. After nearly a week of interviews and perusing local records, Allen had made considerable progress. He had identified the location of the oldest part of the town, the original police records of the Potter disappearances and a lead pointing to the Dark Ages origin of the village.

What raised Allen’s interest even further were the police records of the Potter case. None of them had much to say about the disappearances. In fact, it was difficult to synch the police reports with the stories he had heard. And when he viewed the original reports, after much flattery and empty promises made to the woman in charge of them, he was dumbfounded; the reports appeared to be almost totally erased of any important contents. It reminded him of the way letters were censored during World War II. But why would someone want to cut out mundane information like street addresses or names of neighbors? Perhaps when I interview…

After fruitlessly asking a few police officers about the case, including one officer who had worked on the case and had even signed the investigation form – but could recall nothing at all - Allen headed back to Peachey House to review his notes and prepare for a week back in London. He would return after the break and continue his search for the elusive Harry Potter.

Chapter 6 – It Just Doesn’t Make Sense!

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


“Then do it the Muggle way, you berk! But for God’s sake, show some backbone…�

SMASH…

“You mean like that, you stupid English boy?� Colonel Pierre Rousseau rubbed his fist as he watched Ron Weasley shake his head and spit out the blood which had rapidly pooled in his mouth. “We did not ask for your help. If you wish to be here then you will follow MY orders. And that goes for you, too, monsieur Weasley.�

Charlie stood on the far side of the small room, having a better time controlling his temper than his youngest brother. He held up his hands, palms turned outward in mock surrender, barely able to hold back his own annoyance with his superior’s orders. Colonel Rousseau knew it, too; the elder Englishman had followed his orders. Still, it grated on the commander that a good bit of what the boy on the floor had said was true.

Walking over to his brother, Charlie held out his hand, only to have it slapped away. His face showed disappointment with Ron, and his concern was doubled when he jumped up and left the room. Up until this point, Ron’s differences with the various French officers in charge of the siege were minor and he had successfully held back his temper. But it had been only a matter of time, Charlie knew, until he would exploded. That it had to happen in front of Rousseau was most unfortunate.

“Colonel, I apologize for Ron’s behavior. He’s impulsive and doesn’t always think things through.� Rousseau nodded curtly, accepting the apology. Then Charlie cautiously continued. “But Colonel, part of what Ron said is true. If we don’t tighten the noose around these bastards they will continue to escape.�

Rousseau slapped his hand down on the map table, causing Charlie to jump a bit and wonder if he had gone too far also.

“Damn it, Weasley, I know that. But do you know that if your brother had said that in front of my subordinates I would have challenged him? Dueling is NOT illegal in France.�

Bloody fool! He’s more interested in his honor than getting the job done... “I’ll remind him, Colonel,� said Charlie forcefully. “And I’ll remind YOU that we are here at the orders of YOUR superior...�

“NON!�

“OUI!, COLONEL! Minister Mellanson IS the de facto Minister of Defense until…�

“NON!� shouted Rousseau, even more vehemently, and shaking his finger at Charlie. “I do not recognize that woman until she has been confirmed by the Assembly. She has no experience and I will NOT let her paramour tell me how…�

SMASH…

This time it was the Charlie looking down at the Colonel spitting out blood. “Look you bloody imbecile, if I remember correctly, you had exactly zero experience in the field before this summer. Ron and I are both commissioned officers in the French Resistance. We have been invited by a legally appointed Minister in your government to assist and advise. I’ve been involved in this war for years, Ron nearly as long. I would hate to have to use my influence as a… paramour to have the Minister replace you. Comprendez vous?�

And just that quickly, much of the goodwill the English and French had built over the past month evaporated. Rousseau got to his feet and stared at Charlie, loathing evident in every muscle of his face. “Get out, Weasley. You will be informed of any orders affecting tonight’s operation.�

Picking up Ron’s cap which had fallen off the table, Charlie threw Rousseau a mock British salute and left the office. As soon as he exited the door, he heard the Colonel summon a number of officers; the anteroom emptied except for one woman making notes at an old, stained oaken desk. She looked at Charlie and pointed to the men’s toilet. “Een zair, monsieur.�

Taking a calming breath, Charlie entered the lavatory. Ron was sitting on the counter with a wet paper towel plastered over his left chin and cheek. There were a number of bloody towels stuffed into the rubbish bin. “All right, Ron?�

“Bloody perfect, Charlie, Tré is going to kill me! How could she put that buffoon in charge?� He threw down the towels uncovering a swollen cheek with a gash in the center, apparently Rousseau had punched Ron with his ring hand.

“Yeah, he is a bit of an arse,� agreed Charlie. Sitting next to his brother on the counter, Charlie took out his wand and healed the cut. “Look, Ron, even if he’s an imbecile you can’t call him...�

“I know, Charlie, I know! Maybe I should resign the commission. I’m rubbish at French and can’t do what I want to do anyway.� Standing, Ron began to pace about the spacious bathroom. He poked his head into a couple stalls to be sure no one was listening.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned about eavesdroppers, Ron. I’m sure his place is wired,� said Charlie, pointing to three small fixtures on the ceiling.

“Wired...? As in bugged?� Ron flushed red as a look of horror came upon his face.

“I’m pranking you, Ron, calm down. Why are you so worked up?�

The younger Weasley shook his head and sat again. “I just want this over.�

“Why? What are your plans afterwards? Thinking about going back to Hogwarts?�

“NO! Definitely not, at least not this term.�

“Hmmm. Do you have any plans? What if this all ends tomorrow?� Ron answered with silence. In other words, he didn’t know what he would do. “Your French is almost understandable now; are you thinking of staying here?�

“Probably not. Nettie will be returning to school and... we talked about it. She said it wouldn’t be fair to me to wait around three more years for her to get her Healer’s Certification. And I agreed.�

“I see. So you two will just go your seperate ways? No... complications?�

“That’s right, we’ll just go our seperate ways,� answered Ron with resolution.

“You two have become good friends, haven’t you?� Charlie asked quietly; he knew they had. Then Ron did something he had had been doing for almost a week: He replied in French, basically saying, ‘Yes, we are good friends. I will miss her.’ Charlie nodded silently.

“What about you and Essie... eh, Tré? I think you two are a bit more than friends.�

“I’m staying, Ron,� Charlie declared firmly.

“Good. I’m happy for you. Do you, uh, you know... love her?�

“Oui.

Ron smiled. “Bon! I’m happy for you.�

Ron’s love life was seldom the subject of conversation between the brothers these days. It was clear that he and Antoinette had become close, but as soon as Charlie felt the lingering depression from his breakup with Hermione pass, he left his younger brother to himself. The past two days, however, Charlie noticed a vein of melancholy creep back into Ron’s life, shortening his temper. He was only relaxed when he was physically near Nettie.

“Say little brother, I’m not trying to butt into your life, but did you both agree on this, er, separation?�

Ron didn’t answer, but he had a look on his face Charlie recognized. It was the same look he had when he said he and Hermione had ‘agreed’ to split up. “Ron, if you love her, three years isn’t much. You could find a job in... where is that school... Nice?� Ron was shaking his head, probably unconsciously. “Maybe you could work as a… translator?�

Ron turned to tell his brother where he could shove his advice, but Charlie was smiling. “You’re a bloody arse!� But the humor worked, Ron laughed and was broken out of his spell of gloom.

“Come on, let’s get the team together and review tonight’s operation.�

And that, Charlie knew, was something which would perk Ron up. He loved preparing and planning for an operation. This would be their sixth together. All had been dirty, dangerous, physically draining and highly successful, at least as far as Rousseau was concerned. But both brothers were becoming frustrated that the scope of each plan was so shallow. The first two they could understand. Ringing the ‘usurpers’ at the Ministry building was slow and dangerous. The building was a fortress in itself and there were many underground avenues for escape, mainly through a labyrinth of sewers. Each of these had to be sealed magically and regularly monitored. But there were still holes to find.

And everything they had to do needed to be done away from Muggle eyes. For the underground operations, this was not so much of a problem; above ground, however, was another matter. There were few invisibility cloaks and this part of Paris was very busy eighteen hours a day. Additionally, the power and water conduits leading to the building could not be shut down, many simply passed through the structure and supplied the neighboring buildings with the needed utilities.

And then there were the sewers. Three waste and six runoff tunnels existed under the Ministry building. These runoff pipes were large, nearly two meters in diameter and could be easily patrolled twenty-four hours a day. But the sewage cloacae were less than a meter across and chocked with the vilest collection of scum and waste anyone could imagine. No one wanted the job of setting the barriers, let alone patrolling them. A Resistance fighter named Fince had tried using a Bubble Head Charm around his entire body, and it worked fine, until he popped it on a sharp projection. It took his friends an hour to hose him off.

When Ron ‘volunteered’ Charlie and his team for ‘sewer duty,’ the Englishmen’s popularity had plummeted to an all-time low. That was operation four, a week before, and since then Ron had been grumbling that they needed to push the underground barriers under the building to discover the source of the escapes. But Rousseau would not listen. He was preparing for a long siege and aggressive actions were not part of the master plan. This was the third time Ron had argued forcefully for more action, and the third time he was refused.

Gathering in an office at the center of the building used as Resistance headquarters, Ron, Charlie and their three teammates sat to plan the night’s operation. The map was unfolded and Rousseau’s orders were inside. But no one needed to read them, the annotations on the map made it clear that the sewers were their target... again. Even Charlie gave his brother an annoyed look before starting the planning session. But Ron’s face had a smile on it, the map, clearly altered recently, showed the team moving under the building for the first time.

“Ok, Claude Bryon’s team will be here, at the north exit,� Charlie said, pointing to the maintenance entrance to the sewage line leading from the north side of the building. “Frederique Le Marsh’s group here,� he jabbed at the east access this time. “And we lucky ‘Sewer Rats’,� two of the team punched Ron half-playfully on the arm, “will enter the tunnel of love here.� To no one’s surprise, Charlie’s finger landed at the west access portal. One of the men, Terone Joffe, crude even by a vulgar soldier’s standards, snickered and asked who was going to watch his rear. When the laughs died down, Charlie continued.

“Who’s up for leading this time? Is it you, Montel?�

The tiny, bald fighter shook his head and pointed to Ron. “Monsieur Weasley gets to lead the parade tonight,� Montel said in halting English, smiling at the ‘leader.’

“Aw, Bloody...�

“Shut it, Ron, you asked for this.� Charlie discarded the top page of the map and opened the second sheet. This one showed the path of the sewer as it went under the building. “Ok, we start here, Ron will lead, I’ll follow him. We’ll proceed the hundred meters under the fence and to this grate.� The map showed a small access grate at the edge of the Ministry building, far too small for a person to squeeze through, but each would take a moment to get a breath of ‘fresh air’ at the spot.

“Right here the pipe splits left and right. Montel, you will remain here while Ron, Tyrone, Renard and I move to this spot.� Circling his finger vaguely, Charlie finally put it down somewhere near the middle of the building. “If we are lucky, someone from Byron and Le Marsh’s teams will meet us there and we will finally have the entire network mapped.�

“What if no one shows up?� asked Renard, another tiny man with red hair, nicknamed ‘Renard,’ the fox, by his teammates.

“We sit there and wait until they do... according to the Colonel’s orders.� Charlie picked up the ‘official’ order and reread it. “It doesn’t say how long. I guess that detail slipped his mind in all the excitement this afternoon. They all sniggered, except Ron. Word of the confrontations was impossible to keep secret.

The next hour was spent discussing contingencies, communications in the small, cramped pipes and other important details. The operation was scheduled to begin at 0200 hours and be complete by 0330, IF everything went according to plan. Following a break for dinner, the three teams involved that night met with their backup and support sections. These sections were comprised of various personnel from the entire siege force and were responsible for activities such as anti-Muggle patrols, equipment maintenance and emergency assistance or medical care. Ron was please to see that Nettie would be observing for the first time that night. She looked nervous, but who didn’t?

Those who were able slept until 0030 when they were awakened to make final preparations. The most important item on every sewer rat’s agenda was conditioning their eyes to the low light conditions of the sewers. Each person would have their wands lit, but only dimly. As the departure time approached, everyone changed into a tight fitting rubberized suit that covered the entire body except the eyes and mouth. Eyes were protected by a simple set of Muggle goggles, Spelled to resist water and other material build-up. No one wanted to think much about what that other material might include.

For the mouth there was simply nothing that could be done. Each required the freedom to verbalize spells, so any sort of breathing device, even the now proven-faulty Bubble Head Charm, was forbidden. Their only consolation was the nose plug on the goggles which helped with the stench.

Black shoe polish was applied to the face to reduce reflection, though they all knew that they would be covered with something equally dark anyway.

Each five-man team was roped together for safety and to prevent getting lost in the darkness, a real possibility, even among the relatively small system of pipes. Each also carried an extra ten meter section of strong nylon cord. On Charlie’s team, each person carried their wand and a spare, one he personally bought each member of the team, recounting his recent visit to Iceland.

And that was it. The orders were to reconnoiter and map. Engaging the enemy was forbidden unless attacked. Ron shook his head as Charlie read the orders on final time.

At 0150 the team moved to their jump-off point, a few hundred meters away the two other teams were doing the same.

At 0157, Ron started to move to the front of the team when he felt someone take his arm. Nettie’s eyes were wide with fear as she told him to be careful.

He smiled back. “Always.�

At 0200, Ron opened the access hole and climbed into the sewer. Charlie was right behind him followed by Renard, Tyrone and Montel. As this group had the furthest to travel, they began a few minutes before the others. The plan was to have each group at the edge of the building by 0220. Of course, no one knew where the other groups really were, but that was the plan.

At 0230, Ron’s team left Montel at the first branch, just as planned. Five minutes later they came upon their first problem.

Ten meters past Montel’s branch, the pipes split three ways, but the diagram had shown only a two-way split. Communications with the man behind you was nearly impossible without shouting, something that might draw attention to their presence, so Ron did the only thing a person could do in a limited space; he stopped and kicked his brother in the head.

Far from being surprised at his brother’s action, Charlie only regretted that Ron had momentarily dislodged his nose plug. After a few seconds of retching, he did the same thing they had practiced before their first foray into the sewers two weeks earlier, he tapped on Ron’s foot a short code asking what was the problem.

To this question Ron had only three choices: First, he could call off the operation, forcing everyone to crawl out backwards. Second, he could wait. But since no one had ever come up with a good reason to wait they never planned to use it. Finally, he could signal that they proceed with caution, an indication of a possible problem or detection. This was Ron’s choice.

When Charlie reached the same juncture a moment later he saw Ron’s dilemma, and his solution. Where the four sewage lines met was a cistern about one meter square. Bending himself uncomfortably, Ron was able to turn around and speak to his brother while scrunched up in a chest-high accumulation of waste.

“Look,� Ron said, pointing down the left pipe. In the distance they could see the faint light from Bryon’s team. They had reached the rendezvous spot first and had lit a wand with a low-intensity glow. Also, somewhere down there was Le Marsh’s team, though there was no indication of their presence.

“Ok, little bro, what do you suggest?� Charlie knew that Ron would press for investigating the unmapped pipe.

Ron looked around as best he could, picked up a handful of muck and threw it down the pipe towards the faint light. “Damn, Charlie, I just can’t tell which way the others might come in. Maybe it’s this way,� he pointed down the third and unknown pipe.

“… I agree, Ron, I’ll bring Tyrone and Renard up and wait for you to return.� As Ron started to proceed, Charlie grabbed his arm. “If you see ANYTHING unusual, Ron, get back here. Understand?�

“Oui, mon capitan!� Ron chuckled, hiking up out of the cistern, and starting down the third pipe.

After about ten more meters, he stopped to make a notation on his map about the pipe. As he finished, the cold feeling of water cascading down his back told him someone above had just flushed a toilet. Swearing quietly, he put the map away and continued forward another ten meters.

According to his dead reckoning, he should be close to the northwest corner of the building and as yet he had not seen anything even remotely usable as an escape route. When he had proceeded a few more meters he came to a dead end. “Aw shi…� he started saying, then stopped himself, realizing the swear was redundant. Over the next two minutes he crawled backwards until he came to the cistern. Sliding back into the pool of muck, he turned to tell Charlie what had happened and noticed his safety line was severed. And Charlie and the rest of the team were nowhere to be seen.

-|-|-|-|-

Hermione was livid. When Harry and Ginny walked into the Head Girl/Head Boy suite they saw her – or more correctly, heard her – and exchanged glances of concern. Hermione never talks like this! Obviously some of Ron’s language had rubbed off on her over the years. What concerned the couple even more was that she seemed fine at dinner just a couple hours earlier.

“Hermione?� Ginny called out to her friend.

The bushy-haired witch let out another cry of anger and slammed something down on her desk. Harry and Ginny pushed her office door open and saw their friend sitting, arms folded across her chest and face screwed up in a scowl, wet with tears.

“It really is too much this time! she cried out, pointing to a paper on her desk: The Prophet.

Ginny stole a quick glance at Harry and he nodded. It was not as if they weren’t expecting the publication to run some sort of obnoxious story about someone they knew; they had all discussed the fact that the paper had been strangely silent about Harry after the initial flurry of praise.

Ginny set her bag on a chair and went to her girlfriend to offer comfort; Harry picked up the paper and was happy to see, at least, that the story about him was not on the front page, this time.

Harry’s Hogwarts Harem?
By: Rita Skeeter

And who could deny him? this writer asks herself. Harry Potter has become the Playboy of the United Kingdom since his September stomping of Lord Voldemort on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Potter has recently been seen accompanying his long-time interest, Ms. Hermione Granger, with whom he shares the Head Boy/Head Girl suite at school; a more recent love, Ms. Ginevra Weasley, daughter of Minister Arthur Weasley; and an American exchange student, Ms. Diane Bradley, from the Salem School of Magic in the United States.

Sources placed Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley and Ms. Bradley in the Americas for a two week holiday in late September, including at least one day at a well-known nude beach just south of Miami. We are certain the party brought back many memorable photographs for Ms. Granger who could not join them...

“I’m so sorry about this, Hermione,� Harry said when he finished the article.

“Harry Potter,� shouted Hermione, leaping to her feet. “If you don’t stop blaming yourself for things others do I’m going to hex you into next week!

Ginny glanced at her boyfriend knowingly and Harry got the message. Ron isn’t the only Weasley whose behavior has rubbed off on Hermione.

“Ok, ok… I’m… sorry for saying ‘I’m sorry’.�

“Don’t worry about it; I should be used to this by now.� Then she flashed Ginny a grin. “So? Where are the pictures?�

Ginny burst out laughing and Harry turned an appropriate shade of red.

“Who has pictures?� Diane called out from the suite’s common room. Dumping her ever-present overfilled bag of books next to Ginny’s, she skipped cheerily into Hermione’s office with more energy than any of them had noticed in her recently.

Not wishing to ruin her good mood, Harry gave a sanitized version of the Prophet’s article.

“You gotta be kidding, Harry. Well, who cares about that rag? Look what I got this afternoon from Jason.� She handed Harry a thick Muggle post envelope with an official looking return address. Glancing at Diane, who looked as if she was about to explode, he pulled out the cover letter which accompanied the small quarter-ream of attached papers. Ginny and Hermione came around either side of Harry and read over his shoulders. When they finished, all three looked at Diane as if she had sprouted another head.

“Why are you excited about this, Di?� Harry finally asked, after receiving nudges from the other two girls. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with your, er… parents stuff.�

Giving Harry and the others an exasperated look, Diane took the papers back. “You’re right, Harry. But the lawyers moved the date up. I leave in two weeks! Then it’s all over! And I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, I mean, at Salem with my friends. And, um…� her face was becoming one, big smile,� McGonagall said I could take one of you with me,� she smiled deviously, “as long as it wasn’t Harry or Hermione.� She spun around and grabbed the youngest Weasley’s hands. “Ginny, would you like to go with me? You’d have to miss a few days of class and…�

“Sure, Di.�

“…the jet lag is a killer, but I could really...�

“I’ll go, Diane.�

“…use the support… oh, wow… great! We leave Tuesday after class. That ok?�

Ginny beamed. “Brilliant!�

With the two girls walking away, arm in arm, to plan their trip, Hermione noticed Harry’s expression; it was not a happy one. “Problem, Harry?�

“Er, no, not really. You know, I’ll just miss them, I mean, Ginny.� He paused while Hermione gave him a suspicious look. He cleared his throat. “Want some tea? Diane gave me some Muggle orange and lemon flavored stuff last month…�

“Sure, Harry. Orange sounds good.�

They walked into their common room where Harry quickly heated-up the teapot with a beverage warming charm. Hermione pulled mugs out of a cabinet and tore open the two Bigelow Orange & Spice teabags Harry had handed her. When they sat on the sofa a minute later, the room was wonderfully scented by the tangy aroma of the steeping tea.

“It smells lovely, Harry, and reminds me of Christmas. Orange and cloves, that must be it,� Hermione said thoughtfully, a satisfied smile on her face. Harry thought it was the most content and happy he’d seen his friend in two months.

“You doing ok, Herms… oh, sorry, Hermione?�

“You’ve been hanging around Diane too much, Harry, slipping up like that.� But the Head Girl showed no indication of being angry.

“Yeah, maybe. But really, how are you? I see you every day and sometimes you look like you’re just going through the motions. You’ve been looking forward to this year since we first arrived; I thought you’d be happier.�

“Wow! Heavy-duty interrogations tonight?� But Hermione smiled again. “I’m… ok, I guess. But you’re right about the Head Girl job, right now I feel like its only purpose is to distract me from Ron.� Harry waited for Hermione to take a sip of tea to see if she would continue. She did. “I must admit, I’m lonely as heck at times. Without Ron around there’s no one to argue with.�

Her weak attempt at humor backfired and Harry saw his friend close her eyes and tighten her lips, obviously trying to hold back her emotions as memories of her relationship with Ron assaulted her. It passed quickly, however, and she changed the subject. “I’m having lunch with… Mrs. Weasley this Saturday. It probably isn’t a good idea, me being as bloody fragile as I am!�

This time the humor worked. Setting her tea down, Hermione conjured a tissue and made a great show of weeping and lamenting her life. They both cracked up.

“I assume you’re going to the Burrow for the Christmas Holidays?�

“Right, don’t have anywhere else to go, do I?�

“That was an enthusiastic answer,� Hermione shot back in surprise.

“Oh, no, the Weasleys are great, it’s not them. I was hoping to do something with Remus and Tonks… and Ginny, of course. But I think I expended all my good will with Mrs. Weasley on that trip to the States. What about the Granger family? Jane and Bob off to San Moritz again?�

“Oh sure! You must think all Muggle doctors are rich.�

“Only when they’re married to each other.�

Hermione gave a deep, genuine laugh that reminded Harry of better times. “No, we’re going to stay home this year. Just do normal Muggle things like clean the castle, redecorate, that sort of thing.�

“Oh sure, ‘clean the castle,’ I hear that all the time. And that reminds me, I have to see if Dobby and Winky would like to work on Grimmauld Place for me… I’ll pay them, of course. Can’t have the S.P.E.W. members after me, can I?�

“Quick thinking, Harry,� Hermione laughed. “Look, it’s getting late, we should start the rounds.�

“Slave driver.� He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Come on, lazy.� Hermione held her hands out and pulled Harry up.

The next hour was spent walking around the castle and detracting House Points from the dozen or so students who were out of their common rooms without permission. But overall it was a quiet evening and when they returned to the suite they saw Ginny and Diane had already collected their things and left. And Harry had a short note waiting for him.

Hi, you don’t mind me going off with Di, do you? I’ll stay if you like. G.

“Harry?� called Hermione from her office.

“Hm? Yeah?�

“Everything ok?�

“What, it’s my turn to be interrogated now?�

She waved him in, pointing to a chair. “Yes. Sit. Harry, does Ginny know about Diane?�

“Does she know what? Oh… OH! How do you know?�

“Unlike guys, Harry, girls talk. Diane told me a couple weeks ago. Are you worried about her and Ginny being together?�

Damn, she gets straight to the point! “Consciously, no. Do you think I should tell her?�

“I think you should tell Diane to tell her. No, I take that back. I think you should talk to Diane about your concerns, if you’re really worried, that is.�

“She always told me she wouldn’t come between Gin and me. Maybe I’m just over-reacting.� Slouching down in the chair, he scratched the side of his neck uncomfortably.

“How would you feel if Dean or Michael asked Ginny to travel overseas with them?�

Harry thought carefully about that one for a moment. “It’s really not the same, is it, Hermione?� She gave him a non-committal shrug. “Blokes seem a lot more aggressive than girls when it comes to, er, you know…�

“You’re too much, Harry Potter! You definitely have to get over your fear of talking about human biology before you have children.� They both laughed at that. And it was true, too, which made it all the more humorous.

“Ok, I’ll think about it. Right now I’m going to revise a while. See you tomorrow… Herms.� Hearing a swishing sound, Harry had to move fast and duck to avoid whatever it was Hermione was casting at him. The spell missed, but he heard her say “Good night, oh Chosen One.�

-|-|-|-|-

Phoebus Penrose paced in his office as Arthur Weasley reported to him the results of Shacklebolt’s investigation of Gilbert Wimple. When Arthur finished, Penrose made no attempt to disguise his feelings. “That was highly unsatisfactory, Arthur. Do you think we tipped our hand?�

“No, and neither does Kingsley.�

“And you are confident of Shacklebolt’s abilities?�

“Completely.�

“Good, good. Please ask him to start looking into Snodgrass and Twittle. Whatever it is they’re planning, if anything, it must be uncovered soon.�

“I agree, Minister, but…�

“Blast it, Arthur, call me Phoebus or Penrose. I’m not the Minister of Magic.�

“Yet, Phoebus, but you will be. and you know it. You’ve held this mess together and gained a lot of respect. You’re a strong leader.�

“And that’s precisely why I won’t be voted in, Weasley: I’m too strong and too ethical.� Penrose held his hands up, fluttering them as if he were praising himself. Arthur laughed. But Penrose rounded on him, shaking his finger. “The Purebloods will find someone suitably weak or corrupt, like Fudge. Merlin help us then. And did you see that poppycock in the Prophet questioning Shacklebolt’s work?�

Arthur nodded and groaned. He had seen it, and it made him sick… or sicker. But they had always known that the blanket authority given to the new head of the Aurors would cause problems, not withstanding Kingsley’s honest efforts at protecting Wizarding rights. At least Penrose didn’t bring up that article about Harry…

“And Arthur, what the devil is going on with Potter and your daughter? Or should I say Potter and ‘his harem’?�

Cringing, Arthur just shook his head. “Phoebus, it’s that damnable Skeeter woman…� He looked up and saw the Minister stifling a laugh.

“Never mind, Arthur, I don’t care and I don’t believe anything that woman writes in any event. Now, moving on…� Penrose walked back to his desk and looked at a piece of parchment. “Ah, yes! The Wizengamot reconvenes next week. You can bet that Snodgrass or Twittle… or Snodgrass and Twittle will be there with some laughably bogus petitions. Arthur, these next few months are going to be most trying.�

“Phoebus, you know, the final Wizengamot authorization legislation is finishing up in committee tomorrow,� said Arthur, standing also – pacing also, a devious look on his face. A family member would have seen where Fred and George received a healthy portion of their genes. “Perhaps we can slip something in that Wimple won’t see…�

“Don’t tell me you’re suggesting something inappropriate, Arthur,� Penrose responded harshly, but with his own devious smile.

“No, of course not, Phoebus! And I should have thought of this sooner. We’ll need to get someone to help us, and immediately. Someone who knows how to work with legislation.�

“I’m afraid my years here helped me little in making friends with the legal side of the Ministry. Do you have any ideas?� Weasley shook his head. “One of your sons… Percy? had some legal training, didn’t he?�

“Yes, but I don’t think we should rely on him for legislation. His work dealt strictly with contracts and bargains. But he might have a contact; shall I go ask him?�

“Yes, do that, Arthur, and bring him back, please.�

Arthur returned shortly with his third son, both slightly winded. Penrose ushered them in and closed the door, locking and soundproofing the room, too.

“Percy, is it? Thank you for coming in so promptly.�

“Certainly, sir. How can I serve you?�

“I believe it’s more a question of how you can serve the country. Has your father told you anything?�

“No, sir.�

“Good!� Penrose exclaimed. “No sense chancing the entire building hearing something. Percy, what we need to do is…�

Twenty minutes later, Percy Weasley Apparated from the Ministry of Magic building to the small flat he had been renting for the past two years. Locked in the large oak desk, where he had studied all the law dealing with contracts that he could find, was a list of names. These were professors he’d run across or heard about, and a few of whom he had met. Browsing the list, he quickly found the name he was looking for. It was a special name, and one of only a handful on the list who Percy knew for certain did not work for Voldemort, to any extent.

After cleaning up a bit and donning his best robes, Percy Apparated to the side of the house of Professor Michael Gibson, who lived, oddly enough, on the opposite end of Grimmauld Place from the Black Mansion. With only a Muggle legal pad, three pens (not quills) and a ‘gift’ for Gibson, Percy approached the door and knocked one time. Moments later the door opened and Percy was greeted heartily by the only Muggle on his long list of contacts.

“Percy! How are you, son?� Gibson exclaimed. “Come in, come in!�

That was the easy part. “Thank you, Professor. I was wondering if I could trouble you with a question about…�

“Now, Percy, none of that. Leave business until later. How about some tea?�

“Well, yes, I mean no, sir. Thank you, but this really is quite a pressing matter.�

Gibson eyes the young man over the top of his half-glasses, sighed and led him to his office. Directing Percy to a sofa, he sat himself behind his desk and put on a business-like face, one not at all happy about work. “Very well, Mr. Weasley, what can I do for you?�

Percy smiled for a fraction of a second, forgetting what he had to tell the man. “Professor, do you remember last July when I brought you that odd contract, the one with all the missing words and peculiar references to, ahem a sacrifice?�

“What happened, did it come back to bite you in the arse? I told you…�

“No, sir, not at all. In fact, it worked perfectly. I even have a copy of the complete agreement here that I want to show you. It’s a fascinating bit of history now.�

“That monstrosity? I thought you had put it together for some… Tolkien drama at Oxford.�

Percy, quite uncomfortable with what he had to say, squirmed in his seat. Gibson, a seasoned trial lawyer, noticed it. He knew that Percy was about to tell him a fantastic story, and he was correct. “Let me see the contract, Weasley.�

“Eh, no sir, I better explain a few things first.� Standing, he drew his wand and cast a silencing spell that left his older friend looking a tad alarmed. It had already been a long day and Percy pocketed the wand and ran his hands over his face. “Tolkien, eh? That’s not too far off the mark, actually…�

-|-|-|-|-

Persistence usually pays off! Why is everything a dead end?

For two solid weeks, house after house, road after road, block after block, Digger Allen had combed most of the streets of old Godric’s Hollow. And every night he returned to Peachey House with little more than a notebook full of scratched-out names, sore feet and a migraine.

After the first week, the week he was certain would hold a breakthrough, his headaches became so intense he traveled to Bristol to see a physician. Armed with the latest wonder drug, he returned to the sleepy little village and the near crippling headaches. The medications helped little, though the pounding in his head usually ran its course by the time he turned in for the day. Allen was beginning to think his search was cursed.

By the second week of November, the journalist was seriously contemplating abandoning his look for the mysterious Potter boy. And though he knew persistence in his line of work was essential, frustration was starting to take over. Every time I go out it’s one, BIG headache. If they didn’t go away when I stopped for the day I’d QUIT!

Allen paused. No, it couldn’t… Get a grip Mickey! He had stopped on the front steps of the boarding house after another fruitless day. His headache was receding. Turning around and laughing at the absurd hypothesis forming in his brain, Digger began retracing his steps and mentally reviewing the questions he wanted answered. It was about a mile and a half to the part of town he had been to that day. By the time he had traveled half the distance he felt like retching for the pain in his head.

He turned back to Peachey House after steadying himself. A few blocks later the headache was again receding.

What the deuce?

Again he reversed his direction, back towards the old part of town, and was rewarded a couple minutes later by the pressure in his head, but this time it was too much. He doubled over and vomited on the street. It provided little relief, physically, yet it gave him a strange degree of satisfaction. Staggering like a drunk, again back to Peachey House, Allen considered forgoing any further tests of his strange idea – it was simply too strange.

The next day he took the bus back to Bristol and consulted with the physician he’d spoken with a few days earlier. This time he carefully worded his questions, lest the man think him insane. “The headaches are back, doctor, even the pills don’t help.�

He was given only a couple alternatives. First, he could take a long break from what sounded to the doctor like a stressful assignment. Or he could check into the nearest hospital for tests. Or there could be something else, something local to the area that might be the cause. “Many of these old towns in Wales are deep in the hollows of the hills where stale air and even natural gasses collect. You may simply be sensitive to something in the air. Where did you say this place was?�

“Never mind, doctor, I’m sure that’s it. I think I’ll wrap up my work and head back to London.�

The physician beamed. The patient was, after all, following his first suggestion.


The next morning, Allen contacted a pair of physicians in Godric’s Hollow and spoke to them about the side-effects of over-exposure to natural gas. Indeed, a severe headache was one of them. But if it’s gas, why am I the only person to notice it? He asked about local allergies and was assured that nothing in the surrounding countryside was unique to the area.

Another dead end!

Unwilling to face any more migraines by himself, Allen asked one of the newer tenants of Peachey House, a Russell Blake, whom he had met a few nights earlier, if he cared to visit the old part of the town. Having nothing else to do, Blake happily agreed and Allen called for a cab. When the car arrived, the driver was given a detailed set of directions to follow that left the man thinking he had a lunatic aboard. His reservations not withstanding, the cabbie departed, and over the next thirty minutes they meandered in and out of nearly every street surrounding the oldest part of the village. No headache.

Next, believing this time the search for Harry Potter would be different, Allen asked the driver to follow another set of directions. The man shook his head but did as he was told, pointing to the fare meter. Allen told him he would be fully compensated.

This next series of streets were different. Almost immediately Allen’s head began to throb. He discretely asked Blake and the drive if they “smell anything funny.� He received only two stares in return.

Allen stopped the cab and waited a few minutes, feigning interest in the local architecture so the other two men wouldn’t believe him completely daft. Then he issued his third set of directions and they departed. Within a minute the throb had become a full-blown migraine and by the time they reached the address in the oldest section of town, Allen was pale, sweating and faint. He stopped the cab, ran to the roadside, and vomited. Weaving back to the car, Allen fell into his seat and told the cabbie to return them to Peachey House by the shortest route. Alarmed, the driver said he was heading to the hospital but Allen insisted he return to his room. Five minutes later, feeling much better, Allen and Blake were deposited at their house and the cab departed with an absurdly high fare and tip.

Apologizing for the ruined excursion, Allen bade a curious Blake good day and went to his room. Lying on the bed, he waited for the remnants of the pain to recede before he began to think about what had just happened.

It was seventh grade again, back in his home town of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Science, his least favorite subject, was the first class of the day and they had started the year talking about formulating hypotheses: A tentative explanation for an observation, phenomenon, or scientific problem that can be tested by further investigation. Variables, constants and controls, he hated every minute of the subject, despite the teacher’s claims that this subject might save a life some day. Fat chance!

But this evening, many decades later, that claim might come true. It may not exactly save my life, but it could make my job a lot easier. Jumping up, Allen went to his desk, took out a new pad of paper, and began to list out every possible variable and constant that had occurred in the cab. He knew that there was no logical reason he should have suffered the migraine. What was in the car that affected all three men? He knew he likely had every bit of data already, now he just had to put it into its proper place.

First, the control group: That was simple, everyone in the village, particularly those who lived in the old section. They’ve lived here, most of them for decades, and the local doctor couldn’t recall any reports of mass migraine illnesses.

Constants: The air, certainly. There was not industry, heavy or light, for miles. The food – he hadn’t eaten anything unusual over the past month. In fact, he had taken most of his meals at the house or in one of the town’s pubs. Age? He was pushing sixty, but a good portion of the village was, too.

Variables: Here’s where it got tricky. The problem was that there were so many! And as in a simple bean growth experiment, the more variables, the harder it is to identify the facts.

“But really,� Michael Allen asked himself reasonably, “what variables were in the car with me?� His answer only confused him more: “Nothing significant!�

He slammed his pencil down in frustration. He KNEW he was missing something obvious, something that would point directly to the cause of the headaches.

Then he remembered his idea from the previous day. Could simply thinking about something, as I approach it, cause the pain? It fit… possibly. It was the only significant variable between the three men in the cab that he could come up with. And people experience psychosomatic pain all the time. Could that be it? He wasn’t certain, but he had an idea how he could test it.

The next morning, Digger called on Russell Blake, claimed restored health, and asked if he wanted to visit the old part of the town again. Blake said yes and a call was again made to the cab company. Thirty minutes later the same cabbie arrived, asking if he wanted the same tour as the previous day. Much to his surprise, Allen said yes, he did, and handed the driver the directions.

When the cab returned to Peachey House thirty minutes later, Blake was furious at Allen for calling off the second trip and trudged off to the nearest pub. Allen paid the cabbie and went straight to his room. There he took out a flask of Jack Daniel’s Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey, his favorite hard liquor, and drank half its contents. The experiment had failed. No headache.

Now completely discombobulated, and beginning to seriously wonder about his sanity, Allen reread his notes and tried to find out why the test failed. After two hours, and the rest of the flask, he lay on his bed in utter despair of ever finding out why Harry Potter was so hard to find. He had let the odd headaches distract him for two days, and that was… that was… could that be…? No, that’s TOO absurd! But what the hell? I already think I’ve gone spare, let me prove it now.

Jumping up, Allen raced down the stairs, made a call, and waited out from for ten minutes until the cab appeared.

“YOU AGAIN?� barked the cabbie in delight.

“Yes, me. Take me directly to this address.� He handed over the paper and sat back, wondering which mental institution he would check himself into if THIS hypothesis was proven true.

Six minutes later the cab arrived, as did Michael Allen, without a headache. He jumped out of the car, ran around it, jumped back in and instructed the driver to return to Peachey House. They made it back in four minutes.

“Now, my fine cab driver, repeat that route until I say ‘stop,’ and THEN return here pronto.�

“I think maybe I should ask for the fare in advance,� the driver muttered to himself.

Four minutes later they returned. Allen paid the cabbie, gave him a fiver for a tip, and then staggered to his room. The headache was back. It hadn’t happened on the previous trip when he was looking for answers as to why his head hurt. It HAD happened on the last trip when he was concentrating on finding the elusive Harry Potter.

The pieces were fitting together, except that they formed a blank puzzle. He knew something very, very strange was occurring, but what?

Then again, Allen rationalized, maybe I am going crazy. That explanation fits better than anything else.



A/N: Thank you for reading, especially those who left remarks.

I have been reminded, (repeatedly,) that SIYE is a Harry/Ginny ship site, and I have not forgotten that. And neither should you. ;-)

Of other expressed concerns: NO, Diane and Hermione will not become a couple. NO, Diane and Ginny will not become a couple. NO, Diane and Harry will not become a couple. AND NO, Diane, Harry, Ginny and Hermione will NOT become whatever it is you call one guy and three girls. (Lucky?)

Is Ron dead? Not yet.

Where’s Luna? Home, still recovering.

What’s going on with Remus and Tonks? More on them soon.

What’s going on with Bill & Fleur? Give me a break! They’re newlyweds… what do you think they’re doing?

Chapter 7 – Resolution and Recovery



Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.

The plot is of my own invention.





This isn’t good, Ron assessed quickly. He had heard nothing, felt nothing, and only traveled forty meters or so, but three of his teammates were missing and he didn’t have a clue what to do. He wasn’t even sure if Montel was still at the first branch and he didn’t want to waste time going back to check.



He could probably Apparate out of the cistern safely, but what about the others? Fighting a fleeting feeling of panic, Ron mentally reviewed the crash-course he received his first week with the Resistance: Gather information, assess the information, act on your assessment… and don’t screw up. The old bastard that had worked with him and Charlie was a veteran of the Second World War and a decorated member of the Marquis, as the French Resistance was known. The first thing he showed the two English ‘boys’ was a Fleur-de-Lis tattooed across his chest. “A good incentive not to get caught, eh? Not that Fritz would hesitate to kill you anyway.�



Independent thinking was critical in those days, the old soldier said, not just teamwork. “You get separated from your cell in the dark all the time, you MUST know what to do OR you must know how to learn what to do. Panic kills!� It wasn’t a daily theme, it was an hourly theme. “You panic and you die, and a lot of others, too.� Ron had felt panic’s tentacles reach out for him a couple times, but not like this. He had to focus on his objective.



Drawing a calming breath in the sewers was nauseating, to put it mildly, but Ron did it. The results were immediate. First he noticed that the cistern he was standing in was indeed the one he’d been in fifteen minutes earlier. Then he noticed something critical. The muck was only up to his ankles, not his chest. Something had to have flushed it away. Heartened by the discovery, he ran his hands up and down the sides of the cistern looking for any sort of door. Nothing.



That meant there was only one other possibility: The contents of the cistern has been washed away either by magic or… He looked up. Of course, you bloody berk! We were concentrating on the branches of the pipes and never thought to look up! He brightened his wand. There, just a meter above his head, was a round door of some sort.



Jumping up, with his wand still dimly lit, he could make out a handle. Now he had a dilemma: What to do? He could go back with his knowledge or go up and find out what happened to his team. The decision was made for him when he felt the ground shake. Somewhere above a battle had started. Seconds later, he heard more noise and didn’t hesitate. Ron cast his strongest blasting curse straight up. The door was demolished and artificial light poured into the cistern, temporarily blinding him. Ignoring the inconvenience of not being able to see, Ron stepped up, placing one foot in the entrance to one of the pipes and heaving his body up to where he could reach the empty door frame. In seconds he was up and in the room. The room was empty, he was only partially happy to see.



It was immediately apparent to Ron that the room was being used by the trapped Death Eaters as an escape route. Large pipes led into the upper rim of the cistern, just below the now absent door, and were used to flush the cistern clean, and, ostensibly for the escapees. The rumbling and crashing he’d heard seconds before were still going on and he realized that his entrance into the building had probably been masked by the other sounds.



Casting a locking charm on the door, Ron quickly stripped out of the rubber suit, leaving him wearing only shorts, t-shirt, no shoes and his face blackened with shoe polish. He hadn’t learned clothes transfiguration yet so he couldn’t put much of anything on. Feeling immensely stupid, he also took a few seconds to rinse and dry himself off. He justified the action by telling himself that he might be found easily by his stench. Not two minutes after entering the room, he was ready to move on.



First he went to the window. Nothing unusual was taking place outside, he even thought he saw one of the Resistance walking casually down a street, obviously on the watch for anything unusual. But the first floor window allowed little else to be seen. It was time to move on.



Cancelling the locking charm, he tried the door and found it unlocked mechanically. But before opening it, he listened with his ear to the cheap plywood door. Hearing no sounds, Ron threw the door open and jumped in, rolling on the ground in case someone threw a curse at him. This room, too, was empty, but he was getting closer to the action; he could hear the sounds of battle more clearly.



Running across the large empty room, he came to another door, but this time he did not have to put his ear to it to know there were people on the other side. He examined the door, it was older and sturdier than the one he had just come through, but there was clearly fighting taking place in the next room.



What should I do? Good question! Ron knew he ran the risk of upsetting a planned and coordinated attack, but he also knew one had not been scheduled. Either the usurpers had made a break for it, en masse, possibly due to their escape route being discovered. Or, perhaps, Rousseau had been planning this all along. Either way, there was no way to find out.



Suddenly, Ron was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a number of bodies banging against the door. He immediately threw a locking charm. The split-second decision was the right one, the voices on the other side were all English, clearly the Death Eaters. Though he knew he had made the correct decision, he also knew the charm would hold only so long. Glancing around for anything to hide behind, he was disheartened to see nothing… to hide behind.



But there was something to hide on!







The noise and shaking Ron had heard a quarter hour earlier began when the remnants of his team, having been flushed down the cistern, (their safety line snapped by the mechanical closing of the cistern floor,) engaged two Death Eaters attempting escape. The firefight was short and intense but both Death Eaters were subdued with only a minor injury to Renard. Charlie sent him back to the Resistance Headquarters with the prisoners and to alert the others that the escape route had been discovered. In all likelihood, the remainder of those in the building would try to get away, too; their only secret route to freedom now having been discovered.



While waiting for word from Rousseau, Charlie and Tyrone remained in the darkness for the next group to be flushed down. What they did not know was that the enemy had guessed, based on the sounds of battle below the building, that the sewer route to freedom was now compromised. While still arguing amongst them, trying to decide their next action, they saw dimly, through the window, a large detachment of the Resistance pass on their way to the front of the building. A moment later an explosion rocked the building and demolished the heavy front door. The assault had begun. Their only option was to counter-attack the assaulters and hope for a mass breakout.



The battle raged in the enormous entrance hallway, but the ultimate outcome was obvious. It was clear that anti-Apparition Wards and Silencing and Disillusionment Charms had been set, trapping them for one final battle and away from their only real protection, Muggle witnesses. With over half their number dead or subdued, the remaining Death Eaters panicked and broke up into three groups.





The first group ran up the stairs, but were immediately trapped on the third floor. In a final act of desperation, they started another escape attempt by having fellow Death Eaters levitate one after another to a small, thick copse of trees below the window. About half their group made it down but were quickly subdued. The rest of the group, still trapped on the third floor, pulled away from the windows and waited for the inevitable.



The second group, also trapped, but on the second floor, tried using an old fire escape to flee. This group met a similar fate as the first.



The final group, the smallest of the three with only nine wizards and two witches, raced around a corner, attempting to get in the room Ron was in, for one last attempt through the sewers. After trying the door for only a second or two, a desperate wizard threw a spell at the door and blew it inward and across the large room. The fact that he killed one of his own was ignored as the remaining ten ran through the doorway and towards the small room which held their last possible escape route.



They also failed to notice Ron Weasley perched precariously atop the broad door frame.



His first spell remedied them by knocking out the witch at the back of the scrum which had formed around the entrance to the sewer room. Half the Death Eaters were already in the next room, but four others turned and aimed their wands at the oddly faced figure wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. Four spells, one which Ron was certain was the Death Curse, flew at him. But all missed as he leapt off the fame and crashed heavily to the floor; the spot where he stood a second earlier exploding in a shower of wood lathing, plaster and centuries of dust.



Ron immediately rolled to his right, casting a shield where he would be at the end of the maneuver. It worked. Thee spells hit the vacant spot; one was reflected back at the attackers causing all four to duck. But while it worked perfectly the first time, he also knew it would only work once.



Where the bloody hell are the rest of the Marquis? Ron wondered, desperate, and still outnumbered.



This time he jumped up and onto a wide window stool, but it only tricked two of the Death Eaters, the other two fired slow-forming hexes that Ron was able to dodge. When he jumped back down from the window, however, searing pain shot through his ankles and shins, momentarily disorienting him and causing him to stumble and lose his wand.



He looked up, helplessly sprawled on the floor; only two of the enemy remained. He was dead, and he knew it. Both Death Eaters saw their chance and started to speak the Avada Kedavra curse.



-|-|-|-|-



Charlie and Tyrone stood on opposite sides of the drainage sewer as a number of voices approach. Just as his brother had done minutes before, Charlie concluded that the voices, speaking English, were more Death Eaters. With a squeak, trying to mimic a sewer rat, the team leader signaled the start of their attack.



“Solaris Maximus� shouted Charlie, pointing his wand down the tunnel. A brilliant, blinding flash of light effectively destroyed the eyesight of the four approaching enemy. Only a minute before, Charlie had turned his and Tyrone’s goggles into heavily darkened glasses and told his teammate the plan. And it worked perfectly. All four Death Eaters screamed out in pain. Even though the flash lasted a fraction of a second, their eyes would be useless for another ten minutes.



“Down, on your stomach. NOW!� Charlie commanded. Three did as they were told the other was blasted back ten feet by Tyrone’s Bludgeoning Curse when he made a threatening motion.



It was finished in seconds. Then, over the groaning of the prisoners, Tyrone could hear his team leader slapping one of the men, demanding to know where his brother was. But it was a wasted effort, this first group had no knowledge of Ron, having been the first into the sewer, just seconds before Ron attacked the rear of their group.



Tyrone secured the four and called out to a squad of approaching Marquis to follow Charlie; Tyrone continued out of the sewer with the latest batch of prisoners. In the distance, in the direction Charlie had run, the new arrivals heard and saw another battle begin, and end almost immediately with two powerful thunderclaps of raw energy that left everyone momentarily deaf. The arriving Resistance fighters slowed, not knowing what had just happened, until they saw the Englishman stumble back into their sight holding his side. Bloodied and singed, Charlie collapsed as he was met by his comrades.



“Four more,� he gasped, almost whimpering, “set off… Muggle bomb… roof fell... No Ron…� And that was as far as he got before slipping into unconsciousness.



A loud, crumbling sound broke the momentary silence and the Resistance men needed no further encouragement to act. Two carried Charlie and the rest retreated from the collapsing tunnel into the night air. Being the most seriously injured, Charlie was immediately moved back to the Resistance headquarters where Nettie cried out briefly, seeing his singed hair and torn, burned clothes. Then she noticed a pool of blood beneath him.



-|-|-|-|-



Montel, the man in the Sewer Rat’s team who had been left behind at the first branch of the pipes, felt his security line go tight and then slack. This did not bother him; it’s common to momentarily snag your line. After a few seconds he began to take up the slack in the rope and it became obvious that something had happened. When he reached the end of the severed line he knew the plan for the night was history. Crawling forward as quickly as possible he found the empty cistern and the four other team members missing. Jumping into the hole, he turned around and crawled back out, all the way to the entrance. Had he remained in the cistern for another two minutes, he would have seen Ron’s return.



Colonel Rousseau was waiting at the access to Charlie’s team’s sewer when Montel unexpectedly popped out. Havoc ensued for a few seconds while everyone present began asking questions. It only took him a half-minute to explain what had happened… and for Rousseau to walk away in a visible state of shock and confusion. But Montel was not terribly surprised by his colonel’s action; he looked at the senior captain who ran off to speak with Rousseau about a possible rescue. The single squad Rousseau had tasked for the job clearly would not be enough. Eighty percent of Montel’s team could be dead or incapacitated; they would need at a minimum three more teams.



Then hints of a battle taking place were felt. The first firefight between Charlie, Renard and Tyrone against the escaping Death Eaters in the sewer had started. By the time Montel had gathered a sizable rescue force, Renard had returned with the prisoners and the situation became clearer, except for the location of Ron Weasley. Throughout these discussions, Nettie sat at a corner of the room, trying not to scream Where is Ron?



The ranking captain of the force, Bryan Del Rue, unable to spark Rousseau into action, sent out a general alarm and issued the orders Ron had been begging for over the past two weeks, an all-out assault. Sending Montel to backtrack to Charlie and Tyrone’s position with a half-dozen men, Del Rue prepared to assault the front of the building with the remaining force at his disposal, about two hundred men, and not a few women. First he posted a number of his best wizards and witches to keep up the anti-Apparition, silencing and disillusionment spells that were sealing the Death eaters in and the Muggles out. Then he reinforced that group with fifty others to cover all above-ground escape routes. The final one hundred and twenty Resistance fighters were tasked to follow him.



Despite the nearly total lack of coordination and communication between the various parts of the assaulting forces, some surprise was achieved and the battle began with an explosion destroying the front entrance to the building. The Resistance fighters poured into the huge entrance hallway and had little trouble with the surprised and outnumbered defenders. Within a few minutes, the defenders were retreating and Del Rue split his forces three ways, one to pursue each group of Death Eaters.



But Del Rue was not able to see the path that the smaller, third group of retreating defenders. Believing they had also withdrawn to an upper floor by way of some unseen stairway, it was not until a half-minute later, hearing Ron exchange fire with that third group, did Del Rue realized he had made a mistake. This understandable blunder, made in the fog and excitement of battle, nearly cost Ron Weasley his life.



Del Rue shouted to four other Marquis, the closest to him and all wounded in the first assault, to follow. Limping, hopping and crawling, the team of cripples, led by their sprinting captain, entered the nearly empty ball room piecemeal. The captain saw the telltale green light of the killing curse building at the end of the enemy’s wands and he did the only thing he could to save Ron’s life, he threw a quick blasting curse next to his prone form hoping the concussion would be strong enough to push him out of the spells’ paths but weak enough to keep him from serious harm.



