The menacing form of Lord Voldemort was standing over the thin, bespectacled boy, aiming a long, threatening wand at him. Harry Potter, whose muscles were aching fit to burst, once again pointed his own wand at Voldemort and shouted the only spell he could think of.

“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort’s wand went flying out of his long, thin hand. Voldemort himself, however, didn’t flinch. He merely reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out another identical wand.

“Bet you didn’t realize how many tail feathers that phoenix gave away, did you?” sneered Voldemort in his high, icy voice. “You shouldn’t have believed what Ollivander said about there being only two, you silly, naïve child.”

Harry, much as his arm muscles were screaming in pain, raised his wand again and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Once again �“ it seemed like for the hundredth time �“ Voldemort’s wand went flying. And once again, Voldemort calmly pulled a new one out of his pocket.

Harry feebly raised his own wand and croaked, “Expelliarmus!”

A second later, Voldemort’s latest wand was long gone, and Voldemort grabbed his next wand out of his pocket. “You cannot defeat me, Potter!” he shrieked gleefully. “There is not even any need for the Avada Kedavra curse! I have exactly twelve thousand five hundred and nine wands with me here, and long before I get to the last one, you will have died a slow, agonizing death of pure boredom, and I will be able to rule the world!”

Harry raised his wand, struggling to draw the breath to disarm Voldemort again, and woke up screaming. “AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!”

He tried to calm down, take deep breaths, and let his eyes adjust to the dark. It was just one of the usual nightmares. A few seconds later, his eyes focused on his Uncle Vernon’s nose, which was inches from his own.

“What the ruddy hell are you screaming about?!” whispered Uncle Vernon. Harry could actually feel his bushy moustache bristling with rage. “This had better be something good! You woke me up from my favorite golfing dream again!”

“Just another nightmare,” Harry muttered. “Get out of my personal space, will you?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” growled Uncle Vernon. “I’m not the one who keeps waking up at night shouting for no reason.”

“I’ve got a lot of pent-up stress at the moment,” Harry said exasperatedly. He knew it was unlikely to do any good, but it seemed that he might as well try once again to reason with his uncle. “You see, I know that one of these days, maybe very soon, I’ll have to meet up with Voldemort again. And seeing as neither of us can live while the other survives, there seems to be a good chance that I’ll die. After all, normally there are four possibilities: that we both live, that he lives and I die, that I die and he lives, or that we both die. As I’ve explained to you before, the possibility that we both live is eliminated. So only one out of the three remaining possibilities involves �“ “

“DON’T YOU GET SMART WITH ME, BOY!” Uncle Vernon shouted. “You spend all your time sitting around feeling so damn sorry for yourself! Last summer it was that axe-murderer godfather of yours that you were moping over, and this year it’s one of your paranoid ideas about some guy you think is going to kill you! Doesn’t it occur to you that I might be under pressure as well? Last night I dreamt that I didn’t get the pay rise I wanted, and did I wake up the entire household because of it? One more nighttime scream out of you, boy, and you’ll be scrubbing the bathrooms twice a day for the rest of the summer! And I’ll know that you won’t use that… that thing of yours to help you, because you keep getting expelled every time you do use it!”

“I guess my only hope for cleaning the bathrooms will be that you don’t overeat at that drill thingy anniversary buffet again,” said Harry coolly.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon silkily, although the veins in his forehead looked ready to burst more violently than a mimbulus mimbultonia. “I’m locking you up again!” He was getting more excited now, breathing more heavily, and talking more and more rapidly. “I’m hiring someone to watch your window this time so that no Weasley loonies can come up with some freakish flying car! And I’m taking your… thing! So that even if you do decide to use you-know-what again and risk getting in trouble with your people’s wretched, incompetent government, at least I won’t have to deal with a peck, I mean a pack of owls nearly flying straight into my eyeballs!” He took a tissue out of his pocket and, holding it in his right hand, gingerly picked up Harry’s wand from his nightstand. Harry saw no way to resist.

Aunt Petunia came in. “What’s going on here?” she snapped.

“Oh, I’m just trying to teach the boy a lesson about getting clever with me,” said Uncle Vernon smugly. “Aren’t you impressed by my assertiveness, Petunia?”

“Actually, I’m not sure that punishing the boy is such a good idea, Vernon,” said Aunt Petunia, her thin, horsy face looking nervous. “Remember those people who threatened us when we picked Harry up last summer? If they come marching into the house, I’ll die of shame, especially if we haven’t had a chance to repaint the porch yet.”

“I’ll hire a guard to watch over the front door, too!” said Uncle Vernon. “I don’t care what it takes! Nobody makes fun of Vernon Dursley!” And with that, he walked out of the room with Harry’s wand, locked Harry in, and proceeded to barricade his room so that there was no way he could get out.

Harry could see no way out of his imprisonment this time without getting in trouble once again with the Ministry of Magic. He knew that members of the Order of the Phoenix would try to come for him sooner or later, but he had no way of knowing when, or how. He didn’t even have his owl Hedwig, as she was out hunting and now could not get back in. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, alternating between fantasies of wringing the neck of his aunt and uncle, then of Severus Snape, then of Dolores Umbridge, and occasionally of Voldemort.

Then, halfway through the second day of this confinement, Harry had an idea. There was a way of getting himself out of this situation without resorting to magic or even using a wand. He sat up in bed and whispered, “Kreacher? Dobby?”

There were two simultaneous cracks.

“Harry Potter, sir!” squeaked Dobby, his eyes staring up at Harry in admiration.

“Harry Potter, sir!” croaked Kreacher, his eyes staring up at Harry in revultion.

“I have a job for the two of you,” said Harry.

“Dobby will be glad to do anything for Harry Potter!” cried Dobby enthusiastically.

“Kreacher will also do anything for Harry Potter,” said Kreacher, not so enthusiastically, “but Kreacher really does not know what the world is coming to. Everywhere he goes is still full of mudbloods and half-breeds and other random pieces of filth. What is the point in living any longer?”

“If I don’t get out of here soon and get to work, there really won’t be any point in living any longer,” said Harry briskly, “so I want you two to help me get out of here. I want you to inform the Order of where I am and how impatient I am to destroy the Horcruxes and rid the world of the darkest wizard who ever existed. Well, don’t say anything about Horcruxes. And don’t make too big of a point of how impatient I am, or they won’t trust me. And don’t mention defeating the darkest wizard who ever existed, or they’ll think I’m full of myself. Just tell them that I really need to get out, because I’m slowly starving to death!”

“Right you are, Harry Potter sir!” squeaked Dobby, and he vanished with a loud crack.

Kreacher was not so prompt at disappearing. “Hmm, to whom from the Order shall Kreacher speak first, he wonders… perhaps Severus?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” shouted Harry, suddenly angry. “You know perfectly well that Snape isn’t part of the Order anymore, you numbskull! From now on, I forbid you to mention his name without putting a four-letter word in the same sentence! Now clear off!”

“Most unfortunately, Kreacher must do as he is told,” muttered the filthy house-elf, and with another loud crack, he disappeared.

Harry sat fuming. Any mention of Snape nowadays was likely to make his blood pressure rise, even more violently than it had ever done before. He decided to mentally play through his favorite fantasy of cursing Snape so that his greasy, hooked nose swelled exponentially. He was just getting to the part where his entire body was weighed down by the nose, which was scraping along a hot sidewalk baking in the July sun, when his thoughts were interrupted by Minerva McGonogall abruptly appearing in the room.

“Hello, Professor,” he said, grateful to finally see a wizard or witch again.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” said Professor McGonogall curtly, as she peered around the disorganized mess in the room through her square spectacles. “Don’t you ever clean up in here?”

“Could you skip the lecture please, Professor?” said Harry politely.

“Oh, very well,” sighed McGonogall. “Let’s see what I can do about getting you out of here.” She raised her wand and pointed it at the door. It swung open so quickly and easily that it looked like it might fly off its hinges. There was a stifled cry of pain from behind it, and Dudley’s porky face came into view. Dudley rubbed a rapidly swelling bruise on his head and let out a swear word.

“You go and wash your mouth out with soap, young Dursley,” said Professor McGonogall sternly. Dudley took one look at her and ran downstairs, shouting for his parents. A minute later, he came shuffling back upstairs with Aunt Petunia half-carrying him and Uncle Vernon bringing up the rear.

“What did she do to you, Diddy?” crooned Aunt Petunia. “Poor diddy Duddikins! Poor duddy Diddikins! Poor little dinky doddle Dookidins!”

“Have you hurt my son?” roared Uncle Vernon. “I’ll tear you limb from limb! I warn you, I’ve been trained in wrestling, and my son here is a Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion! You don’t want to go around messing with us!”

“I have no time for any funny business, Mr. Dursley,” said McGonogall coldly, over Dudley’s soft sobs as he leaned his head on his mother’s bosom. “The evil wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is at large, wreaking havoc upon both our world and the Muggle world. His especial target is Mr. Potter here, but not even such uber-Muggles as yourselves are safe in these dark times.”

Dudley wailed even more loudly. “I don’t want some evil you-know-what to attack us! I d-don’t want to d-d-die! I h-haven’t even g-gotten to try out my new Nintendo game y-y-yet!”