He got half of what he wanted, or, perhaps, three-quarters. Ron was moved, but the blast was so powerful it threw him into the air, nearly to the ceiling. He had avoided two killing curses only to face death from blunt trauma by falling from the eight meter ceiling. But more luck was with the younger Weasley in this final battle than with the older one. One of the injured Marquis made it into the room just in time to cushion Ron’s fall. It was still a rough landing, but he was alive.



The last two Death Eaters had ducked into the sewer room, hoping to make their escape, but it was to no avail. The explosion one of their comrades had set off in the sewer below, the same explosion that had nearly killed Charlie outright, destroyed the tunnel, its access and the floor of the room above it. One Death Eater was shot out of the access pipe like a cannon ball and crushed into the ceiling, the other was knocked unconscious.



The liberation of France was, for all practical purposes, complete.



-|-|-|-|-



The Chief Healer entered the room and pointed to a desk turned make-shift operating table. “Put him there,� he barked, as if they should have done so already. “Antoinette, scissors, NOW!� he snapped, again.



But instead of scissors, Nettie pulled out her wand and expertly cleaned the injured man and then transfigured his clothing into air so he could be swiftly examined. The Healer looked at her in amazement. “Excellent! Now, roll him over.�



The two soldiers, the same two who had carried Charlie in, rolled his slightly shaking body onto its left side. Nettie gasped; a hole, twice the size of her fist, had been blasted out of his back. Blood was coming out at an alarming rate. She glanced at the Healer and saw he was worried, but he instantly had his wand out and started probing the damaged organs and tissue, looking for the artery that had to be the source of the blood.



“Girl, find the entrance wound and fix it… no, there’s no time.� Nettie looked back. Charlie’s skin was nearly white and the flow of blood from his back was slowing. She froze as the Healer used his wand to open a large incision. Blood, pooled in his abdomen, poured onto the desk and floor.



“Get this in his mouth, immediately!� The Healer had reached around to his bag with one hand while cauterizing something deep in Charlie’s back with his wand in the other hand. Grey smoke and the stench of burning flesh made one of the soldiers gag.



Nettie took the blood restorative potion and began to pour it in the patient’s mouth, a job made particularly difficult with him lying on his side. She then used a spell to force it into his stomach but panicked when she noticed that Charlie was no longer breathing. She checked for a pulse.



“Doctor, his pulse is very weak and he’s not breathing,� Nettie informed the Healer as calmly as she could.



He answered without looking up. “Put another restorative in him then start artificial respiration… quickly!�



Nettie grabbed another potion bottle and forced it in. When finished she had to improvise to perform her next duty. Since the patient was on his side, it was difficult to clear his airway completely. She pressed her mouth to his to breathe, but Nettie also had to cradle his head with one arm and pinch his nose with the other, lest the air being forced in escaped through the sinuses.



The Healer was cursing as Nettie began her second minute of assisted breathing. But then she felt Charlie’s body go limp and knew his heart had stopped. “Did you seal off the bleeder?� she asked the Healer.



“Yes, but there’s so much damage. I don’t know…� There was a hint of desperation in his voice.



“No! We must restart the heart, he has the potions in him, and it’s just loss of blood that caused the arrest.�



But the Healer just shook his head; he wasn’t so certain.



“NO!� Nettie screamed, pushing the Healer aside. “I will NOT let you become another ghost, Charlie Weasley.�



“What are you doing, child?� the Healer asked, momentarily frozen by her actions. In just seconds, Nettie had taken her wand, temporarily closed the gaping hole in Charlie’s back, rolled him over, made an incision across the entrance wound and began poking around, looking for more damage. One minute had passed since Charlie’s heart had stopped.



Nettie turned to the Healer and spoke calmly. “Come, Doctor, show me where he can bleed. I am not completely familiar with the circulatory system, yet.� He continued to stare at her in shock. “Doctor, please!� she begged.



In seconds, both Healers had their wands probing the wound, it took another precious minute but they found it together. A small piece of shrapnel had punctured cleanly through the large abdominal artery. The older Healer had repaired the exit wound minutes before, now he would repair the previously hidden entrance hole. When finished, both worked together to seal the other damage. Two more minutes had passed. Time was up.



Nettie cleared her partner away, even before he’d finished all his work. She pointed her wand at Charlie’s chest and muttered a quiet incantation. When she finished, she counted to four, shouted “Clear,� and touched the tip of her wand to Charlie’s chest. His body jumped as the electric charge stimulated his heart.



“Another potion, doctor! And you,� the student turned to a bystander, “breathe for him.� The soldier restarted artificial respiration on Charlie while the Healer obeyed Nettie’s first order and put two more potions into Charlie’s stomach.



Another discharge, nearly four minutes had now passed and both Healers knew their time was almost up. They might be able to restart the heart after five minutes, but Charlie would have suffered irreversible brain damage by then. Nettie prepared a fifth shock but was distracted by a small fountain of blood squirting out of the still-opened abdomen wound. If blood was flowing, that meant…



“Stop!� both Healers shouted at once and the soldier stopped breathing for Charlie. Nettie checked the pulse and respiration. Both were weak, but it was, literally, better than nothing. And his blood pressure was still dangerously low, too.



“Oh, God…� Nettie cried out, her voice shaking, as they both attacked the bleeder near the liver, removing the tattered remnants of Charlie’s spleen. When finished a few minutes later, Charlie’s pulse and respiration were much improved and his blood pressure was just above the danger zone. Nettie stood shakily, her face in her bloody hands.



The Healer walked her over to a chair. “You rest, doctor, I will clean and close your patient.� But Nettie hadn’t heard him, her mind was in turmoil. What have I done? Her actions had broken far too many rules for her to count, not the least of which was unlicensed surgery. But, she told herself, my sister will not lose her friend. And I can always work for Doctor LeVasseur…



Then she remembered Ron was unaccounted for.





The Marquis fighters injured in the final attack were sitting in a hallway waiting their turn to be treated. Eight had been killed in the assault and thirty wounded, including Charlie and Ron. The Death Eaters had suffered heavily: Thirty-nine killed, including seven by their own comrades’ hands, and over a hundred injured. Nettie went down the hall of injured and began separating the more seriously injured from the easy patch-up jobs. Practiced throughout the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, this process was called triage.



As she worked her way through the wounded, each soldier increased Nettie’s anxiety. But she finally spotted Ron, lying on the floor, near the back of the line. He was in obvious pain but was able to wave. A quick examination showed two fractured ankles and bruising all over his body. None of the injuries were life-threatening so she gave Ron a sedative and a quick kiss that set the soldiers nearby feigning additional injuries. Smiling, Nettie returned to assess the final few injured.





Tré had been at Vernon with her family the past few days, their estate finally having been secured and re-occupied for the first time in almost two months. Sitting at her desk early on the morning of the attack in Paris, she saw Louise, her sister’s owl, pecking on the window for admittance. The note she delivered was short but succinct:



Essie, Charlie and Ron injured, can you come? Nettie



The note was sufficiently lacking in detail to make Tré forget, for a moment, her official duties and ring for assistance. Within a half hour she was ready to Apparate to Paris. A security detail, required by her new government position, grumbled about the lack of notice but Tré ignored them. By eight o’clock she was in the Apparation room of the Resistance Headquarters in Paris. The guard on duty was not familiar with the identity of the new Minister and briefly challenged her. When Tré’s two-man security team arrived a few seconds later, all was explained and set right.



The three visitors made their way to the commanding officer’s office and found the door locked. But Tré took no time to think about this, Nettie had appeared at the end of the corridor and called out, “Essie, this way.�



She wasn’t sure what shocked her more when she entered the infirmary, seeing her sister covered with blood or Charlie, lying almost naked, with two tubes coming out of his abdomen draining blood and other fluids. When she stepped closer she gasped. Charlie’s stomach had been cut open. The hair on his chest had been singed off and the skin reddened beneath. His face, arms and neck were a mass of bruises and both hands had splints on two fingers. A male orderly was just pulling a piece of wood out of his arm, too. When he held it up, not knowing he was being observed from behind, Tré recognized it as a part of his new wand. She could barely comprehend the damage his body had suffered.



“We had… I had to shock his heart,� Nettie said softly, “he had lost too much blood and he arrested… I’m sorry, Essie.�



Tré put her arm around her sister. “How is he doing?� she was barely able to ask.



“He’s in very bad shape, but we’ve been able to keep his blood pressure up and stop most of the bleeding. The shrapnel came in here,� Nettie pointed at the two entry wounds barely visible next to the large incision she’d made. “The small piece opened his abdominal artery, the other just tore his gut up and made a huge exit wound on his back.�



When Nettie showed Tré the size of the exit wound she gasped. “What about internal injuries? You said an artery was cut?�



“No, not cut, the metal went cleanly through it. The Healer fixed the exit wound but it took us so long to find and close the entrance hole, that’s why he lost so much blood. His stomach, liver and kidneys were all damaged to some extent. We also removed his spleen, it was too damaged to save and he was losing a lot of blood through it, also. He was in cardiac arrest for almost four minutes. Any longer and…� she trailed off.



“What about Ron?� Tré inquired hesitantly, hoping his condition was better.



Nettie sighed with relief. “He will be fine. I’ve mended his legs and he’s asleep now.� She pointed to a bed in a corner. Tré laughed when she realized the background noise echoing in the ward was Ron snoring.



“Good.� Pausing, trying to think of what to say, Tré noticed her sister’s hands shaking. “How do you feel about your first experience with emergency Healing?�



“Wonderful! Horrible! Scary! I probably got into trouble with… with… I don’t even know his name! The Healer…�



“My name is Propone, Ms. Mellanson, and you don’t have to concern yourself with any of your actions.� The Healer had walked up behind the Minister and her sister. “You performed superbly, and I will be writing a letter of recommendation to the University.� Turning to Tré, he said, “She will make an outstanding surgeon some day. Her natural ability is impressive.�



Nettie thought her heart would stop. Surgeon? Me? Surgeons were the pinnacle, the elite of the Healers. She looked back to Ron, wishing he were awake so she could share her news. But then she remembered surgery was a specialization requiring at least three more years of schooling after Healer’s school. She slumped back, sitting her bum on a bedside table.



Three years? Perhaps. But six, no, I cannot…



Tré saw her sister look off towards Ron and her face fall as the Healer left to check a patient. “I think you are going to have more trouble saying goodbye to Ron than you think.�



Nettie ran a finger under each eye and nodded.



“So, my baby sister is in love… FINALLY!�



Nettie, suspecting Tré was sensing her feelings, (and accurately, too,) filled her mind with dark visions, the only real way for one Empath to rebuff another. But this only worked so well, and Nettie knew it. Tré picked her sister’s chin up and spoke softly. “I wish I could do something. Unfortunately for you, my little Bookworm, love isn’t something books can help you with.�



The younger sister took the older sister’s hand and pulled her into a large closet being used to store linens. She was able to close the door before breaking down completely. Tré held her, providing what comfort she could.



“How can I be so happy and sad at the same time?�



“Get used to it, that’s a part of life.� Tré whispered, caressing Nettie’s head gently, trying to lessen the impact of the truism.



After a few minutes, Nettie composed herself and looked hopefully to her sister, the Minister. “When will the University reopen? Do you know?�



Tré knew the question would be asked, and she knew the answer, too. “Next Monday; the Assembly informed all ministers last night. Beauxbaton will probably open the following week, the faculty was hit hard at Chartres last month. Thank God no one was killed.�



“And Jacqueline?�



“She and Marc are fine; they will try to stop by before leaving.�



“Thank you, Essie.� Sighing, and looking at her wristwatch, Nettie pointed at the door. “Well, I better get back to the ward.� She put on her ‘mature face,’ as Ron had taken to calling it. “You can stay with Charlie, just don’t touch him without gloves. He was in the sewers when he was injured and we have to check him hourly for infection.� And with a cool kiss on her sister’s cheek, Nettie went off to finish her rounds.



Tré leaned up against the door frame, looking over the ward. “No, little sister, I have to report to the Assembly about why I put a buffoon in charge here,� she said quietly to herself.



-|-|-|-|-



Headmistress Minerva McGonagall received and Owl from Tré mid-morning briefly explaining the injuries to the two Weasley men and asking that Ginny be allowed time to visit her brothers. With the fall of the Ministry building, all anti-Portkey barriers had been removed and McGonagall arranged for the emergency visit. She also stubbornly refused to allow her an escort, citing the fall of the final stronghold of Voldemort’s supporters. When Ginny came running into the Great Hall for lunch, already carrying a travel bag, Harry, Hermione and Diane listened to her shakily explain where she was going and why. With a quick kiss goodbye to Harry, she was off to the Headmistress’s office for her journey.



As Harry and Diane sat back down they realized Hermione had left the Hall. Diane offered to find her but Harry thought it might be better if he went; knowing Hermione better, he claimed, would probably make his search faster. Besides, he had the Marauder’s Map with him.



As soon as he’d left the Hall, Harry activated the Map, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,� and found the Hermione was heading back to their suite. With his usual trepidation at the prospect of facing a crying female, he plunged forward and reached the Head Girl/Boy Suite shortly after his friend. But unlike other times when he’d found Hermione upset, she was not in her office seeking consolation from her books and school work. This time she was seated on the couch in the common room staring at the cold fireplace.



“All right there, Hermione?� asked Harry.



She looked up and threw Harry’s favorite response back at him. “I’m fine.�



“Er—yeah, I’m sure. I was irked McGonagall didn’t include us, too. I’m sure he’ll be ok; Ginny said Charlie was hurt far worse.�



Hermione harrumphed. “That doesn’t make me feel much better,� she said, bitterly.



“Why don’t you write him a note? You can use Hedwig and I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing we’re thinking of him. I’ll even send something, too. What’d you say?�



She hesitated, but Harry could tell she liked the suggestion. “Yes, that’s a good idea, Harry, thank you.� Hermione regarded the Head Boy for a few seconds. “Ginny’s very lucky.�



“How so?�



Jumping up, she gave Harry a hug. “To have someone like you, you dolt!�



“Oh, well, you have… you had Ron. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.�



Who says I want to? Hermione thought grumpily.





The note from Hermione and Harry’s gift of chocolate frogs was well received that evening in Paris. Ginny and her parents, Bill, Fleur and Percy were all chatting with Ron in his corner of the ward. Fred and George were expected the next morning. The lightly wounded had been released. Charlie and two other less seriously wounded were all who remained in the ward, and Ron, who stayed only to be close to his brother, and Nettie, of course. Tré had returned briefly to Vernon to collect the papers she had been working on, and her official ministerial clothes. In two days she would face the Assembly and answer for her poor decision of choosing Colonel Rousseau to lead the final battle.



Charlie’s condition had been up and down all through Wednesday, Molly and Arthur Weasley learned. Healer Propone had moved him to a hastily constructed isolation room until space could be made for him at the Paris Wizarding Hospital the following day. Propone’s main concern was that Charlie had not regained consciousness and the drainage tubes from his abdomen were still showing too much blood seeping out. More blood restoratives had been administered in the early afternoon when his blood pressure had started to fall. But Charlie’s own natural healing mechanisms needed to take over soon, he told Tré and Nettie; potions and magic could do only so much.



When Bill and Fleur had arrived, Nettie cried out to her old schoolmate. They greeted each other warmly and traded stories for a few minutes until the young Healer’s duties pulled them apart.



But the second biggest surprise of the evening, by far, was when the Weasley’s learned of Ron’s girlfriend. It came up casually in conversation late that evening, though Ron had planned it that way when he heard the twins would be arriving the next day. He was happy Nettie wasn’t around when he told his family, he received blank stares from everyone except Fleur who threw herself at him, kissing his cheeks and running off to find Nettie.



“So, Ron,� Bill started hesitantly, “then you and Hermione are definitely through?�



Ron nodded with a stupid smile on his face, still under Fleur’s Veela spell.



“How long has this been going on, son?� his father asked.



“Huh?� Ron replied, trying to bring himself back to the topic being discussed. Bill sniggered.



“I said, ‘when did this start’?�



“Oh, when Charlie was in Iceland.�



“When was your brother in Iceland?� Molly cried out, a bit too loudly.



“Calm down, Molly. Ron, is that when you sent us the note about him getting back safely?�



“Yeah, dad. And sorry, mum, we really couldn’t say too much at the time. We weren’t sure how deeply the communications were compromised.�



“Was it really that bad, Ron?� Bill asked a bit skeptically.



“Yes! Until the battle at Chartres last month, at least. We may have come out on top eventually, but it would have taken months, or years. France had become a magnet for every Voldemort or Death Eater wannabe.�



Molly sighed, dabbing a tissue to her eyes. She went to get another and noticed a small box on Ron’s nightstand. She picked it up. “What’s this, Ron?�



“Oh, er, just something Tré gave us… it’s nothing, really…�



But before he could take it away, Molly opened it, read it and gasped. It was the other big surprise of the day. “Arthur, children, look at this!�



“Really, mum, just put it away.� Ron was mentally kicking himself for leaving it out.



Ginny, who have been very quiet all afternoon and evening, tried to look over someone’s shoulder, but she just could not get high enough. “Mum, read it!� she finally blurted. But Molly had started sobbing and could not oblige so she handed it to Bill.



“It says: ‘Lieutenant (2nd class) Ronald Weasley is awarded the Croix de Guerre (Cross of War) and Le Médaille de la France Libérée (French Liberation Medal).’ There’s a big letter in French here, but I’m sure is just full of rubbish.� But Bill was smiling broadly, as were the others. Ron soaked it in, mainly because he knew that the next day the twins would find some perverse translation of the letter to publicize.



“Well done, Ron!� his father said, a huge smile on his face, he shook his son’s hand.



“Excellent, Ronald!� Percy said with sincerity, also shaking his hand and giving him a clap in the shoulder.



“My boy, an officer! Oh, Ron!� Molly broke down sobbing again as she squeezed him and kissed his cheek.



Next it was Ginny’s turn. She approached and gave him a warm hug, whispering in his ear, “I’ll tell Harry and Hermione. I’m sure they’ll be so proud of you, too.�



“Thanks, Ginny,� he replied quietly. Then addressing the others: “But you all must know, this rank was just for the duration, as soon as I return to England these medals mean nothing and I go back to being a civilian. I’m an English citizen and these,� he thumbed at the box, “are French medals. Besides, Charlie has them, too, and he’s a full lieutenant.�



Molly threw herself at Arthur and started sobbing again. “Our boys, Arthur, did you ever think…?�



“Yes, Molly, they all turned out splendidly.� Then Arthur looked around with a mischievous smile on his face. “Although, the jury is still out on the twins.� Everyone broke out in laughter at the jest, even Percy smiled broadly. While his family was distracted, Ron quietly slipped the box with his medals into a drawer and out of sight.





Tré put the Weasley’s up at a Muggle Hotel just two blocks from the Ministry building. There were two fine Wizarding Hotels in the city, but neither was close and Molly insisted they be near the Wizard’s Hospital should Charlie awaken. But that didn’t happen the following day, Thursday, much to the annoyance of Healer Propone who was on the Hospital staff and remained in care of his patient.



The next day, Friday, Ginny had to return to Hogwarts by nine that evening. Also, Tré was going before the Assembly to report on the final days of the war. (Fred and George had arrived Thursday morning and Percy, Bill and Fleur had left the same afternoon.) Ron was up and about with nothing more than a few lingering bruises from his adventures early Wednesday. While Tré was at her hearing, and their parents with Charlie, the two youngest Weasleys, guided by Nettie, strolled around Paris. Their host was an excellent tour guide, but with their limited time, the three only saw a few of the most famous sites in the city.



Upon returning to the hospital near dinner time, they ran into Tré who was signing in as a visitor. Nettie immediately asked about her day and all were relieved to hear that things went well. And things got better when they reached Charlie’s room; he was awake.



“Oh! Ron, Ginny, there you are, finally!� Molly cried out. “We were about to send someone to look for you.� Grabbing her two youngest in her arms she gave them both a brief embrace and then gently nudged them towards their brother.



Charlie wasn’t smiling, he barely moved and his eyes were glazed over, but he gave a small wave with his hand and croaked out “Hi.� Tré, who was obviously about to burst with happiness, and not acting at all like a senior Ministry official, clasped his hand and gave him a kiss on each cheek.



“He woke up a couple hours ago,� Arthur informed them. Smiling down at his son, he felt his pride swell as it had with Ron two days before. A moment later he turned and blew his nose.



“So, no more brain damage?� Ron asked his brother in a rather loud voice, just to make sure he could be heard. As Molly moved to clobber her youngest son, Ginny noticed Charlie’s hand give Ron a one finger salute. She covered her mouth and laughed.



Then Mrs. Weasley broached the subject none of them wished to address. “Charlie, Ron, will you be returning to the Burrow?�



The room fell silent and Tré could tell that Charlie was slipping off to sleep, as he was still heavily sedated. Taking his hand, she announced that Charlie would be staying in Paris with her while he recuperated. This proclamation seemed to rouse Charlie a bit and he nodded his agreement before succumbing to his body’s need for rest.



“Ron?� Mr. Weasley asked in a way that said he would not be receiving the same privilege.



“Yeah, I’ll be coming back in a few days. Nettie starts at the University Monday...� Ron answered with a noticeable degree of unhappiness. His friend squeezed his hand and clung to his arm.



Essie was right, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.



-|-|-|-|-



Ginny returned to Hogwarts Friday evening after the family said goodbye. They had celebrated Charlie’s improving condition with a picnic dinner in his room, even though he slept through most of it. After brushing the soot off her school robes in McGonagall’s office, Ginny went straight to Head Girl/Head Boy suite; Harry was not there, but Hermione greeted her warmly. Then she sat her down and made Ginny convince her that Ron (oh, and Charlie, too!) were ok. When her story was finished, Hermione was calmed - and it showed.



“Ginny! I told you they were back!� Diane shouted, entering the room a few minutes later with Harry in tow. Remus and Tonks were right behind them, also. Ankaa trilled in annoyance as Harry looked in on him. I’m trying to sleep.



“Hi, Gin. Ron and Charlie alright?� asked Harry, embracing his girlfriend.



“Ron’s fine and Charlie’s a little better. I have some stories for all of you. Oh, hi Remus... I mean, Professor Lupin... Tonks.�



“Wotcher, Ginny. Glad to hear Charlie’s better.�



“’Remus’ is fine in here, Ginny. Welcome back. We were getting worried about Harry, he was pining away without you.�



Harry scoffed at the barb and gave Ginny a kiss. “Don’t believe them, Gin. They’re all barmy.�



Diane looked like she was going to add something juicy, but held her tongue.



Over the next hour, Ginny filled them in on the situation in Paris, both political and personal. For Hermione’s sake, she tried to leave Nettie out of the stories but eventually slipped, saying how Tré’s sister showed them around Paris the previous day. Hermione then asked a barrage of well disguised questions; Ginny had left Nettie completely out of her earlier version of the story so Hermione deducted that the girl was more than just a friend of Ron’s. But she let the matter drop, and was surprised, along with the others, to hear that he would be returning to England in three days.



“Is he coming back to school, Gin?� asked Harry hopefully.



“He says no, but I don’t know what else he might do. He’ll drive mum spare living at home.� Everyone laughed and agreed with that prediction.



Finishing the stories, Ginny told them about how Ron and Charlie had received temporary commissions in the French Resistance and their decorations for bravery and freeing the country of the Death eaters. Harry stole a glance at Hermione; her eyes were welling but she had happy look on her face. When Ginny told them how proud everyone was of Ron, even the twins, Harry also felt a wave of pride for his best mate. Ron had been trying to become something other than the ‘little Weasley brother’ for a long time. Now he had done it.



“Well, I hate to break up this party, but we better start packing,� announced Remus.



“Pack! Where are you going?� Harry asked, leaping up.



“I received word earlier today that Madam La Porte will be arriving tomorrow or Sunday, so my substituting days are numbered.�



Having become accustomed to seeing Remus on a daily basis, his reminder shocked Harry, as well as the others. Remus and Tonks made a quick exit, saying they would talk again, soon.



This last minute announcement dampened everyone’s spirit for a while until Diane distracted them by bringing up her and Ginny’s trip to the United States the following Tuesday. The four Housemates, including Hermione, spent the rest of the evening talking about their previous two trips across the Atlantic and reminding Ginny about things she should try to see. By the time they were ready for bed, Ginny’s list held far more locations than she would ever be able to visit, but she folded it neatly and put it safely away.



Harry and Hermione remained up another hour, doing the rounds of the castle and then talking. When Harry posed a direct question to his friend he knew she would not be surprised.



“Thinking about getting back together with Ron, aren’t you?�



“No! Well, maybe... a little. I’ve been trying to sort my life out the past few days, and I have to make sure any feelings I have for Ron are appropriate, and not due to his injuries or heroism. I just can’t go through the past month again.�



It was a fair answer, Harry thought. “Have you gone out with anyone else, since... since, you broke up?� he asked, though he was quite certain he would have known if she had.



Hermione gave a sigh of frustration. “No, Harry.� She paused, obviously wanting to say more. “It’s difficult to feel interest in one person when there’s still so much holding on to another.�



“Didn’t bother Ron, did it?�



Hermione shot him a hurt look.



“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. But at some point you need to move on, Herms...� She hit him with a pillow, but laughed, too. “Who’s that bloke you went to Slug’s Christmas Party with last year?�



“Harry, please! Cormac McLaggen? You’ve got to be kidding!� she shot back, a look of horror on her face.



“Oh, yeah, I forgot it was him. How about, er, Ernie’s, he’s ok.�



“Bad personal hygiene.�



“Oh, right then. What about Seamus or Dean?�



“They gossip too much.�



“Fred or George?�



“Get real, Harry!�



“I know, what about Dia...�



“Don’t go there, ‘Chosen One’!� she snapped before Harry had finished, having anticipated the question.



“Ok... ok... I know! What about Jack Sloper?�



“Too into Quidditch.�



Scratching his head pensively, Harry started naming ever male in their year he could think of. Hermione just shook her head. “Well, there must be someone who interests you in the tiniest bit!� he shouted out in both frustration and amusement.



Hermione had had enough and stood up to head off to bed. “Thanks, Harry. I’m sure I can think of someone, but it wouldn’t work. Goodnight.� With that, she gave Harry a pat on the arm and walked to her room.



Left standing, and a bit confused, Harry mumbled goodnight in reply and sat to read.

Chapter 8 – A Seer and Two Puzzles

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



With Charlie awake, if not completely alert, Ron was able to convince Nettie to spend their last day together before traveling to Nice with him in Paris at the French version of Diagon Alley, called Rue De Méntary.

Located deep in the oldest part of the city, an English visitor might think they were in Diagon Alley, except for the language differences. It was also nearly twice the size of its English counterpart, the main difference being the number of clothing stores, art galleries and cafés. It even had its own Knockturn Alley, called the Place de Noir. And as in England, the French branch of Gringotts was at the physical and financial center of the district. But in Paris the Goblin Bank resided next to a spacious park lined with cafés, street musicians and artists.

When the couple told Tré where they were going on their last day together, her enthusiasm was so genuine Ron impulsively invited her to go with them. Nettie squeezed his hand in a less than affection way, and was certain her older sister would sense the annoyance she felt, but Tré ignored Nettie and accepted. Later that same Saturday evening, Nettie told Ron that she’d discovered her parents had insisted Tré accompany them, “To keep my honor unblemished!� They both laughed at that.

But Ron was, in some ways, relieved by the sentiment behind the joke. He and Nettie had kept their friendship chaste, by mutual agreement. Both knew that an active sexual relationship would only make their inevitable parting all the more painful. And for Ron, it had also become an issue of self control, something he felt he did not have with Hermione. That he could sit in front of a fire, holding and snogging an attractive female, without feeling the pressure to have sex was a novelty. And a relief. It was an atypical liaison, but it suited both and deepened their friendship in unexpected ways.


The late November air in Paris was cool and breezy as they exited the Muggle subway and walked the final three blocks to the clothier that fronted as the entrance to Le Rue De Méntary. Tré observed that Nettie and Ron seemed to be enjoying themselves despite their imminent separation. It was also a side of Ron that Tré had come to enjoy. Until meeting Nettie he had been sullen from his breakup with Hermione, and, as best she could describe it, obsessed before it. But she knew Ron was deeply concerned for Harry and so the true source of his obsession was not clear. Had she still been involved in counseling, Tré thought Ron Weasley might have been an interesting case to work.

As the morning wore on, Nettie told Ron stories about each of the shops. Every one seemed to have some special significance to either her personally or to her family. When she pointed out the store where Jacques had been caught shoplifting years before, she and Tré shared a wistful look. Like Tré, Nettie was not as overtly emotional as most women Ron had met. To see them both emotional made him uncomfortable; however, it was also a sign of their deep trust and regard for him. But the cloud of sadness passed when Nettie let out a happy squeal and dragged Ron and Tré across the street. Half way there, Ron heard the Minister groan.

“Antoinette, no! Not… oh God, Ron, she’s been trying to get in this place since she was four,� Tré complained. Nettie just stuck out her tongue and continued pulling. As they reached a somewhat out-of-place, decrepit storefront, Ron had to ask Tré for the translation. “Ron, it’s a Fortune Teller named Madam Cassandra. This same woman has been here since I was a child! Nettie, let’s go somewhere else…�

“No! Ron, you’ll go in with me, won’t you?� she pleaded.

“Come on, Nettie, that stuff’s all rubbish. Let’s grab a bite over there, that place looks good.� Nettie and Tré shared a glance, this was his second suggestion that he was hungry. Charlie’s stories of Ron’s appetite seemed too fantastic to be true. Now they knew the truth.

“Later, Ron; I’ve heard of this woman, we used to pass this place all the time when I was young. I would beg mamma to let me go and have my fortune told,� Nettie said.

“Yes, little sister, and she wisely refused…�

“Oh, come on. What’s the harm?�

Grumbling, Ron and Tré followed the girl into the Fortune Teller’s shop. As soon as they entered the door, everything went dark except for a light at the end of what appeared to be a tunnel. After his recent trials in the sewers, Ron was even more reluctant to proceed. Finally Nettie took both his hands and pulled him forward.

They arrived at a store of some sort. The walls were covered with oddly packaged objects. When Ron started reading the labels of some he thought he might get sick. There was Dried Pixie Skin, (some with and some without tattoos,) Powdered Leaf Mites, Root of Angibar; a collection worthy of Snape and Slughorn’s N.E.W.T. potions laboratory. Ron thought Tré had the same feelings as himself, but Nettie was running from shelf to shelf, occasionally taking a small bag of one thing or another.

“What’re you going to use that rubbish for, Nettie?� Ron finally asked suspiciously, hoping the answer had nothing to do with his brother.

“You two are impossible. Some of these items are very rare!�

A loud bang echoed through the shop and a short, very ugly, very, very old lookinig woman came into the shop, apparently startled that she had visitors. So much for fortune telling! Ron thought.

The old witch gave Ron an evil look, then an even more frightening smile. “Monsieur, I have been waiting many years for this young lady to visit me.� Then looking to Nettie, “You are Antoinette, aren’t you, my dear?�

Plainly impressed, Nettie clapped and jumped up and down like a little girl. But Tré got Ron’s attention and pointed to Nettie’s purse, the name Antoinette clearly written across the front.

“Impressive!� Ron said sarcastically, trying not to burst out laughing. Tré had to cover her mouth and look away. Clearly this was going to become another legendary story for the Mellanson family.

Again, the ugly witch looked at Ron with disdain. “Monsieur Weasley has little regard for me, I see. Perhaps the young Ms. Mellanson would like to hear her fortune?�

While Nettie sat at a small round table, Ron and Tré shared glanced, again. This time it was a look of curiosity. Ron was wearing nothing identifying him as a Weasley.

“Come on, Essie, Ron, this will be fun!� Nettie said, trying to grab their hands and pull them to the table.

But the fortune teller snapped out, “Leave them! And don’t be so certain all I see will be ‘fun’.�

Ron and Tré finally surrendered, joining the other two at the table. Then the ‘fun’ began. The witch sat theatrically, pulling up her sleeves and with a twist of her hand, a wand appeared in it. She pointed the wand at the table and in a puff of smoke, a container the size of a small jewelry box appeared.

“I am Madam Andie, and today we will consult the fates to see the life of this young woman. But be warned, sometimes we see what we do not like. Are you ready?�

With an expression of awe, Nettie nodded. “I am,� she said eagerly.

The room darkened and the air became cold, for the first few seconds the only sound was that of Ron trying to snort back a laugh. Then there was a loud THUMP. “Stop it, Ron!� Nettie scolded. Although he could not hear it, as Ron massaged his arm, he knew Tré was silently chuckling next to him.

Seconds later, the table began to appear, lit dimly by a yellowish, diffused, unseen source of light. On the table, centered perfectly, was a thin red thread in the shape of a cross, shimmering faintly against the black background. It divided the table into four equal sections. Then Madam Andie spoke:

“To question the Fates about the path of a life requires sacrifice, Antoinette Mellanson. Are you willing to sacrifice for the knowledge provided?�

“Yes, of course!� Nettie replied immediately.

Ron looked up at Tré with an expression indicating he wanted her to sense his thoughts. She nodded, with a questioning look on her face. But Ron just stared at her, his mind radiating a simple message: I wonder how many Galleons the Fates will require Nettie to sacrifice… Tré couldn’t help herself, she exploded in laughter and Ron followed.

“HUSH, non-believers! Or you will have to leave.� Madam Andie scolded. Nettie kicked both of them under the table.

“Your future and fortune will be told by the symbols of life.� Madam Andie opened the box on the table, the same one she had conjured a moment earlier. Removing a piece of cloth, she revealed the symbols. “This is your Life Marker,� she held up what looked like a ceramic, cone-shaped object, but it had been sliced neatly in half down the center. She set it on the table.

“This is you Fortune,� another object was set on the table; this one appeared to be a long string of beads, each shimmered with a different color every few seconds.

“This is your Health.� Ron saw what looked like a bone, perhaps a finger bone, but with gold runes carved into it.

“This is your Intelligence.� She laid a tiny pouch with the other items.

“This is your Magic.� What looked like a miniature wand of ebony and yew joined the pile.

“This is your… husband.� Ron’s breathing hitched, he hadn’t even thought about the possibility of that being discussed. And he suddenly realized, too, that he was paying very close attention to the Fortune Teller.

“These are your children.� Madam Andie rolled an item which might be mistaken for a tiny Osage orange into the others.

“And finally, this is your Strength.� The final item was a large claw, razor sharp and yellowed from age.

“I see your friend and your sister are now interested in your future too. Perhaps they will listen to me without laughing. Oui?

Tré and Ron just nodded; they were interested, but neither would realize why for a while yet.

Madam Andie picked up the small collection of unusual objects; she didn’t flinch when the claw dug into her palm and drops of blood fell onto the table. She held up the eight items, closed her eyes, and released them so they would fall upon the table. Absolute silence was replaced by the sounds of the indicators hitting the table.

The first thing Ron noticed about the table was that there was an elegant simplicity to the way it interacted with the indicators. This wasn’t reading tea leaves or smoke patterns with Professor Trelawney!

“Your past, Ms. Mellanson, look.� Madam Andie’s hand hovered over one half of the table where all the indicators had landed. “I will read your past before predicting your future. Perhaps then the non-believers will have faith.� Ron and Tré both felt her gaze and both refused to meet it.

“You are seventeen years old, are you not? You Life marker shows you being born here,� Madam Andie said, pointing to the indicator. Nettie softly said yes.

“Your Fortune in the past has been good, until about a month ago?� She glanced at Ron as if he was the cause of Nettie’s fallen fortune. “But I see a death here. Did someone close to you die?�

“Yes, my brother,� said Nettie simply.

“But since then have things gone better?�

“Y-yes,� she squeezed Ron’s hand.

“Perhaps something at school or work?�

“Yes.� She could sense Ron’s sudden drop in self esteem.

“Good. Now your Health indicator is steady and shows no dangerous illnesses.�

Tré muttered to Ron, “Nettie has never been sick.�

“As for your Magical abilities, they are… average. But one should not despair for this. When combined with your intelligence it can become far greater. And as for your Intelligence indicator, look here.� The Fortune Teller pointed to the tiny pouch at the far edge of the table. “You are special, yes? Very gifted, brilliant even.�

No one said a word, they all knew Nettie was a prodigy.

“Yes, I thought so,� the old witch said smugly.

“Your Husband and Children indicators are missing, I think you know what that means.�

“As for your Strength and how it has helped you, look.� Madam Andie pointed to the claw. “You are above average in Strength, not only physical Strength but also emotional Strength. When we look into your future we shall see how that might help you.� In one quick movement of her arm, Madam Andie swept up the Indicators and dropped them again. Like the first time, they all landed on one side of the table, but this time it was the opposite side. Immediately the Seer started clapping, which made her look decidedly odd… or odder. Ron, Tré and Nettie all started asking what she saw.

“My dear, you are a very fortunate girl! I don’t know if I’ve seen quite so many positive signs, at least not for many years. See this, you have a long life ahead of you, but it will end abruptly. No, no! Do not worry, child. When you get to be as old as I, heart failure is abrupt and welcome, especially if it happens at night.�

Ron looked at Tré, both grimacing at the idea, but Nettie had instantly seen the logic of the answer and nodded.

“Your Fortune, Health, Intelligence and Mind all are very good; as is your Strength. Now look here, my dear. I see a Husband in your future and more than three children, but the children are a few years away. The husband is not.�

Nettie sat up, looking distressed, but said nothing.

“It is a difficult thing, child, when I tell someone this, but you have not met your husband, yet.�

Nettie nodded silently. She had been holding Ron’s hand through most of the Telling, when she heard the news she squeezed it so hard it brought tears to Ron’s eyes.


In the Circle at the center of Rue De Méntary, Ron, Nettie and Tré sat sipping coffee and trying to think of how to distract the young Healer. She had run from the Fortune Teller immediately after the Reading finished and her sister and friend found her crying beneath one of the dwarf pines that lined the circle.

“Nettie, we knew this was how it would be. You’re off to Nice and I’m headed back to England tomorrow. I…I’ve had a wonderful time with you and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.� Ron sat, holding both of Nettie’s hands, rubbing her wrists with his thumbs. Tré, feeling terribly out of place, just wanted to get back to Charlie

“I know, Ron. I just began to think that maybe three years wouldn’t be too long for you… for us. I will be alright.� Nettie pulled away from Ron, sat up and put on her emotionless face that Ron so hated, and then looked to her sister. She was frowning.

“No! Not again, Nettie. Don’t hide behind that,� Ron exclaimed, taking his friend’s face and bringing it back to look at him. “That is not the girl I love…� both Ron’s and Nettie’s eyes opened wider; neither had used the “L� word up to this point, afraid of how it might spoil their friendship.

“Ron, I can’t do this…�

“Yes, you can, Nettie. Listen to me; you can and you will. This has nothing to do with fortune telling and strange old witches, this has to do with your life. I’m going to make a bold prediction myself,� Ron proclaimed officiously and in a way that made the two females laugh. “You will meet that perfect man and fall in love with him, and marry him. We never said this to each other, but we’re just too different, you and I. Maybe like Hermione and me, great friends but… well, you know. I can’t challenge you intellectually, we only talk of superficial things — and it’s nice now, while we’re in love, but in a year or two we’d just be scratching our head wondering what we got ourselves into.�

Nettie was in tears at this point and holding onto Ron’s hands like she would never let go. Behind them, Tré was observing two children taking an enormous step towards adulthood. She was proud of both.

After she calmed down some, Nettie wiped her eyes and haughtily asked her sister if she still thought the woman was a fraud. “No, little sister, and I think Ron recognized something special about her soon after she started.�

“Right, Essie, but I think Nettie was too wrapped up in the woman to really notice how she told her fortune.�

“What is this?� Nettie asked, completely confused.

“You have done a fine job tutoring monsieur Weasley in French these past weeks, little sister, but how do you think he could understand everything the woman said? Every word was in French.�

“NO!�

“Oui,� Ron said, smiling.


Ron got his lunch that cool, sunny November day in Paris. Sitting at a sidewalk café with two very good friends, all three talked for hours and Ron never ran out of words, and he never felt the discomfort he usually experienced around females. After a few glasses of wine all three became a little tipsy and said many wonderful and silly things, things they had not been able to say for a long, long time. When they finally parted that evening, neither Ron nor Nettie made any attempt to hide their emotions from the other, but neither were they sappy or clingy.

It might have been a scene from a Humphrey Bogart movie when Nettie stepped onto the train and waved a final goodbye to her family and Ron. Her face was streaked with tears but more noticeable was her smile, filled with wonderful memories and a promising future.


Ron stood silently as the crowd around him thinned. In the background he heard Tré bidding goodnight to her family and soon he felt her standing at his side. “So, young Mr. Weasley, shall we go see how old Mr. Weasley is feeling tonight?�

|-|-|-|-|

Mental illness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Michael Allen mused while reviewing notes of his past weeks in Godric’s Hollow. He was quite certain that he was insane and living in a dream, or some sort of post-middle-age cocaine-induced flashback gone terribly wrong. He had put Godric’s Hollow behind him, physically, for now. His last week there was spent doing work more suited to a behavioral scientist than a journalist. Data gathered, he returned to his London flat and tried to return to a normal routine by contacting a number of publications he had worked with in the past. None needed, or wanted, any of his work at the time, but that didn’t bother him, either. Dry spells were just part of the job of a free-lance journalist. Besides, he had no real need for the income; the six thousand Pound per month check he received through an inheritance from a wealthy uncle took care of all his needs. If he spent a bit too much one month, whether on travel or women, he could let the bill ride until the next.

There was a level of comfort in London, too, that Allen never felt in any other location he had lived, including his home town in New Mexico. The city was his life: the people, the noise, the history, even the pollution and crime; everything he sensed around him intermingled and created his own personal universe. He knew his neighbors and their personalities; which ones to chat with and which ones to avoid. If he became bored with an assignment he knew how to handle the pesky editors. But there was one thing Michael Allen never quite learned how to handle, and that was himself.

The weeks in Godric’s Hollow had shaken him badly. Apart from the frustrations associated with being unable to track down the puzzling Harry Potter, the events of the final two weeks gave him considerable anxiety. The odd migraines and baffling dead-ends, however, were nothing compared to what had happened on the morning of his return to London. On the odd chance that he had missed something in the police reports about the Potter disappearances, Digger had returned to Godric’s Hollow’s police station and asked to view the official report one more time.

He waited patiently at a desk while the clerk brought out the papers. Thanking the man, Allen told him he could take them back in just a moment. He opened the folder and shook his head, knowing he would see what he had seen weeks before: a report with key information missing. And it was still missing. The frustrations of the past weeks suddenly and unexpectedly came to a boiling point and Allen lost his temper. He slammed the folder shut and thrust it out at the clerk angrily causing various papers, which were not securely attached, to go flying out of the folder and around the small room.

“Bloody hell! You go pick those up,� snarled the clerk. “What’s got you all in a twist?�

Allen knew he’d been rude and he apologized, something he seldom did. “Sorry fellow, just a frustrating case. I can’t even find the damned address!� He got down on the floor and started gathering the papers strewn about while the clerk collated them. Allen handed off the last bunch and stood to gather his things.

“All for nothing, governor?�

“That’s right, all for nothing. I’ll be seeing you.� Digger made to pick up his briefcase when the clerks gnarly hand came down hard on the leather bag.

“This what you’re looking for?� The clerk held out the top sheet of the report.

“Yeah, and if you can find the address I’ll give you five quid.�

“Oh! Then how ‘bout 4 Flower Lane, Godric’s Hollow? That enough of an address?� The official was wearing a smug grin and pointing to a blank line on the report.

“WHAT?!� cried Digger in disbelief, snatching the paper from the man’s hand. He looked at it, turned it over and looked again. Nothing. “Very funny, chief, very funny.�

Allen was suddenly aware of how large the clerk was. He had stood up, nose-to-nose, or more appropriately, chest-to-nose, to Allen. “You trying to cheat me? What’d’you call this?� He held up the paper again and pointed to the spot where the address was to be entered. Digger looked at it. Nothing! And he felt a headache coming on, too.

“I…I…what do YOU see?�

“I told you what I see,� the clerk said, poking Allen in the chest, and none too lightly. “Righ’ there: 4 – Flower - Lane. That’s an address in my book. And I’ll thank you for the five quid.� He slapped the paper down and held out his hand.

Allen looked again. There was NOTHING on the address lines. He reached for his billfold, but stopped and picked up the paper. “Uh… yes, just a moment… sir,� Allen mumbled. He took the paper and stepped over to the receptionist and asked her what the address read.

“Why, 4 Flower Lane, Godric’s Hollow, sir.�

Muttering a thank you, Allen returned to the office where he found the clerk still smiling smugly. He opened his billfold and took out two five Pound notes. “Er, sorry about that. The eyes are getting old… I guess.� The clerk thanked him and departed with the file. Allen sat there for a few more minutes, made notes in a pad, and then left Godric’s Hollow on the local trolley to Bristol.

It’s happening again, he realized. While he had gone searching for Harry Potter’s address he found nothing. But the clerk and the receptionist, only interested in other matters, could clearly read: 4 Flower Lane.


The journey back to London had been quiet, on the outside, but in his head he knew he was going insane. However unusual, he was able to rationalize the migraines of the previous weeks. But an invisible address? This was truly disturbing. Was he hallucinating? It was the only logical possibility! And if he was not seeing things that were there – and they clearly were there for the other two at the station – then something was seriously wrong with him.

As he unpacked his clothing and toiletries, back in the safety of his London flat, Allen had to face the fact that something was, without question, seriously psychologically wrong with him.

“But what?� he asked himself.

Following a quick dinner and a long, relaxing shower, Allen followed his usual evening routine of dictating his thoughts for the day. With all the clutter on his desk, Digger placed the Dictaphone machine on the floor along with a tall stack of notebooks, papers and other odds and ends. The notes from his stay in Godric’s Hollow remained on the desk awaiting his decision on how to handle them. With his annotations from the morning trip to the police station in his hand, Allen began his work.

|-|-|-|-|

Amanda Bright had no idea, even with magic, how difficult it would be to trace an IP address to a specific location. But with the assistance of two of her Ministry co-workers, she managed to find her first target. IP address 189.22.001.027 was registered to the laptop of a Mr. Michael Allen’s who rented a flat at 878B Wattle Crossing, London… just a few blocks away! Amanda realized. Her search algorithms had easily detected this machine performing almost daily internet queries on Harry Potter for more than six weeks.

Calmly following procedures she herself had established to ensure the validity of her targets, Amanda ran multiple checks against her Wizarding databases to be certain Michael Allen was not an Auror, or Unspeakable on an undercover mission. He was not. Then she checked with the ISP, the Internet Service Provider, for 878B Wattle Crossing and found that Allen, or Allen’s laptop, was not currently at his flat. This was a disappointment, but only a temporary one.

With the disarray in the Ministry over the past year, no process or procedures had ever been formally approved for Amanda’s department. If she came across something unusual she was expected to notify the Minister and receive assistance, presumably Aurors or Obliviators from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon, Amanda knew. The Ministry was only now starting to function again and Kingsley Shacklebolt had relinquished his temporary position to head the Auror division full-time.

So Amanda Bright took it upon herself to contact the new temporary head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and request two Obliviators for an important mission. Had the newly appointed Minister not been in the middle of defending himself against unexpected allegations of being sympathetic to Voldemort’s followers, he might have considered Amanda’s zealous request more closely. However, two young Obliviators arrived at her office late that afternoon, the afternoon before Michael Allen returned to London, and were given their assignment.

“I want you two to stake out this address,� she said, handing them a slip of paper. “In this apartment is Mr. Michael Allen, a Muggle, making an unusually large number of inquiries into our world. Please observe his actions and report back to me tomorrow afternoon. You are to take no actions, is that understood?�

Acknowledging the instructions, the two wizards kept watch for someone who was not there… until the following afternoon.

“Bingo, Billy! There ‘e is. Looks ordinary enough. Let’s report back to the boss-lady and see what she wants us to do.�

“Right, then we can get us a pint.� Laughing, the two men walked back to the Ministry building.

A half-hour later, both had their hopes for a pint dashed as they listened to their new instructions.

“Good work. Here’s what I want you to do…� Amanda filled them in on the standard procedures for Obliviating a Muggle, with the usual cautions that they not overdue the memory charm. But the men were very good at what they did and both were very precise with their procedures, a crucial requirement for the job.

Thus instructed, Billy and Marvin returned to Wattle Crossing.

|-|-|-|-|

Allen, finally relaxed and lounging comfortably at his desk, dictating the day’s activities, heard a noise that could only be one thing, his door locks unlatching. He had, over the years, picked enough locks himself to easily recognize the sound. But there was something odd this time, it sounded as if all three of the locks had come undone at the same time. Having barely a chance to turn in his seat, Digger saw two men in strange clothing… but they suddenly were not that unfamiliar, he had seen that sort of dress before. In a fraction of a second he made the connection between the clothes and Harry Potter. But he had no time to do anything else; one of the men swiftly closed the door and pointed something at him.

"Petrificus Totalus!" one of the intruders said, and Allen found himself unable to move.

“Blimey, Marvin, you don’t use a binding spell, use a bloody stunner,� the other said.

Digger found his situation oddly amusing, and not at all unbelievable. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he was insane. These hallucinations were only another symptom of his disorder, he reasoned. Frozen in place, he watched as the other man, not Marvin, pointed as stick at him and then everything went black.

Billy levitated Digger to his bedroom, placed him on the bed and began the work of wiping Michael Allen’s mind clean of Harry Potter. He was an expert at Memory Charms and was finished in minutes. Back in the den, Marvin was busy erasing a stack of notebooks, returning them to a new and unused state. Billy returned and they looked at a cabinet full of small boxes which, upon closer examination, appeared to have something to do with a wide range of subjects over many years. The last one they saw, apparently the most recent, had H. Potter scribbled on the label.

“Recon we ought to erase them all?� Marvin asked.

“Yeah, but… cor! This bloke must have decades of information stored here. I hate to do it…�

“Look, Billy, let’s just wipe the ones with Potter’s name, I’m not comfortable destroying a man’s livelihood.�

Billy thought for a moment. “Alright, Marvin, but we’ll have to check every one of them. There must be thousands!�

“Then we better get started.�

It took two hours, but Billy and Marvin managed to find six tapes referencing H. Potter. They both blessed the poor bugger that he had kept such wonderful records of his work. When finished with the tapes there was only one more task to perform.

“Is that one of them Muggle laptop compukers, Billy?� asked Marvin, in awe.

“Yeah, see here,� Billy handed his partner a picture of the machine and Amanda’s instructions on how to erase its memory. Taking out a large piece of metal, he waved it over the machine for half a minute, turned the laptop over and repeated the procedure. The powerful magnet effectively destroyed the data on the hard drive. Then the two Obliviators tidied up the room and Apparated directly to the Ministry of Magic to report on their success.

The next morning, Michael Allen woke up with a nasty headache and absolutely no memory of Harry Potter.

|-|-|-|-|

Ginny Weasley had never been more frightened in her life. Facing Voldemort was easier than this, she said to herself over and over. Meanwhile, Diane Bradley watched the terrain pass far below; it was the first land either had seen in four hours. As the Boeing 747 slowed and began its initial descent to Logan International Airport, Diane watched her friend grip the seat handles and close her eyes for the umpteenth time. The nauseating, swooping, falling sensation was a thrill to Diane, but Ginny sat frozen, praying for a swift end to the five hour trip.

Why I ever let Di talk me into traveling this way I’ll never know… yes I will. She said Harry did it so I thought I could, too… Oh noooo… The plane made a loud noise and took another dip; Ginny felt her lunch coming back up and she scrambled for another air-sick bag. It was the third time, so little remained in her stomach, just the Muggle drink called Ginger Ale which Diane had sworn would make her feel better.

“Don’t worry, Gin, that was the flaps coming down. They’re a bit noisy but you should be more worried if they hadn’t lowered.�

Ginny wiped her mouth off and gave Diane a dirty look. “Just you wait, Bradley…�

Thirty minutes, (and one more air-sick bag later,) Ginny was trying to Scourgify herself in the women’s restroom, quite a feat in itself, given the size of the cubicle.

Diane stood outside the restroom door, beaming, as Ginny reentered the Muggle world. “Ready?�

Taking the American witch’s elbow, Ginny led her out of the plane and down the long passageway towards the few remaining people waiting to meet their acquaintances from the jet. “You are so dead, Diane Bradley. You better stay in Muggle areas or I’m going to hex you until…�

“JASON!" Diane screamed, pulling away from Ginny and running to the arms of her guardian and former principal.

The two embraced warmly and then Jason turned to his other guest. “Ginny, it’s wonderful to see you again. How are you?�

“A lot better now that I’m on the ground,� she said coolly.

“Ah, sounds like you had an interesting flight. Harry preferred other means of transportation, too, as I recall.� Ginny just continued to glare at Diane. “And how are our English cousins? Harry, Ron and Hermione doing well?�

Diane flashed Ginny a quick, uncomfortable glance. “Harry and Hermione are fine. Ron got himself into that battle in Paris last week and was injured, but he’ll be fine.’

“He’s back with our parents now,� Ginny finished.

“Oh? Were his injuries so serious that he couldn’t recoup at Hog… school?�

Diane and Ginny looked at each other again. “Ron’s taking the year off, Mr. Graham,� Ginny said simply.

“Really? I’d have thought he’d want to be around Hermione, now that the, eh, problems are fixed over there.�

“Ron and Hermione broke up, Jason.�

Startled, the Salem School Principal took a moment to find his words. “I’m sorry to hear that, they seemed very close and well suited for each other.� He wondered if he really was that upset, but put that thought away. “Well, let’s get you two through customs and something to eat. You hungry, Ginny?� The youngest Weasley just scowled when Diane started laughing.

“Probably not, Jason, she had two lunches on the plane; one when we left England and another shortly before we landed.� Jason just looked confused as his former pupil walked away at a rapid pace.

Following a light dinner, (Ginny said she really was hungry,) the three took a cab to the Salem School where Diane was mobbed by a number of her former classmates. After greeting them she introduced Ginny, pointing out to her friend Bob that Ginny was Harry’s girlfriend. Ginny heard Bob say something along the lines of party pooper. As the group of teens walked off to trade stories, Jason reminded Ginny and Diane that they had an early appointment the next day with the lawyers, with the full knowledge that they would stay up a better part of the night anyway.


The Wednesday before Thanksgiving dawned far too early for Ginny who was staying in the same guest room Harry had used months before. She groaned threateningly at Diane, who was already wide awake and dressed, and reached for her wand, croaking out something about owing her a hex. But Diane had wisely picked the wand up and held it dangling from her thumb and forefinger, teasing Ginny to come and get it.

“Come on, Gin, let’s get this over with. You promised.�

“Yes, and you promised I’d love Muggle airplanes,� she harrumphed. “Alright, I’ll meet you in the dining hall.�

Fifteen minutes later, Ginny stumbled into the mostly empty hall where she found Diane and Jason waiting for her. Still half asleep, she scalded her hand with hot coffee and treated those present to a few choice British curses. While Jason spoke with Diane about what she should expect with the lawyers, Ginny walked around the hall, occasionally chatting with the few students who had not already departed for the long weekend. Never having celebrated the American holiday, she found it highly appropriate, especially for her friends and family back in England.

Soon it was time to leave and Jason extended his arms for Ginny and Diane. A moment later they Apparated into Manchester, New Hampshire, at the home of an acquaintance of Jason’s. From there they took a taxi to the downtown law office which had been sending Diane correspondence for over two years and handling the liquidation of her assets. Ginny thought Diane looked a little pale as they walked into the lobby, but she had a determined look on her face; she wanted this over with, once and for all.

Following a brief wait in the reception area with a number of other people, a woman entered and asked for all those attending the Bradley family case.

“It sounds more like a trial,� Ginny whispered to Diane as they stood. “Do you want me to wait here?�

Diane took her friend’s hand. “No, please stay with me. I’m so nervous I think I might hurl… and you’re experienced handling that.� Ginny and Diane quickly devolved into silly giggles as they entered a conference room. The room was bright and comfortable; there was a large, solid oak table with twelve heavily padded chairs surrounding it. Various refreshments, fruit and muffins were also arrayed along a table on one side of the room. Diane sat between Jason and Ginny and looked apprehensively at the pile of papers and folders in the center of the table.

“Good morning everyone!� a bright, cheerful voice cried out, startling the three guests. “I’m Michael Pallone… and… you must be Ms. Bradley.� He held his hand out to Diane who took it, self-conscious of her sweaty palm.

“Hi.�

“And you must be Jason Graham.� Again, he held out his hand, this time Jason rose and shook it.

“And, are you a friend of Ms. Bradley?� he asked, looking at Ginny.

“Yes, hello, my name is Ginny Weasley. I’m a schoolmate of Diane.�

“And an English one, too; excellent! Welcome, please feel free to help yourself to the refreshments, the coffee is especially fine. We will be starting soon.� Pallone took two folders from the pile in the middle of the table and handed one each to Jason and Diane. “I’m sorry, Ms. Weasley, only Ms. Bradley, and Mr. Graham, as her legal guardian, may have a copy of these papers. Of course, either can share their contents with you at their pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll go and let the boss know we are ready to start.�

“A bit exuberant, isn’t he?� Diane commented to Ginny, her voice shaking. Ginny thought she saw her eyes welling up, too. When she looked down at the papers in the folder that had just been opened, she saw it was Diane’s parent’s will, and she caught herself stiffening. She placed her hand on Diane’s arm, but her friend’s only reaction was a small sniffle.

In next to no time, Mr. Pallone returned to the room followed by three other well-dressed associates, one a woman. Introductions were made and one of the arriving men began to use a strange device he identified as a “steno machine.�

Then it began.

“Ms. Bradley, I want to start by telling you how sorry we are for your loss. As happens, all of my associates and I have lost either a parent or sibling, but we cannot begin to claim we understand what you have gone through. Please accept our sincerest condolences.� The Partner’s brief speech was obviously sincere and Diane nodded silently, accepting the sentiment.

“Are you ready to begin, Ms. Bradley?� the Partner asked, seeing Diane’s head still looking down. After a few seconds she nodded silently. Ginny noticed that Jason was gently rubbing her back.

“Per your wishes, Ms. Bradley, and through the directions of Mr. Graham, Page 3 shows all your assets…�

The meeting droned on for another thirty minutes as one lawyer or another addressed parts of the Bradley estate. During the briefing Diane remained mostly silent, occasionally asking for clarification about one thing or another. Jason asked a number of questions and made notes, but that was all. Ginny watched, her curiosity peaked, as the legal jargon flew back and forth. When it was over, Diane had a small mountain of papers to sign to complete the process. Then, with the signing task complete, Ginny looked down and saw her friend’s net worth, a bit over two million dollars. She wasn’t certain of the exchange rate, but knew it was a tidy sum.

“Is that everything?� Diane asked in a whisper. “Can we go now?�

“That’s all the paperwork, Ms. Bradley. I took the liberty of cashing in some of your funds in case you needed currency while you’re back in the states.� The Partner handed Diane a thick envelope which she refused to take. Following an awkward few seconds, Jason took the money and put it in his coat pocket. “I do have two boxes of personal items…�

“NO! I said I didn’t want anything. Throw them away.� Diane shouted, finally losing her composure and breaking down. Jason glanced at the Partner before leading Diane and Ginny out of the office. Ginny had a good idea what Jason was doing when he returned to the conference room. Five minutes later he walked into the waiting room, this time from the front door; he had take the boxes himself and put them in the taxi that was still waiting out front. Still comforting her friend, Ginny knew that some day she would want to see what remained of her parent’s personal items.


Jason treated the girls to coffee and pastries at a nearby Starbuck’s, though none of them were particularly hungry or desirous of sharing conversation. When both girls turned down Jason’s offer for lunch he sighed and told the driver to take them to his friend’s house, from which they Apparated back to Salem. Ginny suspected that Jason would find some way to get the two boxes to Hogwarts at some point, but she was wrong. After dinner that evening, a quiet affair with just the three of them – the only ones remaining at the school - and Sister Bernadette, Jason gave an order.

“Diane, I left the two boxes from the lawyer in your room. I want you to start going through them right away… I know what you’re going to say, but there are some things in there you need to see.�

Ginny was amazed that her friend didn’t hex Jason right there. Her face was red and she could see Diane’s magic, as waves of heat, rising from her skin. She reminded Ginny of the way she looked weeks earlier when she and Hermione had nearly attacked each other.

“You had no right to do that, Jason. You know how I feel about it.�

“Yes, I do know, and I also know that ignoring it is not healthy for you.�

“If I can kill a bunch of Dementors I’m sure I can ignore that trash, too.�

“No you can’t. There’s a big difference between Magical Ability and Mental Stability. Magic won’t do anything to help you accept what happened, and you’ve put it off far too long. You’re not my daughter, Diane, so I can’t order you to do it, but I’m telling you, as a friend, go through it, and start tonight.�

The room became deathly quiet, reminding Ginny of being around Dementors, but without the chill. Diane stood and left the room without another word.

“Ginny, if you feel comfortable doing it, would you go and make sure she’s ok? I think that’s partly why she wanted you here. Diane knew she would have to do this.� The frustration was obvious on Jason’s face

“Sure, Mr. Graham,� Ginny said unenthusiastically, and went after her friend.

A gentle knock on Diane’s door a minute later brought no answer. After a few more attempts, Ginny opened the door and found the room empty, the two boxes Jason had left still untouched on the floor. Making a quick decision, she stacked up the boxes and carried both back to her room, hoping Diane would return if she saw the boxes gone. But it really didn’t matter. When Ginny pushed her door open she found Diane curled up in her bed, sobbing quietly.

Setting the boxes down, out of sight, Ginny went over and sat with her friend. “Did you go into your room, Di?� She nodded. “You know, Jason’s right, you have to get through that stuff or it will eat you up. Harry used to burry his feelings and pain until it nearly killed him.�

That caught Diane’s attention. “Harry? You’re kidding?� she choked out. “I always thought he was the Rock of Gibraltar. Wow…�

“You should have seen him the beginning of August when he came to the Burrow, that’s my family’s home, he was a mess…� Ginny went on to highlight some of Harry’s self-destructive behavior over the years, but always careful to qualify them with the dreadful facts that lead up to his actions. “It’s easy to look back now, with Tom dead, and criticize some of Harry’s choices. The Prophet’s doing that quite nicely. But I was probably the only one who had gone through a fraction of what Harry experienced and I know why he did so many of things that drove others crazy.�

“What do you mean?�

Startled by the question, Ginny realized that she had never told Diane about the Chamber of Secrets. Over the next hour she revealed the horrors of her first year and the near tragedy that ensued. Both girls found themselves in tears by the time the story was over, Ginny from reliving the experience and Diane from the pain she saw in her English friend.

“Did he… rape you, Gin?�

In the four years since Harry had rescued her, it was the first time anyone had asked her that question straight-forwardly. And Ginny suddenly realized that Diane was not the only person in the room burying a horribly painful memory. She closed her eyes and thought back to her first year, still vivid in her memory. At first she ran into the same empty memories of her possession she had always come up against, the black holes covering minutes or hours of her days. But the magic and the psychological barriers of the events had broken down over the years, particularly after Voldemort’s death, and for the first time in years Ginny saw the details of what had been hidden to her.

Opposite, Diane watched her friend reviewing her memories and thought, at first, that her answer would be no. But in an instant that changed as a look of horror crossed Ginny’s face; she had obviously just discovered something that had been hidden for a long time.

“Oh my God, Di…! Ginny cried out, suddenly wishing Harry was with her.

“Gin, it’s ok, you don’t have to talk about it. It was really rude of me to ask…�

“He DID rape me, that bloody bastard!�

Diane was frozen with the thought of what she had just forced Ginny to recall.

“But it wasn’t… I mean, he didn’t… penetrate me, physically. He was just a ghost.� Ginny was talking more to herself than Diane now. “But it was… oh God, he made me… like it, and want it. What a bloody prat I was!�

“Gin, don’t do that to yourself. That wasn’t your fault, you were the victim, for heaven’s sake.�

This seemed to jar Ginny back into the reality of her surroundings and she calmed down enough to talk and think more calmly. “I’m sorry, Di, I didn’t mean to go barmy on you like that. Wow! I thought I’d worked all that out already. I definitely need to talk to someone about this.�

YES! “That’s a good idea, Gin. I mean, you can always talk to me, but you might need more than a sympathetic shoulder for the heavy stuff.�

“Thanks, Di; it’s just so… disorienting to face something like that. It was a complete surprise.� Ginny leaned back on the bed next to Diane and let out a long sigh. “Gosh, I wish Harry was here.�

Diane smiled. “You really love him, don’t you?�

A content smile crossed the red-head’s face and she pulled a pillow to her chest, hugging it tightly. “Yeah, I do.�

“I’m so happy for both of you.�

“What about you, Di? Any tall, dark-haired man in your life?�

“N-no, not right now.� Should I tell her…?

A long period of silence followed while each witch thought about their life. Then Ginny had an idea. “If I were with you, Di, would you look through the boxes? I-I don’t want to push you, but I think it would help.�

The briefest flash of annoyance passed over Diane’s face, but then she sighed, resigned. “Ok.�

“Really?�

“Yes. I saw you bring the boxes in. Wanna grab one and we’ll plunge into it together?�

Elated, Ginny jumped up and brought the top box over, setting it on her bed, between both of them. Diane hesitated for a second when her hands first touched the top, but she set her face and opened the container.

Neither girl saw what they expected to find; Ginny – a bunch of family pictures, and Diane – mushy notes from the grave. Instead, the box was filled with plain manila envelopes of varying sizes and thicknesses, each labeled with its contents: Birth/Death/Marriage Certificates, Tax Returns, Insurance, Will(s), and a dozen others. Only two claimed to hold anything that sounded as if it was personal in nature; Pictures and Susan’s notes. Ginny recalled that Diane’s mother’s name was Susan.

“Well, where do you want to start?� asked Ginny.

Diane closed her eyes and said, “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe,� and picked up the Tax Returns envelope. “How fun! Let’s see what dad earned,� Diane said, shaking her head.

“Hey, your dad did pretty well, didn’t he?�

Dine answered by rudely taking the envelope from Ginny’s hands and throwing it back in the box. Then she took out another. “Oh, joy! Insurance Policies. Let’s deep six that one, too. Let’s see what other happy things are in here… ah, Birth/Death/Marriage Certificates. In case I forget my birthday, I guess.�

“When is your birthday, Di?� Ginny asked, trying to see the certificates.

“December eleventh, seventy-eight; here,� Diane threw the official paper at Ginny, but it went flying off to the side.

“Gee, thanks… So you’re a Christmas baby?� Something wasn’t connecting with Ginny.

“A couple weeks before, I guess you could call it that.�

“No, look, Di, it says your Birthday is December 25, 1978.�

“Crap, Ginny, gimme a break, this isn’t fun.� Irritated, she leaned back to take her birth certificate when she saw Ginny’s face, it was completely serious. Looking at the document, she scratched her head. “Uh, sorry, Gin. There must be a mistake somewhere; I know my birthday is the eleventh.�

“Kind of odd they’d make a mistake like that, isn’t it?�

“Who cares? What’s next?�

Ginny handed Diane one of the thicker envelopes while she looked at the certificate again. She checked both sides and set it down, her curiosity peaked. While Diane was engrossed in whatever was in the latest envelope, Ginny picked up the birth certificate for the third time and checked for the official seal. It appeared, and felt, genuine; the New Hampshire Department of Public Health seal clearly readable. Then she had an idea. Rummaging through the first box, she picked out the envelope labeled Insurance Policies and rifled through it until she found one for Diane. The endorsement showed Diane’s birthday as December 11, 1978. She stuffed the papers back and found the last envelope the lawyers had placed in the box; the one titled Will(s). There she found the same date; December 11, 1978.

That’s odd, official organizations don’t make these sort of errors, and here are three that did!

Just then, Jason rapped on the door and called in to see if the girls were inside. Ginny jumped up and let him in. “Hi, oh, I see you changed your… Diane?� Ginny looked down and saw Diane holding what looked like a journal or diary open in her lap, but when she saw her face she froze.

“GET OUT, BOTH OF YOU! OUT!�

Before either Jason or Ginny could reply, they found themselves being forcibly pushed out into the corridor and Ginny’s bedroom door shut. Jason groaned as he turned to help his guest up. “What happened?�

“I don’t know, she looked like she was reading a notebook of some sort and just exploded.�

“Ah, she must have come across her mother’s diaries. That might explain it.�

Taking Jason’s hand and standing, Ginny wasn’t sure that was the only thing. “Right before that we found her birth certificate and is says her birthday is Christmas day.�

Jason looked taken aback. “Diane’s birthday is December eleventh, not the twenty-fifth. Are you sure the twenty-fifth wasn’t the date she was christened?�

“Yes, I’m sure; it was the official birth certificate. But all the legal documents say the eleventh. I checked her insurance policy and her parent’s will and they both say the December eleventh.�

Jason and Ginny stood, puzzled by the unexpected information, until they heard Diane in the room; she was sobbing, “They knew… all along they knew…�

Chapter 9 – Rebellion, Relations, Reunions and Recovery

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


“…one useless man is a nuisance, two useless men are a law firm and three or more become a congress…� John Adams, 1776, the Musical. (And just as applicable today, too.)


“Yes, it took a little longer than we expected, Arthur, but we’ll soon see how successful we were. Please tell Percy that he has a letter of commendation in his personal file.�

“Thank you, Phoebus, I’m delighted he could help. Ah, here they come.�

Arthur Weasley, Phoebus Penrose, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Gilbert Wimple moved to their seats in the front row of the Ministry Meeting Hall, the same auditorium they had first met in two months prior to discuss the fate of their government. There was a steady, disruptive murmuring throughout the hall while delegates waited for the bell to signal the start of the proceedings.

In years past, amendments to the Ministry Charter, the English Wizarding World’s equivalent of a Constitution, went through a formal procedure. The bell was rung, the presiding Head of the Wizengamot, the Minister of Magic, escorted the other twenty-four members onto the stage, the Secretary read the bill and the entire body of the Wizengamot were polled. A majority vote passed the bill. But with more than half of the Wizengamot in prison or dead, the first step was to approve the 14 new members needed to fill out the body. This was the job of the Delegates present. Finally, the newly filled Wizengamot voted for a Minister of Magic and then the legislative bills could be addressed.

As the Hall clock chimed ten, Phoebus Penrose stood and climbed the four steps to the stage and rang a ceremonial bell three times, as was prescribed by tradition. The twelve sitting members of the Wizengamot filed into the hall and took their assigned seats behind Penrose. When all were seated, the bell was again struck three times and the session was called into order.

“The one thousand and third gathering of the Wizengamot is now in session. I call order to this Hall.� Penrose picked up a judge’s gavel and hit the table five times. The noise in the Hall quickly diminished.

“By the Laws of Merlin, and all Wizards and Witches of the Empire, I call upon all delegates in this Hall to pledge their honor to the common good of our society.� As one, the entire Hall shouted out, “So we pledge!�

Penrose finished the opening ritual with a few words. “Keep this sacred oath and work together or we shall surely suffer the consequences… again.� Then bowing to the Hall, then the Wizengamot, Penrose returned to his seat.

From within the twelve Wizengamot members, one witch stood and walked to the dais. After a few words, the witch announced that the members had selected a temporary Chief; she invited Gilbert Wimple to the stage. Arthur and Phoebus shared the briefest of glances, both expected this nomination. In many ways, this temporary Chief of the Wizengamot had far more power than he or she should. The position was responsible for nominating replacements, so any bias would be obvious.

“He had to have known before today,� Arthur whispered to Penrose, as Wimple pulled some papers from his robe pocket. “His list and speech were prepared.�

Penrose nodded, “Of course, Arthur, just as we had discussed.�

Wimple delivered a few brief comments and then began presenting his list of nominees for the Wizengamot. As each name was addresses, Phoebus placed a check in one column or another. Arthur was not as shocked to note that most were Purebloods as he was to hear his own name mentioned.

“Come now, Arthur, don’t tell me that was a surprise,� Penrose said out of the side of his mouth.

“Wimple knows I’m not interested…�

“Yes, but he can’t advance a wholly Pureblood list, now can he?�

“I know, I know.� Arthur sat, listening to the final few names. He knew that his nomination by Wimple was likely to fail anyway; he was nearly the last of over sixty names for only fifteen slots. As the final name was read, the murmurs in the Hall became a roar; Arthur hoped it was due to the obviously one-sided slant of the nominees.

“What’s wrong, Weasley?� Penrose asked. “Don’t you trust your son?�

“Yes! I don’t trust Wimple and his gang of thieves.�

“We shall see. Wish me luck.�

Arthur nodded.

The attendees saw Penrose return to the stage, ostensibly to preside over the voting. When he gaveled the Hall into silence he had the slightest smirk on his face.

“Thank you, Gilbert. While the ballot sheets are being distributed, I would like to remind everyone that revised nomination and voting rules were adopted by the Wizengamot two weeks ago and are binding upon this election.� He looked at Arthur for a moment as a bead of perspiration ran down his cheek. Arthur nodded ever so slightly. “Very well, let the voting begin. All ballots must be returned within sixty minutes, and no one may leave the Hall during that time.� With the directions finished, Penrose walked to Arthur and motioned for him to follow.

Standing off in a corner of the Hall, Arthur could tell his friend was nervous. “Damn, Weasley, I’m too old for this. I thought I’d wet my nappies up there.� Arthur barked out a short laugh.

“You were fine. Let’s vote and see how this plays out.� Clapping his hand on Penrose’s shoulder he began to vote for his top choices.

An hour later, Penrose stood again on the stage and called for the collection of ballots in bags being passed around by two nasty looking Goblins. When they were all retrieved, the bags were brought to the stage where they were spelled against tampering. Then the Goblins who were to tally them took the bags and exited the Hall.

“Now we wait,� Penrose said simply, and slouched down in his seat to nap.

The Hall emptied as most of the delegates headed to lunch or some other activity. Arthur, who was watching the crowd leave, noticed Percy at the entrance and waved him in.

“Hello, father, is everything going as expected?� he asked with an even voice.

This boy worked with and faced down Voldemort, no wonder he’s so calm! “Yes, so far, but I would not recommend you being here in two hours, things will be getting very ugly.�

A smile slowly crept into Percy’s face. “I see your point.�

“By the way, son, Penrose has placed a letter of commendation into your personnel folder. Due to the nature of your, eh, work, it is somewhat vague. But I hope your new boss pays attention to it.� Arthur was glad to see his son show humility at this information. The ‘old Percy’ would not have been so graceful. “Your mother asked if you will be joining us for dinner Sunday.�

“Yes, father, please tell mother I’ll be there. How is Ronald?�

“Percy, please call him ‘Ron,’ I think it will help the situation.�

“Yes, very well. Does Ron have a job, yet?�

“Not yet, but he still needs another week of physical therapy for his ankles, I told him to just relax and take it easy. Ginny will be stopping by Sunday for a few hours before returning to Hogwarts, we’re hoping she convinces him to return, too.�

“Do you think the Headmistress will allow it?�

“I believe so.�

Percy picked up the leather folder he’d been carrying and shook his father’s hand. “It would be best for him, I believe, but… well, we’ll see. Good luck this afternoon, father.�

“Thank you, son.�


By early afternoon all the delegates had returned to the Hall and the vote tabulations were complete. The election committee, of which Arthur Weasley and Phoebus Penrose were members, sat at a table awaiting the sealed election results. As the clock rang one o’clock, two Goblins brought the tabulated results in identical sealed envelopes to the committee; the scowls on the Goblin’s faces discouraging any would-be antagonist or assailant.

With three bangs of the gavel, Penrose glanced nervously at Arthur and then called the Hall to order. “Fellow witches and wizards, the ballots have been counted and tabulated; I will now announce the results.� Clearing his throat, he continued by reading off sixteen names. Since the attendees were only expecting fourteen, bedlam ensued as soon as the last name was revealed.

“Order! There will be order in this Hall!� Penrose shouted. Looking down into the crown, Arthur saw Wimple’s face distorted in anger as he spoke with a group of wizards and witches who had instantly gathered around him. He also knew that the next piece of information Penrose supplied would make this mayhem appear trivial.

“Order! There will be order in this Hall!� Penrose shouted again, this time magically amplifying his voice. He received better results. “I will remind the Delegates that disruptions in the Hall during an election can be punished by vote invalidation.� It was an empty threat, he knew, since the balloting was secret, but it did quiet the crowd down further. “Very good, let me explain the results.�

But some of the Delegates were a step ahead of him, already looking through the election procedures that had been stealthfully manipulated two weeks before by Percy Weasley’s friend, Michael Gibson. Gibson had explained that procedural changes governing elections were far easier to alter than writing new legislation; Penrose and the elder Weasley immediately saw the elegant simplicity of the suggestion.

And it all came down to numbers.

The Pureblood families comprised only about twenty percent of the Wizarding community in Britain, but due to their wealth and connections, they had been able to buy their way onto the Wizengamot for decades, thus controlling the Ministry. Thanks to Gibson’s recommendations, that inequitable financial advantage had been eliminated. All that remained was for Penrose to explain the election results.

“Before I begin, I must remind every Delegate of their obligation and responsibility to understand the election rules. As I stated this morning, there have been changes made to the balloting procedures, thus the unusual results.�

The murmuring in the Hall slowly increased as Penrose continued. “By rule, no more than thirty percent of the Wizengamot may be made up of the Heritage Party,� (the Party name the Purebloods had adopted decades before.) “This is slightly more than ten percent greater than the total percentage of Party members present. This quota is governed by Article A, Section 23, Sub-section q of the election rules. The Freedom and the Liberal Parties make up the remaining sixty-nine percent of the members.� These next two parties comprised the balance of the Delegates. “Therefore, by rule, the Freedom Party gains nine seats, the Liberal Party gains seven seats, and the, ahem, Heritage Party… looses two seats.�

The roar that emanated from the Hall was deafening; a cacophony of jeers, cheers and verbal curses. A number of scuffles broke out, but most of the Delegates, members of the Freedom and Liberal Parties, stood in shock; for the first time in over five decades they enjoyed a significant majority in the Wizengamot.

The election committee gathered around Phoebus Penrose to show their support, even though only two of their number knew what had happened to cause the near riot. Placing his had on Arthur Weasley’s shoulder Penrose leaned over and whispered into his ear. Arthur looked down to Wimple and saw his red face scowling up at the stage. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was still sitting in his seat, but he had a concerned look on his face. From behind, a page delivered a note to Arthur who blanched as he read it.

“Phoebus,� he began with a gulp, “the Muggle Prime Minister is insisting that we open discussions on compensation for war damages.� Eyes wide, both men had placed the Muggle demand on the back burner while they ironed out their own problems.

The senior Ministry official shook his head. “Yes, and we just alienated the only block of people in the country who could possibly provide them what they want.�


|-|-|-|-|


“Thanks, Ankaa,� Harry said as his Phoenix handed him a roll of parchment. That it came from Ginny was certain, she was the only person, other than Harry, who could summon the magical creature. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he opened the letter and began to read. It covered her first three days in Salem, the trip to the Attorney’s office, the boxes of personal items, Thanksgiving with Jason Graham’s family and a piece of news that Harry was glad to see.

Diane had a terrible night, Wednesday. She found her mother’s diaries and started to read them. At one point she threw Jason and me out of the room (my room, actually,) for the night. The next morning she and I had a long talk about the diary’s content. (Di said you knew this so I’m breaking her trust by telling you.) Diane is a lesbian, or bi-sexual, she says she isn’t sure. This you know. What none of us realized, especially Di, was that her parents knew also. They had been attending support groups and counseling to try to understand her better. The diary showed that they were about to speak with her about her ‘lifestyle’ when they were killed.

Needless to say, Di was devastated by this news. Part of her reason for attending Salem was because she felt a need to be away from her ‘strict’ parents. She thought they would never accept her. But there they were, on their own, trying to understand their daughter’s struggles. Poor girl, she cried all Thursday morning with Jason and me…

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, while at the same time his heart went out to his American friend.

Ginny’s letter continued to talk about the American Thanksgiving tradition, the parades and the enormous turkey dinners nearly everyone had attended. They spent the afternoon with Jason’s brother and friends in Boston where, Ginny emphasized, Diane began to feel better and be her old self again. Friday was spent sightseeing around Boston and Ginny described a number of her favorite locations, usually having to do with clothing or food.

Closing the letter, Ginny mentioned the strange date discrepancy she’d found on Diane’s Birth Certificate. But as she was the only one interested in finding out why, nothing was looked into.

I miss you so much, Harry, I hope you’re surviving without me and I can’t wait to see you Sunday evening. Why don’t you Floo Ron and see what he’s doing?

Got to fly, the dinner bell is ringing…

“That from Ginny?� asked Hermione, walking into the room and plopping onto the settee next to Harry. Crookshanks followed her and sprawled out between them, watching Ankaa pick at Harry’s hair, trying to playfully annoy him. Handing her the letter, Harry pointed out the section concerning the diaries, then he shooed the Phoenix away. Hermione scanned through it and handed it back to Harry a minute later.

“How sad, she must feel awful. I hope she can work through this.�

“Yeah, I know it’s been dragging her down.�

Suddenly changing the subject, the bushy-haired witch handed Harry a familiar piece of parchment. “Look, Harry, I talked with Professor McGonagall a few minutes ago and she wants us to continue doing the rounds together.�

“Doesn’t like my idea of us alternating nights?�

“No, and she snapped at me about it, too. I think you better take your ideas to her yourself from now on.� Hermione also handed Ginny’s note back, but remained leaning forward.

“You’re doing it again, Hermione.�

“What?�

“That look on your face, whenever something’s bothering you.�

“What face?�

Harry smiled and pointed at her, “Your face, goofy! What’s on your mind?�

“All right, I surrender,� she laughed, “I was thinking about Ron. He hasn’t contacted us since returning. Maybe you should Floo him.�

“Why me?�

“Because he’s your best friend and you haven’t talked to him in months,� Hermione said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah? Well he’s your best friend too, and you haven’t talked to him in months, either.�

“It’s a little different now, Harry, you know that. I don’t want to give him any ideas.�

Harry was fiddling with Ginny’s letter, trying to think of a good come-back. “I have an idea. Why don’t you Owl Luna and have her drop a hint for him to stop by? You females are always plotting devious stuff like that.�

“No, Harry, we’re more subtle than that, at least by this age,� she laughed.

“Well, I’ll see, maybe later,� he said, looking back at Ginny’s letter, which meant the subject was closed and he didn’t want to talk about it any more. Hermione looked irritated and started to leave.

“Hang on,� Harry said unexpectedly. “How are you doing? You seem happier these past couple weeks.�

“I’m fine, but thanks for asking.�

“Sure, that’s what friends are for.�

Hermione stopped and fiddled with the hem of her jumper, reluctant to leave. “Harry, did you and Ginny make your Christmas holiday plans yet?�

“Er, sort of; she’s talking with her parents Sunday to see if we can spend some time with Remus and Tonks. I’m not very optimistic,� he finished dejectedly.

Hermione smiled, “Don’t give up hope. When I met with Molly I think she was more inclined to allow you two some time away… just not two weeks at a beach where everyone runs around starkers.�

Harry buried his face. “It wasn’t like that at all, Herms… Hermione. It was one afternoon, and Remus and I were too embarrassed to really appreciate the, ahem, situation.�

Covering her face, Hermione let out a giggle. “You poor thing, I imagine you were awfully uncomfortable.�

“Yeah, but I’m sure some day I’ll wish I was more bold.�

Hermione sat again and the Head Girl and Boy spent the next half-hour laughing at other more common situations they had experienced over the years which had caused them embarrassment. After a while, Hermione ran into her room and brought out two pictures Colin Creevey had given her. Both were of her, Harry and Ron, and both were complete opposites. In the first all three were in their school robes, very serious, looking as if they were being photographed for some sort of national security poster. In the other they were dressed in casual Muggle attire, acting silly and making faces at the camera, or each other.

“It’s a bit like our lives, don’t you think, Harry? One extreme or the other, without much in between.�

Harry looked again at the two pictures, one in each hand. “Yeah, I see what you mean.� He handed the pictures back. “How are you adjusting to the, er, war being over? I feel like I have to learn how to live all over again. Everything is so different, or maybe this is normal?� Harry said with a raised eyebrow and just a hint of sarcasm.

“I know what you mean, I haven’t thought much about the war being over; too many other things on my mind I guess.�

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

“Hermione,� Harry said hesitantly, awkwardly taking her hands, “I really am sorry things didn’t work out with you and Ron. I guess we all knew that this could happen if one of us got involved with someone.�

“It didn’t happen with you and Ginny,� she replied grumpily.

“You’re right. But she was an outsider, in a way.�

For a moment, Harry looked like he would cut off the conversation, and he began to pull his hands away, but Hermione held on to them firmly, but gently. Neither spoke, Harry with his face turned down, Hermione with hers looking over the top of her friend’s head. Then, clear out of the blue, he asked, “Remember our Fourth Year?�

“How could I forget it?� Hermione dead-panned, wondering what made Harry recall that.

“We all had such a bloody awful time, I mean even outside of Riddle and Cedric, you, me and Ron were always fighting about something. Classes were a mess with those gits from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang butting into everything. And when I think back at the Yule Ball, Merlin, what a disaster!�

This time Hermione burst out laughing, pointing at Harry, but still holding his hand. “You and Ron brought that upon yourself; waiting until the last moment to get a date. I can still hear Ron saying, ‘You’re a girl, Hermione’. I wanted to hex him right there.�

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, but when you think about it, you and Ron would have been an odd couple on the dance floor… that is, if he ever asked you out there.�

“You’re on dangerous ground, Harry. What’s that supposed to mean?�

“Oh, er—nothing, just, I mean…� Hermione was trying to keep a straight face watching Harry’s discomfort. “Ron was wearing those hideous dress robes from his Aunt Somebody, and you looked beautiful. A real life Beauty and the Beast sort of thing, you know?�

“Ok, you got yourself out of that one gracefully,� she admitted, blushing slightly. Neither seemed to realize that they were still holding hands, or neither wanted to break contact. “You know, Harry, I think that was the first time in my life I really felt positive about my appearance.� Ugh! Why did I say THAT?! She turned away, but Harry misread the action.

“Nah, Herms, you’re attractive… God, I said it again, sorry Hermione. But after that year you did seem to pay more attention to… you know, how you dressed and that sort of thing. Ginny was always telling Ron or me how she was jealous of your looks.�

“No!�

“Yeah, seriously; she thinks you’re more attractive than she is.�

There was no reply for a moment. “Well, I think Diane has us both outclassed.�

Harry started laughing, not taking the bait. “I don’t think I’m going to comment on that one.�

Hermione joined him laughing and then sighed. “Well, boy-who-can’t remember-my-name, I’m turning in, good night, Harry.�

“Night,� he answered, his head again turned down.

“Harry?�

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,� he said in embarrassment, letting go of her hands.

Hermione gazed at Harry for a moment as he turned to read Ginny’s letter again, and then headed for her room to get ready for bed. The week had been difficult and she was in no mood for revising or reading. Instead she took a long, hot bath and climbed into bed. Five minutes later she fell asleep looking curiously at her friend in one of Colin’s pictures. Herms? Ugh!


At Ginny’s insistence, Jason Graham sent her and Diane back to England by Portkey and they landed outside the Burrow early Sunday afternoon. Neither girl had much opportunity to collect their things before Mrs. Weasley was heard calling to them from the back stairs. A moment later, Ron, Percy, Bill, Fleur, and Mr. Weasley exited the house to welcome the visitors.

“Oh, Ginny!� was all Molly Weasley could say as she pulled her daughter into an embrace, one that Ginny was certain had become stronger as the years went by. “And Diane, welcome to our home!� She treated the American with nearly the same affection and it left her momentarily stunned.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,� she managed to gasp.

“Oh, now none of that ‘Mrs. Weasley’ business, it’s Molly and Arthur.�

“Come in, come in,� Arthur called as his sons greeted their sister and her friend.

Percy lingered behind to help levitate their bags and boxes when everyone else started for the house. The air was nippy and a dense and a penetrating fog was rolling in. “Diane,� Percy called out. “May I have a minute of your time?�

“Oh… sure Percy.� Immediately on guard, Diane wondered if another Weasley was going to ask her out. But her fear was quickly assuaged.

“I’ve never really had the opportunity to thank you in person for shielding me from V-Voldemort’s curse.�

“I received your note, Percy, and you’re very welcome. I just wish I could have done the same for Neville.�

“Yes, but I think that just wasn’t to be, the prophecy and all that. Anyway, I want to thank you and let you know if there’s ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.� Before Diane had a chance to say another word, Percy turned and headed into the house, the luggage trailing obediently behind him.

“Alright there, Diane?� Arthur called out the door.

“Yes, I’m coming.�


Ginny felt as if she were in a dream as she walked through the kitchen into the parlor where everyone was gathering. In the background she could hear her mother humming as she went back to cooking. Her father, after a loving greeting to his only daughter, sat in his favorite chair and took up the Daily Prophet. Bill and Fleur were speaking with Ron. And Ron! Her brother, how he had changed since she saw him just a short time before, but then he’d been mostly confined to a bed or limping through the streets of Paris. Now he was… different.

It might have been his height, (which seemed to increase every time she saw him.) At nearly two meters he was the tallest on the boys… of the men in her family by four or five centimeters. He was poised, confident, mature even; very unlike the Ron of two or three months before. Ginny wondered if it was because she had not seen him regularly for so long, or was it because he was away from school, or could it be the French girl?

Something on the mantle caught her eye: a new photograph among the many family pictures she was used to seeing. It was Ron and, what was her name… Antoinette? She walked over, passed her oldest brother who automatically took her hand as she passed, bringing a smile to her face. It was a Muggle photo, but it had so much life, so much feeling. Ron and Nettie were obviously happy together, happier than she had ever seen him with Hermione. She turned to Ron and interrupted his conversation with Bill and Fleur.

“Ron, how is Antoinette?�

Surprised by the intrusion, he answered casually, “She’s fine, I guess.� Then he finished telling Bill and Fleur about his experience on the beach with Nettie.

She’s fine, I guess?

Bill squeezed her hand gently, passing a nonverbal message. Ginny understood and waited until Ron finished talking. Then he turned to his little sister. “Yeah, Gin, we went our separate ways last week. She’s returning to Healing School for three years, then three more if she goes into surgery and, well, we just knew…� But he couldn’t finish, his face passed the message on. We’re just friends, and that’s fine with both of us.

Ginny threw an arm around Ron’s neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You look so happy.�

“I am,� he said simply. His face expressed it even better than words. But then it changed as he shouted out, “Luna!�

Ginny spun around and saw her classmate coming into the room. She had gone through a transformation since Ginny had seen her in September at Neville’s funeral. The best way she could describe her unusual friend would be… well, changed. But how would be more difficult to pinpoint. Not missing a beat, she ran over and gave her friend a hug.

“Luna! I didn’t know you were going to be here. You look fabulous.�

And she did, too. Her hair was a bit longer and completely straight. Its color had lightened noticeably, to where it was almost platinum. Gone were the odd earrings and bottle-cap necklace. She wore a plain but trendy pastel-blue skirt and a green jumper. Except for her face, Ginny would have been hard pressed to recognize her.

“Hi Ginny, thank you,� she said quietly, then looking past her she greeted Ron with a wave.

“I’m so glad you’re here,� Ginny proclaimed again, “I’ve missed you. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself.� And Luna was dragged off to the sofa.


Walking into the Burrow stunned Diane to her core. More than anything else it reminded her of going home after her first year at Salem. The Burrow was a bit messier, but it was also a lot homier than any place she had lived since she was orphaned. The overall, pervading sensation was that of family, love and acceptance.

Off to the side, Percy set her things in the hallway to the front door and excused himself. Behind her, Diane could hear Molly fussing over the stove. The room was filled with an amazing combination of wonderful odors: freshly baked bread, some sort of meaty stew, pumpkin and a floral smell that reminded her of Ginny.

In the adjoining room, the rest of the family could be heard talking until Ron called out Luna’s name. Diane’s head snapped up, she saw Molly watching her.

“Everything all right, dear?�

“Yeah, I’m fine; it was a rough trip, that’s all. Being here seems to have erased all that. You don’t have a permanent Cheering Charm on the house, do you?� she asked with a sly smile.

“No, dear, it’s just love.�

Diane had no idea how much her comment affected the Weasley matriarch. The friends of those she loved were her friends, too. Or, as in Harry’s case, they were considered part of the family. The distant American witch had fascinated her since they’d first met in late August. Her obvious affection for Harry had disturbed Molly a little at first, until Ginny set her straight. And her display of power, still largely inexplicable, was intriguing. Some of the details for that had been provided by Hermione earlier in the month, but she wondered what was really behind Jason Graham’s reason for sending her overseas.

With a flick of her wand, Molly sent a cup of steaming tea to the table. “Here you go. Try it with lemon and honey; it’s just the thing for a day like today.�

Smiling, Diane followed the suggestion and found she loved the flavor. “Thank you, Molly. And thank you for letting Ginny go with me, she was a big help.�

“Yes, when she isn’t acting like the twins she can be quite the comforter.�

Blast! I forgot about them… “Will Fred and George be here tonight?� She tried to make the question sound innocent.

“Oh, they wouldn’t miss a free meal, or their sister, for anything. Remus Lupin and Tonks will be stopping by also.�

Diane smiled at this news. She knew Harry felt particularly close to the werewolf, they had been nearly as inseparable on their two week vacation in Florida as Harry’d been with Ginny. Hermione had told her that there was a connection with Remus and Harry’s father, but she had not had the chance to get the whole story. Perhaps when I return…

Further delighting Molly, Diane rose with her tea to go and visit with Luna, but stopped to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Molly. You make me feel at home after just a few minutes.�


Back in the parlor, Ginny and Luna were seated on the sofa, Ginny holding her friend’s hands and trying to find out how she was really feeling.

“Honestly, Ginny, I’m much better now. Ron came by yesterday and we talked for a long time, about… things.�

“Neville?�

“Of course, but your brother must have talked for two straight hours about his time in France. He sounds like a different person.�

Ginny was gobsmacked. Ron talked for two hours? Intelligibly? With a girl? With LUNA? Maybe he’s changed more than I think... or she has! “I’ll bet.�

“He convinced me it was time to get back to school.�

“Luna, is this my brother Ron you’re talking about?� Ginny was certain either Ron or Luna were ill.

“Of course, silly; I can’t sit around here forever. But I have to admit, it will be strange being at school without Neville and some of the others.� A brief cloud of pain passed over Luna’s happy face for a moment, but it was obvious she was working through her loss.

Ginny pulled Luna into another embrace. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re coming back to Hogwarts, Luna. When will it be?�

“Tonight,� she said calmly.

Ginny laughed after a moment. “You had me going there, Luna. Seriously, when are you going to return?�

“Tonight.� And she pointed to the hallway. What had escaped Ginny’s attention earlier were two trunks and a travel case.

Ginny squealed, just as Diane walked into view. “Di, Luna’s coming back to school with us!�

“Super! Hi, Luna, good to see you again.� She leaned down and gave her a hug.

“Thanks, Diane. I can’t wait to get back and see everyone.� Again a brief pained look flashed over her face. “Now we just have to convince Ron to return also.�

Shaking her head, Ginny said, “I wouldn’t count on it, unless you know something we don’t.�

“Give me some credit, Ginny, I know lots of things you don’t know,� Luna said, jumping up and walking to Ron.

“Is it my imagination or is that a different Luna Lovegood?� asked Diane in wonder as she sat next to Ginny.

“I don’t know, she certainly has changed since… since September.�

Diane took a sip of her tea and remembered something. “I was about Luna’s age when my family was killed. God knows it can change a person.�

Ginny didn’t have an opportunity to respond as Luna returned with Ron in tow. He and Diane exchanged greetings and then the three girls began to talk about returning to Hogwarts, and how nice it would be if a certain former student joined them. Ron took it all in good naturedly, and had, in fact, anticipated their encouragements. But he made it clear that it wasn’t going to happen.

“Sorry, I just can’t right now. But why don’t we meet at Hogsmeade next weekend? Fred and George will be there to check on a possible store branch in town, and I told them I’d tag along.�

Ginny sighed, looking disappointed. “Ok, we can have lunch together. I’ll Owl you later this week.�

Conversations around the room continued until Molly called everyone in for dinner. As if on queue, Fred, George, Remus and Tonks all appeared and joined the crowded table. When the meal ended, Diane offered to show Molly a couple of her cleaning charms, insisting that, “Us lazy Americans find the simplest way to clean up after meals.�

Everyone returned to the parlor where Fred and George were mercilessly teasing Percy about something; Molly and Diane rapidly cleaned the kitchen. When it was nearly complete, Molly stepped out and Diane sensed someone walking up behind her. She cringed.

“Hi, how’er you doing?� Fred asked politely.

“Oh, fine, thanks,� answered Diane, turning to find Fred a half step closer than she expected. But he also saw he was invading her personal space and backed up.

“Still busy?�

“Huh? Oh, well…� Diane froze. She didn’t want to be impolite, but neither did she want to lie. “No, it’s getting better. Our schools are a lot different from yours. I have so much make-up work to do.�

Fred said nothing, at first, trying instead to read her body language. It said a lot. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Diane?�

“Not until you asked that question.� She gave a nervous titter.

“Ok, no hard feelings,� he said lightly, backing off slowly.

Diane stepped forward, her face falling. “Fred?�

“It’s ok Diane. I take rejection well.�

“I’m not rejecting you, Fred, I… I…� A fine situation you got yourself into now, Bradley. The twin had stopped and was looking at her with a confused expression. “I’m a lesbian, Fred,� she said quietly, so only they two would hear. Fred’s bottle of Butterbeer fell to the floor and broke, and his face went scarlet instantly.

“S-Sorry, I… I… bugger me blue!� Fred muttered, partly to himself. He drew his wand and cleaned up the mess on the floor. In the intervening few seconds, Molly had come into the room to investigate the noise.

“Everything all right in here?�

“Yeah, mum, I just dropped a bottle,� Fred explained. He muttered another apology to Diane and beat a hasty retreat.

Before she knew it, Diane was again alone in the kitchen. She stood leaning against the sink with just her thoughts. One more bridge crossed, she told herself. It was the first time she had told someone other than a friend about her orientation. It didn’t feel as good as she had hoped it would.


|-|-|-|-|


It was the worst headache he could ever recall, far more crippling than the migraines he’d experienced over the years. The flashes of light, the nausea and vomiting, the dizziness, were all rolled together. One hideously painful point in the center of his head radiated in pulses outwards, like shards of glass ripping through his grey matter. By mid-morning Michael Allen knew something was terribly wrong and he did something he’d never done before: he called for help.

The emergency crew arrived fifteen minutes later but had to break down the door to Allen’s flat. They found him lying on the floor where he had fallen minutes before. The room held nothing unusual and there was no immediate sign of foul play, one of the technicians saw, but he still radioed in for police to arrange for security for the broken door.

An initial examination of the man found nothing out of the ordinary, his blood pressure was normal, as were his heart rate and temperature. The rank smell of vomit was the only sign of something amiss and they assumed a bad case of food poisoning. Within minutes Allen was in the ambulance and on his way to the emergency room of St. Thomas Hospital.

Within Michael Allen’s brain, the magic that had erased the memories of Harry Potter had also caused a tiny, genetically weakened blood vessel to rupture. The cranial vascular accident, or CVA, was essentially a tiny stroke, in this case it occurred on the outer layer of his brain. The escaping blood had enough room to expand between the surface of the organ and the dura, its whitish, protective covering, and no other damage ensued from the slight increase in pressure. By the time Allen had received a CAT scan, the bleed had sealed itself and his own body was repairing the damage. Still, the scan did show the doctors that there had been an ‘event’ and Allen was admitted into the intensive care unit until they could confirm, with a second CAT scan, that the bleeding had stopped.

That second scan, the following morning, confirmed the doctor’s hope that the stroke was very minor; their patient’s complete control of all his motor and cognitive skill indicated a complete recovery. But there was one thing that had both the doctors and Allen himself puzzled: he could remember nothing of the past few weeks except that he had been out of town. The doctors knew this was a possible side-effect of a CVA, but the magnitude of the memory loss was unusual. Other than the missing memories, though, Allen was not concerned and received assurances that he could go home in a couple days if there were no further complications.


A taxi delivered the journalist at the front entrance to his apartment building Sunday afternoon, and after collecting his mail he settled back into his flat and began to consider his options. Vague memories of the previous few weeks had begin to reappear in bits and pieces, but it was still impossible to make any sense of them. First he had to clean up the mess he’d made days before, the pungent smell of dried sick filled the room. And then there was a barely perceptible, but annoying, clicking sound he could not identify, it eventually drove him to an early bedtime.


The following morning, he began calling a number of publications he wrote for, to see if they had any interesting assignments. The reception he received at every one ranged from cool to rude. He knew he was disliked, but he had never been put off like this before and he finally asked one of the people why they were being so rude.

“Because you called us just a few days ago, that’s why!�

Another lapse of memory, he realized, and it explained the annoyed answers to his inquiries.

Putting around the flat was driving Allen crazy, but he had little desire to do any work that might cause his head to hurt more. After considering watching the TV or surfing around the web, he chose the latter and booted up his laptop.

Nothing happened.

His limited knowledge of how a PC worked told him only that the problem was likely serious. He wrote out a memo to himself to have the machine serviced at a local repair shop he had patronized a few months earlier when a virus infected the same machine on a brief trip to London. Satisfied that plan A would not work, he turned to plan B and headed to the TV, and a rerun of a Black Adder episode.


“Mr. Allen, isn’t it?� the teen behind the counter of PC Repairs said when Digger began to ask for assistance the following morning.

“Yes, my laptop seems to have… crashed at some point over the past few days. Can you have a look?�

“No problem, Mr. A., let’s see what you got.� Allen handed the machine and power supply to the same boy who had assisted him months before and watched as he expertly set up the laptop and pressed the power button. A moment later he whistled in amazement. “What’d you do to this thing?� he asked, an accusing look on his face. He placed a three and a half inch floppy into the drive and restarted the machine again. It whirred and beeped a few times, and the lad, Billy, kept giving Allen dirty looks over the edge of the screen.

“Jeez, Mr. A., did you run this thing through the laundry or something?�

“No, why?�

“Well, it’s seriously hosed, dude… er—Mr. A.. And I don’t mean, like, the hard drive is wiped, I mean everything is gone. The drive, all the firmware, it’s toast… with jam.�

“With jam, eh? How could that happen, it was just sitting at my desk for a few days?�

“Well, I hope you had your backups stored far away from this thing, because only a heavy-duty magnet could do this kind of damage, and everything within a half meter would be ruined, too. You do have backups, don’t you?� Billy looked skeptically at Allen.

“No, but it doesn’t matter too much, I store all my notes in books and on tape.�

“Hey, whatever floats your boat. Here you go.� Billy closed the machine and started to hand it back.

“Can’t you fix it? You know, reload… whatever makes it run.�

“No, sir. When I said everything was gone, I meant everything. Even the LCD has been fried. You can keep the power pack and use our trash can for the rest, because it’s nothing but junk now.�

“Ok, what’s the tab… Billy?� he said, checking the boy’s name tag.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Mr. A., save your twenty quid for a new machine.�


Back at his flat, Allen piddled around for a while, trying unsuccessfully to stave off boredom. The truth was, however, he could not sit still very long without becoming antsy, so he sat at his desk and considered the pile of notebooks before him. With a sigh of frustration he picked up the top one and opened to the second page – he never wrote anything on the first. Then he turned a few more pages, and then flipped through the entire book. Nothing. It was as empty as his laptop.

Odd, I usually set all my used books in that pile… Five minutes later he was even more confused, having leafed through the entire stack and found nothing. He sat back and scratched his chin, a bit of a headache starting to push its way into his consciousness. Drumming his fingers on the pile of books, he noticed the handset of his Dictaphone jammed between the edge of the desk and the wall. He freed it and set it off to the corner. The clicking sound, which he had nearly forgotten about, almost immediately stopped. Allen realized it was the tape from the dictation machine that had been causing the noise. While the mike was wedged between the desk and wall, the RECORD button had been depressed; now it was free and the tape stopped running.

Chapter 10 – The Sting

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.

Breakfast Monday morning arrived far too early for Ginny and Diane; their bodies, having just adjusted to eastern United States time, now had to readjust to Greenwich Mean Time. At the Gryffindor table, Ginny collapsed onto the bench next to Harry and looked up to see Diane nodding-off into her cold cereal. Seven o’clock in the morning felt like two o’clock to the girls.

At the far end of the Hall, the Ravenclaw table was abuzz with chatter as Luna Lovegood returned to her usual seat. Harry watched her closely until he saw Hermione was a step ahead, having planted herself near her friend. But their concern was for naught. If Luna’s fresh image hadn’t made her more acceptable, her role in the final days of Voldemort were enough to garner her new respect. After hovering near Luna for a few minutes, Hermione returned to sit across from Harry and confirm what they had hoped.

“She seems fine, Harry. And the others have welcomed her enthusiastically. I’m sure she’ll be ok,� the Head Girl informed him discreetly. Harry nodded his thanks and returned to his toast and tea. He had taken only one more bite when McGonagall called the Hall to attention.

“Students, I am pleased to present to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Madam Jacqueline La Porte.�

At the far left end of the head table was a tall, blonde woman; she stood briefly and gave the Headmistress a respectful half bow.

“I would like to speak with Mr. Potter and Miss Bradley following breakfast this morning. And I would also like to welcome Miss Lovegood back to Hogwarts.� There was a short round of applause throughout the Hall, the Ravenclaw table supplying the most enthusiastic.

“What’s this about, Harry?� Diane mumbled, her eyes half-closed.

“Don’t know. We can’t be in trouble, you’ve been away,� he kidded. Diane tried to flick a spoonful of cold cereal at Harry but it backfired and ended up in her own lap.

Ginny and Hermione looked at each other, shaking their heads.

“What?�

“Harry, you have to be kidding,� Ginny said, exasperatedly, “I’ll bet McGonagall wants you two to work with the new Defense Professor. And does she look familiar to you?�

“Now that you mention it, she does… but I can’t place her. She’s from the continent, that’s all Remus knew about her. I think he said she was from Italy.�

As the students began to get up and head off to class, Harry said goodbye to Ginny and walked around the table to Diane. He pulled a lock of her hair out of her cereal bowl, cleaning it with a quick cleansing spell.

“Come on, Di, duty calls.�

A piteous groan was the only response. But when Harry tried to take her arm, Diane finally gave in, mumbled something rude and rose to her feet, looking every bit as exhausted as she sounded.

The Headmistress was speaking with Professor La Porte when Diane and Harry approached, but stopped to introduce the students. “Mr. Potter, Miss Bradley, this is Madam La Porte, our new Defense teacher.� The three shook hands and exchanged polite greetings. Then McGonagall continued. “Potter, I would like you and Miss Bradley to schedule time with Professor La Porte to discuss ideas for a revised Defense curriculum. You both have a number of special abilities that need to be explored, documented and shared with the students.�

“Yes, professor, but er—wouldn’t someone like Hermione be better suited for this?� Harry asked.

“If this were simply writing lesson plans I would agree, but Miss Granger is busy enough as it is, and your input deals more with practical applications than planning. Now, if there are no further questions, I’ll leave you three to arrange a schedule.� McGonagall started to turn away then stopped, looked at Diane and said sternly, “Miss Bradley, students who are allowed special privileges should be fully awake afterwards, or no future considerations will be made.�

“Uh, yes, ma’am,� Diane said sleepily. As soon as McGonagall turned to depart, she stuck her tongue out comically. Harry stifled a laugh by covering his mouth.

“Ahem.� Professor La Porte cleared her throat. When she began to speak it was with a heavy French accent. “I hope I will earn equal respect, Miss Bradley.�

“Oh, sorry, I was kidding.�

“I know; so was I.� La Porte said coolly. “I would like to meet with both of you during your scheduled Defense periods this week. If you check your timetables, you will notice that all Defense classes have been cancelled until next Monday. I want a clear idea of what I’m dealing with, and you both, Mr. Potter in particular, can help me with that. And Mr. Potter, were you planning on reinstituting your Defense club this year?�

“Er—no, ma’am. I don’t have the time and, well, we’ve had a competent teacher so far.�

“Yes, Remus Lupin struck me as a fine instructor; we’ll speak about that later.� La Porte paused and smirked at Harry. “So if I do see you restarting the club I can assume you’re finding my tutelage unsatisfactory?�

Harry’s mouth dropped opened, and he had placed his foot into it firmly this time. “N-No, Professor, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that…� Harry looked to Diane for some support but she just shrugged with a sleepy look on her face.

“Please don’t concern yourself, Mr. Potter, I understand the reasons for what you did two years ago; I would have done the same thing.� Picking up her things, the new professor bid the two good morning and departed.

“It’s amazing, Harry, isn’t it? The way you can find the wrong things to say. You’re almost as good at it as Ron.� Diane turned to leave.

No kidding.


When Harry and Diane entered Remus’ old office, now Professor La Porte’s office late that afternoon, Remus was, to Harry’s surprise, there also. But he only stayed long enough to turn over a few notes and ask Harry to come by the Room of Requirement when he was finished.

The first meeting went smoothly and Harry found it intellectually challenging, something he could say about few of his Defense classes over the years. But more importantly, he felt like he was making a concrete contribution. When it was over, La Porte asked that Diane remain behind; Harry excused himself and left to find Remus.

As directed, Harry caught up with him in the Room of Requirement after a brief stroll in front of the invisible door, (under the watchful eyes of Barnabas the Barmy,) and thinking of a place to speak with his friend. The Room had set itself as a comfortable sitting room and Remus waved Harry in; he had been lounging on a sofa, still recuperating from his last Transformation two nights before.

“Harry, how are you?� Remus began casually.

“Great, Remus… why?�

“A couple things, Harry. You haven’t been to Gringotts since you turned seventeen, have you?� Harry shook his head. “You need to stop by during the Christmas Holidays. Now that you’re of age you have full access to you family vault, so you should know what’s in there. Also, I wanted to speak with you about something, er, sort of personal.� He saw Harry’s face fall. “Nothing like that, Harry,� he chuckled. “Er—Iwashopingyouwouldbemybestman.� Remus blurted out so rapidly he was barely understandable.

“Sorry, your what?�

“Best man, Harry. I, er, proposed to Tonks and we’re getting married.� Remus was now standing, pacing nervously in front of Harry. The teen jumped up and embraced his jittery friend.

“That’s brilliant, Remus! And yes, sure, I accept. Er—thanks for asking me. I’ve never been a best man before; only been to a couple weddings for that matter.� Harry asked about his role as best man and was briefed on the general responsibilities and promised more information soon. As their conversation continued, Remus’ jumpiness and hesitation diminished and Harry could tell he was happy.

“The wedding won’t be until spring, so there’s plenty of time to prepare,� he assured Harry when he again brought up the responsibilities of a Best Man.

Harry relaxed and asked his friend something he had forgotten about the past few weeks. “Say, Remus, do you have any pictures of my parents? The ones Moody and Hagrid gave me are great, but I was wondering if there are more.�

Remus sat back with a look of concentration on his face. “I might have a few, but I think I know where we could find more, and I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this earlier. I’ve never cleaned out Sirius’ old office at Grimmauld Place. I know he had a lot at one time; let me poke around and see if I can find anything. Oh, and Harry, I expect an Owl any day from Molly and Arthur about you and Ginny joining us for part of the Christmas holiday.� Harry’s face lit up at hearing this. �Feel free to invite Diane, too, unless she has family in the States?�

“Nah, just an aunt and uncle. She likes them but they’re a lot older and don’t have any children. I’ll mention it to her; I think she’d be happy to join us, even if it is Grimmauld Place.�

Thanking Lupin again, Harry returned to his room excited about the wedding and the holidays, more signs that life was returning to normal.


|-|-|-|-|


Michael Allen sat on the edge of his bed after a restless night. He’d had little sleep, and the little he had was filled with nightmares about his experience the previous week. The Dictaphone tape had been played, rewound and played dozens of times to the point where Digger had it nearly memorized. And while he could understand each word spoken, he could not comprehend their cryptic meanings. In his world of scientific principles there was little room for the… occult?

But it couldn’t be! he kept telling himself, occasionally looking around the room and expecting a Candid Camera crew to jump out at him. But it was! It is! “Shut up, Allen, you’re daft,� he muttered to himself. But he wasn’t insane; the tapes showed that he had considered insanity the rationale for the odd occurrences he had been experiencing – the ones he was experiencing now sounded like one he’d been having in his erased memory. He glanced at his desk, thinking back on the words of the two men who had entered his room.

“Blimey, Marvin, you don’t use a binding spell, use a bloody stunner!�

And later, “Be sure you erase every note, I don’t want to cross the boss-lady. You better thank Merlin that Shacklebolt isn’t still part of this. He’d have your hide.�

There were dozens of these brief comments throughout the tape, recorded accidentally, surreptitiously, but few made any sense. ‘Spells’ and ‘Petrificus Totalis’ or some such nonsense, and ‘Stupefying.’ The distant mumblings, obviously spoken over his unconscious body, sounded vaguely fiendish in nature. But one comment in particular made his blood run cold: “She wants us to stop by next Friday to be sure there’s no fresh Harry Potter material.� Next Friday is in two days!

And who the blazes is this Harry Potter? Allen agonized. And why was someone, or some group, trying to keep him away? How were they making him forget? Drugs? Obviously! Probably what caused that CVA, too, he reasoned. The recording indicated that he had been making some significant progress in his search for the man (boy?), and mentioned the town of Godric’s Hollow, and the local Police station where he’d made a significant discovery about Potter’s parent’s home: 4 Flower Lane.

The notes on the Dictaphone made references to other tapes holding information; Allen could find nothing but gaps in his records.

But where to go from here?

Allen had been obsessed with finding Harry Potter for weeks; of course, he had no memory of this now, other than the scraps of information on the tape. But he realized there may be a bigger fish to catch. Potter was, apparently, only one cog in a great wheel of something very, very strange, probably some Satanic cult… he was certain. And right now the only way to find out about the ‘bigger picture’ was through the two weirdoes who would be returning to his flat in a couple days.

So Michael Allen sat at his desk and began to draw up a plan. It had to be simple and effective, and he had to have help. PC Repairs.


“Hi Mr. Allen. Get that new laptop yet?�

“No, not yet, Billy. Say, if you haven’t taken your lunch break today I thought I would treat you and talk about a project I’m working on.�

Billy looked startled for a moment. “Oh, sure… just let me tell the boss I’m headed out.� Half a minute later Billy appeared with his jacket and another kid to occupy the seat behind the counter. “Where to, Mr. A.?�

Thirty minutes later, Billy and Michael were finishing their lunch. Allen had laid out his plan carefully, and most of the time Billy just nodded while chewing his fish and chips. When finished, the journalist asked what Billy thought.

“Sounds mega-bogus, Mr. A., I mean, really, dude, there’s something important you aren’t telling me,� he poked Allen in the chest. “That’s obvious, and I don’t want any trouble with the law.�

Carefully constructing his response, Allen tried again. “You’re right, Billy, I am leaving out some important details. Do you know what I do for a living?� The young man shook his head. “I’m a journalist, and a good one. I can’t tell you everything about this story I’m working on (because I don’t know what the hell it is myself!) but I promise you, it’s big, and it might be a little dangerous, too. The people I want to catch are very, eh… powerful, I think, and they won’t give up.� Allen stopped to think about how much more he should reveal. “I know that some time Friday they will be coming back to my flat. If I can catch them in the act I’ll have the evidence I need to take this to Scotland Yard.� Yeah, sure, Allen, like you would! “I’m being as up front with you, Billy, as I can, so this is all I can tell you right now. Will you trust me?�

It was just too much for the technician to resist. The money was excellent, the job easy, pretty much, and Allen’s vague hint that he might have his name in the papers was the icing on the cake. “Ok, Mr. Allen…�

“Billy, please call me Digger.�

“Ok, Digger. I have a couple ideas that can make your plan better…� As Billy explained, Allen smiled and admired the lad’s inventiveness. The next two days would be very busy, but the rewards could be substantial.

It was time for Michael Allen, and Billy the techie, to work a little magic of their own.


|-|-|-|-|


To say that the atmosphere in the Ministry of Magic was tense would be a gross understatement. When Arthur Weasley arrived Monday morning, he made it a point to enter the building with Percy; two wands are better than one. He truly didn’t know what to expect. The Assembly had broken up last week with the Wizengamot meeting to select the new Minister of Magic, but there had been no news of anything over the weekend. Almost half the Ministry was still staffed with wizards, witches and squibs of highly questionable loyalty, remnants of Voldemort’s influence. And many were all keenly aware that their fate was largely due to the two red-haired men walking by.

Percy wished his father good day as they went their separate ways, and Arthur proceeded straight to Phoebus Penrose’s office to check on developments. When he arrived, Kingsley Shacklebolt was present. He knocked on the door frame and was waved in by Penrose who had his nose deep in a piece of parchment. Arthur nodded at Kingsley and received a silent greeting in response. He set his things down and took a seat.

“Very well, Shacklebolt, keep it up, at least until we have a new Minister.� Receiving a nod as a dismissal, Kingsley exited, closing the door behind him. Arthur waited for Penrose to speak.

“Have a good weekend, Arthur?�

Startled by the unexpected personal question, he only nodded.

“That’s wonderful, because it may be the last one you have for a while,� Penrose replied with a grimace. “As of today you are released from all your current responsibilities and, I ahem…� Penrose cleared his throat and placed a look of disgust on his face that had Arthur concerned. “…promote you to Minister of Internal Affairs. Hold your questions, Arthur, it gets worse. You are also commissioned by the Wizengamot to the new post of Minister for Muggle Relations. Congratulations.� Penrose dragged out the last word, laced thick with sarcasm, and Arthur knew why.

For hundreds of years, the Ministry had shunned any sort of formal liaison with the Muggle world. Their reasoning was believed sound, up to a point. As Fudge had experienced a few years before, some sort of interaction was inevitable under extraordinary circumstances. The note from the Muggle Prime Minister the week before had forced the Ministry into action. The Muggles had the Wizarding world over a barrel, at least in England. They outnumbered the magical folk more than ten to one, (something the Muggle leader did not know,) but more importantly he was aware that the Wizarding world desired anonymity; any confrontation would only result in the demise of their cherished way of life. And the specter of slavery was not unrealistic, many still believed. Wizards were paranoid that Muggles would somehow seek to control them to do their bidding, wage their wars and provide them with their every desire.

Yet something had to be done, and soon. The war had been devastating to the Wizarding economy in England. Initial rough estimates put revenues down by almost seventy percent. That was the anticipated direct result of the thrashing the Purebloods had taken in the war and the loss of “payments� made to the Ministry for favors by Pureblood families like the Malfoys. This was more than offset by the seizure of Death Eater’s family’s accounts in Gringotts, as well as their property in England and around the world. But all that money was being held in legal limbo until the courts could be reestablished and cases brought forth. Gilbert Wimple’s association with Bailey Snodgrass and McKenzie Twittle proved that the court battles would be long, bloody and costly.

The Ambassadorship Arthur could understand, and probably even enjoy, but Minister of Internal Affairs? That had a faintly fascist undertone and was not at all appealing. And though the position was new, the idea behind it was not. Since Grindelwald, most European Magical governments had established some sort of internal security or police department to deal with internal issues, apart from the normal governmental channels. But the fear of a secret police organization, such as Grindelwald controlled in Germany, had, so far, made the organizations generally toothless. Boris Titov’s group in the Balkans was an exception, but it was also an example of the problem with the concept. The effort it put into creating the Soul Bottles was enormous, and though they played a key role in the victory over Voldemort, it left a very bad taste in everyone’s mouth. No one at Hogwarts that September would ever forget the spine-chilling screams heard when Lucius and Draco Malfoy’s bottles were destroyed by Bellatrix Lestrange.

When Arthur presented his objections, Penrose was sympathetic. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Weasley, the only significant responsibility you will have over the next year will be overseeing the formal investigation into the return of Voldemort. Here.� The acting Minister handed him a brief parchment explaining what the new Minister for Internal Affairs’ responsibilities would encompass. It looked tedious, but that was better than setting up a new Gestapo in London.

“Who will be taking my current job?�

“No decision, yet. Now about the Emissary job: talk with Foreign Affairs and see how they structure their department... then do the exact opposite.� Both wizards laughed. “Obviously, your first responsibility will be to contact the Muggle Prime Minister… what’s his name again?�

“Blast, Phoebus, Anthony Blast.�

“Right, set up an appointment and try to stall him as much as possible. But don’t irritate him, either.�

“Yes, sir. Any ideas about why we still don’t have a Minister of Magic yet?�

“Oh, I have a lot of ideas…� Penrose said sarcastically. I believe the Freedoms and Liberals are just fighting over their new authority. Neither party has been in power for decades and they probably just forgot how to get things done. I suppose you and I are to blame for that. But… I suspect the biggest reason is because they have complete power until they elect the Minister, then they have to share it.� Penrose smiled a very knowing grin. “I’ll come by as soon as I hear anything.�

Arthur nodded and picked up his things, seeing Penrose was dismissing him.

“Good luck, Arthur.�


|-|-|-|-|


“Awake, are you? How are you feeling today?�

“I feel like I was blown up and pieced back together,� Charlie replied, as he had since being released to Tré’s care a few days earlier. Both smiled at the joke. Looking like he was trying to clear his vision, he rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up. “Are we still in Vernon?�

“We were never in Vernon, love, we’re at my flat in Paris.� Tré watched her friend carefully, he had shown signs of disorientation every morning, and this one was no different.

“That’s right... forgot. Help me to the loo?�

“Certainly.�

Tré sat Charlie up in bed and put his slippers on, then he slid off the edge of the mattress, trying to balance himself. Stooped over due to the thick, restrictive scar tissue across his abdomen, back and chest, he held firmly to her arm and hobbled to the adjoining room. It was only the second day he could walk there, but he was determined to never use another bed pan. When finished, Tré helped him brush his teeth and led him back to bed.

“The nurse will be here soon, love, and I have to get to the office. There’s a letter from your mother on the table. Would you like company for lunch?� Charlie smiled, and closing his eyes, drifting back to sleep before answering. Leaning over, Tré gave him a kiss and caressed his cheek. You definitely a shower or bath tonight, she promised him silently.

The nurse arrived as Tré was preparing to leave. The short, overweight French woman asked about Charlie’s night and gave Tré a concerned look when she was told about the continued morning disorientation.

“Should I be worried about this?�

The nurse hesitated. “I’m not sure. The doctor’s report said his heart was stopped about four minutes. That’s the limit, anything after that almost always causes brain damage.�

Tré closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and fought back her emotions. “When will we know for certain?� she asked, sniffling.

“We may never, but his motor skills returning this quickly are a good sign. And his internal organs seem to be healing well. Did you massage the ointment into his scars last night?�

“Yes, but they are very tight and it pains him...�

“I understand, Minister, but they must be worked, every day. Do you understand?� Nodding, Tré thanked the woman again and left for her job.


Charlie’s lunch had progressed from a thin chicken broth to a rich potato and egg dish with bits of ham. It was a small step but it felt good to have something solid in his stomach. Tré had told him the previous week about the terrible injuries he had suffered, about Nettie’s refusal to let him die when his heart had stopped, and her bold action in pushing the other Healer to walk her through his gut to repair a torn artery. He was grateful to have the chance to speak with her, and thank her, before she left for Nice. Still, he was going to have a long recovery; there’s only so much potions, magic and Healers could do.

Another spoon of food found its way into his mouth by Tré’s hand. Both smiled as she fed him for he was entirely capable of feeding himself, and Tré knew this, too. When he first protested, she insisted, saying, “I never had any children to take care of, so you will have to do.�

“You might still, Tré, you’re only thirty-eight, yes?� But she just smiled and sent another bite of food his way.

“How’s the job?�

“Tedious... different... it weighs very heavily, everything I do.� Tré put the bowl and spoon down, shaking her head. “I’m not just making decisions for a few people, now it’s the entire country. I was lucky I wasn’t kicked out for appointing Rousseau to head the Ministry battle.�

“How could you know? He was supposed to be a fighter, that’s what everyone heard.�

“Well, they were wrong, weren’t they? And if I had bothered to speak with a few of his subordinates I may have found these weaknesses sooner.�

“Rubbish, Tré, how could you have found out? You had one day to make a decision...�

“And it was the wrong one, Charlie! Politics is like… like handling dragons: one false move, no matter how innocent or justifiable it may be, can spell doom.� Here was an analogy Charlie could identify with. He nodded and gave in as Tré stroked his cheek, an action he loved and that calmed him. “I must go now, my dear, you rest and I will walk you around more this evening.�

“I need a bath, too. Help me with that, will you?�

Tré gave Charlie a kiss and turned to the nurse entering the room. “I believe Mr. Weasley is feeling better today.�


|-|-|-|-|


“But it’s perfect, Digger!�

“You bloody well better be joking, Billy. Do you know what happened to me the last time those bastards paid me a visit?� Billy didn’t, and said so. “I had a stroke, and spent three days in the hospital, not to mention having forgot a month of my life.�

“Well… you don’t look like you had a stroke,� the tech offered weakly.

“I got better; fortunately it was very minor. Whatever drugs they used I don’t want them to use again.� Allen was game for Billy’s ideas, up to a point, but actually being in the apartment when the two goons arrived was stretching it a bit.

“Ok, Digger, how about this?�

Allen groaned, it was getting to be late on the Thursday before the goons, as they had taken to call the two men, were to visit again. He made a motion with his hand.

“They came on Friday night last time, right? Right then, they’ll probably do the same tomorrow. Let me rig another camera in the hallway. When they come to the door I’ll alert you…�

“Billy, I’m not going to be in there when they arrive…�

“Then how are you going to find out what they did to you?� he said reasonably. “I could… let me think. I’ll watch them and if they start after you I’ll run into the room with this.� He held out an evil looking metal device which Allen had noticed earlier in the day.

“What the hell is that?�

“A cattle prod.�

“Where did you get a cattle prod?�

“Give me some credit! I work in an electronics shop so I made one. It’s good for a six hundred volt shock or two… never really tested it though,� Billy admitted.

“Look Billy, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I really don’t want this to go bad. I’ll watch with you from across the hall.�

Sighing, Billy almost gave in. “Right then, I’ll do it.�

“You’ll do what?�

“I’ll play you, Digger. We’re about the same size.�

“Billy… no, if they discover you aren’t me it could be dangerous. And besides, I don’t know how to work all these gadgets.�

“Digger, one of us has to be in there or they won’t do anything. From what you told me they are not just looking for notes about this Potter berk. They may just turn and leave if you aren’t there.�

Allen bowed his head, shaking it slowly, like a horse might shake off a fly on its nose. He finally gave in. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy was spot on. “Ok, Billy, I’ll do it, but I must be insane. The moment they look like they’re doing something odd, get you and your cattle prod in here.�

“Right, good show! This really is the best way, and you can try to talk to them; maybe you can draw out something important.� Shaking his head, Allen went to kip for a while.

When he awoke an hour later, Billy had made the finishing touches on all the electronic recording devices in the flat and corridor. Then the two sat down and recorded a message to themselves about what they were doing. Billy had insisted that it would look good for them if Scotland Yard needed the details about what happened before the break-in. Digger agreed. Finally, nearing midnight, Billy retired to the empty flat across the hall from Allen’s and made a final check of all the equipment. They were ready.


Friday morning and afternoon passed with no sign of the goons. Billy was trembling from all the caffeine he’d consumed and his eyes felt like they were on fire from staring at the four monitors arrayed in front of him. But more hours passed before anything happened, and what happened had a far more profound affect on waking Billy than the caffeine. At ten fifteen, he noticed two strangely dressed men outside Digger’s door. I must have blinked, they weren’t there a second ago… He pressed the button they’d rigged to alert the journalist and saw in another monitor Allen swivel around in his chair and stand. The video and sound recorders were all running.

Both men drew weapons from beneath their cloaks, Billy saw, though they did not look very intimidating, more like drum sticks. They looked at each other and pointed them at the door. When a yellow glow came out, Billy dropped his tea in his lap and froze; fortunately the tea was not hot. What the HELL are they doing?

Inside the flat, Allen had a distinctly nauseating feeling of deja vous. His door spring open and two men stepped inside, but they were obviously startled to see their target advancing on them and forgot to close the door completely. Digger, for all his worth, could not think of a single thing to say, even after all the scenarios he had rehearsed with Billy.

As one of the men raised his hand, the one bearing a stick, Allen held his hands up in surrender and spat out the first thing that came to his mind. “Stop, I’m one of you!�

It worked, for a moment at least. The threatening hand lowered a few centimeters and the man spoke, suspicion clear in his voice. “Not bloody likely. Well, where’s your wand? And be quick about it.�

Allen’s luck ran out at that point and no amount of quick thinking could disguise the look of complete confusion that came over his face.

“Ah, I thought so; sorry, old bean.� The right goon raised his hand again and started to speak the stupefying spell. Something else came out instead. “Stupif-Ahhhhhhhh.�

Digger saw Billy standing behind the crumpled intruder, the cattle prod still in his hand. In an instant, Allen closed on the other man, just three steps away, and leapt at him. At the same instant, Billy raised the cattle prod, but before their eyes the man muttered something indecipherable, spun and disappeared. With his momentum unchecked, Allen plowed into the cattle prod and Billy. Aside from falling to the ground, both men were uninjured and Allen was grateful that the charge in the shocking devise had been expended on its first target.

The journalist lay awkwardly atop Billy, both too stunned to move.

“Digger…?� Billy whispered.

The older man pushed himself off the younger. “What the hell?� he said in return.


|-|-|-|-|


“How’d’you like your first Quidditch game, Di?� asked Harry, his voice barely audible, muted by his scarf and the stiff wind.

“Interesting; are they usually that short?�

“No, not usually,� Ginny answered. “But we had a good incentive to end the game quickly.�

Diane didn’t have to ask Ginny what she meant. The game had been moved up from eleven o’clock to nine o’clock due to the approaching bad weather, and even the American knew it would have been nearly impossible to play in the wind and fog that had showed up only moments after Harry had caught the Snitch, ending the game. Hermione and Luna joined them as they passed the castle and followed the path down to Hogsmeade.

“You’re in for a treat, Di, Hogsmeade is unique in all of England,� Ginny said. “It’s the only completely Wizarding village left in the country. You don’t have to keep watch out for Muggles here.�

“Where are we meeting the guys?� Diane asked Harry.

“Zonko’s, or what used to be Zonko’s. They went out of business a couple years ago. But that’s not until noon; we have a lot of other places to show you first.�

The five friends spent the morning window shopping and ducking into a store now and then to thaw out. It was still a couple weeks until winter began, but the northern winds and chilling mists made long outdoor exposure painful. Each showed Diane their favorite store (or stores) and the American marveled at the range of products available to them. “Nothing like this exists in the States,� she said to them at each shop, amazement and delight plain in her voice.

As noon approached, Harry noticed Hermione acting jittery, obviously nervous about seeing Ron for the first time in two and a half months. He, on the other had, couldn’t wait to see his best friend. Luna was quiet and spoke mostly with Diane and Ginny; the memories of other times in the village were throwing her some emotional curves. But it was, by and large, a fun morning. For the first time in years they didn’t have to be concerned about a Death Eater attack.

Harry felt Ron before he saw him. Passing a corner just a block from the old Zonko’s store, the tall read-head pounced on his friend from behind a wooden fence and punched him playfully on his arm. “Put that down!� Ron exclaimed as he saw his friend’s wand come up quickly to meet the tip of his nose. Then the former student enveloped his former roommate in an affectionate embrace. “Sorry I missed the match, Harry. Heard you won.� Then, without so much as a hello to the females, Ron draped his arm around Harry’s shoulder and led him off to Fred and George who were waiting a block up the street. Behind, and off to the side, the girls laughed at the display of affection, and even Hermione noted that they were both instantly happier to be together. When she caught a flash of Ron’s eyes she smiled, but he didn’t spend enough time looking to notice it.

By the time everyone had congregated around the twins, Ron had released Harry and started introducing the two property managers they had been meeting with. He came to Hermione last and snapped his fingers repeatedly, feigning an inability to recall her name. Harry and Ginny laughed at the inside joke, Hermione smiled and introduced herself.

“And remember that name, all,� Ron announced, “Hermione Granger, top marks in all her years at Hogwarts and bound for greatness.� The words alone might have sounded vaguely patronizing to an outsider, but Hermione knew otherwise. She locked eyes with her former boyfriend and shyly mouthed a thank you. As Fred and George led everyone off to lunch at The Three Broomsticks, Ron intentionally lagged behind and took Hermione’s hand as she walked past, pretending not noticing him. He waited a few seconds before speaking.

“Hi there.�

“Hello, Ron. Thanks for the kind words.�

“Only the truth.� Ron looked suddenly lost for words.

“How have you been? We heard some things through Ginny…�

“Nah, don’t believe all that rubbish,� he laughed. Hermione smiled and conceded.

“I swear you’ve grown taller.�

“Oy, ‘Mione, now you sound like my mum!� Both laughed at that. Inside, Hermione’s heart was beating so hard she was certain Ron could see it through her jumper and coat. How long has it been since he called me that?

Then Ron’s face became serious. “I… I’ve missed you, ‘Mione.� He took her hands and removed her thick mittens, lacing their fingers together.

This action was so completely unexpected that Hermione panicked, almost pulling away. “I’ve missed you, too, Ron,� she said hastily, trying to present a neutral front. Ron’s face showed little emotion.

“Lunch?�

“Of course,� she laughed, nodding to the others walking towards The Three Broomsticks.

“No, I mean, would you have lunch with me?� Ron was pointing in another direction.

“Oh… I… I…�

“It’s just lunch, Hermione, not a world cruise,� he said soothingly, smiling.

“Ok, sure.�

Ron could barely hear the answer and arched his eyebrows. “Really?�

Hermione nodded. “But I want my mittens back, it’s freezing out here. And where’s your hat?�

Laughing, he pulled one out of his coat pocket. “See, I know you too well.� Putting the hat on, Ron led Hermione around the corner from where he had jumped out at Harry. There was a small pub snuggled between two buildings; Hermione had never noticed it before. When Ron opened the door she turned to him with an apprehensive look on her face.

“It’s safe, I’ve been here a couple times.�

“You never told Harry or me about it, but it must be good to earn your patronage.� Am I flirting with him? Calm down, girl.

“It is, especially the Reuben, and I just found it the other day.�

“You were in town this week? Why didn’t you stop by and see us?� Hermione asked, while shedding her winter coverings. Then she caught a look on Ron’s face and said no more.


“Harry, where are Ron and Hermione?� asked Ginny, as they stepped into The Three Broomsticks. He looked around and shrugged.

Fred cut in to supply the answer. “Ron said he wanted to talk to Hermione… alone, so they’ve drifted off somewhere...�

“Probably some place like Madam Puddifoot’s,� George added.

“Shut it, you two, don’t start,� Ginny spat out, not interested in hearing her brothers’ teasing.

As the party seated itself, numerous Hogwarts students stopped by to greet Fred and George and Hagrid sat with the group for a few minutes while waiting for Professor Flitwick to arrive. It was the first time most of them had been into Hogsmeade since the war ended, and the atmosphere was remarkably lighter and friendlier.

To Fred’s surprise, Diane whispered something to Ginny and his sister moved so the American could sit next to him. He gave her a questioning look and Diane asked him, “Are you blue yet?� He nearly choked on his Butterbeer. Then she proceeded to query him about his business and their future plans for expansion.

Before they knew it, two hours had passed and the crowds of students were thinning out. Ron and Hermione had arrived at one thirty and joined their friends; both ignored questioning looks and even some off-color jibes from the twins. When the tab was paid and the group had donned their winter wear, they all walked over to the Hog’s Head to see Aberforth Dumbledore, but he was nowhere to be found, though the barman said he expected him back later that evening.

After one final stop to purchase a bottle of wine for his parents, Ron walked back to Hogwarts with his friends, leaving the twins and the two property managers to finalize their transactions.

“Feels a bit creepy, mate, walking back here. You sure McGonagall won’t have a fit and toss me out?�

“Give me some credit, Ron, I’m Head Boy, Hermione and I can bring guests in…�

“…as long as they behave themselves,� the Head added, stepping between them, then looking to Ron. “We’re going to be watching you closely, Weasley.�

Everyone laughed, Harry especially enjoyed hearing her making fun of Ron; Apparently they had a good lunch.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening was spent in the Gryffindor common room where Ron was assailed by dozens of former classmates and housemates, all eager to hear of his exploits in France, his medals, and the dozen or so girls he had allegedly conquered. Every time someone brought up the ‘girls,’ Harry noticed, the number seemed to increase. And every time someone brought up the number, Harry looked over to Hermione. She sat quietly, appearing happy, chatting with Ginny and Diane, but Harry earnestly hoped she was paying attention to Ron’s responses, for they were humble and mature.

As the hour grew late and the room emptied, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Diane and Hermione sat together on two sofas facing the fireplace. Hermione sat herself next to Ron, though neither showed any reaction to the maneuver. Harry was anxious to get Hermione alone and ask some questions, and from the looks on their face, Diane and Ginny had the same idea.

It was well past midnight when Ron said he had to be returning home. Now it was his turn to maneuver and he said his goodbyes to Harry, Ginny and Diane, and then asked Hermione to walk him down to the front entrance. She consented and they left the others scratching their head and formulating questions.

The Head Girl returned to her suite a few minutes later. At first she stopped, as if she wanted to talk, but then shook her head in a way that begged Harry not to ask any questions. He suspected that she didn’t know the answers to potential inquiries anyway.


A/N: Obviously Amanda Bright has a serious problem on her hands. Even with all the powers of magic, it does seem to stretch the imagination that wizards could exist without being discovered. The question is, therefore, what will happen when someone stumbles across an “impossible� situation?

Chapter 11 – The Ball

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling. The plot is of my own invention.


“Prime Minister, it’s a pleasure to see you again,� Arthur Weasley said, extending his hand to the Muggle leader of England. The cool green flames of the fireplace behind the wizard were rapidly fading.

“Thank you, Weasley. Welcome back to Downing Street.�

“I would like to introduce my son, Bill Weasley.� As a second flash of green flames erupted in the fireplace and the eldest Weasley son stepped up to his father. “Bill, this is the Muggle Prime Minister, Anthony Blast.� The Prime Minister’s eyes widened ever so slightly when he saw the terrible scars on Bill’s werewolf-ravaged face.

“Forgive my appearances, sir,� Bill said sincerely, “I was attacked by a werewolf a few months ago and the scars don’t heal.�

Both Weasleys saw that their host had at least a few dozen questions on his mind, but they pressed on with Arthur continuing the introductions as a small creature stepped out of the fireplace following a third eruption of flames. “And may I present the director of the London Branch of Gringotts, our Wizarding financial institution, Senior Manager Crawsnag.� Now the Prime Minister made no pretense of not noticing the oddities of the third member of Arthur’s party. The diminutive Goblin smiled, exposing a startling display of ugly teeth, and held out his hand. Blast hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“I – I’m sorry, Mr. Crawsnag, I’ve n-never, er…�

“That is understandable… sir,� the Goblin grumbled. His hand remained out for the Muggle to accept. Blast finally collected himself and shook the green-skinned, gnarly hand.

“Please, come into my private conference area, er, gentlemen.� He escorted the group through a door into a room set up with a long, narrow table and chairs. Crawsnag pulled out one of the seats and jumped up. His nose barely met the top of the table. Bill and his father watched the Muggle’s reaction to the obviously awkward situation. Crawsnag cleared his throat.

Blast looked at the Goblin, not knowing the protocol for the situation. But he finally reached down and showed the creature how to raise the chair height, all the while stealing nervous glances at the other two wizards. Bill took a glimpse at his father and they both barely nodded. Their plan to frazzle the Prime Minister was working perfectly.

“Please, have a seat.� They did.

“Mr. Prime Minister,� Arthur started abruptly, “before we begin any substantive discussions, I think it might be best for us all to understand how broadly you expect our societies to interact. And for protocol purposes, I should be addressed as Minister or Minister Weasley. My son is Mr. Weasley…�

“And I am Crawsnag,� the Goblin added, his smile almost appearing as a sneer to the Muggle.

“I understand you prefer to be addressed as ‘Minister.’ Is my information correct?�

“Yes, Wea… Minister Weasley.�

“Wonderful. In the upcoming meetings between our two worlds, will we be dealing directly with you, and you alone?�

Up until three minutes before, Blast would have said no, but the idea of letting anyone else see this, this, freak gallery made him abruptly queasy. “You will be dealing directly with me, for the present. If I need further assistance I will cross that bridge when I come to it.� Bill and his father exchanged another quick glance. Crawsnag remained silent and statue-like.

Seeing an opening, Blast began. “Since our last meeting I have drawn up a detailed list of the damages… to my country.� Blast pointed to a number of thick binders at the center of the table.

“Minister, forgive my interruption, but England is our country, too,� said Bill rather harshly. Arthur placed a hand on his son’s forearm.

“A poor choice of words, Mr. Weasley,� the Prime Minister said quickly, “my apologies.� He stood and picked up four of the binders, handing one to each of three Wizarding delegation members and keeping one for himself. “If you have any problems understanding our accounting practices please do not hesitate to…� Blast trailed off as he saw Crawsnag’s face become enraged, though he wasn’t certain that was the emotion the Goblin was really trying to convey.

“Minister Weasley,� the Goblin growled, looking at Arthur. “I cannot work with this rubbish, you know our standards!�

Arthur opened his binder and nodded to Crawsnag. Then he addressed the Muggle. “Minister, I am sure these figures are fine for you and your… what do you call them… accountants? But Goblins handle all our financial transactions and they are unable to read digits of this size. Poor eyesight, you know, from all those centuries living underground.�

Blast looked stunned for just a moment, then recovered. “I, er, see. Perhaps I can have the reports reprinted?� he asked Crawsnag.

The Goblin casually took out a quill and inkpot and wrote a number of characters on the first page of the binder’s contents. “I will need them this size, Minister.� He turned the binder and pushed it towards Blast. Blast sighed.

“Very well, Cragsaw, I will…�

“Crawsnag, Minister,� the Goblin barked out, causing Blast to jump back.

“Right, yes, my apologies, Crawsnag. I will have your copy reprinted…�

“Ten,� the Goblin broke in. “I will need ten copies, Minister.�

“Yes, very well. I shall have them ready for you tomorrow… now what’s wrong?� Blast asked in obvious irritation as he saw Arthur hold up a finger, as if to stop him, and then point to his son.

“This week is the Goblins’ New Year celebrations, Minister. I don’t believe Senior Manager Crawsnag or his associates will be in any shape to start reviewing these until the following.� Bill looked at Crawsnag who nodded slightly.

“Very well then, shall I wait for word from you to deliver the records?�

“Yes, we will contact you through the usual means.� Arthur was referring to the portrait in the Prime Minister’s office that alerted the Muggle whenever the Wizarding world desired to communicate with him.

“Very well, Minister Weasley, Mr. Weasley, er Crag… Crawsnag,� Blast said, standing, “Until we speak again.� The Wizarding delegation did not rise with him.

“Just a moment, please, Minister, there is a situation developing within our law enforcement branch and we hope you can assist us with its resolution.� Blast slowly sat back down. “We actively monitor the non-magical community to ensure someone does not accidentally stumble upon our way of life. A while back we were investigating a journalist named Michael Allen,� Arthur handed Blast a sheet of parchment with Allen’s name, address and Muggle photograph. “This person was able to gather information that would lead to our exposure. We were about to apprehend him and erase his memory of us when he escaped, apparently with another man and possibly some evidence of magic being performed.�

“You can erase memories?�

“Yes, Minister. We have a wide range of… spells that can remove specific memories from a person. Naturally, we don’t like to use these on Muggles because…�

“You’ve done this before?� Blast spat out in astonishment.

“Not terribly often, but a few times a year non-magical persons might witness something revealing. We believe it is best to erase those memories rather than let the person suffer long-term psychological problems trying to comprehend things that are clearly out of their realm of understanding. We are trying to prevent Mr. Allen from falling into this category.�

“I see. What shall I do if we are able to locate this person?�

“Please contact me immediately. If we are quick enough we can Obliviate him and return him to his home before any damage is done. He’ll never know what happened.�

Blast nodded. “Very well, I shall pass this on to Scotland Yard and see what they can find. Should they expect to find this person dangerous in any way?�

“No, there was no indication that he was anything other than a clever journalist who stumbled upon our way of life,� Bill finished.

A second time, Blast started to rise but quickly reseated himself when he saw his guests remaining seated. “There is one other item, Minister. I need to report back to my government about how you would like us to handle evil wizards in the future.� Arthur’s tone bore the slightest hint of sarcasm, but he didn’t blink as he stared at Blast sitting quietly in his seat; a trickle of sweat ran down the side of the Muggle’s head.

“I’m not sure how to answer that, Minister Weasley. How would you normally handle them?�

“Of course, Minister, forgive me. Perhaps I should pose the question this way: when we run across an evil wizard or witch, should we leave Muggles unprotected and only deal with them in our world?�

“Unprotected?�

“Yes, sir,� Bill answered, taking over from his father. “In this latest conflict with Lord Voldemort we estimate that we saved about eight hundred Muggle lives, and at a tremendous cost to our Aurors – that’s what we call our police force. In future situations should we not protect them?�

Blast was speechless.

“You see, Minister, your society was not the only one damaged by this war,� Arthur finished.

Nodding at Bill and Crawsnag, Arthur rose, bowed, and left a flummoxed Prime Minister sitting alone in his meeting area.

Following the departure of the wizards, Anthony Blast sat thinking for a good hour. In his entire political career he had never been so entirely at a loss for words. Magic! Memories! Goblins! He felt completely and utterly helpless. What’s to keep them from modifying my memory or doing something I don’t want them to do? The thought chilled him.

Blast was not certain, yet, how to handle this turn of events, but he did know what to do about this Allen fellow; he knew the man’s name and reputation. Returning to his office, Blast made a call to Scotland Yard as promised. But then he made a slight change after asking for the man or men to be found. “Inspector, when you find Allen I want you to do nothing but search them for weapons and bring them to Downing Street. No questions are to be asked of them and no conversation initiated. What’s that? Good point. You may tell them that they are not in trouble, and that is all.�

Maybe one problem would help with the other…



“Well, Arthur, how did it go?� Penrose asked, his face appearing in the fireplace in Arthur’s new office. “Did he react to your comments about future threats?�

“I think he was too astonished to process anything at that point. I brought Director Crawsnag with me and the poor bloke could hardly speak after seeing him.�

Penrose chuckled. “Excellent, Arthur, nice touch. Join me for lunch? The Wizengamot is about to announce their selection for Minister of Magic.�

“Oh?�

“Yes, we can dine whilst speculating on our futures.� With a smile and slight nod, Penrose’s head disappeared from Arthur’s fireplace.

Following a half-hour dictation to his Dict-O-Quill about the meeting with the Prime Minister, Arthur took a few more minutes to jot down notes in his personal journal before heading off to Penrose’s office. He stopped at Percy’s cubicle on the way and saw that Bill was still visiting.

“Keep your ears open, dad, I hear we should have a new Minister soon,� Percy whispered. Arthur nodded and left for lunch.


|-|-|-|-|


Michael Allen had never felt so helpless in his life. The night of the sting, after they had escaped, he had insisted Billy and he separate. “After all,� he told the youth reasonably, “you weren’t seen, you should be safe from…� It was hard to find fault with Digger’s logic, and Allen explained that he needed someone to supply him with money, and try to get his passport and wallet. That, they both realized, would be tricky.

But before splitting up, the two had ducked into a dodgy looking pub and speculated about what they had witnessed and experienced. They skirted around the evidence in the bag Billy still held. It was obvious… yet impossible. People appearing (and disappearing) out of nowhere? Sticks that shot out different colored lights? And what was it the man Billy had stunned said to Allen before getting zapped? �Let me see your wand�?

“What’s that, Digger?� Billy asked.

“Cripes, Billy, it’s what that goon said to me right before you stunned him. He asked to see my ‘wand.’ What… it couldn’t be... could it?� He really hadn’t addressed the last question to Billy.

“Magic?� whispered the computer store technician. It was, after all, what both had been thinking, even if only as a last possible choice.

Digger shook his head. “It sounds impossible, it has to be impossible. But remember what you heard on my Dictaphone tape, about spells?� Allen slouched down in the booth, trying no to think about what it might be that his foot had just slipped in. “This must all be some fantastic prank…� Neither of them really believed it. “We have to see the tapes.�

“Right, should we take them down to… wait! If you’re right about me not being known I could take them down to the shop. Do you want to try and sneak in?�

Allen gave Billy a skeptical look. “Are you kidding? I just want to hide under this table. Look, lad, you have enough money to get home, don’t you? Good, go home. Tomorrow, I need you to go to the bank and get some money… You do have some money, don’t you?�

“Er—yeah, not a lot, but… well don’t look at me that way! I took this job for the money, remember?�

“Ok, sorry. Get what you can and come back here. I’ll pay you back double.� Billy smiled. “But watch your back and don’t take any chances.�

With that, Billy left Allen in the pub and headed home. He had no problems at all taking the tapes to his shop, transferring them to a CD, making a number of copies, and then stopping at his bank on the way back to meet Allen. With that, a daily routine was set up, always ending with them viewing the video on a borrowed laptop. And the more they watched and listened, the more they became convinced that… Magic was involved.

“Digger, you do realize that we’re going to be put in a loony bin, right?� Allen just nodded.

The following Wednesday, Allen thought Billy should make a trip to his flat.

“Here’s a letter to the landlord authorizing him to show you the flat. I said I was thinking about sub-letting it to you. Make sure you take him with you for protection. If anyone’s already there, get out. But watch the building before you go in. If you see people in long robes, drop everything and get back here.� Billy was looking a bit green.

“No worries, lad, it’ll be simple.� Allen wasn’t really so certain himself. “Now my wallet, keys and passport are on my dresser. Mac, the landlord, won’t follow you around, he’s too lazy. Get in and out quickly and you’ll be fine.� Billy didn’t feel fine, but took the letter and set off.

He spent the rest of the morning and until mid-afternoon watching the building, particularly Digger’s flat, for any signs of trouble. He even got up the courage to enter the building and pretend to be lost while walking around the ‘wrong floor.’ At four o’clock it was time.

Steeling himself, Billy again crossed the street and entered the building. He rode the lift up to Allen’s floor and went to the Landlord’s flat. After a brief conversation with the man, “Mac� took Billy to Allen’s unit and let him in. Billy was delighted that no one was there and true to Allen’s prediction, Mac stayed at the door while Billy swept through each room, ending at the bedroom. Allen’s wallet, passport and keys were exactly where he said they would be. In one quick, practiced motion, they were swept away and Billy found himself telling a lie about leaving so soon. Mac didn’t have a problem with that and pointed down the corridor. “The lift’s that way. G’day,� was all the man said as he turned back to his own room.



“Excellent, Billy,� Allen exclaimed as he took his possessions. “Let’s go.�

“Where? Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?�

“Not any more. We’re going to post those CDs to some friends of mine. Did you encrypt them like I said?� Seeing Billy nod, Allen smiled. “These, my lad, are our insurance policies. Look.� Taking an envelope from his pocket, the journalist handed it to his accomplice. Billy read it.

“Blimey! You do want to go to the loony bin, Digger!� His voice was full of amazement and disbelief. “You’d really do this?�

“You got a better idea? Blackmail is a powerful incentive. But the real question is, what are you going to do, Billy? Do you want to sit on the sidelines or take a chance with me? I didn’t think it was dangerous before, but now…� Billy knew. They both knew. There was something extraordinarily odd happening in their lives and neither should ever expect to have another chance like this. The tapes had convinced them that a strange world existed within their own, and even if it was not magic, it still had to be something remarkably important.

“I’m in, Digger. What do you want me to do?�

“Excellent. First I need you to post these,� Allen said, sealing the last envelope. “Be certain to use two or three different mail drops. Come on, I’m feeling cooped-up in this damned room; let’s walk around the lobby.� They exited the room, this time Allen remembered to take his wallet, passport and keys. As the two walked down the corridor to the front office, Allen stretched and did a few squats to loosen up. They end their short walk helping themselves to the complimentary coffee in the lobby and sat watching a large tank of tropical fish.

“After you drop those off tomorrow, meet me back with a bag packed, we’re taking a little trip.�

“Where to?� Billy didn’t look happy.

“Well, apparently I was researching this Potter fellow in a place called Godric’s Hollow. I checked the map and it’s in Wales, a few miles north of Bristol. We’re going to take a road trip and see if we can rediscover anything.� Seeing the expression on the boy’s face he guessed the reason. “If you can get the time off, that is. I could use your help.�

But before Billy could answer, something caught Allen’s trained eyes. Approaching the hotel was a line of six identical black sedans. Years of experience told Allen what they were, but he hoped they would continue down the road. They didn’t. Three turned into the far side of the hotel, three others the near side. One of those on the near side pulled up to the front entrance. Standing and coolly distracting Billy to keep him calm, Allen kept speaking as they walked to the men’s toilet. Just as the door was closing he heard the voice of a man explaining to the front desk man that they were here to apprehend a criminal traced to the hotel by his credit card. Allen froze. How could I be so bloody STUPID? He had to think and act quickly.

“Billy, get in the stall and sit on my lap; the Bobbies are here.� If the order didn’t startle him, Allen’s next move did. He crossed his legs, sitting on the toilet and pulled Billy on to his lap after telling him to drop his trousers. Fortunately the techie understood what the older man was doing. To the outside observer there was only one person in the stall. If questioned, Billy would simply stand and answer. The police didn’t know Billy so he should be safe.

The maneuver worked. Fifteen minutes later, with Allen’s legs cramping badly, an officer entered the bathroom and demanded to see the stall’s occupant. Billy stood and the officer apologized. As soon as the man left, Allen stood and massaged his legs. “Close call; I can’t use my credit card again, or at least more than one more time. We have to get to a bank before the card’s shut down.�

They waited another hour in the stall cracking silly, juvenile bathroom jokes before Billy went out to check the lobby and room. He returned shortly with a report of an officer in one of the sedans across the street, ostensibly staking out the room since they didn’t find anything.

“Ok, Digger, how are we going to get you out of here?�

Good question! “The good old fashioned way. Call a cab but have them wait a couple blocks down. While you’re doing that, I have a call to make.�


An hour later, near the Roman ruins at St. Albans, and lighter by a couple hundred pounds after paying off a series of cabbies, Allen and Billy watched the last car pull away. Earlier in the evening they had withdrawn the limit of Allen’s credit card’s cash advance allowance and departed London for Bristol via the historic town. The bank transaction was very risky, Allen knew, and he was certainly captured on one of the many cameras in the financial institution, but there was no way of avoiding it. Billy could not be seen or have his anonymity compromised, so he was compelled to remain away from the area.

On the journey, both had talked about the problems they faced, not the least of which was that Billy would certainly lose his job. He made one short call to his parents to let them know he was taking a trip to Scotland for a couple weeks with some old school friends. When he spoke with his shop manager the results were less well received. Later that day, as the local bus pulled into Godric’s Hollow, Allen promised Billy full compensation for his troubles. Billy just mumbled, “Sure.�

A small hotel at the edge of the village supplied them with two rooms for the night. Allen insisted on two rooms, and they entered the lobby separately to reduce suspicion. Shortly thereafter, Billy joined Allen, who was using the alias Peter Smithfield, to plan their actions. Fortunately the clerk did not ask for his passport.

“Billy, whatever is going on here is dangerous.� This was the fifth time Allen had issued the warning. “I’ve picked up some techniques over the decades and I want to share them with you, they might save your life, or mine, or both!�

Allen proceeded to explain a number of simple but effective ways to warn of danger. Partly opened curtains or blinds; the “Do Not Disturb� sign with a mark on it; the shower running with the bath door open. “Are you trying to turn me into a spy, Digger?� Billy asked, his voice a little shaky.

“No, just trying to keep you alive. Here.� Allen handed Billy two thousand pounds in large notes. “Hide those in small bunches in your clothes, shoes, anywhere, but keep as much with you as possible in case you need it for a quick escape. I’m doing the same. If something happens and we get separated, we will meet at noon, two days after our separation, at the rail station in Bristol, in that cafe we ate at. Got it?� He saw Billy’s sober nod as an answer.

The rest of the day was spent shopping for necessities, as the younger didn’t have much with him outside the clothes he were wearing; Allen had nothing. By late that evening, both were showered and wearing fresh clothes. “I saw a little pub down the street, let’s get a bite there. I want you to go in first, I’ll follow a few minutes later and sit as close to you as I can. What I want you to do is listen for any talk about Michael Allen by the customers. And remember, I’m Mr. Smithfield to you, should we be seen together.�

“Right. I’m off,� Billy said, jumping up. The truth was, Billy was beginning to enjoy the excitement. He knew that whatever trouble Allen might be in, he was not likely to be fingered for anything worse than an “accessory after the fact� charge. But who would charge me with that? he asked himself. They had their insurance policies in the post, and according to Allen, the people he sent the CDs to were cut-throat competitors of his and would not hesitate to expose every bit of the fantastic story he included with the packages. He just hoped they were honest enough not to “peek� at the CDs before they received the word and the key for decrypting them. Yes, if either was caught, it was unlikely anything serious would happen to them.

The first day passed, then another, with nothing interesting or unusual happening. Billy and Allen spent most of the time planning their search, beginning the next day at the local police station where the unerased Dictaphone tape said that Allen had made a major breakthrough weeks before.

Lily Evans Potter and James Potter, 4 Flower Lane, Godric’s Hollow, Wales; murdered 31 October 1981. Their son, Harry James Potter, disappeared into thin air. This was what Allen had to start on. Again.


“Why me?� Billy asked, irritatedly.

“Because someone in there probably helped me. And don’t you think it would look strange if I returned asking the same questions as last time?� As usual, Allen’s logic was flawless and Billy acquiesced.

Entering the small building that held the village police unit, Billy was greeted by a receptionist. “Good day, lad, what can I do for you?�

Lad? Grrrr “I’m looking for a police report about a crime sixteen years ago. A friend of mine thought I might be able to get a copy here.�

The receptionist took out a form and a pen, handing them to Billy. “Just fill this in and we’ll have a look for you.�

Sitting, Billy saw that the paper was a standard information request form. He filled in everything he knew and returned it to the lady. She pointed him back to the bench. Ten minutes later a clerk called his name and escorted him to a small room, placing a folder on the table. “You can make all the notes you want, but no photocopies.� And then he was gone.

Paging through the brief report, Billy saw little that he and Allen had not already discussed, though he could not find the Potter’s address. But Digger had told him he might not see it, based on his notes from the Dictaphone. Fifteen minutes later Billy was at the last page, a sheet containing information about anyone desiring to view the file. The last two entries were for Michael Allen, about two weeks apart; the first one had an address of a boarding house in town, the second named his flat in London.

Becoming nervous at the ease with which the exercise was running, Billy was glad to leave the office and walk three blocks to meet Allen. From there they cabbed to the vicinity of the hotel and walked the final few blocks apart.

“Damn! I knew it!� Allen exclaimed, seeing all the notes Billy had made.

“The boarding house next?� Allen nodded.

“Right. I gave the place a call and the landlady said she has a room available. Check out of your room here tomorrow morning and take it from there.�

Now Billy would be completely on his own, and it set a chill of both apprehension and excitement through his body. The two spend the remainder of the day discussing strategies on how to get information about Allen’s lost memories. Billy was also told to keep notes on everything. The following morning, Allen and Billy shook hands and he was off.

The cab deposited the young man in front of the Peachey Boarding House, a large, well-kept single-family dwelling. Billy approached the door but did not need to knock, a well-dressed man on his way out nearly ran him over.

“Sorry there, son, didn’t see you,� the man said, offering his hand to Billy.

“No worries, no harm done. Is the owner in?�

“Yes, in the parlor, first door on the right.�

Billy entered the house and easily found the woman Allen had told him about. “Hello, I’m Billy Thompson. I was recommended to see you about a room.�

The older lady looked him over suspiciously and then abruptly asked him to sit. Over the next quarter-hour she interrogated Billy, asking every question she could about his character. “And how did you hear about us?�

“A friend of mine from London, Michael Allen, recommended your place to me, ma’am.�

The landlady clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, wonderful! How is Michael, er, Digger I believed he went by?�

“Last I saw him, a few weeks ago, he was fine.� The lie slipped easily off his lips.

“Splendid. How is he doing with his book about our little town? I heard you run into Mr. Blake a moment ago. He went out with Digger a few times, looking at some of the historic parts of town…�

Bingo!

“May I see the room, ma’am?� Billy asked, cutting off the lady, suspecting that he might sit there all night if he didn’t interrupted her.


|-|-|-|-|


As the Christmas holidays approached, Hogwarts was abuzz with preparations for everything from the mid-term exams to gift buying. Harry, Diane and Ginny would be traveling to the Burrow through Christmas Eve and then joining Remus and Tonks at Grimmauld Place (for a family Christmas Day dinner) and the next four days would be spent redecorating. Harry was determined to gut and rebuild the old Black House; he privately planned to make it a wedding gift to Remus and Tonks. Hermione was spending the Holidays with her parents. Charlie, who was still recovering and receiving physical therapy, would be in Vernon with Tré and the rest of the Mellanson family. Bill and Fleur were to split their time between the Delacour and Weasley families. Ron was undecided about whether to stay with Harry, Ginny and Diane or with Tré and Charlie, but he still had a week to decide.

At the start of the term, McGonagall had decided to hold a Ball immediately before the holiday, and for once Harry was relieved to have no problem about whom to ask. Hermione joked with her friends about asking Diane to escort her, but she was also quite certain that the straight-laced Headmistress would frown upon the Head Girl’s lack of propriety. Ginny fumed about the situation, they all knew that there were a number of gay and lesbian couples at school, though none of them flaunted it. But in the end Diane accepted an invitation from Ernie Macmillan, one of the few students outside her closest circle of friends who knew her ‘secret.’ Hermione politely turned down a number of invitations, even an offer from Ginny to let her and Harry attend together, and decided to sit out the event.

The Weird Sisters were again booked and McGonagall did not require the school orchestra to perform the formal dance numbers before the wilder music began, as had been done three years earlier during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. This seemed to meet with everyone’s approval. Only Fourth Years and above were invited though, which caused Harry and Hermione much grief as they had to constantly console and counsel the younger upset students.

On the twenty-third of December the Great Hall was closed immediately following an early dinner and the students retreated to their dorms to bathe, primp, dress and otherwise stumble about in their excitement. At eight o’clock, while Harry was talking to Ron on the Floo Network, Ginny, Ernie and Diane arrived at the Head Girl/Head Boy Suite to collect him.

“Wow! You – you look, er, stunning, Gin,� Harry mumbled as his girlfriend hugged him.

“Thanks, Potter, you’re not too shabby yourself,� she whispered into his ear. After a final and fruitless plea with Hermione to join them, the four headed to the Ball.

At eight o’clock the Hall doors were opened and hundreds of students flooded into the massive room. The decorations were similar to those three years earlier, except that the near end of the Hall appeared to simulate a winter morning while the far end looked like the evening. The large open area in the center of the Hall, cleared for dancing, shone brightly during faster music numbers but then dimmed when slower songs started.

The massive, ancient phonograph Harry had seen years before was sitting on the musician’s stage scratching out some old waltz while the band tuned their magically amplified guitars and other instruments. McGonagall and a number of other staff were spread throughout the Hall, mingling with the students and their fellow workers.

As eight-thirty approached, the time the Ball would officially commence, Harry heard Ginny gasp and turned to follow her line of sight. Standing at the door was Fred Weasley, decked in a fine new set of dress robes. He was speaking with McGonagall. Behind him, Harry saw, were a few dozen other school alumni also prepared for the party, including George and Verity, their assistant from Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Ginny looked back at Harry with a questioning expression, but Harry hadn’t been told anything about this and he simply shrugged. “Let’s go ask,� said Ginny excitedly, jumping up and pulling Harry along.

“Ah, Harry, old bean,� Fred exclaimed, “and our baby sister…�

“Here to welcome us, I presume?� George added, arching his eyebrows.

“I had not informed Mr. Potter or Ms. Granger of the additional guests this evening,� McGonagall replied hastily. “I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. Harry, I opened the Yule Ball to our former students, many of them had their years here at Hogwarts blighted by the events surrounding Voldemort’s reign of terror. Perhaps this will allow them to infuse more delightful memories.�

“Er—sure, I don’t have a problem with it.�

“I think it’s brilliant!� Ginny nearly shouted, grabbing her brothers’ hands and pulling them into the Hall.



“Hello?� a voice called from the fireplace.

“Who’s there?� Hermione replied from her bedroom where she was reading, and praying for no interruptions. She placed a bookmark in the large, heavy hardback she was studying and got up to answer what she thought was a visitor at the door.

“Down here, Hermione,� said Ron, startling the Head Girl as she walked by.

“Ron! I thought you were another Third Year coming to complain about not being allowed to attend the Yule Ball.� She sat on the edge of a chair to get closer to Ron’s face.

“Tetchy midgets at it again, eh?� They both laughed. “Why aren’t you going, ‘Mione?�

“I… just wasn’t in the mood. McLaggen invited me, but…� she trailed off. “What have you been doing this evening?�

“Not much; wrote a letter to Nettie, helped dad out in the shed. You know, domestic stuff.�

“Ginny said you might be going to see Charlie and Tré for Christmas, have you decided yet?�

“No… look, Hermione, this is a bloody awkward position. Wanna come over for tea?�

Hermione hesitated. “I – I can’t, Ron. Harry’s at the Ball and I have to stick around.� It wasn’t too much of a lie.

“Oh, ok, well then I’ll…�

“You can Floo over if you like,� she interjected before Ron ended the conversation.

“Are you sure?�

“Yes, just watch your head.� Ron’s face vanished, a moment later the fire flared as Ron spun into the room. He was wearing casual clothes and had a smudge of what appeared to be treacle tart on his cheek. Both were unsure of how to greet the other. When they’d met in Hogsmeade it was expected that they would embrace after not seeing the other for so long, now both were blushing a little and feeling much younger than their age.

“Welcome back, wait, you never saw the suite, did you?�

“Nah, left before you and Harry moved in.� He looked around a bit. “Nice place. Did Harry do the decorating?�

Hermione laughed. “Right, and have you been hanging around the twins?� She patted him on the shoulder, but withdrew her hand quickly. “Tea?� she asked.

“Yeah. Cake?� Ron took a very small package, the size of a matchbox, out of his pocket and set it on the table. With a quick motion he drew his wand, waved it, and the box expanded to a cake box. Hermione looked impressed.

“You learn that in France?�

“Yeah, it was either shrink decent food or eat the rubbish the army fed us. Charlie and I got real good with the spell after our first week.� Ron smiled shyly.

“Here you go; have a seat.� Taking the teacup, Ron sat himself on one end of the sofa while Hermione prepared her own cup. When finished, she turned around and sat without hesitation at the opposite end from Ron. “Why the cake?�

“Nothing special, just leftover from dinner; Mum still cooks for a full house. Want some?� Without waiting for a reply, he conjured two plates and forks and cut each of them a slice of the chocolate cake. “Fred and George are here, you know. Victor, too,� he added, with no change in the tone of his voice.

“Here? Oh, at the Ball? McGonagall didn’t mention anything about it being open to people other than students.�

“Mum said it was a surprise… but she had to limit it… to only a couple hundred guests,� Ron said between bites of cake.

“Well, we certainly can’t have it open to everyone, I suppose…�

They finished the rest of their dessert in silence. When Hermione put her plate down, Ron banished the plates and levitated the cake into Harry’s office. “He can have the rest.�

“Hermione, why don’t you get dressed up and go down to the Ball? You…�

“No, Ron, I… I’d feel uncomfortable, especially with Victor there. I’m just going to stay here and read, I think.� She stood up, but didn’t leave.

“A little edgy this evening, ‘Mione?� asked Ron, smiling. “Well, I guess I’ll be heading home; thanks for the tea.� Standing, Ron walked over to Hermione and gave her a quick hug, then taking a pinch of Floo Powder, called out his destination and disappeared into the green flame.


An hour later, Hermione stood in the doorway to the Great Hall wearing the much altered gown from three years before. She saw Harry and Ginny dancing, with a hundred other couples, to a slow, romantic melody. Watching the dancing for a few minutes, she was about to turn and leave when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Try again?�

“Ron! What are you doing here?� It was obvious what he was doing, decked out in new dress robes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“I saw that look in your eyes, I knew you wanted to go to the Ball, but I figured you would chicken out once you got this far,� he answered, speaking quietly. Hermione blushed.

“Ron, you didn’t have to come back…�

“I know, but I wanted to. I owe you one from Fourth Year.� He stood up straight and looked into her eyes. “Will you go to the Yule Ball with me, Hermione?�

She could hardly answer. “Ok,� she whispered, completely floored by Ron’s gentleness and poise. He’s definitely changed …

He held out his arm and she looped hers through it, blushing. Together they entered the Hall. Ron directed them straight to the dance floor, spinning Hermione into place, and smoothly stepping with her to the music. Their friends watched with curiosity, particularly Ginny and Harry who had stopped dancing.

Hermione looked around the room as they danced. Headmistress McGonagall was standing with a surprised expression on her face. Cormac McLaggen, dancing with a bored looking Diane Bradley, looked like he wanted to hit someone. Ginny was beaming. But it was Harry she first thought she wanted to see the most. But then she could not bring her eyes up to look him in the face because she knew exactly what she would see.

“You alright, ‘Mione?� Ron asked, feeling her tense up.

“Ron, I… I… Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking me, you really didn’t have to.�

The dance ended and Ron started to lead them towards the table where Harry, Ginny, Cormac and Diane were sitting. Without thinking of possible misinterpretations, she took Ron’s hand and guided him to an empty bench.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Ron,� Hermione said quietly. Ron started to respond but Hermione held a hand up. “I have things I need to resolve, they really don’t have to do with you, they’re my problems.�

“’Mione, don’t worry about this, I mean us; I really just wanted to get you down here to have fun. Even if it’s not with me,� he added, smiling cheerfully. “Come on, there’re a bunch of blokes here who would love to dance with you. And I’m going to ask my sister and Diane, maybe even McGonagall.� That made Hermione laugh.

“Ok, Ron. Shall we sit with Harry and the others?�

“Excellent idea.� Ron jumped up and held out his hand. Hermione took it but they both let go when she was standing.


As midnight approached, fewer couples remained in the Hall, the rest had left to pack for the holiday and prepare for the early departure of the Hogwarts Express. Hermione ended up having a wonderful time and thanked Ron throughout the Ball for taking her. She danced with anyone who asked, but mostly with her ex-boyfriend. Twice she danced with Harry, but both times left her feeling uncomfortable and vaguely guilty. Viktor Krum requested a dance, and both he and Hermione were delighted to see that Ron had not a trace of jealousy on his face. But Viktor had also brought his own date, so it was obvious there would be no problems.

When the clock struck midnight, the music ended and the remaining guests made their way to their respective tower or to Hogsmeade to Apparate home. A light snow was falling through the cold, still air as Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron bade goodnight to their friends.

“I better head home, too. Harry, Hermione, can I use your fireplace to Floo home?�

“No problem, mate,� Harry said stifling a yawn.

On the walk up to the suite, they traded speculation about the appointment of Marcus Proudfoot to the Minister of Magic post. Harry said he remembered seeing him around the school the previous year, but wasn’t sure if he had any special ability for the position.

“He might just be a non-controversial pick. The Purebloods are up in arms about losing control of the Ministry,� Hermione speculated.

“Not all Purebloods, Hermione,� Ron reminded her. “Still, dad recons it was a good move, and he was an Auror so he should know a good bit about law enforcement.�

“Then why not Kingsley?�

“Percy and Bill said he was still too controversial,� Ron answered, “with all the things he did right after September 11th. Mind, I don’t have any objections.� The rest agreed with him.

Reaching the Head Girl/Boy Suite, Harry and Ginny said goodnight to Ron and ducked into Harry’s office, presumably for some private snogging. Hermione gave Ron a quick hug and a kiss on his cheek before seeing him off, and then went to her room, changed, and picked up where she had left off in her book hours earlier.


|-|-|-|-|


“Arthur, the Minister is very pleased with your work at Downing Street. And you feel confident the last meeting will keep them off our backs for a few weeks?�

“Absolutely, Phoebus.�

“Splendid. I suppose I should tell you now that I’m retiring… again.� They both laughed.

“Your work has been critical these past few months, Phoebus. It appears the transition is going smoothly.�

Penrose waved Arthur’s compliment off. “Superfluous, Arthur, that’s what I am. Proudfoot asked me to let you know he would be meeting with you again soon, and he wants you to start preparing the formal inquiries into the war. If you need assistance you should contact the Legal Ministry.� Penrose hesitated, obviously debating whether to make his next statement. “Arthur, I know you’re close to the Potter boy. I want to let you know it’s going to be rough for him the next few months. He’s at the center of all this and we can’t get a word out of him.�

Arthur said nothing, but Penrose could tell there was something important on his mind. “What’s going on, Arthur? You know more than you’re saying,� he asked quietly and most seriously.

“Phoebus, this is a very… delicate topic. I know why Harry’s being circumspect with the information, and I agree with him one hundred percent.�

Penrose looked at Arthur carefully, weighing his options. “Alright, Arthur, for what it’s worth I trust your word, but Proudfoot will insist. Can you confide in me? I might be able to prepare the Minister and spare you and Potter from a bloody confrontation.�

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had known for months that this time was coming. “Phoebus, do you know what a Horcrux is?� The question had the desired effect. Penrose was sharp witted and he immediately turned ghost-white.

“Voldemort had a Horcrux?� he breathed out, almost in a whisper.

Arthur paused, intentionally, for effect. “No, Phoebus, he had six.�

The elderly wizard now turned a sick shade of green and his eyes bulged. “Six? Merlin protect us. Did we get them all?�

“Thankfully, yes. That’s what Albus Dumbledore was up to last year, and why his arm was damaged. He destroyed one of the bloody things but it cost him dearly.� Arthur stopped talking. He could see the cogs in Penrose’s brain turning, trying to comprehend the evil information he had just absorbed. After a good thirty seconds, the old wizard closed his eyes and shook his head. “I have to admit, Arthur, my opinion of Harry Potter just went up ten or twenty notches. But why hasn’t he come forth with this? He’s being hammered in the papers… Oh.�

Penrose realized why Harry hadn’t said anything. While the truth would exonerate him, the information would be potentially catastrophic to the Wizarding world. The last thing anyone needed was a bunch of evil dark wizards and witches running around trying to create Horcruxes. “I’ll speak to the Minister immediately… don’t worry, Arthur, I’ll say nothing about the Horcruxes, but you should be prepared, the word will eventually get out.�

This was a fact Arthur had resigned himself to long ago. “I understand.�

Chapter 12 – The Admission

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


The Burrow was packed on the twenty-forth of December with the entire Weasley family, with the exception of Charlie. After exchanging gifts, everyone visited until midnight to sing Christmas carols before Flooing or Apparating home. Harry and Ginny left in the early morning hours with Remus and Tonks for London and the Black estate where Diane was waiting. She had been invited to join the Weasley clan but had opted to stay in Harry’s house to rummage through long empty rooms.

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was far happier and more spiritual than any Harry had ever known. Diane and Remus had plotted to take everyone to a Christmas morning service at a nearby Anglican Church; neither Tonks, Harry nor Ginny had ever had the experience of a Christian Christmas service. Remus attended services regularly, Harry knew, as did Diane, but only Diane had asked Harry to attend with her over the previous summer in Salem.

To his surprise, Harry found the service joyful and comforting. But it also brought up long-buried feelings of guilt at not having made religion and faith more a part of his life. Ginny, too, expressed similar feelings and the couple spent much of the Christmas morning brunch discussing whether they should make an effort to participate in the service with Diane at Hogsmeade. All the while, Tonks was acting blasé about the whole subject and receiving scowls from Remus. Harry knew Remus wanted a Church wedding but Tonks flatly refused. But there was some logic in her decision, too, Harry saw. “Joining a church out of a sense of obligation is hypocritical,� she said. “I’ll join if and when I feel drawn to it.� Remus sighed and dropped the subject.

Harry had hired Dobby and Winky to clean up the first floor rooms and cook the Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place, a sumptuous feast for thirty friends being held that evening. Much to everyone’s delight, the two House-Elves were able to removed the portrait of Mrs. Black from the front corridor wall. Harry and Remus broke up the frame and threw it and the canvas into the large fireplace in the parlor. Mrs. Black’s wailings could be heard as the painting smoked and finally burst into flames, much to the dismay of its subject. That was, many felt, the finest Christmas present the two Elves could give. (The next day Harry also asked them to remove the Black House-Elves busts hanging in the front hallway to improve the atmosphere even more.)

Late Christmas evening, as the guests sat around opening presents and sipping tea, Firewhiskey or brandy, (a gift from Arthur’s new boss,) a curious quiet settled over the gathering. Remus had walked into the room with a very large and heavy package for Harry. “Happy Christmas, Harry. I found these two albums for you locked away in Sirius’s old room. I’m sure he would have given them to you – if he hadn’t...�

“Yeah, Moony, thanks. I understand.�

Setting the package on the sofa between himself and Ginny, Harry began to open the wrapping. There were, as Remus had noted, two large photo albums. The top one, also the smaller of the two, was ornate with gold and silver filigree, though labeled simply “Potter.� The second one was very plain and bore no particular markings. He thanked his friend sincerely and set the albums aside for later.

Ron, who had chosen to stay in England for the Holidays, was wearing a new shirt and trousers sent to him from the Mellanson family in France, though Ginny suspected that it was from Antoinette. Stylish and bold, the outfit made him look taller and more dashing than any of his brothers, a fact not lost on Ron.

After the gifts were exchanged, Ron joined Harry, Diane and his sister in the drawing room where the old Black family tapestry still hung. They sat around, chatting, and trying to avoid the subject on each of their mind: Hermione.



Only twenty miles away, on the far north of London, Hermione sat with her parents as Christmas Day came to an end. The past few days had been tense and uncomfortable for the young witch; both her parents had asked her about Ron but she had never told them they were no longer dating. But Jane Granger really did not need to be told this, she was keenly aware of her daughter’s emotions and could read her reactions each time the young man’s name was mentioned. Prodding her husband off to bed, Jane moved and sat next to her daughter, placing her arm around her shoulder and encouraging her to snuggle up as she had done countless times over the years.

Hermione did. “I thought I was too old for this, mum.�

Jane looked down at her daughter and stroked her fly-away hair. “You’re never to old for comfort, dear. You and Ron broke up, didn’t you?� A nod. “I thought so. Do you want to talk about it?�

There was a long, still pause where Jane thought nothing might happen. Then she felt tears on her arm. Pulling Hermione in closer she held her tightly and waited.

“I’ve been such an arse, mum...� That was as far as Hermione got before breaking down.

The mother and daughter sat together for a long time, the silence only broken by the younger woman’s occasional sobs. At least Ron wasn’t her first ’love!’ Jane thought. But that Viktor fellow years ago was too old for her. Still, she had a mighty crush on him…

Over the next hour Hermione told her mother about the growing friendship she’d had with Ron, the combustible relationship they engaged in over the summer, and her breaking off the ‘affair,’ as she called it. Jane sat silently, listening to Hermione’s confession about using Ron to hurt his mother. And the blunt admission to having become sexually active stung Jane, but also gave her a sense of relief, too. She knew her daughter carried an unjustifiable low self opinion of her looks.

“No, mother!� Hermione blurted out suddenly, as if reading her mother’s mind. “There was nothing good about it. I can tell you’re struggling to accept that I’m no longer a little girl, but that wasn’t the way to prove it.�

Not knowing how to reply to the remark, Jane just whispered a soft acknowledgement.

As the night deepened, Hermione’s conversation told her mother what was becoming the true problem in the young woman’s life: confusing feelings towards someone else. It was not much of a surprise, Jane knew, the two had been close friends for years, and their position at school this term had thrown them into even closer proximity. She also knew that her daughter was chasing an unattainable goal. Hermione had fallen in love with Harry Potter, but would probably never be able to have him.

|-|-|-|-|

It had taken many days of delicate work, but Michael Allen and Billy Thompson had reconstructed most of the research lost when the ‘magicians,’ as they’d taken to call the Obliviators, had first attacked weeks before. (Of course, neither had any idea that they had achieved this goal.) Both were quite certain now that somehow, in some unknown manner, magic truly did exist in their world and that they were deeply involved in a cover-up to keep it quiet.

Just this past week Allen had been able to restage his attempts to find the Potter cottage at 4 Flower Lane, but with no success. According to Billy’s conversations with the man at Peachey Boarding House, the same thing had happened to the journalist when he had first attempted to locate the home. Interviews with two residents of Flower Lane had also drawn a blank stare from the interviewees. It was an altogether frustrating job, the only real excitement and adventure was their attempts to remain invisible to the law, both normal and magical. Twice Allen felt it necessary to change hotels when he saw a suspicious person lurking about; and a difficult feat it was in such a small town! He was quickly becoming a master of disguises, too.

The week before Christmas, Allen sent Billy home with a generous wad of twenty-pound notes. Storing most of his meager collection of clothing and sundries he’d purchased at al local TK-Maxx, leaving his mobile phone and laptop with Billy, under strict instructions that he not use them, Michael Allen assumed the life of a well-weathered traveler; he purchased a small rucksack and disappeared into the hills of Wales.

|-|-|-|-|

In the Mellanson Estate overlooking the Seine River, Charlie Weasley sat in one of the house’s spacious halls with Tré. The room was alive with the chatter of family, friends, lovers and even a few politicians. Tré’s position as a rising member of the French Ministry of Magical Affairs was requiring her to use the family home to host occasional gatherings. The near total destruction of the Ministry building in Paris at the end of the war had left the Assembly without a permanent meeting place, so they regularly met in Vernon. Tré’s parents did not mind, both had been politically active years before and they welcomed the mostly friendly faces as a distraction from the loss of their son.

Charlie’s rehabilitation had been long and difficult, and not without a few scary moments. Twice since Nettie saved his life he had required surgery to remove scraps of metal from his abdomen. One piece had buried itself in the lining of his small intestine causing numerous infections. Until it was found and removed his health had suffered. But with a month without surgery behind him, the formerly stout Weasley was starting to fill back into his skin. After one of her frequent visits, Molly Weasley broke into tears upon returning to her husband. “Arthur, there’s nothing left of him. He’s skin and bones.�

And so he was – then. But now, on Christmas Day, with the joy of the season, the new friends he had made, and his health returning, Charlie Weasley was a very appreciative man. And he was in love. The long-buried pangs of guilt over Brachia’s tragic death years before had finally been excised from his psyche, thanks largely to Tré’s therapy – and her love. His only lingering disappointment was with his career. He could probably return to Romania and force the issue of his job with the new management of the Dragon Preserve, but did he really want to do that?

The French Ministry had offered him a job working with their beefed-up security details, a necessary addition to their usual complement due to lingering attacks from the few desperate Death Eaters scattered throughout the country. But while he had enjoyed working with the less organized Resistance during the war, he was not sure about dealing with the more formal and controlled Security Ministry. He wanted to talk it over with Tré before making a final decision since she would be affected should he return to Romania. But that could wait. He still had weeks of rest ahead of him before he could do either job.

And perhaps there is a way to do both…

|-|-|-|-|

On the day following Boxing Day, Ron and Ginny joined their siblings and parents on an all-day excursion into Diagon Alley. The two youngest Weasley’s were in something of a state of shock, having both received an unexpected Christmas gift from the Ministry of Magic: a large pouch of Galleons each for their part in defeating Voldemort. Other family members had also been awarded money for their roles, (and Harry, Diane and Neville’s Grandmother the three largest shares, though all refused the money.) Braving the holiday crowds was nothing with a heavy purse of money distracting you. All together, the Weasley family had received just over thirty-thousand of the one million Galleon reward for their efforts.

Despite the financial straights of the Ministry of Magic, the new Minister insisted that the reward money for defeating Voldemort be distributed from the treasury. Many of Proudfoot’s inner circle of advisors had cautioned against the move, saying it was rash, noting that the formal investigation into the events of September 11th had yet to start. But Proudfoot was adamant; having spoken with Phoebus Penrose he trusted that Voldemort was truly dead, this time. “The ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s’ would be answered in due course,� the Minister told them.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were out of Grimmauld Place for the day, at Harry’s instance, so Dobby and Winky could work on refinishing the house in their frantic, maddeningly pleasing way. Between the suggestions from Diane, Ginny and Hermione (and ignoring Ron’s insistence that every other bedroom be trimmed in bright orange,) Harry had given the two Elves careful instructions and access to his vault to finance the project. The budget Harry had allowed would hardly dent his inheritance.



In her maddeningly predictable way, Diane reawakened Harry shortly after the Weasleys had departed, plopping down on his bed and pulling his covers off. Rolling onto his stomach, he groaned annoyingly at his friend. “Morning, Di. If you can give me three good reasons to get up at this hour I’ll indulge you, otherwise I’m going to Apparate to some place where I can sleep a few more hours.�

“Ok, Mr. Sleepy-head. One: it’s half past ten. Two: you promised to show me the albums two days ago, and I’ve heard you’re a man of your word. And three: I’m wearing a robe.�

Another groan. “I said three good reasons.� The robe was a concession Diane had made after Ginny had come across her lying with Harry one morning in what one could only call a less-than-modest nightie.

Diane punched his arm. “Get up, Harry! How does Ginny put up with you?�

“The real question,� he muttered, “is how I put up with you!� Harry sat up, shaking the cobwebs out of his head, frowning at the American. “Well, at least you’ll make you husba… mate, er, happy in the morning.� He hid his face, feigning rubbing his eyes.

Diane laughed. “Nice cover-up, Harry. Now look.� Diane reached down to the floor and picked up the two albums Remus had given Harry for Christmas.

“Just a mo, Di.� Harry jumped up and went to the bathroom to do what most people do first thing in the morning. A couple minutes later he returned looking slightly more awake, though still a little scruffy with a day’s worth of whisker growth. “What’s that?� he asked, pointing to a folder Diane had brought with her.

“These my love,� she tapped the two books and the folder, “are our demons. I think it’s time we faced them, don’t you?�

“Those pictures aren’t my demons, Di. I’m not afraid to look at them,� Harry said with a touch of irritation.

“I see. Is that why you asked Remus for them, and then hid them under the bed for two days?�

“I looked at them!�

“Liar,� Diane said coolly.

“What? How would you know?�

Picking up the two albums, she tossed them to Harry. “Open it,� she ordered. Harry tried but could not.

“Caught,� Harry muttered, recognizing the locking charm. “Did you do this?�

Diane waved her left hand over the books; Harry knew she had removed the charm. Now, in addition to being caught in a lie, he was humbled by his friend’s nearly perfect control of her powers. Wordless, wandless magic was the most difficult to master; Diane did it instinctively.

“Now, shall we try again?� she asked cheerfully.

“What gives, Di? What’s in that folder?�

“My family, Harry. Pictures, mostly. Did Ginny tell you about the night of my meeting with the lawyers?� He nodded. “Ok, then you know I haven’t been able to face this; it’s been three years since they died.� As if a switch had been turned, Diane’s confidence suddenly failed and Harry saw the scared fifteen year-old who had just been orphaned.

“Ok, you want to go first or should I?� he asked, scooting across his bed and putting his arm around the suddenly frightened looking witch.

“Me first.� Haltingly, Diane placed the thick folder between them and opened it. For the hour they looked through the collection, Diane hardly talking except to point out the faces of some of her school friends who happened to get caught in the pictures. Harry had to work to get her to point out her parents and siblings, but she did. And after a while it became easier, though tears were shed and she had to stop a few times to compose herself.

“Did you always wear your hair long?� asked Harry as the final pictures lay before them.

“Yep, I never really went through one of those short-hair phases. It’s a pain sometimes, but…� Diane trailed off for a few seconds. “You should grow yours out, Harry, like Ron’s. A pony-tail would solve the problems you have with this mess,� she further mussed-up his already messy crop.

“Right, I’ll think about that,� Harry laughed. It was the sort of laugh that said he wouldn’t strain his brain if he ever gave it consideration.

When they finished looking at the last pictures, Diane told Harry, “Your turn.�

The smaller of the two albums, the ornately decorated one, contained a collection of Potter family magical photographs, a few going back almost a hundred years. For the first time Harry met his grandparents and great grandparents, smiling blissfully, some in long out-of-style Muggle clothing. Far from being painful, Harry found it quite interesting and frequently exclaimed about one thing or another: black hair, messy black hair and the like. Diane added observations about eyes and facial shapes.

Next came the other album. It was what Harry thought any typical photo album might look like. He also dreaded it the most. In the lower right-hand corner of the cover were the initials SB, Sirius Black, he supposed. That meant that these were bound to be more personal, and personal equaled pain, as far as Harry was concerned. Diane saw the hesitation and moved over to sit closer to him.

“Come on, Harry. Look at it this way, here’s your chance to introduce me to a part of your life I’ve never known.�

Nodding, Harry opened the cover. Of course, the first photograph was of Sirius and James, arms around the other’s shoulder, laughing and grinning goofily in the wizard photo. The second on was of the four Marauders, obviously taken when they were in their mid-teens. Again, Sirius and James had their arms around the other’s shoulders. Remus stood off to the side, shaking his head as if he would never be able to get a more staid picture. Peter Pettigrew was standing a little behind Harry’s father. His face bore a twinge of jealousy. Figures! Harry thought.

In the margin, in Sirius’s handwriting, was a comment about Pettigrew. He had obviously written it sometime in the year before his death. When Harry read it to himself he felt a flash of shame that Diane had to read it, but she just turned the page.

The next few pages were exclusively of Hogwarts and mainly had James and Sirius as the subject of the photos. Then the pictures, starting about their sixth year – based on Sirius’s comments – began to change. For the first time females showed up.

Diane began to laugh as page after page showed a variety of girls who Sirius or James (Harry thought just Sirius) had some interest in. A few had short notes scribbled on them. Here and there, to Harry’s complete mortification, Sirius would write something like, “I’ve had better,� or “James said she was worth it. Can’t imagine why!� And on a few occasions, Harry recognized his father’s scrawl making a rude comment about his best friend in return.

After a few pages of this, Diane muttered something like, “At least they didn’t rate them one to ten.� Harry tried to hurry through, but his friend would have nothing of it. Fortunately things got better in seventh year when Lily began to show up in more and more photographs. There were a series of photos at their Hogwarts Leaving Ceremony, and oddly enough, one of the characters walking past in the background was Snape. He was visible for only a fraction of a second, but it jolted Harry until he refocused on his parents. Lily was behind James, her arms wrapped around his waist, James held her arms to his body and his head turned slightly to receive a kiss. Both were obviously in love.

Following a couple pages of pictures Harry recognized as being Sirius’s personal life and friends outside the Marauders, James and Lily’s wedding pictures appeared. Diane clucked over the gowns and colors, just like he knew Hermione and Ginny would. His own reactions were more sober and he spent as little time as necessary there.

The end of the album was only a few pages away, and Harry thought these last pages would be the most difficult. But there were no pictures of his parents, to his surprise, except one of James looking haggard, and a scribbled note saying something about Auror training and May of 1981.

Harry saw that the final three pages had obviously been added by Sirius (or possibly Remus) fairly recently. They contained pictures of his father’s best friend, obviously post-Azkaban, a couple of himself including one showing him with Hermione and Ron. There were no notes and the final page of the book held only the four corner tabs for the next picture. Harry wondered morosely if Sirius had been working on the album when he’d been called away to the Ministry of Magic.

“Thanks, Harry,� Diane said quietly. There was no response. Patting his back, Harry started to leave.

“Stay,� she whispered. “If you have a few minutes.� Leaning back, Harry fluffed up his pillows. “I need to talk to you about something… actually, someone.� Diane also grabbed a pillow and reclined next to Harry, not looking him.

“Sure, what’s up?�

After a long pause, she began. “Harry, I think you have a… I mean, I think someone has a… Ugh, I hate this.� Diane started over. “Harry, I think Hermione is in love with you.�

The silence that followed was long and unnerving. To both of them.

“Why do you say that, Di?�

“Because of her mannerisms around you, but also by the different ways she acts when Ginny is and isn’t present.� Diane bit her lip, wondering if she’d crossed a line with their friendship.

Harry tool a long time to form his answer. “Yeah, I know she is, Di. I’m glad you told me because I wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed.� Harry seemed relieved to admit this.

“Are you doing anything about it?�

Harry made a face. “Er – not much, I guess. When I first started noticing… you know, how she was acting around me, I thought it was just because she was lonely, or she missed Ron. The funny thing is, I think she is becoming interested in him again. She was really touched by him taking her to the Ball.� Running his hand through his hair, a mannerism Diane translated as discomfort, Harry sighed.

“How was she ‘acting around you’?� the American said, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Another pause. “Well, she’s been more physical with me than she ever has. Like touching me... o-on the shoulder. Taking my hand occasionally...�

“Harry, I do that. Are you sure it isn’t innocent?�

“No – yes, but she’s never done that before to me. And she’s, er, kissed me a few times.� Harry was not looking at Diane now, and was wringing his hands nervously.

“A few times?�

“Um-hmm.�

“Mouth or cheek?�

“Huh? Oh, mostly the cheek...�

“Mostly? You aren’t, oh, what’s that word you use... snogging her, are you?�

“NO!�

“Harry, you’re not being very helpful. Try it this way: are you encouraging her by your responses or discouraging her?�

“I thought I was discouraging her, but she may be interpreting my passivity as encouragement. I don’t know, Di. The one time we kisses it was an accident.�

This should be interesting. “How can you kiss someone by accident?�

“Hermione’s taken to giving me a kiss on the cheek some nights, before bed. Once I sort-of turned into her and it ended on our lips.� Diane saw that Harry was perspiring, and he was breathing harder. Guilt? But over his actions or Ginny...?

“Ah, I see. But did you linger there?�

“Probably more than I should have. It wasn’t... I wasn’t... Bugger! It was not what I thought it would be.�

“Oh, you’ve thought about kissing Herms?� Diane asked in an as non-accusative voice she could muster.

“I’ve thought about kissing a bunch of girls, but Hermione? Yeah. Funny thing is, Ginny and I had a talk about this over the summer. Hermione and Ron were dating at the time so it never occurred to me that I might be interested in her.�

“You’re interested in her in what way?�

“No... not ‘interested,’ as in dating... it may be more of a physical attraction... I can’t believe I just said that...�

“Why, are you Superman or something? Hermione is quite attractive, at least when she tries to be.� Diane chuckled recalling a conversation with said bushy-haired witch. Hermione was her own greatest critic of her looks. “I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Ginny about this, have you?�

Harry just shook his head, paling at the idea.

“Look, Harry, stop playing with fire. You have to make up your mind about all this or you’ll destroy your friendship with Ginny... and probably Hermione, too. I think you should talk with Hermione and lay it all out. Just be certain you know what you want before getting together. Mixed signals are a recipe for disaster.�

After still another long pause, Harry responded. “I know I love Ginny, and the love I have for Hermione is not the same. After that one kiss I felt horribly guilty, even though I wasn’t doing it to cheat on Gin. But you’re right, I need to clear this up before the holidays are over. Maybe I should floo over and talk with her now...�

“What are you going to say to her?�

“Good point, it might be better to settle that first. No... I know the answer. God, what a complete wanker I’ve been.� Jumping up, Harry started pacing the room.

Diane seemed to find his description of himself amusing and her smile grew as The-boy-who-lived paced back and forth.. “You might be a... ahem, wanker, as you say, but I don’t think it’s permanent. These things happen, Harry. But now you know what you have to do, so do it.�

Rising, Diane walked up to Harry and embraced him. As the seconds turned into minutes she could feel him relax. Finally, he broke away. “Thanks, Di. I can’t imagine what might have happened if you didn’t confront me.�

“Probably nothing, Potter. Now,� Diane stepped back. “Turn your head to the right.� Harry was confused but did as he was told. Diane walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek. “There, I had to make sure you didn’t accidentally kiss me back.� Her face turned into a mischievous grin.

Harry laughed. “Ok, now get out, I have to change and make some plans.�

|-|-|-|-|

“Hi there.�

Hermione looked up from the letter she was writing to Ron and her face broke into a huge grin. “Harry! What a surprise, Happy Christmas!� Jumping up, she pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she saw her mother grab a quick look at the two of them before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Just thought I’d stop in with your Christmas gift.� Pulling his wand and a small package from his pocket, Harry enlarged the box, but not much. He pocketed the wand and held up the petite parcel. Hermione had seen better wrapped packages in her days, which meant Harry had done the wrapping himself. “Go on, open it,� he prodded.

Fumbling like a little girl, Hermione quickly gave in and tore the paper off. Opening the box she saw a beautiful gold chain and locket. Filigrees of what looked initially like silver crossed the locket, giving it a shining surface. But on closer inspection she saw the glitter was from hundreds of tiny diamond fragments etched into the surface of the pendant.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.�

“Oh, Harry,� she could barely croak out; her eyes started to tear and she threw herself back at Harry.

Harry gently pried her away, smiling. “You know, Hermione, I love you.�

Merlin! Please don’t be another dream! “You... you do?�

His response was immediate. Decisive. “Of course I do. You have doubts?�

“B-B-But what, what about...�

“Shhh, don’t say anything. Maybe this will answer your questions� Before she could register what Harry was doing, she found their lips pressed together, passionately.

“Harry. Do. You. Mean. It?� she asked between kisses.

Pulling back a few centimeters and cupping her cheeks, he smiled. “Of course.�

“It’s just that I was certain you didn’t... I don’t know, Harry.�

In one swift move, Harry picked her up and started up to her room. Confused, Hermione’s mind questioned his actions, but seeing him look at her made her melt and she immediately forgot what she was about to say. In fact, the message she was getting from Harry told her where this would lead. And soon.

Entering her bedroom, Harry took Hermione straight to her bed and lay her down gently. In the next moment he was on her and they were wrapped in each others arms again, at least until their arms and hands started wandering. It was happening just as she had dreamed about for weeks. Let Harry worry about Ginny and Ron. I have him now! Her emotions had taken over. As pieces of clothing began to be flung aside, Harry stopped and cast spells for privacy on her door. No sounds. No interruptions.

That nagging question from moments earlier reappeared. The door...? My bedroom door? But it hardly made a dent in their efforts to become completely intimate.

A knock. They ignored it.

“Oh, Harry, I...� But she couldn’t think of the words to say, she heard another knock. Bloody hell!

She was distracted again by where Harry was touching her.

A click. The door again.

“Here, Harry, touch me here...�

The door was opening, Hermione now saw it out of the corner of her eye.

“Harry, Harry! Someone’s opening my bedroom door...� Wait a minute... She finally made the connection. Harry Potter has no idea where my room is! How...?

Into her room walked Ron and Ginny, chatting as if their sister and best friend weren’t present. Then others followed: her mother, Molly Weasley, smiling politely... No! Hermione screamed, trying to cover herself. But she looked up. It was no longer her friend, Harry, pressing himself upon her, hurting her. He was no longer kissing her neck, he was biting it. Hard...



“Hermione, are you alright?� Jane Granger asked, her head poking into her daughter’s room.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I was having a nightmare.�

“Breakfast is ready, and Harry’s Floo’d, he’ll be over at ten.�

She couldn’t say anything.

The dream. AGAIN! The same one she’d had at least once a week for the past two months. Sitting up, she shook the cobwebs of sleepiness and guilt from her head and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. This has got to stop...



“Hi there.�

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading and her face broke into a huge grin. “Harry! What a surprise, Happy Christmas!� Jumping up, she pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she saw her mother grab a quick look at the two of them before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Just thought I’d stop in with your Christmas gift.� Pulling his wand and a small package from his pocket, Harry enlarged the box, but not much. He pocketed the wand and held up the petite parcel. Hermione had seen better wrapped packages which meant Harry had done the wrapping himself. “Go on, open it,� he prodded.

Hermione froze for a second. Opening the box she saw a beautiful gold chain with a Hogwarts shaped charm. Filigrees of what looked initially like silver crossed the locket, giving it a shining surface. She knew, though, that they were hundreds of tiny diamond fragments etched into the surface of the pendant.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.�

“Oh, Harry,� she could barely croak out; her eyes started to tear and she threw herself back at Harry.

Harry gently pried her away, smiling. “You know, Hermione...�

“NO, HARRY! Don’t say it, please� she interrupted.

“Huh? Wha’d’you mean?�

Suddenly embarrassed, Hermione plopped into a chair. “I’m sorry, Harry, what were you going to say?�

“I was about to tell you that Diane reminded me I hadn’t delivered your Christmas present. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this...�

Smiling, in relief and joy, Hermione just shook her head. “Thank you, Harry, it’s lovely. Did you get my gift?�

Sitting across from his friend, Harry nodded. “Yes, thank you. Look, Ron, Ginny, Diane and I want you to join us for dinner tomorrow. Interested?�

“Yes! Thank you. Are we eating out or... Don’t tell me Ron’s cooking.� Hermione asked suspiciously and then hiding her face dramatically. Both laughed.

“No, Di is, though I never know when to trust her. We may end up having boiled bootstraps.� They smiled, knowing the American’s propensity for pranking her friends.

“And, er, Ron said he wanted to talk to us about something important.�

Hermione’s heart lurched. “Oh my, it sounds important. You don’t suppose he’s going to move to France after all, do you?� Although she tried, Hermione couldn’t help but betray the anxiety she suddenly felt. But Harry was smiling. He knows, whatever it is.

“No, that’s not it, though I had my doubts, too. He’s changed a lot since he returned.�

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?� she said after waiting for Harry to spill the secret. But he changed the subject.

“Look, Hermione, what say we take a stroll around the block. I’d – er – like to talk to you about something.� Harry tried to smooth his hair down nervously.

Slumping back into her chair, the bushy-haired witch shook her head. “Sure, but you don’t have to talk about ‘us,’ Harry, I was way out of line, I’m so sorry.�

Harry watched her carefully, with an expectant look in his eyes. Good, she knows. But she had to say more, too.

“I didn’t mean to treat you that way. I guess I felt you were the only person who would give me any comfort.�

“There are a lot of people at Hogwarts who’ll do that, if you’d let them... Herms.� She answered with a playful slap on his arm.

The morning passed quickly after they finished talking. Jane Granger invited Harry for lunch but he already had a date with Ginny. Before leaving, Harry gave Hermione a hug. She released him, but stopped herself from kissing his cheek, smiling instead.

“Tomorrow, then?�

“Tomorrow.�

Chapter 13 – The Inquiry

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


With the Christmas holidays past, the Goblin accountants busy examining the Muggle records for compensation, and two months before the next scheduled meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister, Arthur Weasley began to gather his staff and associated department representatives for the formal and official inquiry into the death of Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort. The snippets of truth which the Wizarding community at large could gather from various sources did far more to spur further questions than provide answers. The pressure was on, and Minister of Magic, Marcus Proudfoot, placed the senior Weasley on the hot-seat by committing to a February date to start the proceedings. Fortunately Arthur was not caught flat-footed and had sketched out some preliminary ideas.

Seemingly never-ending, highly energetic groundwork discussions ran long into the evening three or four days each week and through January. Arthur requested, and was granted, Percy‘s services to compile and condense the notes of the meetings. His true plan for using Percy, however, had little to do with his clerical abilities. Since he could not attend every meeting himself, Arthur needed someone trustworthy to keep an eye and ear open for any discussion of Horcruxes. Realistically, Arthur knew it would only be through dumb luck that the subject would be overlooked, and this time Arthur’s luck ran out. At the second meeting, his former “friend,� Gilbert Wimple, arrived with Bailey Snodgrass and McKenzie Twittle, the two lawyers representing most of the Death Eaters, and began to create problems.

As the official Ministry recorder, Percy was also responsible for enforcing the meeting’s parliamentary rules. Since Snodgrass, Twittle and Wimple arrived late they could only listen and request time at the next meeting, they were informed. All three blustered to the point where Percy had to call for security to escort the men from the room to restore order. He planned to visit his father immediately after his duties were complete that evening.

“They wanted to bring up the Horcruxes, father,� Percy said, a sick look on his face. Besides Arthur, Molly, Remus and Minerva McGonagall were at the Burrow late that evening and heard Percy’s report. “They were talking about them while being escorted out. I’m certain others heard also, though no one gave any indication that they recognized the word.�

“Can’t the Horcrux creation spell be monitored like any other Unforgivable?� Mrs. Weasley asked her husband.

“Molly, the Ministry can’t monitor a tenth of what they say they can,� Remus answered before Arthur could. “At least not any more. And we know there are ways to mask spells.�

“I… yes, you’re right of course, Remus.�

Arthur drummed his fingers, a nervous habit he’d had all his life. “No, at first I’m afraid that we can only rely upon the revulsion our fellow wizards and witches should feel over the requirements to create a Horcrux. Legislation will certainly follow, but we may have to take a more proactive approach to this problem. And it might help Harry, too. There are some ugly rumors going around about him not finishing off V-Voldemort this time, either.�

“That was inevitable, Arthur,� Remus added. “We all know Harry would rather become invisible than accept credit, or point the spotlight on himself.� All the heads around the table nodded in agreement, even Percy’s.

“I suppose I’ll have to take this to the Minister after all,� Arthur sighed.

“Take Aberforth with you, dear, he might be able to help.�

“Perhaps, but he’s not in good health, Ginny tells me. I’ll Owl him tonight.� Looking over the notes Percy had given him, Arthur was relieved to see there were no other issues to discuss. He thanked everyone for their support and they all retired to the parlor for tea except McGonagall.

“I have to return to school, Molly. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. And Molly, would you please give this to Ronald?� She handed over a large envelope and then Floo’d back to Scotland.

“Father, are we going to include the Americans in the inquiry?� Percy asked.

“I’d like to, though we cannot force them to attend. The same will be true for Boris Titov. I wish Morley-Mauer could be there, too; his knowledge of Horcruxes would have been invaluable. Hopefully Aberforth can fill in the missing information.�

“Charlie, too,� Percy reminded his father.

“Right. His letter the other day said he was still recuperating, we will probably have to schedule him later in the process. And I doubt Tré will be available. Who do you have down so far?�

“Bill, Charlie, Harry, Ronald, Ginny, Hermione, Aberforth, Titov, Mellanson, Bill, Jimmy Twofeet and Jason Graham from the U.S., Profess... Headmistress McGonagall...� Arthur listened to the rest of the list and gave his approval.

“I will be sending out the first batch of subpoenas next week, please let me know if you have any changes.� Standing, Arthur walked Percy out to the parlor where he said goodnight to his mother and Apparated home.


``````````


“The what?!� a voice called from the kitchen.

“Ketchup. Will you bring out the ketchup when you come back… please?� Ron added hastily after catching his sister’s disapproving look.

The door between the formal dining room at Grimmauld Place and the kitchen banged open as Diane Bradley carried out the last of the side dishes. A seldom used container of Heinz Ketchup, with a year worth of the dried red condiment clearly visible under the cap, sat in the front pocket of her pinny. It was, Harry noticed, the same one Molly Weasley frequently wore when staying over.

Hermione grimaced as Ron opened the bottle and started pouring its contents on his filet mignon. Others watched in silent amusement.

“Wha’d I do?�

Harry leaned over slightly. “Ron, you usually don’t put ketchup on this kind of meat.�

“Why not?�

Harry shrugged and they left Ron to his own unique devices for the balance of the meal. When the dishes and bowls were cleared off, the five teens sat in awkward silence until Ron spoke again. “That was bloody superb, Diane. Where’d you learn to cook like that?�

“Oh, you know, Ron, we women just naturally know how to cook.� She twirled her hands above her head dramatically. Harry, Ginny and Hermione chuckled. Ron felt like he had become the butt of a joke.

“So, Ron, what’s the big announcement?� Hermione asked, seeing her ex-boyfriend was not volunteering any information. She had been curious since she saw Harry the day before and couldn’t wait to ask.

“Huh? Oh, that, ‘s‘nothing. I asked McGonagall if I could finish the year…� Harry and Ginny already knew this but feigned surprise. Diane just listened intently, watching Hermione out of the corner of her eye. “…but she said no.�

“WHAT?! She didn’t!� Hermione shouted in mortified astonishment.

Now Ron laughed. “Yeah, had to promise her my first-born before she would change her mind.�

Three pairs of eyes made quick, subtle glances at their bushy-haired friend. She was trying to remain calm but it was obviously a lost cause. Ron was looking down, as if he didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking. He was shaken from his private deliberations by Hermione’s hands taking his.

“Good on you, Ron. Excellent! I’m so happy you’ll… I’ll… we’ll… oh bloody hell, this is great. We’ll all be together again.�

Harry, Ginny and Diane shared a knowing look.

Ron turned to Hermione. “You’re really happy, ‘Mione? I mean, thanks, yeah, I’ve really missed you… all… of course, except you, Diane, never really got a chance to know you too much…� His babbling was cut off by Hermione pulling him up and giving him a warm embrace.

Sitting back down, Hermione began to spew out, from memory, all the things Ron would have to catch up on. Ron, for his part, just nodded sagely and listened.

Later that evening, Harry had Dobby and Winky take his guests around the house to show off their redecorating skills. Remus and Tonks had spontaneously decided to take a trip to the Isle of Wright for a couple days, so the House-Elves’ work had progressed faster than originally planned. To Ron’s delight he saw that Harry had instructed the decorators to paint one room Chudley Cannon orange, “For when you spend the night, Ron,� Harry told his friend, clapping him on the back. Turning to Hermione, he added “If you’re not busy tomorrow, the Elves are tackling the library. Feel free to help them; it’s always open to you.�

Hermione beamed.

Before leaving for the Burrow, Ron mentioned to Harry and Diane that they would be receiving official Ministry subpoenas in a few days for the inquiry. Both took this news silently and nodded; though Diane’s face was in a scowl. After bidding everyone goodnight, Ron and Ginny returned to the Burrow (Molly had discovered Lupin and Tonks were absent) and Hermione to her home. Harry and Diane walked to the drawing room and sat.

“So the inquisition starts next month, eh?�

“Inquiry, Di, not inquisition.� Harry tried to make light of the news, though he did not feel particularly happy himself.

“Ok.� A pause. “So all’s well between you and Hermione?� she asked, changing the subject.

“Absolutely. Did you see her light up tonight when Ron said he was returning?�

“Could hardly miss it; I thought she was going to start drooling.�

“Say, Di, thanks for bringing Hermione up the other day.� Harry said sincerely, then grimaced.

“You ok?�

“Haven’t been feeling well the past couple hours. I kipped out earlier but woke up feeling worse.�

Diane shook her head. “What does ‘kipped out’ mean?�

Massaging his temples, Harry was looking paler by the minute. “Rest, sleep…�

“Want some acetaminophen?�

“No… what is it?�

“Like aspirin, you know, for a headache.�

“Cripes, Di, just get me one of the headache potions from the cupboard, would you?� Harry was barely able to get the question out, and as Diane got up the front doorbell rang. “Bloody hell, who’s that?�

“I’ll see, Harry. You lie back.� Running to the door, Diane opened it to find Bill and Fleur.

“Hi, Diane, is Harry around? Sorry to pop in like this, we were down the street this afternoon visiting friends… is something wrong?� Bill asked when he noticed a look of concern on her face.

“No, Harry’s just not feeing well. Come in… hi Fleur.� Giving them both a quick bus on the cheek, Diane ushered them into the drawing room where she and Harry had just been talking. “Hang on, Harry, I’ll get the potion.�

Bill looked on as Harry massaged his temples; Fleur stepped up and sat with him. “’Ere, ‘Arry, let me do zat. Women ‘ave a better tooch.� Then moving his hands, she used her thumbs to work out the knotted muscles from his jaw up both sides of his skull. He groaned, but Fleur wasn’t sure if it was from pain or relief.

“Here you are, Harry. Is this the one?� Diane asked, handing him a bottle labeled ‘Headache Remedy.’

“When did all this start?� Bill asked.

“Just a minute ago. Harry, how are you feeling?�

“Hurts…� was all he could say.

Fleur glanced at her husband and then asked Harry, “’Arry, zis is not your scar ‘urting, ees eet?� To everyone’s relief he shook his head no.

“Harry, let me get mum, she might have an idea,� Bill offered. When Harry didn’t respond he took it upon himself to act. A moment later he was in the Floo network on his way to the Burrow.

After a minute Harry said, “It’s getting better, I think. Maybe I’ll just go to bed.�

“Are you sure, ‘Arry?�

“Yeah…� But when he stood up Fleur had to steady him.

Shaking her head, Diane took his arm “Right, Harry, off we go.�

Fleur and Diane helped Harry up the stairs and to his bedroom. With a wave of her wand, the American changed Harry’s clothes into pajamas and warmed the bed. Fleur looked impressed. Collapsing onto his bed, Harry pulled the covers up and rolled over; he seemed to drop off to sleep immediately.

Not a minute later, Ginny and Ron came into the room followed closely by Mrs. Weasley. After a short discussion, Bill and Fleur went home, Ron went down to read, and Mrs. Weasley, Diane and Ginny began to argue over who should stay with Harry. Ginny knew it was a lost cause and clumped furiously down the stairs where she dragged Ron off to Floo home.

After further discussion, Diane convinced Mrs. Weasley that she was perfectly capable of taking care of Harry and promised to send for her should there be any other attacks. Fairly pushing the last guest from the room, Diane got ready for bed and returned to check on Harry. She stood protectively over him, thinking, and making a decision. Conjuring a day-bed from the ugly, green, overstuffed chair Harry so liked, Diane lay down and dimmed the lamp. She watched her friend for a few minutes before snuffing the light and laying down to sleep; Harry’s peaceful breathing the only sound.


The next morning Harry woke without any pain or discomfort. He and Diane sat in bed talking and enjoyed breakfast served by Winky, who gave Diane frequent curious glances. When she left with the dishes, both laughed. “She probably thinks I’m cheating on Ginny, or something,� he snorted.

Diane remained silent for a moment before startling Harry with a comment. “I wonder if any House-Elves are gay.� Laughing at Harry’s opened mouth, she jumped out of bed and started to leave to dress. “What should we do today?� she asked before closing the door.

“Find you someone, I think,� Harry replied, dryly.

“Hmm, I asked Fred if he wanted to go out next weekend. Does that count?�

“Come on, Di, don’t lead him on.� He snapped, irritation obvious in his tone.

“You’re such a dolt, Harry. Ginny and Hermione go out together all the time. Are they lesbians?�

“NO!�

“There you are, because I go out with a guy doesn’t mean… oh, hell, Harry, figure it out for yourself.� Diane slammed the door shut.


A few minutes later, Harry exited the shower and was dressing when his door opened. Grabbing his shirt quickly, he saw it was only Ginny. “You decent?�

“Yeah, Gin, come on in.�

“Too bad,� she pouted, walking up to him and planting a kiss on his lips. Harry tried to pull her in closer but she pushed him away. “Yuck, Harry, what did you eat for breakfast? Never mind, go wash your mouth.�

Shaking his head, Harry trudged back to the loo, returning a minute later. “Better?� he asked with another kiss.

“Much.� Ginny flopped on Harry’s bed, not before noticing the other one nearby. “Did Diane stay in here last night, Harry?�

“Er, yeah… I didn’t realize it till this morning. I guess she wanted to keep an eye one me.� Scratching his arm nervously, Harry sat next to Ginny on the bed. “Does it bother you?�

“I suppose it does, a little at least.� She turned to look at Harry squarely. “Pretty silly, isn’t it?� she asked seriously.

“No, Gin, not at all. She acts very insecure at times, I think that’s part of the reason she does that. You do know I’d much rather have you here, don’t you?�

“Sleeping over there?� she retorted, arching her eyebrows mischievously.

“No. And you know the answer to that question, too, love.� Pulling Ginny down next to him, Harry kissed her and she instantly knew he was telling the truth.

“It’s been a long time, Harry,� Ginny groaned, rolling over a minute later. “I can’t believe it’s been three months since we…�

“What?! Are you keeping track?� Harry asked in obvious horror.

“Of course I am. That’s what girls do.� Harry buried his face in the pillow and Ginny laughed again. They tussled playfully for a few minutes, stealing kisses and tickling each other until they saw Ron standing at the door, an amused look on his face.

“Watch where you put those hands, Potter!� he said, but without a trace of animosity.

“Oh, go away, Ron,� his sister retorted. “Harry, can we see your albums? Diane mentioned that you’d looked at them the other day.�

“Yeah, mate, show us the Potter family.�

“Sure, they’re over there,� Harry said, pointing to the desk. “Bring them over and have a look.�

Harry, Ron and Ginny poured over both albums for the next hour while in the background Dobby and Winky could be heard working on the floor above. At some point Ankaa appeared quietly, perching himself atop Harry’s shoulder and looking at the pictures with some interest. When finished they took a long walk around the neighborhood, something impossible in the past. All three marveled at the Victorian architecture and the large, spacious lots.

Arriving back at number 12 early afternoon they found Diane reading in the parlor. Upon seeing Harry, she scowled and turned to Ginny. “Hermione Floo’d and wanted to know if we would like to meet in Diagon Alley tomorrow for lunch. Fred, George and Verity will be joining us.� After another annoyed look at Harry she went back to her book.



The final day before returning to Hogwarts, Harry, Diane, Ginny and Ron met up with Fred, George, Verity and Hermione for lunch. Diagon Alley was especially crowded and the twins excused themselves early, claiming ‘lost business’ if they stayed too long, thought they told Verity to stay if she wished. Ron also left early; he needed to purchase books and other supplies. Harry watched him closely, wondering if he would ask Hermione to help him. He did not. Hermione sighed when Ron left, and pretended like nothing was amiss; Harry, Diane and Ginny suspected otherwise.

Harry’s plan for deeding Grimmauld Place to Remus and Tonks worked perfectly that same evening. When the engaged couple returned Harry presented them with the deed and title to the property. Both were stunned by the gift and the transformed house. Tonks pulled Harry into a long, tight embrace while her hair flashed uncontrollably between brick-red and aquamarine. Remus was speechless but shook his best friend’s son’s hand and then embraced him also. Harry pointed out that, due to some arcane Wizarding laws, Kreacher would have to revert back to Harry’s ownership, then to Remus and Tonks where his final disposition would be determined. Everyone present had a sour look on their face when the old House-Elf was called.

“Kreacher must obey his lawful owner,� he whined, face turned down. “But Kreacher thanks the Potter brat for bringing poor Kreacher back to his mistress’s house.� With this, the miserable, decrepit being shuffled over to where Mrs. Black’s portrait used to hang on the wall.

Seeing it gone, he looked back at Harry. “Where is mistress, Kreacher wonders? Where are my ancestors?�

“They’re gone now, Kreacher,� Harry said spitefully. “And as of this moment, you now belong to Remus Lupin. And when he marries, you must also answer to his wife, Nymphadora Tonks. I release you from my ownership now.� Harry turned to Remus. “You better give him a command to be sure the magic has bound him to you.�

Nodding, Remus looked at the pitiful elf. “Sit down,� he said gently. When he saw the elf comply he continued. “Don’t worry, Kreacher, we don’t plan to keep you here.�

“New master is kind to poor Kreacher.� But every syllable of the comment was forced and overflowing with contempt.

“Kreacher, I command you to return to Hogwarts and live out the rest of your days as an aid to the housekeeping staff. Now get out of here.�

With one last loathsome look, Kreacher stood and vanished from Grimmauld for the last time.



Diane, who had been silently watching the happenings from across the room, spoke up for the first time. “Lord, what a nasty thing he is. It is a ‘he,’ isn’t it?�

Tonks laughed. “Yes, he’s a right barmy one. I’m glad he’s gone.�

Remus, Tonks and Harry sat with Diane and told stories of their holiday. Both looked well rested, even for such a short time away and Harry was delighted to see they were holding hands. Shying at public displays of affection, they seemed far more comfortable together now, more than any other time.

“Remus, Harry showed me the albums the other day,� Diane said when the conversation died out. Remus glanced towards him and raised his eyes questioningly.

“Er – yeah, finally got to it. Say, there’s a picture of my dad towards the back of Sirius’s album. It said something about Auror training, and he looked worn out. What was that about?�

“Did it give a year?� Remus asked.

“1978, wasn’t it, Di?� She confirmed the year with a nod.

“Ok, that must have been when the Ministry sent your parents to the Americas for their final six months of training. I remember James would come by every so often, but it was really tough to get away. They were in Mexico and Columbia, I think, most of the time. The last few weeks were a survival course in the wild. They had to be able to live off the land, without a wand, for a month.�

“A month without a wand?� asked Harry incredulously.

“Well, it was a good incentive to learn wandless magic. Lily was pretty good at it, too, if I recall.�

Harry sat silent for a couple minutes. “There’s so much about them I never knew. Do all Aurors do this survival training?�

Tonks answered this one. “No, there are different levels you can train for. Your parents were probably training to be Trackers, not surprising given the nature of the first war against Voldemort.�

“And they probably trained together,� Remus added. “I just don’t recall. They were a good team.� A faint tone of sadness was in his voice. “But they finished right at the end of the year and were commissioned in January of ’79. I remember it because your mother returned quite ill with some tropical parasite or infection. She was at St. Mungo’s for a couple weeks. Obviously she recovered, and that fall she announced she was pregnant, with you, Harry. You know, son, you might want to write this all down in the albums so you can pass it on to your children some day.�

The four sat in a comfortable silence while Harry was thinking about Remus’s suggestion. Tonks was entertaining Diane by making her nose grow longer, then shorter, then into a pig snout.

“I told Harry to grow his hair long so he could put it in a pony-tail,� Diane told Tonks in a hushed voice. “He wouldn’t have to try to paste it down all the time.� The girls giggled.

“Like this?� Harry asked.

Remus, Tonks and Diane looked back at Harry and saw his hair was well below his shoulders. He reached behind his head and twisted it into a crude knot. All three spoke at the same time, asking him how he’d done that.

“I’ve always been able to make my hair long or short, even when I was a kid living with the Dursley’s. My Aunt Petunia would give me odd haircuts so everything was short except my fringe. I hated it so much I wished it was all the same length and it would just happen. Haven’t tried it in years, but it still works, I guess.�

Still in shock, the three just waited for Harry to say more. When he didn’t, Tonks did. “Harry, can you change any other part of your body?�

“Nah, I’ve tried it; can’t even get a moustache.�

“Too bad. Can you do it to others?�

“Long hair...?� Then he had an idea. Looking at Diane he touched her head. Remus and Tonks eyes got wider, even Harry was startled a little.

“Wow!� Tonks exclaimed in obvious amazement and wonder.

“What?� Diane asked in a panicky voice. Then putting her hand on her head she cried out. “What did you do?�

For the first time since she was very young, Diane’s hair was short.

“Harry! Put it back,� she cried out, and he did.

When the laughing had stopped, Harry again shortened his hair, muttering about how Ginny liked it short. At the top of the staircase Ankaa stood on the banister watching the four humans; the old snapshot which had fallen out of the large album a few days before held firmly in his beak. Soundlessly Ankaa flashed into Harry’s room and slid the picture back into the large album.


``````````


“Objection, your honor!� Twittle called out for the umpteenth time. “The prosecution is not allowing my client to answer the question.�

“Sit down, Mr. Twittle. You’ll have an opportunity to question Madam Umbridge in turn. Objection overruled. The jury will disregard Mr. Twittle’s comment. Mr. Gibson, please continue.�

Thanking the judge, Michael Gibson was happy to see that the Wizengamot operated much like his judiciary system... his ‘Muggle’ judiciary system. Percy Weasley’s invitation to act as prosecutor for this case was nearly as startling as his revelation of the existence of the Wizarding world a few months earlier. But his plea for a completely unbiased attorney was convincing, and here Gibson was.

“We can come back to that one later, Madam Umbridge. Yes or no, did you order two Dementors to Little Winging on...� Gibson looked back to his wizard assistant who handed him a slip of paper he had prepared. “...or about the 20th of July, 1996, to ‘suck the soul’ out of Harry James Potter?�

“I did what I had to do to...�

�Your honor, please instruct the witness, again, to answer the question as asked,� Gibson asked in frustration.

“He was spreading foul lies...�

“ENOUGH, Madam Umbridge. This is your final warning. You will answer the questions as asked or you will be held in contempt. Do you understand?�

Dolores Umbridge opened her mouth to speak but thought better of what to say. “Yes, ma’am.�

“See that you do. The jury will disregard Madam Umbridge’s comment. Mr. Gibson?�

“I’ll repeat the question. Yes or no, did you...�

“Yes, I did.�

“Thank you. Let’s see if we can get through this next question a little faster.�

Twittle rose again. “Objection! Counsel is badgering the witness.�

The judge looked down at the prosecuting attorney. “You know better than that, Mr. Gibson. Objection sustained.�

“Yes, your honor. Madam Umbridge: yes or no, on or about June 10, 1997 did you start to cast the...� Gibson looked at his notes, “Cruciatus Curse on Mr. Harry James Potter in direct violation of the Rules and Laws of your government?�

This time Umbridge smiled, her toady little eyes nearly invisible behind the rolls of fat on her screwed up face. “No, I did not.�

Gibson could hear murmurs of disbelief behind him, but he suppressed a smile. The judge banged her gavel for silence. “No? So you say that the testimony of Ms. Hermione Jane Granger this morning is incorrect?�

“No, I did start to cast the spell, but it was within my discretionary powers which spells I use to force the truth out of Potter.� She looked into the court room and smiled at Harry. Harry smiled back, unconsciously rubbing a finger over the ‘I must not tell lies’ scar on the back of his hand.

“Yes, yes, your educational decree number twenty-five. Is this the authority to which you refer?� Gibson handed Umbridge a tattered, official looking paper with Fudge’s and her signature at the bottom.

“Yes, it is.�

“I see.� Gibson walked back to his table and took a drink of water. Then he picked up a large, heavy book titled ‘Laws Most Ancient.’

“Your honor, members of the jury, I would like to present this book of laws as exhibit number twelve, in particular page twenty-nine, section one, paragraph A, subparagraph 1, rule 1 which reads: ‘To the use of these Unforgivables there is no redress.’ This is, as you well know, referring to the three Unforgivable Curses in the Wizarding world: the Death Curse, the Control Curse and the Torture Curse. Now, Madam, would you please read rule 2?�

Gibson handed the book to Umbridge. Squinting, she read the second rule as directed in her squeaky, annoying, simpering voice. “’No person of authority may pardon or parole a fellow witch or wizard, justly convicted by a jury of their peers, for using the Unforgivables.’�

“Thank you. Now please look a few lines further down at rule seventeen. Madam Umbridge, would you please read the highlighted portion of this book?�

Her face turned red. “No thank you.�

“Never mind,� Gibson said, retrieving the book and returning it to the table where he picked up a small pile of paper. “Your honor, here are copies of rule seventeen, I would like them entered as exhibit number thirteen.� He handed one to the judge, one to the court recorder, one to Twittle and a few more to the Wizengamot, keeping one for himself.

“Amended 3 May 1931, the rule reads: ‘No spell, curse, hex, potion or charm may be used to force an under-aged wizard or witch to incriminate themselves when questioned by persons in authority over said which or wizard.’ Now tell me, Madam Umbridge, how was your attempted use of the Cruciatus Curse legal under this rule?�

“There appears to be a conflict,� she said magisterially.

“So there is, Madam Umbridge, or so it would appear. How fortunate it would be for you if there was a conflict.�

“Yes, Mr. Gibson,� Umbridge wheezed. “In all issues of statutory ambiguity the Minister of Magic has the authority to rule as he or she sees fit. Minister Fudge and I discussed this exact situation and he provided me with written authority, as the law prescribes, to act as I choose.�

Scattered boo’s and jeer’s filled the court room. Again the judge gaveled them to silence.

“I see,� Gibson replied sagely. Feigning confusion, he led Umbridge deeper into the hole she was digging herself. He had also stealthfully placed himself between Umbridge and Twittle. “You and Fudge saw the legal ambiguity and reasoned out ways to grant you proper authority.� Umbridge should have noticed that Gibson had just made a statement, not asked a question.

“Yes, we did. That’s why my actions were wholly legal.� Umbridge folded her arms, buffing the fingernails of her right hand on her left arm.

“That sounds like a thorough explanation to me,� Gibson said neutrally. “I’m certain that your counsel will have you explain how Minister Fudge also notified the Wizengamot of both you and his actions and intentions, as is prescribed by section one, paragraph B, subparagraph 2, rule 2, entered into the Code of Wizards by the Wizengamot 7 December 1994, which states that: ‘The Wizengamot must be notified, in writing, of any and all extraordinary privileges and/or authorities granted to any wizard or witch by the Minister of Magic or his/her acting deputy. This includes, but is not limited to, any decree(s), ruling(s), judgment(s), order(s), law(s), command(s), dictate(s) and/or pronouncement(s) which are outside the usual and customary practices.’ Oh yes, and it finishes with this comment: ‘This is particularly applicable to any waiver of serious offense(s) and/or the use of any Unforgivable Curses.’ I wonder, Madam Umbridge… oh, yes, and this was signed into law 8 December 1994, by Cornelius Fudge… if your counsel will show us that you truly had the authority for any of these Educational Decrees.� Gibson paused, his face just centimeters from the witnesses. “Do you think the Wizengamot was properly notified?�

Umbridge sat, her face red and her hands gripping the seat of her chair tightly. She said nothing; she knew the answer.

Gibson waited. Silence is golden! “I think it’s time to move on,� he continued, all pretense of confusion gone. “Madam Umbridge, you’ve heard the testimony of others present the night Mr. Potter fought Lord Voldemort at the Ministry of Magic. Yes or no, did you use Veritaserum on Mr. Harry James Potter that same school year without so informing him?�

“I choose not to answer,� Umbridge said, her reply seething.

“I beg your pardon, Madam Umbridge, what was that? You choose not to answer? Why is that?�

“Because-I-might-incriminate-myself.�

�Objection!�

�Sit DOWN Mr. Twittle!�

“I see. Just to make sure the jury understands you: you said that you refuse to answer the question because the answer might incriminate you. It that correct?�

Umbridge nodded.

“Let the court recorder show that the witness nodded her head in the affirmative.�

“One last question, Madam Umbridge. Seeing as the man fancying himself Lord Voldemort truly had returned in the spring of 1996, and that Harry James Potter was, in fact, telling the truth about his return: do you have any remorse whatsoever for torturing Mr. Potter throughout that school year for lying? Seeing as he was right... and you were wrong... weren’t you a bit... overzealous?�

Umbridge leaned forward. “No.�

“You weren’t a tad harsh?�

She stood. “NO!�

“You feel your actions were completely justified?�

“YES!�

“And you’d feel completely comfortable doing it again, under the same circumstances?�

Banging her meaty fist on the witness box railing, she screamed out: “YES! YES! YES!�

“Thank you, Madame, Umbridge. No further questions, your honor.� Walking back to his seat, Gibson turned to Twittle. “Your witness,� he said, smiling. Twittle just shook his head.

Later that day Harry and Hermione headed back to Hogwarts. At first they were reserved, neither speaking until Harry burst out laughing as they approached the Head Boy/Head Girl Suite.

“What’s so funny, Harry?�

“I was just thinking, today was one of the best days of my life.�

Hermione considered rebuking her friend for gloating over another person’s misfortune, but she let it go. Besides, she was feeling pretty good herself.


A month into the second half of the term, Ron found himself buried under a mountain of catch-up work. Harry, Ginny, Diane and Hermione all helped as best they could, sharing notes or quizzing him. They were also pleasantly surprised to see that he complained little and appeared to be truly interested in good grades, as well as the number of N.E.W.T.S. he achieved. He still insisted on breaks for “refreshments,� as he called his snack time, but the others also came to find relief in these pauses as the weeks went by.

The trial of Dolores Umbridge finished a few weeks after Harry and Hermione’s testimony. There were very few tears shed when the Daily Prophet put out a special edition notifying the Wizarding community that Umbridge had died suddenly as the guilty verdict was read to her. Ron was less reserved. “The old bitch had it coming,� he could be heard saying whenever someone asked what he thought. No one, even the Headmistress who had overheard him once, admonished Ron for his blunt assessment of the event.


``````````


As February started, the liveliest topics of discussion were the return of twenty-four Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students and the start of the official inquiry to the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort. The students had been cleared of all charges dealing with aiding Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself. No one was surprised to see that all of these students were first or second years. Also, three Ravenclaw and two Hufflepuff students who had not been present since September appeared. The unexplained assumption is that they were also tied up in something shady. It took, however, quite a while for most of the student body to accept the twenty-four back as the innocent children they were. Hermione and Harry had to frequently use their authority to settle tense situations all throughout the school.

The inquiry rapidly became more of a bother than anticipated as thirty-two students were subpoenaed to testify, but Headmistress McGonagall could do little about it. Obviously Harry and Diane would miss a few days of class; Ron, Ginny, Hermione and the rest would be out half a day. That was the plan. And as if to prove the old saying, ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans,’ everything fell apart from the start.

It wasn’t Arthur Weasley’s fault, though some blame might have been directed his way, but the subject of Horcruxes arose the first day of testimony. It was inevitable, really. Fortunately, Harry was present that day, and being the one most familiar with the subject, as it had played out over the past fifty years, resignedly nodded to Arthur Weasley when he looked to Harry for support. A brief recess was called during which Arthur told Harry to answer any and every question truthfully and completely. Both had discussed this late the previous year and concluded that once the issue was breached the best approach would be to tell everything.

So it began.

Arthur, as head of the inquiry, reserved the right to question Harry first. And the first question was broad enough for Harry to spend the next three hours answering it. Members of the press and the Wizarding community present as visitors to the proceedings sat in slack-jawed amazement as Harry’s story unfolded. Members of Arthur’s committee were also generally amazed, though many showed clear signs of having knowledge of Horcruxes. These were the three members from the Pure Blood faction, and the ones who had brought up the subject in the first place.

The purpose of this action was never made clear, except, perhaps, to somehow trip up Harry Potter, or perhaps to catch him in a lie. The subject was so broad and complex that if Harry had not been so intimately familiar with the topic he might have been nailed by a simple slip. But it did not happen.

Harry, who had spent many a night with Hermione organizing his notes, stepped through every part of the life of Tom Riddle and his rise to power. He skillfully skirted over Horace Slughorn’s involvement in Riddle’s first known inquiries about Horcruxes. He knew more probing questions would follow, but for now the issue was side-stepped. Using his Pensieve to show snippets of his and Dumbledore’s conversations, Harry brought gasps of horror and more than a few cheers on his behalf from the gallery.

Adding in the contributions of Aberforth Dumbledore, Tré Mellanson and Martin Morley-Mauer, as well as a number of other Order of the Phoenix members, Harry showed how the identity of all the Horcruxes were discovered. In particular, he made reference to Martin’s revelation about how the Horcruxes were created. Proving that a Horcrux was expended each time Voldemort’s life was lost, he pointed out, saved many lives and shortened the war. Harry also pointed out that Martin had given his life destroying one of the last Horcruxes. By the looks on some faces, Harry guessed (correctly) that Martin made a good choice.

Harry ended with the events of September 11. Arthur called a long lunch recess and quickly escorted Harry from the chamber, along with Diane.

“You did a superb job, son,� Arthur told Harry sincerely, once they were in the anteroom. “I’m proud of you.� He pulled the young man into a warm embrace which Harry awkwardly returned.

When Arthur let go, Diane pulled him to herself and wrapped her arms around him. “I had no idea it was this complex, Harry. I’m so proud of you.� He had shared with Diane much of the story of his past few years at school, but never to this level of detail.

“Unfortunately, this is only the start. We may, that is, you may, spend the rest of your time here answering questions. Each inquiry member has up to two hours of time for follow-up items and you can count on everyone using every minute.�

Harry frowned, but he had always known it would be possible, even probable. And to top off the morning his headache was returning, though not as badly as over the holidays. Diane saw him grimace again and pointed to a chair with an expression that would brook no argument.

Asking Arthur for a pain potion, Diane sat next to Harry, on the arm of his chair, and began to massage his neck and head as Fleur had done. “Harry, you need to see a doctor… or healer. You have some of the symptoms of migraine headaches. They can be very debilitating; you don’t want to collapse during these sessions.�

Arthur returned with Bill and a small bottle. “Here, Harry, Mrs. Weasley gave me a couple single-dose pain killers when I started the new job. It’s a wonder I haven’t needed them, yet.�

Thanking Mr. Weasley, Harry downed the potion in one gulp and leaned back in his chair.

“Harry, the Aurors’ offices have some cots you can use, if you want to kip out for a while,� Bill told him. “You don’t have to be back until two o’clock.�

“Yeah, thanks, that’s a good idea.�

Diane and Bill helped Harry to his feet, but he was able to walk the remaining distance without assistance. On the third floor, they ran into Tonks who was busily delivering some reports to her superiors. She waved to the three of them and continued on her way. When Harry was settled, Bill and Diane left to find lunch in Muggle London. The usual plethora of street vendors were not about due to the cold weather, so they ducked into a decent looking pub and placed their order.

On their return walk to the Ministry, Bill struck up a conversation. “What are your plans after leaving Hogwarts, Diane? Are you thinking of staying in England?�

“Honestly, Bill? I haven’t had time to think about it. I do miss my friends from Salem, but I also feel at home here, even after such a short time. There are also many more opportunities to advance my skills here. You know the situation back in the States, don’t you?�

“Yes, it is unfortunate, but I hear things are turning around.� They approached the entrance to the Ministry and Bill brought up another idea. “Have you thought of teaching, back in the States, that is? Sounds like they could use someone with your talents.�

“Maybe. Why the third degree? Trying to get rid of me?� she asked kiddingly.

“No, not at all. You could probably get a job almost anywhere with your… you know, power. Dumbledore couldn’t do some of the things I saw you do.� Holding the door to the phone booth open, they squeezed inside. “Bill Weasley and Diane Bradley to see Arthur Weasley,� Bill said into the phone. A moment later they were descending below the streets of Muggle London.

Harry was up and about, looking much better when they returned. Diane handed him a hard roll with an assortment of meats layered colorfully inside. He looked at it suspiciously, removed a few pieces of meat and started eating. When he saw Diane watching him he shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, it’s not your filet.�

Bill went off to his father’s office to eat; Percy was joining them for lunch. As Harry ate, Diane watched him for any more signs of pain but he seemed fine when they returned to the chamber just before two.

Arthur called the room to order and yielded the floor to Max Diggory. As expected, and as planned beforehand, Max lead Harry on a line of questioning that focused on the events of the previous summer. This fleshed out many unanswered questions, but as all would soon experience, not nearly enough.

On day two Harry had his first experience with a hostile panel member. Gilbert Wimple immediately began to demand details about Horcrux theory, their creation and destruction. In spite of all he had learned from Martin Morley-Mauer, Harry could only answer part of most questions. But the most damning and frustrating questions to answer came shortly before lunch and near the end of Wimple’s barrage. Here the focus was on, specifically, how Tom Riddle had learned of Horcruxes. Under oath, Harry had to tread carefully to keep Horace Slughorn’s name out of the testimony. He was aided, fortunately, by imprecise questions.

“And exactly how did Tom Riddle come to know about Horcruxes?�

“Professor Dumbledore and I talked about this, sir.� This was a canned response Harry gave whenever he needed a moment to think. It usually worked. “We didn’t discover precisely when Riddle learned the magic of creating a Horcrux. But we do know that by the time he left Hogwarts he had…�

“Yes, yes, you’ve already told us when, and what; I want to how.�

“We don’t know how, sir, my testimony tells you everything I can recall.�

“You have no idea how Riddle found out about Horcruxes? That is your testimony?�

“Yes, sir.�

Whipple angrily turned to face Arthur Weasley. “He isn’t telling me everything, Weasley, and you know it.�

“I’m sure he isn’t telling you everything he knows, Gilbert. However, he is answering your questions truthfully or he would have broken his oath.� Arthur nodded to the large stone on the court recorder’s desk upon which Harry had placed his hand early in the day.

Analogous to swearing on a bible in Muggle courts, the ‘Truth Stone’ was as ancient in the Wizarding world as the legend of King Arthur. In fact, the ‘Truth Stone’ was alleged to be a part of the stone from which Arthur drew the sword, Excalibur, assuring him a place in history. But most contemporary historians believe it is just a bewitched rock; no one really knows. It is used extensively in non-criminal hearings; truth being the basis of jurisprudence in both Muggle and Wizarding England. The ‘Truth Stone,’ however, is not used in criminal proceedings since it might force a witness to incriminate him or herself unintentionally.

Harry had sworn upon the stone and offered, as was custom, proof of his oath by lying to a simple question. The stone glowed red until he corrected his statement. Detractors claim that the stone does not accurately gage ‘whole truths’ or ‘partial truths,’ a somewhat accurate assertion. But if questioned properly, a witness would have a difficult time lying. For example: if Wimple had asked Harry if he knew of anyone who had told Riddle anything about Horcruxes he would have been deceitful to omit Slughorn’s name.

The afternoon of day two was far easier on Harry than the morning. An aged wizard he had seen around the Ministry over the years, but whom he did not know personally, asked Harry to describe the history of his personal encounters with Riddle and the role the Prophecy played. Harry’s only annoyance with the man was his propensity to require him to answer questions that made him ‘look good.’ The extent of this became obvious when Harry was bombarded with questions from a suddenly friendly media later in the day. It felt relieving to be on their good side, but he also knew fortune was a fickle friend. Tomorrow the same reporters might call for his head.

With the second day complete, Arthur Owled McGonagall asking that Harry and Diane remain in London over the weekend to prepare for the next week of hearings. The Headmistress replied tersely that she would send their books and assignments to Grimmauld Place. Shortly before dinner, Ginny flew out of the fireplace of the redecorated house to deliver a small mountain of books and parchments. Remus tried to entice her to remain for dinner but it didn’t work.

“I have to be back at school in four and a half minutes, but thanks, Remus.� Then turning to Harry and Diane: “Hermione gathered everything you two will need.� She pointed to the pile, laughing. “You probably figured that out already.�

Following a long embrace and kiss good bye, during which Diane stood by smirking, Ginny disappeared into the cool green flames.

“Dinner,� Tonks announced. Harry scowled at Diane and ate little that evening.

By Sunday night Harry and Diane had completed their assignments and were in the parlor with Remus and Tonks talking about this and that. Mostly Diane and Tonks spoke about the wedding, work or school; Harry and Remus listened quietly and occasionally rolled their eyes at the other.

Monday and Tuesday were generally uneventful at the Ministry. There were tough questions and easy ones, but the information Harry imparted to the committee was boring in comparison to that of the previous week.

Wednesday was the last scheduled day of Harry’s testimony, and he was glad it was nearly over. Arriving in the chamber, Harry and Diane were surprised to see Bill Weasley speaking with Jason Graham and Jimmy Twofeet, the Native American who had helped them track down Nagini. Bill waved them over but Harry told Diane to go ahead, he was going to speak with Arthur Weasley to get a Potion for a smoldering headache he’d had since arriving earlier.

As the chamber was coming to order, Harry joined Diane at the front row where current and future witness sat. “Why are Jason and Jimmy here?�

“They’re testifying tomorrow,� replied Diane irritatedly.

“What’s wrong with that?�

“I was supposed to testify tomorrow, but it looks like I’ll be pushed back another day.� Searching around the chamber, Diane saw another familiar face. “Oh look, there’s Aberforth.�

At the front of the chamber, Harry saw Aberforth Dumbledore speaking with Arthur Weasley. It was the first time Harry had seen him in four months. He looked tired and much worn, his color was poor and Harry suspected that he might still be having heart problems. Catching Aberforth’s eye, he smiled and nodded, Aberforth gave a small wave and then turned back to Arthur. A minute later he sat himself on the bench next to Harry.

“Hello, Harry, Diane,� he said pleasantly. “I understand you are finishing up today.�

Diane thumbed in Harry’s direction. “He is.�

“Yeah, I’ll be glad when this is over,� Harry admitted. “How are you? We stopped in a few times to see you but you were always out.�

Aberforth smiled vaguely and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you know.� But that was all he said, or could say. Arthur Weasley was gaveling the chamber to order.

Harry was called back up to the witness stand and reminded that his oath was still binding. Taking a seat, Harry looked over at Mr. Weasley and nodded. He was ready.

The questioning that morning dealt with the destruction of the final two Horcruxes: Nagini and the Coin. Harry narrated what he knew about Martin’s role in destroying the Coin Horcrux and how it had eventually killed the man. Then Milksop Garvey, a twenty-ish looking wizard whom Harry had never met before, asked him to describe the search for, and destruction of, the last Horcrux, Nagini.

The testimony was not very long, and Harry had to explain about the painful process he, Diane, Bill Weasley and Jimmy Twofeet went through to close in on their target. Some of the grimaces he let slip, too, were not only due to the painful memories, but to his most recent headache. But he made it through the questions in only an hour and was relieved that his time was nearly up.

Unexpectedly, Garvey asked Harry to remain for a moment and called Arthur into a side-bar, apparently asking him some procedural question. Mr. Weasley’s face instantly turned grave and he motioned for Aberforth to join them. Not a minute later, Arthur gaveled the meeting into a recess and called Harry, Aberforth, Jimmy Twofeet and Bill Weasley into the anteroom. Aberforth Dumbledore looked particularly grave.

“Harry,� Arthur began as soon as the door closed, “we need to review the last part of your testimony before proceeding. There appears to be some discrepancies between what you recall and what Bill and Jimmy told Garvey they remember.

“Er— sure, Mr. Weasley. But I told you everything I recall.�

“I’m sure you did, son, but you were nearly unconscious when Bill and Jimmy destroyed the Horcrux.� Arthur hesitated. “Harry, we were hoping you would consent to sharing that memory with us. Jimmy and Bill have also agreed to do so.�

Puzzled, but also concerned by Aberforth’s serious demeanor, Harry nodded. “Ok,� he said simply.

“Excellent. Harry, would you mind going first? Thank you: if you would just start at the point where you baited Nagini to come out for food. Aberforth?�

The last remaining Dumbledore pulled a round stone from one of his pockets and placed it on the table. It had runes carved into it.

“Is that a Pensieve, Aberforth?� asked Harry.

“No, but it can perform some of the functions of one. This is used to play back memories, but it has no capacity for storing them.�

Nodding, Harry took out his wand and extracted the memory from his head. Then tapping his wand in the edge of the stone, the memory was absorbed and a three-dimensional replay of the requested event began.

An indistinct cloud above the stone rapidly formed into the copse of trees where Diane, Bill and Jimmy had waited, hidden from a distant house. Harry’s voice came out of nowhere telling them Nagini was on the way…

As soon as Bill and Jimmy saw the snake, and that Harry had broken his mental link with it, they each used a simple machete to kill and physically destroy the vessel of the last Horcrux. As his final act, before leaving the area, Bill took the head of the snake and stored it in a rubber bag…

“Thank you, Harry, you can retrieve your memory now,� Aberforth said flatly. Harry did as he was told.

Leaning over, Aberforth placed his face in his gnarled hands and shook his head. “Bill, Jimmy… where was Boris Titov while you were killing the snake?�

They looked at each other and shrugged; Bill answered. “He went back to the continent before we even started out.� Placing his wand to his temple, Bill drew out the memory in question for all to watch. The scene just outside Hogwarts showed Titov’s departure from Bill’s perspective.


“Good luck, Harry,� said Titov, offering his hand.

“You’re not going?�

“No, I haff to go back to thee continent to geet the rest of my people here. And if I were caught... I know too much.� With that he turned and trotted out of sight.


Harry thought Aberforth was going to die of a stroke right in front of them; his expression was one of utter disappointment and his face dark purple. And Harry was not the only one to notice it.

“What is it, Abe,� Arthur and Bill asked at the same time.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Arthur: the only people who knew how to properly destroy a Horcrux were my brother, Martin, Boris and myself,� Aberforth said harshly.

Harry suddenly understood and didn’t like the way the discussion was headed.

“We killed it, Abe. We hacked the bloody thing to bits and you personally incinerated the head with the other Horcruxes,� Bill spoke up with great agitation; his voice carried a hint of panic, too.

Aberforth stood, his hands visibly shaking. “There was so much happening those last days.�

“For Merlin’s sake, Abe, what’s going on?� Arthur demanded, but it was Harry who provided the answer.

“The last Horcrux was not destroyed properly, was it Aberforth? It still exists, doesn’t it?� Harry’s face was turning pale and he rubbed his head absently, but then caught his action. A realization too horrible to imagine was surfacing. But in a way it did not surprise him much, for nothing had ever been simple or easy with his life.

Connecting the incidents of the past month, Harry saw a pattern. Somehow, someway, that tiniest fraction of Tom Riddle’s soul was still alive, and Harry knew exactly where. It was in the room with him that very minute. It was looking back at him, though its host didn’t know it yet. That there may be too little of the soul remaining to ever function properly or resurrect itself was irrelevant. It had mingled irretrievably with the snake’s mean and pathetic existence and when Nagini was killed that final fragment had sought out the closest available host, just as another part had with Snape and Quirrell years before. How its existence would ultimately manifest itself could only be guessed for there was no longer anyone alive who truly understood how the accursed magic worked. At least, no one known.

“No,� Aberforth answered, his voice despair incarnate. “I don’t think it was.�

Harry sighed and all eyes were upon him. Closing his mind to those present, he summoned Ankaa and the Phoenix flashed into the room a second later, landing gently on Harry’s outstretched arm and looking at him with sad eyes. Walking across the room, Harry whispered something into Arthur Weasley’s ear that appeared to leave him momentarily shocked. Then he turned to Bill Weasley and put his arm around him. At that very moment both disappeared in a flash of gold and red.

Chapter 14 – The Search

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



“What do you mean, ‘he just disappeared?’ Harry wouldn’t leave like that!� Ron tried to calm himself in front of his family, Diane and Headmistress McGonagall.

“You’re right, son,� Mr. Weasley acknowledged, looking uncomfortable as Aberforth Dumbledore entered the office.

“Tell them, Arthur. And I’d like to know what it is Harry said to you before he took off,� Aberforth snapped harshly.

Blushing, Arthur answered. “He told me to tell Ginny,� he turned to his daughter. “He told me to tell you he loves you. And he would be in touch shortly.�

“That’s it?� she replied incredulously. “That’s all he said? Where did he go?�

Aberforth nodded at Arthur to continue.

“We don’t know where, sweetheart, but we know why.�

Ginny, already nearly frantic, felt lightheaded as her father’s told those present of the recent meeting at the Ministry. “During Harry’s last testimony, Milksop Garvey noticed that he didn’t mention Bill or Jimmy performing the spell to destroy the Horcrux.�

Ginny’s mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

Ron had something to say, though. “And you just let him go, dad?�

“Ron,� Aberforth said quietly, “he had his Phoenix with him. We couldn’t have stopped him had we wanted to.�

Ron muttered, “Bloody bird,� and shrugged at Ginny.

“Why did he take Bill with him?� McGonagall asked.

“Harry thinks that the last fragment of Voldemort’s soul is in him,� Aberforth said, looking now towards Molly who was slumped over on a large sofa, horror clear on her face.

“Well, is it?� Ginny shot back impatiently, her arms flinging out in frustration when no one said anything for a few seconds.

“We believe so, Ginny,� her father answered. “We think it has to be in one of the four present at the time. It’s not in Jimmy, Aberforth confirmed that. The same with Diane. That leaves only Bill and Harry, and knowing Harry, if it was in him he would have left by himself.� Arthur rubbed his face with his hands and then spoke to his wife. “Molly, we need to talk to Fleur.�

Ginny turned to Ron to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Ron, in turn, pulled his sister in to comfort her.

“I have to speak with Boris,� Aberforth said to McGonagall. “The chance of Voldemort returning is very slim, perhaps even impossible. When he did it three years ago he used the bones of his father in the re-birthing ritual. Back in September I destroyed the rest of them so that particular spell could not help him again if something went wrong...� Sitting, Aberforth heaved a heavy sigh. “It appears my actions were prudent. But there may be other ways to...� Then he stopped speaking.

“And that’s supposed to help us?� Mrs. Weasley cried out, the anguish plain in her voice.

“Only in that it narrows down our search. But before we do anything we need to contact Bill and Harry. Honestly, Molly, I do not expect them to simply disappear for long. Bill wouldn’t, that’s for certain. And if I know Harry as I think I do, he took Bill to remove him from the danger of the soul fragment transferring to someone else: someone more susceptible.�

“Like Fleur?� Ginny asked.

Aberforth nodded. “Yes. She might know the least about him and innocently ignore signs the rest of us would recognize. And, she’s...� Aberforth looked at Mrs. Weasley with a small smile. “Fleur is pregnant. I’m certain that will play heavily into his decision-making.�

The announcement, one that should have been made by the couple, and in more happy circumstances, only managed to make Mrs. Weasley weep harder. Mr. Weasley, who had been standing next to her, sat and pulled her to himself, offering comfort.

“As most of you know,� Aberforth continued, “I am not well. I suspect I have little time remaining so my part in this search will be token. Tré is occupied putting things back together in France and I haven’t heard from Titov lately. I would not expect them to be able to help much, either. But I do have one thing to offer Bill: I can cast a spell that will prevent Voldemort’s soul fragment from escaping him. It will prevent Bill from using Legilimancy or Occlumency, and a few other spells, but that’s a small price to pay for the safety of his family.�

Looking deathly weary, Aberforth struggled to his feet. Ron was instantly at his side. “I’ll walk you back to Hogsmeade, Abe. Is that alright, Professor?�

The Headmistress nodded absently, just as shocked as the others with the turn of events.


- - -


“I assume you have a good reason for doing that?� Bill asked testily.

Ankaa trilled soothingly and Harry’s anxiety lessened. Bill instantly looked less upset, too. The third floor master bedroom at Grimmauld Place was never used and Harry had directed Ankaa to take them there.

“Yeah. Er – Bill, have you been having any strange dreams the past few weeks?�

Astonished, Bill took a moment to answer. “Yes, how did you know?�

“What were they about?�

“None of your bloody business,� he snapped back instantly, but then his temper abated. “Harry, how do you know about them?�

“Follow me.� Harry led Bill to the nearest bathroom and stood him in front of the mirror. “Just watch yourself for a moment.� Closing his eyes, Harry reached out for the presence of Voldemort he was so familiar with. It took him a minute, but he found it, though much degraded and little more than a small collection of malevolent thoughts. Working his way into Bills mind, Harry found himself, again, connecting with the body of another person.

Open your eyes, Harry told Bill. Obeying, through his own eyes Bill saw a smudged image turn into his own back, as if he were looking through Harry’s point-of-view. Startled, he grasped for support. “Where am I?�

Harry eased himself out of the connection. “You were in my mind, looking through my eyes. This is a similar connection I shared with Voldemort at times.�

“What? But why did you… wait, you shared it only with Voldemort? Oh, Merlin!� Bill stumbled back to the bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. Looking at Harry he knew the answers to his questions. “He’s in me, isn’t he?� Harry nodded. “That’s what you and Aberforth were saying, wasn’t it? We couldn’t just kill the snake and be rid of the Horcrux. Damn!� Bill sat looking completely lost. “The dreams: I should have known something was wrong.�

“What did you see?� Harry asked quietly.

“Just flashes of… things… evil things, and horrible thoughts and images. Whenever I got up I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming. And Fleur had to wake me twice this past month.� He paused. “They’re getting worse; I was saying things in my sleep, too, Fleur said. But she wouldn’t tell me what.�

“I know, Bill, I felt it in you. My headaches started around New Year when I was near you. Even now,� Harry was unconsciously rubbing his head, “I can feel him.�

Bill’s eyes widened. “Here?� he asked, pointing to his head. Harry nodded. “And we, er - you and I can share thoughts?� A shrug, another nod. Then, incredibly, Bill started laughing. “Now I can really keep a close eye on you and my sister.�

Harry sat heavily on a chair; he had to admire the man’s ability to remain level when he was just clobbered with such news. Then he sobered up again. “Bill, we have to find a way to remove… remove it from you without, er, killing you.�

“Yeah, I’m all for that. How much time do you think we… I have?�

“Probably years. What I was able to connect with was so weak I could hardly sense cohesive thoughts.� Rubbing his head between his hands gave Harry another idea. “But if either of us wants to live a normal life we need to take care of this right off. What do you say?�

“Ok, Harry, you’ve sold me. Now tell me why we had to disappear like that.�

It was not hard for Harry to convince Bill that his actions were for the best. One hint of their little ‘problem’ leaking out would, potentially, place Bill in mortal danger. If not from the Ministry’s own Healers and scientists then from the scattered remnants of Voldemort’s followers eager to find a cause to rally around.

“What about Aberforth? Why didn’t you nab him, also?�

“Two reasons: he’s in poor health and I don’t think he knows anything about what we have to do.�

Ankaa trilled again.

“How can you say that?� Bill shot back. “He and Titov are the only two who can dispel a Horcrux.�

Harry shook his head sadly. “Not exactly. Their method destroys the receptacle as well as the Horcrux; and Aberforth told me it was the only way he knew about. That leaves us with either finding another way of removing and destroying it or killing you using the known method.�

Screwing up his face, Bill nodded. “I see your point. Do you have any idea where to start?�

“I was hoping you might, you’re the curse-breaker,� Harry said expectantly.

“Yeah, I am, aren’t I? Ok, first,� Bill held up a finger, stood and went over to a large roll-top desk, and picked up some parchment, quill and ink. “Let’s review everything we know about the subject. Do you want to ask Hermione for help?�

“I thought about that, but she’s Head Girl and McGonagall just lost the Head Boy. On top of that, she’s sacrificed enough of her life helping me. If I don’t get any N.E.W.T.s I still have an inheritance to live off of. Her education is her life.�

Bill didn’t look completely convinced.

One thing they decided upon immediately was creating a cover story for the Wizarding community. And they knew they would have to take a number of people into their confidence, unlike the first time around with the Horcruxes. Alerting the Wizarding world to another potential rebirth of Voldemort could cause irreparable harm.

When Remus and Tonks returned home early that evening, Bill and Harry approached them with their little ‘problem.’ Both immediately agreed to help in any way they could. Remus offered the continued use of the third floor of Grimmauld Place as a base for research, and living quarters, if needed. They would have access to the extensive Black family library, though nothing had been found there yet, hundreds of books remained to be surveyed. Tonks agreed to keep her ears open at the Ministry for rumors, and even to spread disinformation to send people off-track.

Obviously, Fleur would have to be kept in the loop so she would not, ‘freak-out,’ as Bill would say. “She’s a wonderful woman, but…�

“You don’t want her involved? Where have I heard that before?�

Bill smiled. “Harry, I really think you should return to school… hang on, hear me out. You’re obviously in pain when we’re near each other, and that will just distract you from your… our job. But if you’re at Hogwarts during the week, we can get together on the weekends and compare notes.�

“He’s right, Harry,� Remus agreed instantly but earning himself a sour look. “And this will help dispel some of the rumors that are bound to arise.�

Tonks looked sincere as she echoed her fiancé’s advice, “Please think about it, Harry. We do have time, Voldemort, or whatever it is that’s inside Bill, isn’t going anywhere any time soon. You yourself said that.�

It was difficult to argue with the logic and after a short deliberation Harry agreed, providing they could convince McGonagall to accept his weekend absences. Bill and Remus assured him there would be no difficulties.

So following a somber supper, Harry, Remus and Tonks Floo’d to Hogwarts and Bill returned to the Burrow after notifying Fleur to meet him there. Both parties met resistance, but not much. After speaking with McGonagall, Remus contacted Aberforth to cast the spell on Bill that would prevent the Horcrux from leaving his body, while he was alive. He had to renew the spell weekly but it gave Bill much needed assurance that Voldemort’s soul would not, somehow, escape and try to take over someone else. The only immediate ill effect from this imprisoning spell was that Bill’s nightmares became more intense and frequent, and he was not able to use certain mind-oriented spells. But he felt it was a small price to pay for his own life and preventing the soul fragment from escaping.

Ginny, Ron and Diane were in the Head Girl/Head Boy lounge revising with Hermione when Harry arrived near midnight. No one expected his return after the conversation in McGonagall’s office hours earlier, and he found great amusement with their expressions of surprise. At second glance, Ginny wasn’t studying - she was nodding-off into her Potions text. Crookshanks had taken the opportunity to rest his ginger-colored head in her lap, probably planning something mischievous involving a long braid of Ginny’s red hair dangling in front of her face.

Ron held up a finger to his lips. “Shhh, she just got to sleep.�

“I’ll take her to her room,� Diane said, quietly gathering her things together. Harry collected the rest of Ginny’s books and put them in her bag. Then he kissed her forehead gently.

“Harry, Hermione, look the other way,� the American said with a crooked smile on her face, standing with her and Ginny’s bags of book.

“Why?�

“Because I’m probably about to do something that breaks school rules.� With that enigmatic comment, Diane touched Ginny’s shoulder and both disappeared.

“Bloody… We’ve got to get her to show us how to do that,� exclaimed Ron.

Harry plopped down onto the spot where Ginny had sat a moment before. “Don’t think she can. She told me it wasn’t like Apparating.�

Hermione spoke up, too. “Well, it couldn’t be, could it? No one…�

“…can Apparate inside Hogwarts,� Ron and Harry finished together in a sing-song voice, earning them both a smile from their studious friend.

“What brings you back so soon, Harry?�

“How much do you two know about why I left?�

Ron told Harry that they knew everything, and how McGonagall had called them together earlier in the day.

“Good. I don’t think it’s as bad as I first thought. There’s definitely something of Voldemort in him but it’s far weaker than any other presence I’ve felt.� Noting the visible look of relief on Ron’s face, Harry continued. “Bill convinced me that we could pursue this while I finish school. He’s heading back to Fleur right after a quick stop at the Burrow.� Harry clearly was not telling them everything, but both also sensed a level of comfort within Harry that prevented further prying. “Remus and Tonks are in the Headmistress’s office; I have to see McGonagall and let her know I’m back. I’ll see you two later.�

And as quickly as he’d arrived, Harry left to see the Headmistress.

“Had enough revising for tonight?� Ron asked Hermione, stifling a yawn.

“I suppose. Here.� Hermione handed Ron’s Transfiguration essay back to him. There were only a couple scratch-outs. “You’re a good writer, Ron, when you put your mind to it.�

Blushing slightly, Ron rose, collected his things and headed out. He stopped at the door and looked back to his friend. “Thanks, ‘Mione.� The door closed quietly.

Hermione sighed. “Your welcome, Ron.�


- - -


Hi Billie (and the rest of you twerps reading this over her shoulder or when she’s off to class.)

Greetings again from Jolly Ol’, the country of Paul McCartney, Mr. Bean and the world’s worst food. Actually, Hogwarts is in Scotland, but that’s close enough – and the food here is great. Sorry for the long delay, let me explain.

I thought about telling you how busy I was, but that was a given when I left. Our English cousins are so far ahead of us in spell organization and finesse it’s laughable. Like I told the gang here (Harry, Ginny, Hermione & Ron – who’s now back from some mysterious self-imposed exile, and Luna) more was covered in the first few weeks of one class here than I covered in three years at Salem. Not to sound pedantically obtuse, but I’ve been put to shame. We still hold a significant edge in pure strength and power, but the things these ‘blokes’ do with a wand are astonishing.

Harry’s probably the only one here with as much raw power as, ahem... me. But he’s the exception. Harry’s girlfriend, Ginny, is also quite powerful, but with a wicked streak of ferocity. (Must be her red hair.) I’ve never dueled her, really, and don’t particularly want to.

Ron, her brother, makes up with - I guess you’d call it brains, though not in the classic studious sense - what he lacks in brute force. Head to head, Harry beats him every time, but if you pit Ron against Harry and one or two others, Ron wins as often as not. Very odd. He’s sort-of sneaky, but in a calculating way, and only when dueling. Outside of magic he’s a typical 17 year old male. I think Hermione is interested in getting back together with him (I told you they broke-up, didn’t I?) but Ron’s having nothing to do with it. Can’t really understand why, they work together perfectly on assignments, though I hear this was not always the case.

Hermione is “bloody brilliant,� as Harry tells me often. And she is, book-wise. More than anyone else I’ve met here, though, she is determined to bring a part of her non-magical heritage into the lives of those she associates with, whether they want it or not. I sometimes overhear Ron and Harry talking behind her back about something called ‘spew.’ I’m not sure what it is, but it sounds a little gross. Harry’s warned me off asking her about it, but I think I will anyway.

The big disruption here recently was the inquiry into that Voldemort guy. I listened to five days of Harry’s testimony: I nearly hurled every day. What he went through is beyond belief. The pure evil Voldemort inspired sounds like it came right out of Nazi Germany. Harry even mentioned some vague connections with that group of merry men. (I’ve sent along some clippings that give a general picture what Harry’s been through the past few years.) There’s a quite strength to him, almost frightening. Ginny has, from what I can tell, done a lot to calm him over the past 10 months they’ve been dating. But the sessions really took a toll on him and he returned mid-last-week looking tired and pale. There’s more to that than I can say; I promise to fill you in on it as soon as I can.

Let me see, what else? Next month Harry’s... um, best ‘adult’ friend, I guess you’d call him, Remus Lupin, is dragging Harry off to London to check out his family ‘vault(s).’ He’s pretty ‘rich’ from what I hear, but he inherited the money from his murdered parents and godfather, so he’s not keen on making a fuss about it. Not that he would anyway. I told him I’d go with him if he wanted and he said he would think about it. I’m sure he’d rather hold out for Ginny’s presence than mine!

Oh, yeah! Get this: I had a ‘date’ with Ron and Ginny’s brother, Fred. He’s one of the clones I told you about. He and his brother, George are the original Doublemint Twins, except instead of (now think of that corny tune):

Double you pleasure,
Double your fun,
With Double-fresh,
Double-good,
Doublemint gum.

I was treated to a double-date with Fred’s double and a nice girl named Verity who had, apparently, dated Fred until recently. But with those two you can never be certain. They wore the exact same clothing and even Verity, who works with them, couldn’t tell who’s who. It was a little unnerving, which I suppose was Fred’s idea... if it really was Fred I was going out with. You get the idea.

Anyway, I met Fred, George (or George & Fred?) with Verity in Hogsmeade for dinner and a stroll around the village, which really is quite nice with all the snow. Of course, between the wind and the temperature, which hovered around -20, ‘quite nice’ has a slightly warped meaning. I finally figured out which was Fred, and noticing a spot of soup on his cheek (which I told Verity not to point out) I could keep him properly identified. When I made it clear to the twins that I knew which was which they proceeded to test me, but ultimately gave up and even began to act normal, as much as they’re able.

We ended the evening at a cozy lodge-like spot on the side of a mountain overlooking the village. There was a large fireplace and lots of squishy chairs with real leather cushions (you know, the kind I hate b/c they make my rear feel sweaty) and assorted beverages. I learned that Harry had given the twins a bunch of money to start their business a couple years ago; Fred and George clearly like Harry, except for a couple not-so-amusing comments they made about Harry dumping Ginny last summer.

I’m sure I threw Fred off as we said goodnight by giving him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. (He knows about me.) But it really was a fun evening.

As to your question about Luna, she’s doing fair. I’m glad you had the chance to meet her last summer, if only for a short time. We’ve gone out a few times and she was a bit of a wreck until then, mentally speaking (though it’s hard to tell with her at times.) Like Harry, she keeps things bottled up too much, but unlike Harry she didn’t have anyone she felt comfortable speaking with until she opened up to me. Her relationship with Neville (the guy she was with at Salem and who was killed by Voldemort) was interesting to say the least.

You know about Harry’s Prophecy, right? Apparently Neville had figured out that it was he who had to die, not Harry or Voldemort. He kept all that to himself until Luna dragged it out of him at the end of their last school year. Then Luna went off, had some heated argument with her father, withdrew her life savings, and disappeared with Neville most of the summer. A few weeks of steamy one-room motels and carnal knowledge of each other distracted Neville enough to keep the poor guy sane. (And I don’t say ‘sane’ lightly. One of Voldemort’s buddies tortured both his parents to insanity.) She admitted all this to me just before the big goings-on at Hogwarts in September.

Luna’s quite the brain, too. Maybe even as smart as Hermione, but she stores everything inside that brain of hers and only reveals enough to get by. I discovered this when she was helping me study for a test (or exam, as they are called here.) She would rattle off questions, I would answer, back and forth, nonstop, until I noticed that she had her eyes closed and didn’t even use my notes. When I nudged her she smiled sheepishly and told me she has a photographic memory. People like that disgust me!

And no, Luna and I are not ‘together.’

One last thing before I close out. Would you please ask your father about date discrepancies on official documents? My birth certificate says my birthday is December 25th, but I know it’s the eleventh. He might have an idea about how that happened and how to fix it. Thanks.

Back to Goblins and Ghouls. Give my love to everyone, Billie. I’ll probably stop by for a day or two over Easter break.

Love,
Diane


- - -


“Brown-noser!� Harry said out of the corner of his mouth to Ron as they left Defense class late one Friday afternoon in mid-February with Hermione and Diane.

“Am not,� he chuckled back.

Hermione heard the exchange and added her own. “Suck-up!�

Another laugh.

“Teacher’s pet!� Diane said in a squeaky voice making everyone crack-up.

“You’re all just jealous because we’re on a first-name basis.�

That evoked more laughter.

“Ron, you have to admit, she does like you, and a lot more than the rest of us,� Hermione said seriously.

“Can I help it if I’m so bloody charming, ‘Mione?� They exchanged a quick glance; Hermione smiled shyly.

Diane ran in front of the others, pulled out her wand and waved it mysteriously in Ron’s general direction. “Hang on, I have an anti-big-head charm here somewhere.�

Ron roared in laughter.

From the far end of the corridor they all heard Ginny shouting, “Just be sure it’s only his head you shrink!�

“That’s my little sister, always watching out for me,� Ron uttered sappily.

Harry dropped back to greet Ginny as the others headed towards the Gryffindor common room. “Hi, how was class?�

“You know Binns; I caught up on some sleep… well? What did McGonagall say?�

Harry cringed. Ginny read his expression and frowned. “She said if you want to go with me we have to wait until the Easter break. So let’s do that.�

“She’s a real witch sometimes, and I don’t mean that in a complimentary way, either,� Ginny spat out. “Go ahead and go, if you want, Harry.�

“Nah, I’ll wait; it’s only another month. And I have to update Bill tomorrow, anyway. Want to go with me? I’m sure the witch will let you walk me to Hogsmeade.�

“It’s a date. What will you two be looking at tomorrow?� Ginny said, trying to pry a little more information about their research from her boyfriend. Though it had only been a week since the inquiry, all of Harry’s free time was spent alone in the library in the restricted book section. None of his friends had seen much of him outside of class.

“I found a few references to soul-binding curses that sound a little like the Dimidium Curse Martin used. I’m going to ask Aberforth about them.�

“How old are they? Did the book say?� Ginny noticed that Harry was heading to the library, not to the Gryffindor tower.

“Only one,� he answered. “It’s about two-hundred years old.� Seeing Ginny’s look of frustration, he asked what the problem was.

“I was hoping you might have found something from around the time of Grindelwald. That witch Martin told us about might have invented Horcruxes.�

“Yeah, I thought of that, too. But Dumbledore… eh, Albus Dumbledore told me last term that he didn’t know for certain when the first Horcrux was created.�

Ginny looped her arm in Harry’s and pulled him to a stop. “Harry, let’s go ask his portrait, he might have more information.�

Feeling a bit stupid, Harry cursed mildly. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Wanna come?� Ginny nodded.

Five minutes later Harry and Ginny found themselves in front of Dumbledore’s portrait. McGonagall was standing to the side and the late headmaster was snoring peacefully.

“Professor Dumbledore… sir?� Harry said quietly. The portrait’s eyes opened.

“Goodness! Harry and the lovely Ms. Weasley, what a pleasant surprise.� Dumbledore rubbed the weariness from his eyes and sat up straight.

“Sir, last year you told me that you didn’t know if anyone besides Grindelwald and Riddle had created a Horcrux.�

Dumbledore nodded his head gravely and glanced quickly at the nearby portraits. “That is right, Harry, in essence. But what I actually said was that I knew of no one other than Grindelwald and Riddle who had had a Horcrux created for them.�

Harry nodded, having noted the subtle difference in the two statements.

“Did you ever learn of anyone else, sir?� Ginny asked. “Anyone else who had made a Horcrux.�

“No, and we can safely assume it is not a common practice or we would have heard more about it through history. Even the Sorcer’s Stone, an exceptionally rare item, had rumors flying about for decades before its existance was confirmed pulically y a young lad at this very school.� McGonagall cleared her throat and Dumledore peered at Harry through the bottom of his glasses. “Why the sudden interest in Horcruxes again?�

After a brief hesitation, Harry told him the story of Bill and the Horcrux in Nagini. The portrait looked aghast but Harry quickly explained how it had happened.

“Most unfortunate, but it sounds like my brother did the right thing, trapping it in his body.�

Ginny bristled at the late Headmaster’s cavalier attitude. “That’s easy for you to say, sir.�

Harry pointed out their predicament. “We can’t destroy that Horcrux without killing Bill so we’re looking for other ways. We are hoping to trace the magic back to when the first Horcrux was created, but we have no idea where or when to look.�

“I see,� Dumbledore said, putting his fingertips together and looking pensive. “Last year I did much the same thing, Harry. Might I suggest that you broaden your search a bit? I found that what little information was available in books was seldom even remotely accurate. And do not limit your search to only those like yourself.�

In a move that left all three present taken aback, Dumbledore sat back into his chair and returned to sleep.

“He’s doing it again,� Harry said, turning on Ginny and McGonagall. “Come with me.�

Slightly perturbed at the Head Boy’s order to leave her own office, McGonagall simply nodded and followed Harry and Ginny out into the corridor.

“Mr. Potter, what is this about?�

“Professor McGonagall, haven’t you noticed that Professor Dumbledore’s portrait speaks vaguely about things he knows but is not allowed to share with us?�

McGonagall looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I have noticed him holding back.�

“It has to do with his existence in the portrait. Shortly before Riddle was destroyed, Ankaa took me into his world and I experienced, er… it’s hard to explain. It’s a place between our existence and the afterlife. Only creatures with a special ability can come and go between that world and ours. House Elves can, Owls and Phoenix, too. Professor Dumbledore told me that beings who reside there permanently, like the echoes of people we see in portraits, can see things we can’t see here.� Harry led Ginny and McGonagall a few steps down the corridor to a bench so they could sit.

“But he is also prohibited from directly revealing in death what he didn’t know in life. Tonight he dropped some hints, but I have to put them in my Pensieve to see them again and make sense of what he said.�

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. “Then I would think Albus’s abrupt departure was a signal that, had he continued, he might have broken that rule.�

Ginny remained silent while Harry and the Headmistress sat in quiet thought.

“Harry,� McGonagall finally said, “I hope you won’t keep us out of this like you did with the first Horcrux search.�

“No, Professor, Bill and I already discussed it. But we do need to keep some parts secret. If the Wizarding community discovered that Voldemort might not truly be gone, again…� Harry didn’t have to finish.

“Very well. I agreed with Remus and Tonks to allow you much more latitude on weekends, but please remember you also have a responsibility to this school. If you find yourself unable to meet these responsibilities I want to hear it from you first, NOT from another student.�

With that, McGonagall stood and walked briskly back to her office.

Harry turned to Ginny, holding out his hand. “C’mon, let’s go look at this memory and see what Dumbledore was trying to tell us.�


- - -


It had been nearly forty years since Michael Allen had hiked the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of northern New Mexico as a young Boy Scout. He would never forget the unparalleled beauty of the colorful mountains as the sun set, and experiencing the “purple mountains’ majesty� first-hand. The dry, thin mountain air had built up his stamina and muscles in that care-free youth. But that care-free youth lived decades ago.

The mountains... the hills of Wales would not have registered, set against the might Rockies, but they felt like Mt. Everest now. Dragging his tired and worn body up one more of a successive succession of partially paved back roads not far from the accursed town of Godric’s Hollow, Michael Allen took grim pleasure in the fact that he had survived on almost nothing for weeks. Nothing but a drive to make the discovery of a lifetime.

It was absurdly simple, really, he told himself looking back on the quaint villages he’d visited. Knowing exactly what you are looking for makes seeing it all the easier. And his senses had been honed by thirty years of investigative reporting and poking his nose into other peoples’ business. So, once he had truly convinced himself that the lot he and Billy had witnessed was real – that magic actually existed – everything else fell into place.

A person disappearing from sight after rounding a corner would be ignored by virtually everyone. Allen, however, sometimes noticed the person’s coat sleeve or elbow as it seemed to move in an awkward manner, just as they vanished from view. He surmised this person was spinning, just like the man in his apartment had spun before disappearing with a soft “pop.� It had only happened three or four times, but it was enough. If he dashed down the alleyway and no one was present his suspicion was confirmed; he knew that no ordinary person could have vanished that rapidly.

With a natural disguise provided by two months growth of whiskers, a weathered, reddened face, and the general odor of a vagrant, Michael Allen was ready to start hunting for more evidence of magical people in the village of Godric’s Hollow. Every week Allen had made a brief call to Billy to assure the young man that he hadn’t been forgotten. Fortunately, Billy had not lost his job after his early winter disappearance, though he told Allen it would be difficult to get any extended time off for a while yet. But Billy was assured that, as long as he kept his mouth shut there should be no problems for him.

Now, with spring just a few weeks off, Michael Allen limped back into the village of Godric’s Hollow. The limp was real, too; he’d worn out his best trainers and earned himself a nasty blister for all his effort. Approaching what he knew - from his last visit to the town - to be a church sympathetic to the homeless, he begged a meal and some minor first-aid for his foot. The idea of spending a night on a cot was appealing, too, and he took up the offer for shelter along side a number of truly homeless souls.

The following morning, Saturday, March 3rd, he changed the dressing on his foot and headed back into the village. There was a thick, damp fog over the village that gave Allen a shudder when he passed the old cemetery next to the church. Do wizards die? he mused. “There’s one way to find out, Digger,� the professional reporter answered himself aloud. Concocting a story came easy to a man such as he, and in seconds Allen had reversed his steps and re-entered the church office. In just minutes he had the address of the village records office and he was, again, on his way.

Approaching the archive an hour later, Allen was relieved to note that there were no physical impediments to his research. The crippling headaches his recording had mentioned were absent, but then, he was not looking for Harry Potter, either. Greeting the clerk at the reception desk, he was ushered into a small side-room where he filled out the forms necessary to retrieve the death certificates of James and Lily Evans Potter. Ostensibly searching for his family history made the job all the easier and Allen was able to strike up a conversation with the clerk who retrieved the records for him.

Aside from the date, there was little of value on the death certificates. But an off-hand comment by the clerk led Allen to a small Episcopal church just a few blocks from Flower Lane. Again, feigning interest in his family history, Allen asked for the location of the Potter graves, but this time his efforts were dashed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Michaels, there is a record of the service but apparently interment was not in our cemetery.�

“No mention of a location?�

“No, but that’s not uncommon. The few families that lived here for generations often buried their relatives in family plots. The Potters had homes here for many generations; maybe they had their own location.� Shrugging in helplessness, the elderly lady sat down and asked Allen if he had any other business she could help with.

“Did you know the Potters?�

“Oh, yes. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the family. When James and Lily died their son disappeared; they were the last of the Potters in this area. Oh!� The woman winced, placing a hand to her forehead.

Allen’s eyes widened. “And their son? No one ever found him?�

“I’m afraid not, Henry... no, Harry was his name.� She winced again. “They lived down the street from me, and I frequently saw Lily and James walking, holding young Harry. It was so tragic.� The clerk, Marylyn, as her nameplate identified, had a sad look on her face punctuated with pain.

“Do you know where their old house is?� Allen asked.

“Surely. Just walk out the door and turn right onto Tudor Street. Follow it three blocks and take a left onto Flower Lane. What’s left of the house is five blocks on the left. You can’t miss it.�

“Ah, but no one rebuilt the house?�

“No. There were a few interested parties over the years but none took out a contract. Rumors always flew about the area and I guess it scared them off.�

I’ll bet! Allen thought. “Thank you for your help... Marylyn. Have a nice day.� As Allen exited the front office he turned and saw the woman take out a bottle of a pain reliever.

Allen followed the directions to Flower Lane, all the while focusing on James and Lily Potter. As he approached the lot which Marylyn described Allen saw little but a raised mound of grass and mosses; the only evidence remaining that a house once stood there.



Back at the records office, Marylyn waited a few minutes for the pain in her head to subside. When she no longer felt nauseous, the receptionist picked up her phone and dialed a number she had been sent the month before.

“This is Marylyn Eccles from the Godric’s Hollow village records office. May I speak with Inspector Trent? Thank you, yes, I will wait… Inspector, a man came by a few minutes ago asking about the Potters. Is that what you wanted to know? Yes... yes... he’s heading there now. Very well. Cheers, bye-bye.�



It was a long-shot, but Inspector Trent would make every effort to get to Godric’s Hollow before the stranger disappeared. Following directions, however, before he left he placed a call to 14 Downing Street in London. When a man answered, Trent read the list of words, code, obviously, to the man. “Oscar – Oscar – Bravo - X-ray.� Before he could formulate a thought or question, the line went dead. “Bloody Secret Service,� he griped, running out of the office and to the car park.


- - -


Rehabilitation exercises had become a habit to Charlie Weasley and were, he discovered, a superb way to clear his mind and plan the day. The six and a half kilometer circuit around the town, down to the Seine, back up to the Mellanson vineyards and over two small hills left him panting slightly and in much need of a shower. And to his mother’s chagrin it also left him thin and tired looking. Or so she told him on her monthly visits.

At 175cm he was the shortest Weasley male, but he’d kept trim and lost much of the extra ‘bulk’ he’d become used to. Tré’s encouragements, also, had made it easier to change a life-long habit of limited physical activity. Their growing love had, at times, seemed like a reward (or incentive) to keep him active. But Charlie knew in his heart that she was only playing with him and that her love was as real and unconditional as his was for her.

Unfortunately the French Ministry of Magical Affairs was not so accommodating in their acceptance of the English wizard.

It had been a month since Tré told Charlie he would have to leave Paris. He hated it. Tré hated it, and groused endlessly about the double standard in the Assembly, but someone’s perception of you was too important to ignore. Charlie knew Tré wanted to make politics a career so he stood up and offered to leave that evening. It was the only time he had feared the French woman would hex him. Tré pulled him back down and told him he was only going as far as Vernon where he could complete his rehabilitation in the quiet country. She had already spoken to her parents and they were expecting him that evening!

Surprised, Charlie did the first thing he could think of: he kissed Tré. With that the arrangement was settled. Tré would stay in Paris during the week and join Charlie and her family on the weekends. Charlie could complete his rehabilitation and he would also have time to consider the job offers he had received. He could also clearly think through the most important issue, aside from his health: Tré. Or more precisely, asking Tré to marry him.

Oddly, the thought of marriage had not been foremost in his mind as the couple fell in love over the past six months. Part of that was the war and the uncertainty associated with it. Part of it was the cultural differences and the realization that they would have to live in France for Tré to further her career. But since leaving Paris Charlie had come to the conclusion that he wanted Tré for a wife. And he believed she felt that way towards him, too. Charlie’s most significant hesitation, however, was the desire to raise a family. With Tré in her late thirties any childbearing would have to start soon... and, again, what would that do to her career?

This Friday morning in early March found Charlie cooling down and stretching behind the winery. As he lay on his back pulling a leg up over his head, a face appeared above him, startling him to the extent that he let his leg snap back, nearly taking off Tré’s nose in the process.

“What are you doing here?� Charlie asked in surprise. He started to stand but Tré, who was looking uncommonly casual for a work day, waved him down and sat next to him.

“Do I need a reason – besides you?� she replied. “Give me your leg.�

“What?�

“You are not stretching it far enough. Lie back.� She playfully pushed him down on his back.

This had been their routine in Paris when the physical therapy had started in earnest. If Tré thought he was not stretching enough she would sit next to him and help. The one time Charlie’s mother saw her do it she cried out that Tré was going to, “Snap his leg clean off!�

“There. Does this hurt, mon cher??�

Charlie glanced at her, opening his eyes wide. “Not when you do it,� he replied in a false dopy voice.

Tré laughed, put the one leg down and raised the other.

“Enough! That one’s still stiff. I need more of that cream Dr. What’s-his-name gave me.�

“You, my love, are hopeless.� Leaning over Charlie she kissed him then hovered over his face. “His name is LeVasseur. Are you still having trouble with those memories?�

“Nah, I was just kidding you.� They both knew otherwise.

“Charlie?� Tré said in a more serious voice.

“Ok, ok, yeah, I’m still having problems. It’s like his name is right in front of me but I can’t read it. Bloody frustrating, it is.� Throwing his sweat-soaked headband away in disgust, he rolled on his side. “And don’t think I don’t know that you sent me here because of the town’s name.�

Tré frowned. Since awakening from the emergency surgery her sister had performed on Charlie to save his life, the Englishman had been confused every morning about his location, believing they were in Vernon, not Paris. Truthfully, it was part of the reason Tré had sent him to her family home.

“I just don’t want to remind you every morning, it might seem like I’m nagging you. It will pass, I promise.�

“Doctor Mellanson, is it now? You’ll give Nettie a run for her money.�

Tré barked out a laugh. “Never!�

The momentary tension between them passed and they lay back on the cold ground. The sun was just topping a small hill in the east, warming their skin and dispelling the chilly late-winter air. The ‘patient’ was drinking the last of his water.

“Charlie,� Tré started, turning on her side to look at him. “Will you marry me?�

After nearly choking on his water, Charlie looked at Tré and said very simply, “Of course I will.� They kissed long and gently. “I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you myself, but... Well, yeah, that would be marvelous. Mum will have a cow with two French daughters-in-law, but what the heck!�

Then, very seriously, Tré turned and opened Charlie’s hand. A braided gold ring fell from her hand to her fiancé’s. “Henri Paul gave this to me years ago. He said if I ever got married I was to give it to my husband. Try it on.�

A little flustered at receiving what amounted to an engagement ring from a woman, Charlie started to complain that it was too small, but Tré insisted. (He then noticed Tré wore one also.) As he slipped it on the band magically resized to his finger. “It’s... I don’t know what to say.�

“You already said ‘yes,’ that’s enough for me.�

“I love you,� Charlie whispered, caressing her face. “Are you sure this won’t affect your career?�

“And I love you, too… Yes, I am quite certain this will affect my career. But that’s not our concern right now. I believe the Assembly should take a lesson from our friend Harry Potter and recognize the power of love.� Tré turned a way for a moment, causing Charlie to wonder, a look of concern had flashed across her face. He placed a hand on her shoulder to turn the French witch back towards him.

“Tré?�

She pulled Charlie into an embrace. “Charlie, I received an Owl from Molly last night.�

More than anything else, this sobered Charlie up immediately. “And?� he prompted.

“It’s your brother, Bill, my love. He’s not in any danger, or hurt. But something has happened.� Tré withdrew Molly’s letter from her pocket and handed it over. The French woman had been touched that the Weasley matriarch trusted her to bring her son the ill news.

Mrs. Weasley’s distinctive handwriting was not as clear as it usually was. Without hesitation, Charlie jumped up. “I have to go, Tré. You understand, don’t you?�

“Of course I do. I wish I could go, too.�

Chapter 14b - The Search (Part II)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.


“We have to find something soon, Bill, Hermione’s driving me spare. Every night as we do the rounds she bombards me with ideas and questions. I had to ask Ginny to drop her a not-so-subtle hint to back-off; she wasn’t listening to me.�

At first Bill appeared not to have heard a word Harry had just said. A minute later he asked, “Did she say anything useful?�

Mumbling a curse, Harry shut the latest book and threw it into a pile on the floor of the library at Grimmauld Place. “Yes, actually she did. Bloody stupid of me, too.� Jumping up, Harry threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. “Hogwarts, Head Girl/Head Boy suite.�

A moment later a face, haloed in frizzy brown hair, appeared. “Harry! Hi, what’s going on?� Hermione asked. Harry saw that Ron was standing near the back wall holding a book and talking to himself, apparently memorizing something.

“Hermione, where would we find books that no one knows about?�

“Huh?� Harry heard Bill grunt behind him.

“I mean, like you said last night, we’re not going to find anything important in a published book, are we?� Hermione shook her head no, digesting Harry’s thought. “If this information is anywhere it’ll be unpublished or in a collection of papers, something like that, right.�

“Yes! Of course, Harry. Private collections would be the most promising place to look. I’ll Floo over and...�

“NO!� Harry called out. “Hermione, we’ve been through this. You have a job to do there and I have an idea which way to go now. Thanks.�

As he withdrew Harry could see Hermione starting to protest. Behind him he heard Bill chuckling. “I’m glad you get to deal with her. That was a brilliant idea, Harry, but where do we go from here?�

“First we go and talk to Dumbledore’s portrait, then I think we will head to the continent.� Dashing to a desk, Harry jotted out a brief note and called for Hedwig. “Here, girl. Can you get this to Boris Titov straight away?�

The snowy-white owl leaned forward and nuzzled Harry’s hand and then took off in a flurry of feathers.

“Harry, we don’t have visas for Germany and the Ministry is closed...�

“I know, that’s why I wrote to Titov, he can get us in. As long as we’re not caught we’ll be fine, and it’s only for a few hours. Come on.�

Yeah, but as Ron discovered, it’s easier to get in than get out. Bill muttered to himself. Following Harry out of the library, Bill went to pack a change of clothes and they were both on their way to Hogwarts in minutes.



“Professor Dumbledore,� Harry called out to the portrait sleeping soundly in the Headmistresses office.

“Well, Harry, and Bill Weasley! What a pleasant surprise.�

Bill smiled and nodded an acknowledgement to the greeting.

“Sir, when you defeated Grindlewald, where were you?�

“I was at his hideout in the Black Forest, near a town called St. Blasien. Why the interest in Grindlewald, Harry?�

Ignoring the question, Harry asked another of his own. “What happened after you, er... killed him?�

Dumbledore frowned. “Harry, these are not happy memories. Is there a point to all this?�

“Yes, but I need to find out what happened to all his possessions, do you know?� Harry hated ignoring his mentor a second time, but he was hot on the trail of... something and couldn’t stop.

“I believe the Americans had already occupied that part of Germany when I arrived. I was quite drained after the battle, Harry, but I think a wizard from the Americas confiscated everything. It wasn’t much, though.�

Bad news! “Do you have any idea how to find out where Grindelwald’s possessions are?�

“I’m afraid I cannot be much help, Harry. Perhaps someone at the American School in Salem might have information. Do you know anyone there?� By the smile on Harry’s face, Dumbledore could tell he did. “Good luck, my boy.�

As quickly as they arrived, Harry and Bill bade good-afternoon to McGonagall and Floo’d to Boris Titov’s residence in Croatia.


The dizzying, disorienting long-distance Port key trip to Dover, then to Calais, and finally to Zagreb left Harry woozy and not at all decided on whether he detested Floo or Port Key or Apparating travel the most. As Bill helped him up, Boris Titov walked up and shook Bill’s hand and then embraced Harry.

“Hello, my friends. I theenk I owe both uff you an apology. Aberforth told me vhat happened.� Titov bowed to Bill and then motioned for them to follow him.

Much more calmly than he felt, Bill let Titov off the hook. “That’s past, Boris. We need your help finding Grindelwald’s old house, or hide-away, Dumbledore called it.�

Titov stopped, and pointed back down the corridor from which they had just come. Three doors back they entered a room full of maps and large books. Titov grunted out the obvious: “Zee map room.� He pointed to the large central table and stepped into an adjoining room, returning shortly with a large, old, rolled-up piece of paper.

“Windberghof.� He pronounced it Veend-bearg-oaf “Zeese is vhere zee other Dumbledore fought heem.�

“Right, do you know if his home is still there?� Harry asked.

“I theenk zoe, Harry. Usually zee Americans destroy anysing remotely related to zee Nazis, but not zis one. Here.� Titov exited and fetched another smaller map. “Zis is zee village. Zee house vas here.� He pointed to a spot. Bill jotted down the street names as he drew a crude map.

“Boris, can you get us there? Today?� asked Harry.

Titov cocked his head and squinted his eyes, looking like he was considering a refusal. “Yes, Harry. For you and Bill. But eet has to be a quick, eh ‘in-and-out’ as you call eet. Zee Germans don’t like me too mooch.� Then he smiled wickedly. Harry suspected the challenge would be worth the effort and risk for the Croatian.

The three walked down still another long corridor and entered what could best be described as a locker room. Titov walked to one of the unbolted cubbies and removed a black garment that looked like a cross between a diver’s wet suit and a sleeping bag; then started stripping. “Vell? Find von und put eet on!� he snapped, pointing to any one of the hundred other lockers.

Bill and Harry searched until both had found one of the ‘cloaks’ and stripped to their pants before redressing. “Hey, Boris,� Bill called over the rows of lockers between he and Harry and the Slav. “What are these things?�

“Besides the worst smelling thing I’ve worn since Troll boogers,� Harry muttered.

Titov rounded the corned. “Zees are Russian invisibility coats,� he said proudly. The fact that they smelled vile and looked nothing at all like a coat dampened Bill and Harry’s opinion of their friend a bit. “Zay vill make you safe: I promise!�

“That’s a meaning of the word ‘safe’ I haven’t run across yet,� Bill commented to his young English partner as he felt the thin – almost thread-bare fabric.*

“Hey, Boris. How do you turn these things on?� Bill asked. No answer was forthcoming and Bill continued to check out all the pockets for anything useful.

Before they knew it, all three had been Port keyed to Germany and the village of Windberghof, which was little more than a quarter-gross of run-down houses and shops on a road leading to St. Blasien. They could see the entire Berg from the bare hill on which they’d landed. The quickly vanishing twilight shed just enough light for them to quickly descend the path into the town. As they approached the only main road Titov stopped without warning and pointed to his right. “Zere, zees is eet.�

An incredibly average looking cottage sat back from the road about thirty meters. It was badly run down and obviously had not been painted in ages. The thatched roof sagged to the point where parts had became invisible and all but one of the once pretty shutters had rotted and fallen into the overgrowth surrounding the building. Hanging from what appeared to be but a sliver of metal was a plank with the house number: 66.

“Not much to look at, is it?� Bill said. Harry nodded in agreement.

Titov grunted and held his hand out to the structure as if saying, Are you sure you want to look in there?

Harry led off, first walking around to the back of the dwelling. He looked into a couple windows, carefully, not wanting to cut himself on the few glass shards remaining in the frames. The house was empty but for a couple sticks of broken furniture, vulgar graffiti in many languages on the walls and parts of the failing thatch roof that had fallen into the staircase. “No, there isn’t much here. I can’t see anything and I don’t feel any magic. Are you sure this is the house, Boris?�

“Yes, zis is eet,� he replied.

“Harry, use a repulsing charm while I poke around in there,� Bill instructed, yanking the rotted door open. Harry had just enough time to cast the spell before a section of the door frame fell, barely missing Bill’s left shoulder. A minute later Bill returned.

“Nothing obvious, but I want to try a few things. Hang on.�

Harry recast the spell to provide temporary stability to the roof as Bill drew his wand and uttered some spells in a language Harry was unfamiliar with. To his amazement a light shone briefly on the floor and when Harry looked again a solid metal door had appeared embedded in the floor. Titov, who had been watching from the front window whistled in amazement.

“Zat ees odd. Vat did you do, Beel?�

“Before I left Gringotts last summer I worked with an old German wizard. I noticed he would add a single word to the end of many spells he cast. When I asked him about it he shrugged and mumbled something about a ‘trade secret.’ So, of course, I recorded him over the next few days on a Muggle tape recording device and played the tapes back until I understood what he was saying.�

“Vell?� Titov asked exasperatedly, when Bill didn’t say anything else. “Vat did he say?�

He threw Titov a cagey grin before replying; with the scars on Bill’s face it was remarkably fierce. “Trade secret, Boris. Sorry.�

Casting a few more spell, which Harry determined to be anti-hex and anti-jinx enchantments, Bill took his time to walk around the door frame, examining the lock, handle and hinges. A half-hour passed before he did anything other than make some notes in a small pad of paper. “In case something goes wrong,� he said to the other two, holding up the pad. “You’ll know what not to do!� Harry cringed and Titov grunted approvingly.

“Here goes,� Bill said. He slowly opened the door without difficulty – until it had swung about a quarter of the way on it’s hinges. An explosion rocked the building and threw Bill back against the far wall. Harry’s repulsing charm ended when he was distracted by the blast. The sound of the roof crumbling bode ill for anyone inside.

In horror, Harry watched the cottage collapse in upon itself, burying his friend. But what infuriated him more was the sound of Titov laughing. As he swung around, wand now pointing at the source of the laughter, his blood boiled. The Weasleys will never forgive me... ran wildly through Harry’s mind.



*The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.

Chapter 15 – The Runaround

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



“You can put the wand down, Harry.�

Spinning, Harry was astonished to see Bill standing behind him brushing dust and fragments of the thatched roof off his outer garment.

“See, I told you it vood keep you safe!� Titov announced proudly.

Thrusting his wand back into a pocket contemptuously, Harry shot Titov a nasty glance and then turned back to Bill. “What happened?� The question sounded ridiculously trite.

“It was a nastily little Muggle explosive device. In the tombs of Egypt we never run across them so I got lax and forgot.� Bill picked some wood fragments out of his cheek; a trickle of blood appeared where the protective garment must have had a flaw. “Ouch! Won’t forget that again.�

Harry, still irritated with Titov, stepped into the now almost completely demolished structure and approached the hole in the floor. The metal door, heretofore hidden magically, lay wide open next to the gaping breach. Casting a lighting spell, he turned back to Bill. “Think it’s safe now?�

Bill shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. Look inside.�

Directing the light towards the darkness below, Harry crouched down and inspected the room. It was empty. Cursing, he stood and prepared to say something, but was interrupted by shouts.

“Boris, I think we better go. Every Muggle in town heard that explosion and will be here any second.�

“Yes, I suppose vee must. Portus.� The shoe they’d used to get to Germany glowed for a moment. “Ready?� All three grasped the shoe and Titov activated the Portkey, a moment later they were back at Titov’s headquarters changing back into their normal attire.

The visitors spent the next hour questioning Titov about Grindelwald and all he knew about Horcruxes. It was surprisingly little. He told them that Aberforth had taught him almost everything he knew, including the spell to banish the soul fragment. About the most helpful guidance he could offer was for them to trace back to the Americans who first searched the hideout after Albus Dumbledore destroyed the German wizard.

Bill and Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place just after midnight, Sunday morning. Remus and Tonks were still up laughing about something when they walked into the parlor.

“Any luck?� asked Tonks, jumping up and examining the cut on Bill’s cheek.

“No... OUCH! Careful, woman!� Bill yelped as Tonks cast a cleansing spell on him. “There was nothing to find. I think we need to get hold of Jason Graham and see what he knows about the American wizards who allied themselves with Dumbledore in World War II.�

The four batted ideas around until nearly two in the morning. When Harry started nodding off, Bill poked him and sent him to bed. The others followed shortly.



Sunday morning started out very unlike any Harry had experienced in nearly eight months. He rose early and found Remus in the kitchen sipping tea and reading Saturday’s Daily Prophet. He was also dressed in Muggle attire, including a coat and tie.

“Working today, Moony?� Harry asked while gnawing on a piece of under-ripe Honey-Dew melon.

“No, I’m off to church.� He sipped his tea, glancing back at the paper.

“Oh, er — right.�

“Want to join me? You’ll have to get ready quickly. I’m taking a Muggle cab and it will be here in five minutes.�

“No, maybe next week. You, er, do this every Sunday?�

“As often as I can,� Remus answered, turning back to the paper. “Life is crazy enough with God, I can’t imagine what it’s like without him.�

“Tonks doesn’t, you know, go with…?�

“No,� he answered testily. Clearly this was another area of friction in their relationship.

Harry sipped at his tea while Lupin put the paper away and washed up his own cup and plate. “Moony, Bill and I have to go to the United States over Easter holiday. We should take Diane with us, but Ginny and I were planning to do some stuff together, too. Do you think you could…� He stopped; Lupin was looking at him crossly.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for Tonks or I to try to convince Molly and Arthur to let Ginny go with you… again. That is what you were about to ask, wasn’t it?� Harry nodded. Lupin regarded him for a moment. “Talk to them yourself, Harry. I think it would be better than having someone else do it.�

At that moment there was a honk from an cab. Lupin laughed. “I love giving them this address. They drive around for a few minutes seeing only numbers eleven and thirteen. I’d better run before he gets out and starts pounding on doors. See you later, Harry.� And with a friendly pat on his shoulder, the werewolf left for church.



Later that afternoon, Harry stopped by the Burrow, before returning to Hogwarts, to speak with Ginny’s parents. Mrs. Weasley gazed at him sternly during his entire pitch to let Ginny accompany himself, Diane and Bill to the United States. Mr. Weasley, looking haggard and not at all as if he wanted to make another important decision, nodded repeatedly – but silently – until Harry had finished speaking.

“Bill is ahead of you, son. He and Fleur stopped in for lunch and he mentioned that you might make this suggestion. Mrs. Weasley and I had a chance to talk it over a bit and we’re willing to let Ginny accompany you. There are two conditions, however.�

For the first time, Mrs. Weasley spoke up. “First, Ginny must be caught up on all her assignments before you leave. Second, Bill is bringing Fleur along, Ginny will need to stay with her overnight.�

“Er – doesn’t Fleur want to, you know, stay with Bill?� asked Harry timidly. “Ginny could sleep with Diane.�

For the first time in his life Harry experienced Mrs. Weasley temper personally; she snapped at him as she would do with one of her own children. “Never you mind that, Harry Potter. This is not a vacation, you’re going to work and return as soon as you have found what you’re looking for.� Then her face softened. “Now Harry, Arthur and I expect you, and Ginny, to behave yourselves. We didn’t make such a big deal about your trip last summer, but those were extraordinary circumstances. And when you return we would like Ginny to come back here for a day or so to visit with us.�

Harry took this all in, and he saw both the concern and trust Ginny’s parents were experiencing. He answered simply, “Of course, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley.�

“Don’t worry, mum and dad,� a voice said from behind Harry. “I’ll keep a close eye on them.�

Spinning around so fast he got a crick in his neck, Harry saw a thin red-haired man standing in the doorway.

“Charlie?�


[ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]


“Well, at least we will be together,� Ginny griped to Harry later that evening at Hogwarts.

“C’mon, Gin, it’ll be fun. I admit, Bill, Charlie and Fleur won’t be quite as exciting as Remus and Tonks, but…� Diane smiled. It was a particularly devious smile they had all come to know and love. It meant she had plans for something. What that something was they didn’t know, yet, but it was always an adventure.

In the background, they could hear Ron grumbling. When he had first heard of the trip Hermione had an alarmed look on her face, like she knew something about him she wasn’t telling them. But Harry did know: Ron wanted to be part of the ‘team’ but couldn’t afford time away from study, he still had weeks of work to catch up with and Hermione was tutoring him in nearly every subject every day.

Ginny, too, realized that the next couple weeks would be difficult. The sixth year work load was nearly as difficult as seventh and she had to arrange with all her professors, as did Harry and Diane, to receive their coursework in advance. The older students could work together on many assignments and revising, but Ginny was forced to turn to other friends for assistance much of the time. Fortunately Luna was happy to assist, as were others, and as the holidays approached it became clear that Harry, Diane and Ginny would have all their work complete.



The third Saturday in March found the three travelers scrambling about, collecting last-minute items and saying good bye to Ron and Hermione who where staying at the Burrow for the week. When they were organized, Harry, Diane and Ginny met at McGonagall’s office where Bill, Fleur and Charlie were waiting. The Headmistress wished them luck and activated the international Portkey, in moments they found themselves back in the United States just outside the Salem School. Jason Graham greeted them all with handshakes but Diane who received her usual warm embrace.

“Right then, welcome back everyone. Let’s get out of the cold and talk about your plans.� Graham led the party to a small room next to his office where they dropped off their luggage and then entered the Principal’s office. “Can I offer you coffee or tea? Sorry for the cold, but spring doesn’t arrive here for a few more weeks.�

When everyone was settled, Bill began immediately. “Jason, have you had a chance to contact anyone?� The senior Weasley’s direct approach left no one wondering how concerned he was about the situation.

“Yes, I have a short list for you,� he handed it to Bill, “and I expect – well, I hope to receive more soon. Many of the wizards and witches that traveled to Germany at the closing stages of the war have since died, but we do have some leads. The best may be the ‘ Veterans of Foreign Wizarding Wars,’ it’s well organized and headquartered in Washington, DC. And everyone on that list,� Graham pointed to the paper he’d just handed over, “is a member.�

“Are they a government sponsored organization?� asked Charlie, speaking up for the first time.

Graham laughed. “Well, Charlie, in short, no it isn’t. But we don’t have a formal Wizard’s government here like you do, and we haven’t for decades. I know that during the war... World War II, that is, and for a few years prior there was a sort of ad hoc group that coordinated activity across the country. But that group was a result of the economic hardships that preceded the war more than directly related to recruitment and deployment of troops.�

Charlie looked a bit lost for words. “But... but... how do you...�

Jason and Diane looked at each other and laughed. “We’re in a pretty pathetic situation over here, I’m afraid. There’s no other way to describe it. Now over the past few months there have been a number of meetings here at school of various parties wishing to put a sort of formal constitution together. That’s a result of the hugely increased enrollment this year. More students means more money; more money means more interest.� Graham shrugged in helplessness.

“Ok, we’ll save this discussion for the pub, er, bar... is what you call them here, Jason?�

“Pub is a far too civilized word for our drinking establishments, Bill. So yes, just call them bars.� This evoked another laugh from the two Americans.

Over the next few hours the group ran through various ideas and questions to ask the VFWW and any individual wizard or witch they met. All was focused on finding any notes or information about Grindelwald. Fleur excused herself, the effects of morning sickness having taken hold, and Ginny escorted her to her room. The morning turned into a working lunch and the afternoon into a working dinner. By seven that evening the English visitors, five hours ahead of their host, were beginning to show signs of fatigue and they recessed until morning. On their way out, Jason stopped Diane and asked her to stay behind.

The following morning, all were eager to continue on to Washington to meet with the VFWW representatives Jason had contacted. Unfortunately, Fleur was still feeling poorly and had to stay behind. Diane, though she wanted to accompany her friends further, volunteered to stay behind with Fleur. She had local friends she wanted to visit with in any event, so Bill, Charlie, Ginny and Harry left for the nation’s capitol. Harry noticed that she appeared pale and distracted.



The sights of Washington D.C. were mostly lost on Harry as the four English citizens walked the length of the ‘Mall.’ From the Lincoln Memorial, a monument so moving it brought Ginny to tears, to the U.S. Capitol building, Harry struggled to suppress a growing anxiety, a growing annoyance with his American cousins. Here was the mightiest nation in the world, the only ‘superpower’ remaining, and they had sent but a single witch to the fight with their brothers and sisters across the ocean. Granted, Diane Bradley had turned out to be the person to send, but except for a token representation, that was all. Even the tiny Republic of Croatia had sent a half dozen wizards and witches to their aid.

Walking hand in hand, Ginny could feel Harry tense up as they walked. By the time they were only a few hundred yards from the Capitol she was in pain. “Harry, easy up,� she whispered, shaking her hand, now uncomfortably sweaty and cramped. Mumbling an apology, he walked off to his right towards the National Air and Space Museum, through a small mob of students playing a game involving the throwing of an inverted plastic saucer. As they trailed Bill and Charlie the diversion was not immediately noticed.

“Watch out!� called a voice, a young voice, a scared voice. He heard gasps, some mild curses and a scream. Instinctively, without even thinking, Harry drew his wand and pointed it in the direction of the unknown caller. Something oddly shaped was just a meter in front of him, but before he could even think of an incantation, one of the purple saucers he’d seen seconds before had clipped the end of his wand, forcing it upward and was somehow spinning itself ‘round and ‘round like a plate revolving, balanced on the tip of a finger.

“COOL!� a number of the kids called out, others laughed, some looked awestruck.

Ginny stepped up beside her boyfriend. “Harry, what in Merlin’s name are you doing? Put – that – away!� she finished through gritted teeth.

But it was too late. All the children that had been throwing the device were now gathering around, along with one or two joggers passing by, to see Harry’s trick of catching the ‘Frisbee,’ as they heard it called. Wisely, Ginny grabbed it from Harry’s wand before it had stopped spinning and tumbled to the ground.

“Can you do it again, mister?�

“You were wicked fast!�

“How far can you throw it?�

Harry had yet to say anything, which was for the best Ginny accurately guessed, though his mouth was open in surprise. She handed the ‘Frisbee’ back to one of the children, apologizing, “Sorry, we have an appointment and have to be off. Come on, love.� Dragging Harry away from the disappointed kids she saw her brothers; Bill and Charlie had joined the throng and were watching with amusement. As the four walked away the shouts of the children returning to play faded behind them.

“Nice, Harry. You keep under cover like that, will you?� Charlie laughed. Bill shook his head.

Harry stuffed his wand back into his shirt silently and accepted Ginny’s hand.



Jason Graham had intentionally set the appointment for eleven o’clock in case of friction during the meeting. He was all too familiar with a number of the more stubborn leaders of the VFWW and a lunch break might help both sides cool off. But his efforts were not needed. The four were warmly greeted by the national organization’s spokesperson, General Bill Vaught, a crusty old Marine who chewed on an unlit cigar and wore a patch over one eye. With the introductions complete, Vaught escorted his guests to a conference room; he disappeared for a few seconds and returned with two other men and one woman. They all wore military blouses with campaign ribbons and medals, the general had donned a light jacket with his decorations while absent. One of the men looked nervous and dabbed his forehead every so often. Charlie immediately recognized the Medal of Honor that the general wore; it was his nation’s highest honor.

Clapping his hands together in a manner that reminded Harry far too much like Fudge used to do, Vaught immediately made it plain that he was not in any way like the bumbling former Minister of Magic. “Harry,� he began, “I understand you met my grandson, Mike Vaught, at Salem.�

“Oh, yeah, I did.� He vaguely recalled meeting the boy with Diane, Bob and Billie when Aberforth sent him to Salem the previous summer. “How is he?�

The general grinned proudly. “Accepted into Annapolis. That’s our Naval Academy. Looks like he’ll follow his family’s tradition.�

Bill and Charlie looked at each other. “How can he do that, sir?� asked Charlie. “It’s a Muggle University and I understand you have to go through a tough selection process. What would you show for his school work? It couldn’t be the Salem School of Magic.�

Vaught smiled tolerantly and touched the medal on his chest. “This is our country’s highest honor, son. I have one and so does Mike’s father. They cut through mountains of paperwork. And of course we have to do a little magic,� he quipped with a smile, “to make sure he had all the correct paperwork. I understand you have some battle scars and citations, too.�

Charlie respectfully acknowledged the General.

“Mike’s the fourth Vaught to attend Annapolis. My father was the first. But enough about me, let me introduce the others. Colonel Marlene Jeter, U.S. Army, Colonel Brian Barr of the U.S. Air Force (the twitchy one) and Admiral Thomas Gage of the U.S. Navy. The four of us meet monthly to plan our yearly gatherings, but with the vast majority of our members coming from the Second World War the membership is falling rapidly. But that’s not your concern, is it? I understand your looking for some intelligence from western Germany in early ’45. Colonel Jeter is our expert there so I’ll let you pose the questions to her.�

Jeter sat up a little straighter with a questioning look on her face. Bill, Charlie and Harry looked at each other, they had not planned on who should pose the questions. Ginny took care of the momentary awkwardness by taking out a Muggle pad of paper and pen, as if she was going to take notes. She quickly scribbled out a couple lines and then turned to her eldest brother. “I’m ready, Bill.�

Winking to his sister, Bill started off. “Colonel Jeter, were you in the Black Forest area of Germany in late April, 1945?�

“No, not personally, but some of my troops were. My command was the 87th Military Hospital Support Company attached to General Patton’s Third Army.�

The brothers shared surprised looks. “We were under the impression that the American Wizarding Forces in Europe were independent of the Muggle military structures. Is that incorrect?�

“Only partially; the hospital support units had been integrated at the request of Albert Einstein shortly before the war. As you probably know, Einstein was a pacifist, but he was also a realist. He knew there would be no stopping the war so he asked the American Wizard Council to attach Healers to the Muggle units. But other than this, there were few coordinated efforts between the American magical and non-magical communities. We were fighting a very different type of war.� Colonel Jeter, who appeared to be in her eighties, fanned herself with a folder and sat back, waiting for the next question.

Bill leaned over to his brother “Did you know Einstein was a wizard?� he asked. Charlie just shook his head and mouthed ‘From Binns?’

Bill chuckled.

“Colonel, we’re trying to track down any American wizards or witches who might have been working with Albus Dumbledore near St. Blasien that April.�

“Ah, yes. The English wizard. I knew him only by reputation,� she said, turning to Vaught, “Did Patton have integrated intelligence at that time or had they been disbanded?�

“His G2 remained integrated until he died in December. There were rumors of him being a wizard, or a… ‘squib,’ I believe you call them,� Vaught was pointing a pencil at Bill and Charlie like a wand. For the most part, Harry and Ginny sat back, exchanging glances with each revelation the Americans made. Einstein they had heard about, but Patton?

Vought continued, “If that’s true it explains why his G2 remained integrated…� He dropped his pencil. “What was the date you asked about?�

“Late April, er…� Bill looked at his notes. “…the 28th is the date we were given.�

Vaught scratched his chin, obviously in deep thought. Gage sat silently, clearly having trouble following the conversation but politely showing interest. Barr was fanning himself and scribbling notes. Jeter was drumming her fingers on the table. Charlie was explaining to his fellow countrymen what ‘G2’ meant.

“Patton’s son is still alive. Should we talk with him?� the colonel asked Vaught.

“Not yet. Bill, Charlie, I think Colonel Jeter is thinking the same thing I am.� She nodded. “Patton was on the southeast border of Germany with the Third Army, about to enter Czechoslovakia, until late April when something brought him back from the front. I’m wondering if it has to do with whatever it is you are looking for. It would be helpful if you would tell us what that is.�

“General,� Charlie replied this time, “we’re trying to find Americans who were in the town of Windberghof when Dumbledore fought the German wizard Heinrich Grindelwald.�

To the utter surprise and annoyance of the English, three of the four Americans looked at each other and burst into laughter. Barr just kept scribbling. “Please, forgive us, but this Grindelwald is, shall we say, something of a fairy tail here in the USA.� Vaught stood and exited the room, returning a few seconds later with what appeared to be a child’s bedtime story book. He opened the cover and pointed to a crude picture. “Is this who you’re looking for? My younger grandchildren come in here occasionally,� he added as an explanation.

The drawing was a rudimentary pencil sketch of two wizards fighting. One was clothed in Dark, the other in Light. And while the caricatures were rough, the Light wizard bore some resemblance to Albus Dumbledore. The Dark figure, complete with horns and a Nazi swastika, was falling under the power of an ambiguous spell being thrown at him.

“Yes, we know all about this great battle,� he said with a touch of sarcasm. “Or its legend, I should say. But the fact is that no one has ever produced a shred of evidence that it took place. Your Ministry of Magic even denied its occurrence. It’s much like Area 51 or the captured alien space ship hidden there.� The Americans broke out in laughter again. For one, Ginny was delighted Ron wasn’t present to ask about seeing the space craft.

“Didn’t Jason tell these blokes we were coming to talk about Grindelwald?� Harry asked Charlie. His reply was a shrug.

Bill cleared his voice uncomfortably. “General, I’ve known Albus Dumbledore for almost twenty years. And while he doesn’t talk about it much, I have no doubt the battle took place.� The others nodded in agreement. Bill persisted when he saw looks of doubt on the Americans’ faces. “Just two weeks ago Harry and I saw the house where he killed Grindelwald.�

Vaught held up his hands in a surrender-like motion. “Ok, ok. Even if this battle took place, what is it you need from us?�

“We’re trying to find any papers or books that were removed from the house after the battle. Dumbledore told us he thought the Americans had them.�

For the first time the admiral spoke up. “Billy, rumors - and even fairy tales - are often based partially on fact. Let’s assume that this battle did occur,� he nodded to the guests. “There’s bound to be something… some record somewhere that may help.�

Vaught shrugged. “You may be right, Tommy, but where would they start looking? And if they do exist then someone has them hidden, that’s obvious. Otherwise we would have heard something.�

The admiral’s response was a discouraging nod.

Following a brief period where the Americans huddled together batting ideas back and forth, General Vaught looked up. “Without involving Patton’s son, we think your best option is to visit the Third Army Museum at Fort McPherson, Georgia. It’s been more than fifty years since the war ended so even the intelligence records should be declassified by now. We can arrange transport and have some of our members meet you, help you find your way around, that sort of thing.�

“I can take them down, Billy. I’ll swing by Warner-Robins and…� Colonel Barr spoke up for the first time, all traces of his earlier discomfort had vanished.

“Excuse me, colonel, but will we have any problems with our IDs?�

“Nah, I’ll go in with you and say the kids here,� he pointed to Harry and Ginny, “are doing some research for school.�

“That would be fine. When can we arrange the trip?�

“Right now,� Vaught said. “Brian, would you like to do the honors?�

Colonel Barr stood and bid his friends good bye. “I believe you call this ‘travel by Portkey’.� He pointed his wand at an unused ashtray and it shook, turned purple for few seconds and then stood still. “The museum closes at five o’clock today so you’ll have a few hours. Everyone touch the glass. Good. Activate� With the all too familiar tug behind their naval, Harry and the others were transported to Georgia.



The Third Army Museum at Fort McPherson, Georgia, was a short walk from the spot they landed. Upon signing in at the visitors desk, Colonel Barr escorted the four to the museum’s research library and arranged with one of the caretakers for a brief orientation. He then left for Warner-Robins with an assurance that he would return before the facility closed to escort them back to Washington.

“That was interesting,� Ginny said after Barr had departed and they staked out a table. Harry and Bill grunted in agreement. “Pushed us right out of there, didn’t they?�

Charlie stood scratching two days growth of whiskers, obviously in thought. “’Interesting?’ Yes. But deceitful… I’m not sure. Harry, you’ve spent the most time with Jason. Has he ever said anything to you about the battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald being a myth?�

“No, but it never came up in conversation either.�

“Did you notice how Vaught knew about Patton’s whereabouts in April? The bloke isn’t even in the army but knows an awful lot about Patton’s movements.�

“Ok, but let’s assume they’re telling the truth, at least for now, and see what we come across here. The general said to find out who was working intelligence for Patton in late April, we can use that as a starting point.� Charlie and Bill batted some ideas back and forth for a couple minutes while Harry and Ginny checked on the location of the personnel records.

The museum was well organized and it took the four little time to track down the names they were looking for. None of them were remotely familiar apart from Patton so he was the first they checked out. The HQ transport unit showed the famous general arriving in St. Blasien on April 27th, accompanied by his chief-of-staff and a driver. The records for following day, the 28th, showed no unusual activity except Patton’s travel group departing with two officers from his G2 (Intelligence) staff: Major Tom Harking and Colonel George Detwiller.

“Detwiller was the head of intelligence, Harking his aide,� Charlie pointed out. “Where did they go?�

“Nothing was noted in the sign-out for the staff car. Wait a minute…� Ginny, who had been making notes of the general’s movement, turned a few pages back an forth. Then she laughed. “Look here,� she pointed to the first sheet and then to another. “There’s an entire day missing.�

Sure enough, the sheet for April 29th was missing. They scanned the next few days and found no mention of Patton. When they examined the rosters for Patton’s advanced headquarters in Czechoslovakia they saw he had returned on April 30th.

“It looks like the general took some unscheduled leave,� the younger Weasley brother said, stating the obvious.

“That’s pretty thin, Charlie, he could have been anywhere, for any reason.�

“Ginny, you followed Patton’s movements all April. Would you look back a couple more months?� She nodded and reached for a thick stack of papers.

“Harry, while Ginny’s doing that would you see if you can find anything about these two blokes on the intelligence staff, Harking and Detwiller? Thanks. Bill, let’s get some maps.�

As the brothers left for the section of the museum holding maps, Harry and Ginny exchanged questioning looks. “Any ideas?�

“Charlie probably picked up a clue from what he learned in France. He told me the other day that some military organizations keep precise records of everything. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll find some pattern…�

Ginny spent the next two hours making notes of the general’s movements from February through March, 1945. When she added these to her earlier ones a clear pattern emerged and Harry and the three Weasleys gathered together to compare all their notes.

“Patton seemed to keep meticulous records,� Ginny started, pointing to a long list of dates, times and locations. “But any reference to him on April 29th is missing. He obviously left St. Blasien on the 28th and showed up again in Czechoslovakia on the 30th. But there is nothing about where he was on the 29th. Also, Harking and Detwiller show up again on the 30th back in St. Blasien requesting a lorry with a destination of Antwerp.�

The significance of Harking and Detwiller’s vehicle requisition was obvious. “Excellent, Gin,� Charlie said, obviously excited. “If Harking and Detwiller had anything of Grindelwald’s it was probably in that lorry, though who knows what Patton may have held on to…�

“Can we track the cargo in the lorry?� Harry asked.

“Maybe, Harry, but I’m willing to bet those records are not here. Once transport of an item leaves an Army’s jurisdiction its paperwork would go to the Navy. I’m afraid that’s probably a dead end.�

“You always think you have the best way of doing things, don’t you?� Surprised, the four turned at the sound of a familiar voice; Colonel Barr was standing in the doorway watching and listening to their conversation. He was fidgeting again. “In the U.S., the Army andNavy receive copies of cargo manifests. But you probably won’t find anything here, things are too well-hidden.�

As Barr stood, the other looked at him questioningly. Harry turned to Charlie. “I have a feeling he knows more than he’s letting on.� Charlie nodded and waited.

“Sorry to spy on you, but I had to be sure you were the good guys.� Barr sat at the table where Ginny had her notes laid out. “You don’t need to do any more hunting. We have what you’re looking for.�

“Who is ‘we’?� asked Bill and Charlie simultaneously.

“Have a seat, I’ll explain.� When all were situated, Barr began his story. “Miss Weasley’s work is quite correct. Patton and his G2 team – his Wizarding G2 team – arrived at the site of the battle shortly after it was complete. They found…�

Charlie jumped up. “You mean you know it happened? Why the runaround?� he asked hotly. The others nodded, looking at Barr suspiciously.

“Few know the truth. Please, indulge me a little further.� His audience had grim expressions but waited for him to continue. “General Patton was an extraordinary leader of troops, but nearly clueless when it came to things magical. It irked him to no end that his parents and children could perform magic and he could not. At least not in our sense of the word; he certainly worked his own personal brand of ‘magic’ on the battlefield. I think it was this ‘deficiency,’ as he once called it, that drove him in the final weeks of the war. Harking and Detwiller were both wizards and worked closely with Patton and your Ministry of Magic to find Grindelwald’s lair. But all three of them had different agendas – differing plans – for what to do with anything they found.�

Barr poured himself a cup of coffee and thought for a minute before continuing. He could see that the others were near bursting with questions but held on to them quietly. For their part, the English visitors all noticed Barr’s hands shaking. “Patton believed that the German wizard had found the legendary Arc of the Covenant and had used it earlier in the war to ensure Hitler’s victories. But when things went bad for Hitler in ’42 and ’43 he abandoned this notion and became obsessed with learning how Grindelwald had trained so many Dark wizards in such a short time. I suppose he hoped there was some spell in the bastard’s library to give him powers.� The colonel gave a nervous little laugh at his own words, clearly amused by Patton’s flighty whims.

“On April 26th a wizard from your Ministry contacted Harking and informed him of the expected confrontation, but the only details he could supply was that it would take place in the town of Windberghof. Harking contacted Detwiller and then informed Patton of the situation; Patton immediately left Czechoslovakia and rushed to the 3rd Army headquarters in St. Blasien. On the morning of the 28th, as this young lady pointed out to you, the three left for Windberghof. What exactly happened on the 28th is still something of a mystery, but it was clear that Patton was not pleased with the results. From that point on he became suspicious and even antagonistic towards his wizard contacts. Strangely, he never sacked Harking and Detwiller, but he took out his frustrations on his own Allies and eventually was fired by Eisenhower for publicly criticizing the Allied denazification policy in Germany. What Patton personally knew about Grindelwald went to the grave with him seven months later.�

Charlie asked the most obvious question on the four visitors’ minds: “How do you know all this, colonel?�

“As a young lieutenant in the Army Air Corp I liaised with the 3rd Army’s intelligence, providing ground support and reconnaissance information. Harking and Detwiller knew I was a wizard and occasionally consulted with me on intelligence issues.�

“So you knew something was happening when they disappeared with Patton,� Bill said. It was a statement rather than a question. Barr nodded. “You still haven’t answered Charlie’s question: why the runaround?�

Barr pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed his face with both hands. “I had to be very careful. The information in the books and papers they collected… it was too terrible to make public. It made the atomic bomb seem trivial.� Barr’s demeanor had changed abruptly, he almost appeared to be pleading.

“You know what was in them?� asked Harry.

“Yes, and I had to be absolutely certain they didn’t fall into the wrong hands.� Sitting on the far side of the room, the colonel reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve been watching you all afternoon. Jason said you were trustworthy, but I had to know, I had to see you four interact. It was the only way.�

Colonel Barr began to stutter before finally collecting himself. “I have to give you this,� he said hurriedly, his hand shaking violently as he handed the paper to the closest person, Ginny. She leaned forward and took it, then stood to calm the obviously troubled man. But Barr leaned back and in one swift motion pulled something from under his jacket. Charlie yelled as the American’s hand went up to his head. The deafening explosion that shocked the four visitors wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the horrible red mess on the wall behind the man’s head. His hand fell limply and a pistol slipped from its dead grip, banging dully on the floor.



Fleur sat in a comfortable chair in front of a fireplace and watched the two Americans. They had stopped talking a few minutes before – stopped arguing, actually. Diane was worn out, her tears had streaked the mascara that she used to highlight her eyes, and her nose was red from constant blowing. The few times Jason had tried to say something the girl would lash out at him, finally he gave up and sat waiting. He knew Diane Bradley as well as her father might have, had he been alive. He knew he had to wait for her explosive temper to calm. So he did.

The phone rang and Jason answered, obviously irritated for having forgotten to turn on his answering machine. It was just as well he had not. Listening, Fleur saw his face change to a look of horror as he asked a number of questions in short succinct phrases. It was not difficult to piece together a bad story. Bill, Charlie, Harry and Ginny were fine, but someone else was dead. The Muggles were involved… and the four had no passports…

Diane, too, was listening. In a surprise move she leaned over and spoke to Fleur. “I’ll be back in a sec,� and she was gone, which disturbed Fleur almost as much as Jason’s conversation. The magic that flowed from the girl as she disappeared was so intense as to be nauseating. Seeing his ward vanish Jason shook his head and said something into the phone. Fleur could not understand his comment. It didn’t really matter. Not a minute passed before Diane reappeared with Bill, Charlie, Harry and Ginny, all looking shocked and a bit concerned. Ginny was sobbing.

“Damn it, Diane, don’t go off doing…� But Jason silenced himself when he saw the girl’s face.

Bill went to Fleur. Harry held Ginny who was quickly regaining her composure. Charlie was trying to get Diane’s attention but she was hunting for a tissue, when she found one she collapsed noisily into a chair and appeared to pass out. “How the bloody hell do you do that?� Charlie asked. He was clearly impressed.

“I’m not sure I want to know what she did,� Jason muttered, shaking his head.

“Merlin! She’s as bad as Harry, running off into the unknown,� Fleur heard her husband say quietly. “How are you feeling?�

“Much better, Beel. What ‘appened?�

Bill accurately narrated the events of the day to Fleur, Diane and Jason: the feigned ridicule at VFWW in Washington, the runaround at the 3rd Army museum in Georgia ending with Colonel Barr’s suicide and their run-in with the Muggle police. “We tried to avoid any contact with the Muggles but it was impossible. There was a constant stream of them and modifying their memories was impossible.�

“Being on a military base didn’t help much. As soon as the receptionist started screaming…� Charlie added, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“We had to go with their law enforcement blokes. We tried to explain but…� He trailed off, the rest of the explanation wasn’t really needed.

“And what did Diane do?� asked Jason, scowling at the girl but posing the question to Bill.

“We were talking to some of their police officers when she appeared behind us…�

“Don’t worry, Jason,� Diane spoke up for the first time. She still had her eyes closed and sounded deathly tired. “I modified all their memories and just brought them back. I’m sure they will be scratching their heads for weeks. This’ll all probably appear on an episode of Law and Order in a year or two.�

Jason, seeing Diane was better, was about to chastise her for her rash actions but Ginny spoke up first.

“He gave me this just before he killed himself… Colonel Barr did.� Pulling the old worn piece of paper from her pocket, Ginny handed it to her eldest brother who read it aloud..

“879 Zwyciestwa, Oswiecim, Polska. It’s an address of some sort. Polska might be ‘Poland.’ Any ideas?� he asked.

“Oswiecim sounds vaguely familiar,� Charlie mumbled.



A/N:�G2� is the intelligence arm of American military units.

Chapter 16 – The Lager

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.



While Harry and company were in the States, Michael Allen was spending his second month in Godric’s Hollow. He had missed the deadlines on articles he was writing for two tabloids, but this unusual lapse of duty was almost wholly ignored, at least by Allen. At the end of every day he would hand write his notes and post them to Billy in London where the young man was making copies between readings of the amazing letters. What Allen had uncovered was staggering.

At first, though he had come to believe in magic, Billy shook his head in skepticism while browsing through Allen’s correspondences. The stories were simply too fantastic. Every day the letters contained accounts (which were as amusing as amazing) of suspected ‘magicians’ and Allen’s reason for his suspicions – usually ‘vanishings’ or ‘spells’ inexpertly hidden from the master reporter’s eye. His cover as a vagrant – and occasionally a drunk – allowed him to blend into the background nearly unnoticed. Billy kept the originals of all these correspondences in a safety deposit box at a nearby bank; the drawer had to be changed twice due to the volume of material accumulating.

By the end of his second month in Godric’s Hollow, Billy read, Digger had noticed he was being followed. At first it was, in his words, “…by a damn good fellow, probably from Scotland Yard.� Since the man never displayed any magic, Allen was not too concerned, and some of his disguises seemed to fool the man completely. They kept their distance from each other by a mutual unspoken agreement.

That would soon change.

Inspector Trent had not done undercover work for nearly twenty years, and it showed on his third week of the peculiar assignment. Sloppiness led to his discovery by Michael Allen; they locked eyes for a second and his cover was blown. Oddly, when he reported the lapse to his superiors him was told to remain on the case, but to take no action towards Mr. Allen. The instructions puzzled him but the work was not difficult and he was enjoying the peace and quiet of the small town.

What Trent didn’t know was that his superiors were under orders coming directly from Downing Street. Arthur Weasley and Marcus Proudfoot were unaware of this, too, as they met with Crawsnag to hear his report on the Muggle Prime Minister’s request for compensation for damages his country had suffered during the war against Voldemort.

“Minister,� Crawsnag began, “we can find no fault with the Muggle’s accounting of damages inflicted upon them over the past two years.�

Proudfoot grimaced. Though he expected as much he was hoping for some minor flaw in the Prime Minister’s accounting to further delay their next meeting. “So, Arthur, any ideas?� the exasperated Minister of Magic asked.

Equally annoyed, Arthur shook his head. “Not unless you want to hold the Muggles accountable for what we’ve done for them.� He knew Proudfoot would not change his mind on that issue, but at least his conscience was clear.

“No, Arthur, you know how I feel about that. I will consider it for future situations…�

Crawsnag interrupted. “Excuse me, Minister Proudfoot, Minister Weasley, may I offer another option?�

None of the Goblin’s other suggestions had been suitable, but neither Minister had a choice at this point and were willing to listen to any other option. Proudfoot nodded for the Goblin to continue.

“There might be a way to meet the requirements of the Muggle government without bankrupting your own. Gringotts has extensive holdings in Muggle institutions called stocks and bonds. These certificated have a negotiable value; they also have the ability to… influence the Muggle institutions they represent. If we were to liquidate two hundred million pounds of these notes to meet the Muggle demands we would strain many of the companies that….�

“NO! Crawsnag, I told you I would not deal unfairly with these people. We lower ourselves to their level by these acts.�

“Excuse me again,� Crawsnag persisted, bowing his head. “This is neither unfair nor uncommon. Stocks in thousands of companies are traded by the billions in the Muggle markets, and every day scores of businesses are ruined or prosper by these trades.�

“Yes, but we do not desire the creation of enmity between our worlds. We have to live with these people.�

“Then you must do something else, Minister. This,� the Goblin tapped the report he’d presented earlier, “will destroy the stability of your government just as surely as Voldemort might have.�

Arthur, who had been watching the brief exchange, brought up another idea that had been considered months before. “Marcus, what about the estates confiscated from former Death Eaters? Their value is far above what we need for the Muggle compensation.�

Proudfoot shot Arthur an annoyed glance. “Those assets are still tied up in court, Arthur, you know that.� He had already heard this…

“Yes, but what if we used them as security for a loan?� …this he had not heard before.

The suggestion got Crawsnag’s attention, too. “Minister Weasley, that idea may be acceptable to the bank’s Directors. But I must warn you, giving them that much influence over your operating budget will not earn you friends in your finance department.�

The fact that a Goblin, one of a race of beings known for their shrewd business acumen and antipathy towards humans, was cautioning the two wizards in financial matters was a significant event and both realized this instantly. But what else could be done under the stringent policies Proudfoot had outlined? In short: nothing. The three talked on for another two hours before making the final decision. When he drafted the formal loan request for Crawsnag to take to his superiors Marcus Proudfoot realized just how much power he had as the Minister of Magic. He needed no other authorization for emergency funding measures; he answered only to the electorate. And with the stroke of a quill he mortgaged away much of this power.



Just about the time that the two Ministers were meeting with their Goblin associate, the Muggle Prime Minister, Anthony Blast, was greeting a very different sort of countryman. Michael Allen had finally been apprehended in Godric’s Hollow, though ‘apprehend’ was hardly the word to describe his capture. Inspector Trent, upon receiving word from his superiors, approached Allen one morning and introduced himself. Allen had long expected this meeting and willingly left with the other man for the lengthy drive across the width of England to London. His only real surprise was when Trent let him off outside Downing Street, not Scotland Yard, where he was greeted in a friendly manner by a small group of non-descript men. They introduced themselves, first name only, and led Allen into Number 10 where he was escorted almost immediately into Blast’s private office.

When only the Prime Minister and Allen remained the two men sat down to a pleasant dinner and discussed what Allen had been doing for a number of months. Much to Digger’s disappointment the Prime Minister knew far more about their Wizarding counterparts than he did. Without revealing the existence of his daily notes to Billy Thompson, Allen listened intently to the leader of his country. The conversation was wholly one-sided and quite informative.


* * * * * * * * * *


Diane Bradley had been surly and uncommunicative their last day in the States. Equally curious was Jason Graham’s unwillingness to speak to Harry about his friend. Fleur could only add that she had walked in on the two rowing mightily about Jason’s role as Diane’s legal guardian. He had apparently broken some trust she had in him, Fleur said, but she could add little else to the puzzle. Harry and Ginny tried to speak with Diane when they arrived back at the Burrow Monday evening but she only threw her travel bag down and walked out of the house. Ginny held Harry back when he started after her.

“Let her be, Harry,� she cautioned. “Whatever’s bothering her is between her and Jason. When she’s ready she’ll talk… she’s not as pig-headed as you.� She patted Harry on the bum and left quickly to see her mother.

Yes she is! he thought with amusement.

When the reunions were complete, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat down with Harry and their children to find out what they had accomplished. The look of disappointment in Molly Weasley’s eyes were allayed little when they brought up the address in Poland the American officer had given Ginny just before taking his own life. She looked at her eldest son, recently married, a father-to-be, a successful wizard, and wondered if she would one day lose him to the evil buried in his mind.

Ron joined the meeting about a half-hour later. As an explanation he said vaguely that he’d run into Diane. Harry rolled his eyes but Ginny smiled at her brother noting that he had had the sensitivity to comfort a friend. But that idea was shattered a moment later when Diane and Hermione walked in and through the kitchen with their arms around each other offering no communication besides a brief wave to the recent arrivals by Hermione.

Ron looked at his sister and shrugged. “Hermione and I were walking around when we saw Diane; the girls started talking so I left to go flying.�

Ginny bowed her head in defeat. Harry stifled a laugh.

“Ahem, let’s finish up here, Harry, Ron,� Bill said.

But the attempt to restart the discussion was again interrupted by the tapping of a grey Ministry owl bearing a rolled-up piece of parchment. Mr. Weasley let the owl in, paid it and glanced at the headlines of a special edition of the Daily Prophet. He silently shook his head and held the paper up for all to see. The highlighted story shocked all.

Boris Titov Killed in Death Eater Hunt.

The following morning, with the shock of Titov’s death only partially lessened, the meeting resumed. This time Hermione and Diane joined, though both brushed aside Harry’s questions about how his American friend was feeling. Fleur was also present but frequently excused herself to deal with morning sickness.

The topic Tuesday was what their next steps would be in searching for the Horcrux creation spell. They had an address to follow-up on, but without Titov to assist with travel getting a visa for Poland would take a few days. Harry was all for leaving that afternoon and getting it over, even without a visa, but Charlie needed a day to rest and a full moon was approaching which would cause Bill more discomfort. Mrs. Weasley listened to Ron and Harry’s pleas to allow them to go but they fell upon deaf ears. The meeting broke up late that morning with the only item settled being that they would reconvene the following morning when Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were expected to join them.

The two Aurors did indeed arrive bright and early. Most of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were out of country following up on rumors of Death Eater attacks, this left only a skeleton crew available to help Bill and that was for the best. The fewer people who knew Voldemort wasn’t completely gone the better.

Mrs. Weasley filled them in on the events of the previous four days and was just finishing as Harry and Ron staggered down the stairs. Kingsley nodded at the two young wizards but Tonks jumped up and gave Harry a big hug.

“Wotcher, Harry.�

“Hi, Tonks,� Harry croaked in response, accepting a mug of tea floating his way. He also saw toast and jam at his usual spot at the table.

“Molly,� Kingsley said, continuing their earlier conversation, “I have some contacts in the Ministry and I can get visas for whoever needs them.�

Harry lit up at this news as Ron buried himself into his bowl of breakfast cereal.

“That’s excellent, Kingsley, who do you know?�

“You all know him: Max Diggory. Though he told me that he wanted to participate in any ‘interesting trips,’ as he called them.�

Everyone knew exactly why Max was eager to assist. His brother, sister-in-law and nephew had all been murdered by Voldemort or his followers. And the previous summer he was instrumental in discovering Tom Riddle’s connection with Grindelwald during the second world war. He had earned inclusion.

“I have no objection,� Harry said.

Mrs. Weasley added, “I suppose he would be fine.� Then she turned to Harry, “Would just you and Max go or would you like someone else?� Then she hastily added, “Ron and Ginny are not available. And if Ron still needs Hermione to help him she may not be free either.� Ron said nothing but shot Harry a long suffering look.

“I can ask Diane and Tonks…� Then he remembered the approaching full moon, “...but you probably have to stay around for Remus, don’t you?�

“I’d love to go, Harry, but it’s as you said. Remus needs me the next few days.�

“Do I hear my name being used out here?� Diane asked, entering the kitchen from the parlor, a mug of coffee in her left hand while her right hand scratched her back with her wand. Harry summarized the situation for her.

“Oh, yeah, Ginny mentioned that to me in Salem. Well, I suppose so. Are you up for a depressing trip?�

“Huh? Wha shoo it be dapessing?� Ron muttered, his mouth full of food. All the others had the same question on their face.

“You’re kidding, right?� Diane asked incredulously. She received five blanks stares in return. “Oswiecim, Poland? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?� Again she was met with silence. “Oswiecim is the Polish name for the town of Auschwitz.�

The expressions instantly changed to recognition, then horror.

“I suppose that would make sense,� Tonks added a few seconds later. “Anyone wanting to experiment with death curses would have found everything they need there.�



The exact numbers are forever lost to history, far too much deception and destruction was involved in Hitler’s “Final Solution to the Jewish Question� for reliable records to be constructed. Most scholars agree, however, that about eleven million people were murdered in the racial purification efforts of the Nazis. Of this horrific figure, nearly six million were Jews, the remainder were political prisoners, the mentally and physically handicapped, homosexuals, Catholics, Gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses and so forth. In short, anyone who got in the way of the Third Reich forfeited their life. And even this staggering figure does not include Soviet soldiers captured in the first two years after Hitler invaded that country. Millions of these unfortunate souls were executed or left to starve to death in prisoner of war camps. More still were worked to death; the Soviet Union was not a participant in the Geneva Convention on the humane treatment of prisoners of war – not that it would have mattered a jot.

But what might be the most unbelievable aspect of the entire subject of the Holocaust is that, even to this day, there are many who believe it never happened. How they explain the documented disappearance of almost 6 million Jews in Europe is perfidious in the mildest sense of the word.

After the war, in justice and retribution, the Nuremburg Tribunal sentenced scores of the worst scum of Nazism to hang for their crimes. But nearly all of the highest ranking Nazi officials escaped the hangman’s noose by taking their own life or fleeing to South America; their cowardly actions left a hollowness to the victory in Europe. Also, many of the victorious countries turned a blind eye to the sordid past of gifted Nazi scientists or engineers who willingly declared their new allegiance and helped develop rockets and other marvelous devices for their new fatherlands. But that’s a whole different story.



The sense of adventure that had filled Harry prior to his trip to the States was woefully absent Wednesday when he, Diane and Max Diggory prepared to travel to Poland. Max had obtained the necessary visas and currency for the trip and all three were disguised as Muggle tourists. Bill and Charlie planned on joining them, if needed, on Friday. With a somber farewell, the three activated their international Portkey and landed in a fenced deserted lot next to a building that appeared long abandoned. It was the Polish Ministry of Magic.

“I was told we should wait here,� Max informed Harry and Diane. And sure enough, a squat heavy-set man came out of a door of the old building a moment later and greeted them.

“Stan Porgizelski,� he said affably with a thick accent and extending his hand to Diggory. “And you must be Max Diggory.�

With introductions complete they were led inside the building; it was in a much better state of repair than the outside. “And what can I help you with today, my friends?� Harry handed over the address and saw Porgizelski’s face grow dark. “Yes, this doesn’t surprise me. It’s the fictitious address for the death camp. Is there something in particular you want to see?�

“Not really,� Max replied. “We’re following up on some history of the camp and if it was used by Grindelwald.� He hoped the explanation was enough to satisfy their host and vague enough to not give anything away.

The Pole considered the answer for a moment before speaking. “If no malevolent wizard or witch had ever entered the camp this place would still be evil beyond the Devil himself. There were rumors of “The Butcher� being here – that’s our name for Herr Grindelwald, but no proof has ever been uncovered. The Russians were here first and it was a week before any Westerners were allowed in, so if they came across anything it’s probably gone for good, but you can see for yourself. Come in and sit, please.� The four entered Porgizelski’s office. Once situated they were briefed on local customs and given maps and tour information for the former death camp.

An hour later the three were riding a Muggle bus from the town of Oswiecim to the camp, or Lager, as it is called in German. There was near absolute silence on the bus, partly in reverence, partly in awe, but mostly in profound sorrow for those who died at this one camp. As the bus pulled into the debarkation queue there was something else that enveloped the forty or so passengers: the smell of death. Even after fifty years it was present – and sickening. Harry realized why Stan Porgizelski strongly recommended visiting the camp in the morning: many visitors would lose their lunch if they’d traveled after the noon meal.

The visitor’s center gave them a brief orientation to the camp, its history, and the reasons for it becoming a memorial. Then, armed with a brochure for a self-guided walking tour, the three left for the camp entrance. Passing under the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frie� sign Harry felt he was walking into Hell itself. He glanced at Max and Diane, both were wide-eyed and his American friend had tears streaming down her face; then Harry realized he did, too.

As they toured the grounds and buildings they passed through some woods. The pathway was raised above the ground and the trees were oddly stunted. When they read the notes for the spot it explained how this part of the camp had been the ash dump for many of the victims. The chemicals in the ash had partly poisoned the ground and made it soft and springy to someone walking on it, thus the platform. Max, like many of the other tourists around them, was tapping the ground with his toe. All could see its elastic nature. If they looked closer, and the moss and grass was not too dense, they would see tiny bone fragments – by the millions.

After two hours of touring, Max, Harry and Diane separated themselves from their group of tourists. Ducking behind an old red stone building, with a sign stating it was the SS Headquarters, they huddled to discuss their plans.

“I certainly wouldn’t expect any references to Grindelwald here,� Max stated, tapping the map. “But he must have had some facilities. Harry, Diane, did you see anything unusual?�

“This whole place is ‘unusual,’ Max. But no.�

They found a comfortable spot to sit undisturbed and spread out the camp map on the ground before them. “I’ve heard little about Grindelwald so it’s difficult to imagine how he would establish his presence here,� Max thought aloud.

“I’ve haven’t heard much about the weirdo either, but it seems to me he would place himself outside the part of the camp that housed the prisoners. Where did the booklet say Mengele worked?� Diane leaned over the map tracing various paths. “Here.� She jabbed a finger to a spot on the map that said ‘Block 10’ and a red dot labeled ‘Hospital.’ “Mengele did most of his medical experiments at this hospital, maybe it’s near there somewhere.� Harry and Max followed, neither had a better idea about where to start.

A half-hour later they had exited the ‘Auschwitz’ Camp I and entered the sub-camp known as Birkineau. Due to its distance from the main camp the grounds had far fewer visitors, and most had gathered around one of the many memorials erected to the victims. Just out of sight from the main gate they came across the remains of the infamous hospital.

Max made a logical observation about the site. “If Grindelwald worked here someone had to have known he was a wizard. There were hundreds of Germans here. And if one person knew then others did.�

“Yeah,� Diane said, looking around. When she had nearly completed a three hundred and sixty degree examination she stopped. “Harry, what’s that?�

About thirty meters away there was a tree growing, but it was at an odd angle, as if it had started leaning one way the abruptly turned another. Harry walked over and stopped next to the tree. “Look, right here,� he said, pointing to the spot on the tree where its growth had changed direction. “There used to be something here, a building maybe. When the tree grew this far it ran into the side and started growing in another direction. But whatever was here is gone now.�

“Think so? Come on.� Diane beckoned Harry and Max to follow her towards the nearby birch forest that had given the camp its name. “We’ll hide in here until it’s dark.�

“Why,� asked Max. “Did you see something?�

“No, I felt it.�

“So did I,� Harry added after a pause. The feeling had come over him as they stood by the oddly shaped tree. It reminded Harry of the night Dumbledore died, in the cave, where his dead Headmaster had sensed the presence of the boat’s chain.

The remaining daylight hours passed mostly in silence, all three deep in thought about what lay around them. Diane, still exhibiting an uncharacteristic aloofness, kept her back to the others and appeared to be meditating. Harry called for Ankaa, before the sun set and his flame might be noticed, and asked he take a message to the Weasleys. The brief note stated that they were all fine and were spending at least part of the night investigating what appeared to be a structure hidden by magic.

Throughout the camp one sort of activity or another continued until midnight. Candles could be discerned from afar and distant voices singing or praying wavered in and out with the chilly breezes. Finally, at half past midnight they appeared to be alone. A cold light drizzle had started. Donning Harry’s invisibility cloak, the three exited the woods and returned to the mysterious magic near the hospital ruins. At one point Harry caught Diane’s eyes, This is it, they seemed to say to each other, the end of their journey. Both knew instinctively that the starting place of the Horcrux spells were in this camp of death; as Tonks had said, it was only appropriate that the most ghastly and aberrant curse ever created be intimately linked with the most horrific and evil location ever created. Just as Jerusalem was the center of the word’s three great religions, Auschwitz/Birkineau had been ordained the center of the world’s deathly magic.

As they approached their destination Harry took Diane’s hand, she in turn took Max’s with her other hand. Partly it was for comfort, for the day had been physically and emotionally draining on all three. Harry also wanted Diane prepared, recalling her explanation of Coalescence, and how she drew some of her powers from others, it didn’t occur to Harry that both Diane’s hands were occupied as they covered the final few meters to the tree.

“Harry, do you feel it?� Diane whispered.

Not only did Harry feel it, he began to see the form of a two storey building appear in front of them. “There it is, do you see?�

“No, nothing.�

“Close your eyes,� he instructed. Max and Diane, who had been straining their eyes in the dark, followed the directions and saw what Harry saw, through his eyes.

The structure was basic, weather worn, and made from roughly hewn blocks of a reddish stone, much like the barracks they saw at the entrance to the camp; there were few windows. Still holding hands they walked down the wall of the building and turned the corner before reaching a door. Releasing Diane’s hand, Harry felt around the partially rotted door frame and then the handle; it was locked. “I wish Bill were here, if this is a trap I wouldn’t be able to tell.�

“Here, Harry, let me,� Max whispered. “I know a few disarming spells, but I don’t think there are any here.�

“Why not?�

“Harry,� this time it was Diane, “from what you told me, Grindelwald thought a lot like Voldemort, and his protection lay in blood curses and sacrifice.�

“Yeah, but I doubt…� Stopping himself, Harry drew his wand, conjured a knife, and in a quick stroke cut the palm of his hand. When blood had collected and Max had completed checking for traps, Harry pressed his palm to the door and they all distinctly heard a click. Harry shivered. Max tried the handle as Diane healed Harry’s hand.

It opened.


* * * * * * * * * *


“Aw, blimey, Hermione, I’m going cross-eyed. Let’s take a turn around the paddock.� Rising from the sofa, Ron placed his notes on the table and stretched. When he looked back at Hermione she had a funny expression. “What?�

She laughed. “Well, you usually suggest a snack.�

“I haven’t ruled that option out. Maybe later. Join me?� He held his hand out to help her up from the sagging sofa. Hermione took it and pulled herself up.

Many years before, Hermione had made a discovery about the human brain and its capacity for making instantaneous calculations and decisions. She’d seen her mother drop some clean laundry on the floor one day and in a fraction of a second she knew all the options she had for reacting to the event. And not only did she see the immediate consequences for her action (or inaction) but she could foretell how her actions would affect other future events. After picking up the soiled garment she shared this epiphany with her mother. Jane smiled at her daughter and nodded. She, too, had noticed that very level of conscious decision making, and at a similar age. It was a stage in the development of human consciousness she later studied in medical school, and it was part of what marked the evolution humans from instinctive beings to true thinking ones. Or, as in this case, the transformation from a child to an adolescent.

Now was one of those moments, Hermione realized. In the one and a half seconds it took her to stand, with Ron’s assistance, she had to decide whether or not to release his hand. But her brain wasn’t working the way it should. Expecting to see a flood of positive future consequences if she held on, instead she saw only mush. So, as an alternative to rational thought, Hermione did what she always did when unsure: she reached out for help. Or in this case, she held on to his hand.

“Er…� Ron uttered, looking back, confused.

She tried to understand Ron’s utterance but Hermione’s brain was still not functioning properly, except the part that caused hands to sweat. That area worked perfectly. And she held on.

Ron called into the kitchen. “We’re heading out for a walk, Mum. Back shortly.� He heard an affirmative sounding non-verbal reply.

The mid-spring air was unusually warm for Devon that night. The wind was from the south carrying a slight tang of the salty sea air. Interestingly, neither Ron nor Hermione noted the salt, or the scent of the freshly mowed lawn, or the early bulbs of crocus and hyacinth blooming in the beds surrounding the Burrow. Both were focused completely on their hands; Hermione’s left and Ron’s right, that is.

In an innocently adolescent way, neither could find any words to share about their reaction to the first ‘intimate’ touch they had shared in six months, if you can call holding hands ‘intimate.’

Inside Hermione’s head the mush was clearing and she was becoming painfully aware that her hand, and Ron’s, were slick with perspiration. She was mortified but didn’t know what to do. I wonder if I can relax my grip a bit so air will circulate and dry…

Inside Ron’s head very different thoughts were percolating. In his hand, quite literally, was his future – or one of his futures. He recalled Charlie’s question, right before leaving for France: Would you take her back if she asked? And his answer: No. He thought he had given their relationship everything he could, and it had still failed. But was that true? Had he done everything possible, examined every option, and made every effort? And what was different now, what had changed in the past six months for him to even reconsider his relationship with Hermione?

Feeling her grip loosen made Ron suppose she was just being friendly and he released her hand, unconsciously wiping it on his jeans. Hermione stopped walking.

“Ron, I… I…�

Ron smiled. This was something new: Hermione Granger at a loss for words! Turning, he saw the face of his best friend for nearly six years. Her expression was…? She looked frightened, almost ashamed, and her mouth was still open, unspoken words were still forming.

Ron smiled again, this time letting her see his face, but he said nothing.

“Don’t do that, Ron.�

“Wha’d I do?�

“Make fun of me!� she snapped, hurt.

He had to smile even more, for that was the last thing he had considered doing. It showed on his face. “Never, Hermione.�

“Oh…�

“I guess we, uh, need to talk?�

She nodded. Then, without knowing how it happened, without thinking, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him, and he to her.

“I’m sorry, Ron,� she said, her voice cracking. “I’m just a baby sometimes. Being near you these past few months has been agony. I know what happened last year was all my fault. Can you forgive me?�

The response was automatic, and genuine. “Yeah, sure, Hermione, you know I can. So… you admit that our first time around was poorly executed?� She nodded – Ron could plainly feel it on his chest.

“You want to try again?� Another nod.

“You won’t take out your frustrations with my family on me?�

“No.�

“And you admit I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you?�

“Don’t push it, Ron.�

Their deep laughter broke them apart and they stood facing each other, holding hands again. “No, I won’t push anything, either,� Ron said.

“You’ve changed since last summer, do you know that?�

“Yeah, you’re not the first person to tell me. Hope it’s for the better.�

Hermione looked into his eyes. “It’s not like you were bad before, you’re more…�

“Mature?�

“In a way, yes. But I think it’s more subtle than that. You’re comfortable with yourself and others. I like it.� She pulled Ron back to herself and they embraced for a long time.

After a few minutes of silence, Ron’s stomach growled.

“I guess that’s a signal,� Hermione laughed.

“C’mon, let’s eat.� Automatically their hands met and they walked back to the house in a comfortable silence. Both knew there was much remaining to talk about, but at that moment not talking was fine.

Entering in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione saw Ginny and Charlie with their parents. Ankaa was at the end of the table and looked at both of them as they sat, trilling a soft friendly note.


* * * * * * * * * *


Harry, Diane and Max entered the building and were assaulted by odors more foul than they had experienced outside. Added to the smell of death were rot, stagnant water, and ozone. The later was a known byproduct of spells Wizards used to simulate electricity, and the building was full of it. Closing the door behind them, they dropped the cloak; Harry and Max illuminated the room with their wands.

“Harry,� Max said softly and with a hint of concern, “this isn’t right. The spells that create electricity are linked to their caster. If they are still active the caster has to be alive.�

“But this place hasn’t been visited in years, probably decades,� Diane said. Harry silently agreed, carefully looking and feeling for anything dangerous, but the entire ground floor was empty.

“I’ll look upstairs. You two stay here,� Max instructed. He returned not a minute later. “Nothing at all.� Unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, he leaned against the wall. “Any ideas?�

Harry looked at Diane. They were puzzled for they both sensed that this was where they should be. The three batted some ideas about for a few minutes and then Harry slapped his forehead with the flattened palm of his hand. “I’m a fool,� he said. Walking from room to room he stopped in the center of each.

“What is it, Harry?�

“I’m looking for a door in the floor. Come here.�

Diane walked over and took Harry’s outstretched hand. As soon as they touched he laughed. “There!� He pointed to a spot in the center of an adjoining room. Releasing Diane’s hand, he walked into the room and called Max over to check for traps. He failed to notice his American friend’s wide-eyed look of shock.

“We have to be careful, Max. Bill was almost killed by a Muggle explosive device on a similar door in Germany.�

“So I heard. Let me have a go at it.� Diggory surveyed the now visible door from close up and afar. He performed some of the same spells Bill had, Harry noticed. While the work continued, Harry leaned against the door frame leading to the room where he’d left Diane. He felt her walk up from behind and wrap her arm around his.

“Alright there, Di?� he asked. He could feel his friend shivering.

“Peachy, Harry. Never been better.�

“Er – if you say so.� Harry could feel his friend’s uneasiness, but her behavior the past two days had seemed a sign for him to let her be. Then Diggory interrupted his thought.

“Harry, would you and Diane please cast a containment spell over the door, I’ve unlocked it but I want to contain any explosion that might be triggered.�

“You do it, Di. It’ll be enough if it’s like the one Bill found.� Still holding on to her arm, Harry prepared to cast the spell.

“Ok, Max, ready?�

Seeing a nod, Harry cast the containment spell and Diggory opened the door from the far side of the room. Even though everyone was prepared for an explosion they all jumped a bit at the flash. Diggory’s precaution of the containment spell seemed unnecessary, they all saw. Either from age or some other unknown factor the explosion gave the impression of not being particularly strong. With a wave of his wand, Max banished the cloud of smoke revealing the door to the cellar. He motioned to the others to stay put while he investigated.

While the cellar was being checked for traps, Harry and Diane sat waiting for Max to return.

“Nice shield, Harry.�

“That? Thanks, but it was hardly necessary. That was just a little banger to scare people away.�

Diane scoffed audibly at his remark.

“What’s wrong?�

“God, Harry, you really are dense sometimes.� Pushing herself up, Diane walked to the hole in the floor to call down to Max but was
preempted by a voice from the cellar.

“Harry, Diane, come down here,� Max called.



“I count thirty-two crates sealed and these five open. Should we look at them here or back home?� Harry was looking in awe at the find; Diane whistled in wonder. These were obviously what the Americans had found at Grindelwald’s house and crated-up for shipment to the States. The stenciled address, in English, proved it.

“Home would be best,� Max said. “I know I want to get out of this place as soon as possible.�

The other two nodded.

“How are you going to move all this unnoticed?� asked Diane.

Diggory scratched his head. “Yes, that will be a problem. Magical items, if that’s what they are, might not tolerate being turned into Port keys.�

“Think we should give them a quick look. If they’re just books…�

“No, Harry. As much as it disgusts me I suppose we should bring people here.� Diggory was clearly not happy about his own conclusion. “Well, let’s finish looking through this place, shall we?�

Harry led off down a dark passageway, lit only by his and Max’s wands. After an hour of walking about, making crude maps of the corridors, they reached another heavy door. Diggory checked it for traps but found nothing. Impatiently, Diane walked up to it, turned the unlocked handle and opened the door. Inside was another shorter corridor with doors to the left and right. As each of them stepped in they felt it.

Death.

“This is creepy,� Diane said unnecessarily. Harry nodded.

“It looks like his sanctum sanctorum,� Max added.

“Holiest of holies,� Diane explained to Harry who had a confused look on his face.

“No traps here. I suppose once you get into the cellar you’re considered legit.�

They opened the left door first and entered a long narrow room, perhaps three by fifteen meters. The room was empty. Backing out they approached the opposite door. Max pulled this one open. It was quite different from the one they had just exited.

The first thing Diane though of when she gazed into the space was a combination torture chamber and laboratory. But the first thing she felt was a creeping sense of evil laced with death. She looked at Harry and Max, both looked ill. She spread out her arms and walked backwards, forcing the others to exit the room with her. She heard Harry retching as she shut the door.

When she had taken a few calming breaths Diane said, “It’s easy to figure out what that room was for.�

The three moved back to the first main corridor and sat silently trying to regain their composure. It took a while.

“I want to get out of here,� Max said quietly, in almost a whisper. “But we have to go back, at least I do.�

As Max stood, Harry joined him. Diane motioned for them to go on, saying she would join them shortly.

The second foray into the chamber was easier, but only in that Harry and Max were prepared for what was ahead. Afraid to open his mouth for fear of vomiting again, Harry used simple hand gestures for Max to follow him. What at first had appeared to be rows of chemical or specimen jars on the right hand wall turned out to be just empty containers. A few had labels but the writing was too faded to read after fifty years of exposure.

With the hair on the back of their neck standing up, they turned back towards the entrance and saw Diane entering the room. She had a handkerchief to her face, apparently trying (unsuccessfully) to filter out the stench. Walking down the opposite wall she stopped every so often to look at an object or device.

When they met again, all looked to the far end of the room. A single chair was bolted to the floor and there were heavy leather straps on the handles and legs. It looked frighteningly like a Muggle electric chair, Diane said. As she approached the chair Harry could see her skin pale and body shake. She stopped and turned around.

“This is it, Harry, Max. This is where the spell was created.� She motioned them forward; Max stepped ahead of Harry.

“You’re right, Diane,� Max said with a contorted face, “this spot is a stain upon the very fabric of magic.�

Harry, who was still a step or two back, had stopped. “Do you hear that?� he snapped so sharply the other two jumped. “That noise… it’s very high-pitched.�

Max shook his head, Diane cupped her hands behind her ears to hear better. After a moment she shook her head.

“I was afraid of that.� Harry walked a ways back from the chair and seemed to relax. “There’s something here. It’s alive. I think you should step away from the chair.�

Not waiting for another hint, Max and Diane backed away. “What is it, Harry?� Diane asked, walking to his side.

“You’re right, Di. This is where he did it, where he created the Horcrux spell, or at least perfected it. But I think…� Harry trailed off, distracted. He looked around the room, as if he were watching an insect buzz about. Then he stopped and pointed to an empty spot on the wall. When he looked back at Diane she could see he appeared whey-faced and not altogether steady.

“Steady, Harry. Sit here,� Max instructed, also seeing him become unsteady. “What do you see?�

“No. Max, would you check that wall for traps? There’s something behind it.�

Diggory’s eyes widened at the suggestion but he did as Harry asked. After a few minutes he was done but had found nothing. “There is something there, Harry, but other than a concealment charm that I can’t break I’m not sure what.�

Before Harry could respond, Diane drew her wand and cast a non-verbal spell that acted like a blasting curse. A small opening appeared in the wall. She had punched a hole in the hidden door.

“Yeah, that’s one way to get in,� Harry said. Stepping forward again, he reached into the hole and began to pull out thin planks of wood. Soon he had disassembled the entire door and the three were looking into a small room. With the magically hidden room now visible, Harry stepped in followed by Diane and Max. There was just enough room for all three, the ‘room’ being more the size of a walk-in closet. Each wall was lined with shelving and each shelf contained many wooden boxes with dates marked on the end.

Making a quick survey they found the earliest date was December of 1933; the latest was January, 1945.

Max picked out one box at random and motioned for Harry and Diane to follow him. He exited the closet , moving back to the original room they had descended into earlier. The box was set on top of a rickety table.

“God, that place was awful,� Diane moaned; the others nodded in sympathetic agreement.

“Do you think the Americans made it all the way to that closet we were in?�

“No, Harry, I don’t think so. Based on what you told me about the bloke that killed himself, I think they just moved the contents of Grindelwald’s house into this chamber.� He pointed to the three boxes they’d found open upon arrival. “I’d wager they read the notes in there and were so horrified by them they left after setting that bomb to destroy everything.�

“Huh? That little banger?�

Diane shook her head and rolled her eyes at Max.

“Harry! That was no ‘little banger,’ as you call it,� Max explained. “If you hadn’t cast that containment spell this entire building, and us, would have been destroyed. There was probably more than a ton of explosives in there.�

“WHAT?�

Diane glanced at Max who nodded with an amused look on his face. “We can worry about that later. What’s in the box, Max?�

The top of the box marked Oktober 1941was loose and there were no obvious traps, still, Max poked inside with his wand. A tinkling of class could be heard as he prodded the contents. Satisfied with the situation, Diggory lifted off the top exposing the inside. Apart from a thick layer of dust, the box contained a pile of what appeared to be clear ornamental light bulbs like one might find on a Christmas Tree. When Harry picked one up and wiped the dust off they all could tell that these were not bulbs.

Harry held the first one up to his lit wand, trying to examine the contents. Nothing. Then they each looked at a few more and found them empty, though they were not certain what exactly it was they were looking for. Diane drifted away to the original crates they’d found on the floor and started examining them.

“Here,� she said quietly. Levitating a few boxes exposed one at the bottom of the pile. It was marked 1941. When Diane pointed this out to the others they came over to inspect the crate. “I bet there’s a connection,� she said, stating the obvious conclusion.

“Yes, Diane, I believe you’re correct,� Max whispered. “And I’ll bet that's what’s in this box are the notes connecting Grindelwald’s experiments with the results; the boxes we found in that hidden closet. Shall we test that theory?� The two students nodded, both trying to look far more calm than they felt.

Ten minutes later they had their answer.


* * * * * * * * * *


“And…?�

“Nothing, Ginny. That’s all there is,� Hermione said slightly breathlessly.

“And ‘nothing’ has you so wound-up?�

Normally a sound sleeper, Hermione was pretending to read late that night, but her red-haired friend was watching with amusement as she fiddled with the pages of her Transfiguration text. Crookshanks, sensing his usual sleeping place as being too unsettled, turned his attention to Ginny’s bed instead and was rewarded by a gentle scratching under his chin.

“Oh, go away,� Hermione said half-heartedly, again turning a page without having read more than the first two lines.

After drumming her fingers on the frame of her bed for a minute and seeing her friend would offer no further information, Ginny fluffed her pillow and flopped down to sleep. Crookshanks curled up next to her feet and followed suit. As Ginny drifted off into sleep her mind witnessed a whirl of memories passing by at an ever increasing rate. The memories started with her childhood where she recalled her crush on ‘the-boy-who-lived.’

She smiled.

Hearing her friend finally drift off to sleep, Hermione looked over to the bed. Ginny was smiling faintly, her lips barely parted and moving slightly, as if she was speaking with someone. Probably Harry, she thought.

Putting down her text, Hermione reached into her travel bag and pulled out one of her favorite Muggle novels. It was about King Arthur. The facts were cock-eyed and it grossly understated the power of the ancient wizard, but it was good reading. But the bushy-haired witch found that even this book was not able to take her mind off the events of a few hours earlier. Surrendering to the feeling Ron’s words and arms gave her, she dimmed the lamp and wrapped her arms around herself.

Sleep took her shortly thereafter.