“Don’t worry, my darling diddle Dudderfus!” cried Aunt Petunia tearfully. “Mummy won’t let him destroy you!”

“I’m not really supposed to use magic on you,” said McGonogall, who was clearly becoming more and more impatient, “and I’m not as good at side-along Apparition as Dumbledore was, and Harry can’t legally Apparate by himself yet. So it would be most considerate of you to cooperate. Kindly step aside and allow myself and Mr. Potter to pass.”

Aunt Petunia and Dudley stepped aside, but Uncle Vernon stood his ground. “I will not let that boy get away so easily!” he barked. “I’m afraid it is time that he paid consequences for his actions!”

Just then, there was a crack like a whip, and an anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley Apparated into the room, wearing an apron. “What’s keeping you two?” she said. “Supper is getting stone cold, you know.”

“Sorry, Molly,” sighed McGonogall, looking over at her. “It’s just that these Muggles are having trouble with the concept of common courtesy. They’re just as Albus described them. I bet they wouldn’t invite me in or offer me refreshments if I surprised them at eleven in the evening, either.”

“What a sloppy room,” remarked Mrs. Weasley.

“Will you all give it a rest about the room!” cried Harry in exasperation as he started to pack.

“Come on, Vernon,” wheedled Aunt Petunia to Uncle Vernon, who was still standing in the way of McGonogall and Harry, swelled up indignantly. “Wouldn’t it be better to let him go? After all, we’ll never have to see him again. He turns seventeen in a week or two, remember? And think on the bright side. At least these people haven’t wrecked our fireplace or blown up any members of our family this time.”

Harry could see the usual inner conflict within Uncle Vernon, who was clearly fighting between the desire to oppose whatever Harry wanted and the desire to be rid of him forever at last. Finally, Uncle Vernon began to say, in a rather choked voice, “True, they haven’t even so much as exploded a pudding.” Just as he said it, however, there was a huge crunching sound, and the window shattered.

“Uh-oh,” said Harry to himself, although he couldn’t help grinning at the same time.

“What’s takin’ yeh so long?” grunted the voice of Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant Hogwarts gamekeeper from outside the window. “Come on, let me carry yeh outta here!”

Uncle Vernon muttered, “Mimblewimble!” and ran out of the room. Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed suit. McGonogall and Mrs. Weasley both glared at Hagrid, looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and Disapparated. Harry jumped out of the window and didn’t fall far before landing in Hagrid’s arms. A second later, Harry’s wand went flying out the window, thrown out, no doubt, in disgust by Uncle Vernon, and Harry caught it.

“There, take your thing!” came Uncle Vernon’s voice from out of the broken window. “And don’t ever show your disorderly-looking head at our doorstep again!”

“I’ll miss you too, Uncle Vernon,” said Harry gleefully, waving up at him.

Hagrid started walking briskly down Privet Drive, trampling a few squirrels in the process.

“How’ve yeh bin, Harry?” said Hagrid. “Seriously, yeh should talk to Grawp, yeh wouldn’ believe how smart he’s gettin’ nowadays. He’s studyin’ second-year calculus now, although he still has a little trouble remembering the dif’rence between sines and cosines.”

“Thanks for everything, Hagrid,” said Harry gratefully as Hagrid bore him across the street to where a grouchy-looking Auror stood waiting to escort him back to the Burrow at last.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any thinner, you out-thin yourself,” groused Mrs. Weasley as she put platters on the table in the Burrow. “I want you to eat no fewer than three helpings of this meatloaf, and no excuses!”

“They’re better than Hagrid’s rock cakes any day, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry happily. “Are the rest of the family here?”

There were eight simultaneous cracks, and Harry blinked as Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron Weasley, along with Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger, appeared in front of him, almost knocking him over in his chair.

“Yes, I would say that we are all here,” said Fred lightly, “that is, all but a certain piece of dung who still hasn’t apologized to certain other people about not believing that a certain Personage-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.”

“As well as another certain female person who seems to already be making deliberate efforts to avoid you,” added George.

Harry sighed and looked at the ground. Suddenly, he wanted desperately to change the subject. “So, any news of what Voldemort’s up to now?” he said, attempting a lighthearted tone of voice and ignoring seven simultaneous flinches aimed in his direction.

“The usual. Still killing. Still maiming and torturing. Still trying to recruit more people to his side. Still wreaking chaos and havoc in every direction,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “We’re doing our best in the Order. Working every day against him, even on weekends and after hours, except we’ll be taking this Saturday off for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Then it’ll be back to fighting the Death Eaters as usual. And that’s enough to be getting on with, without the Deathly Hallows clamoring for attention all the time.”

Harry had no idea what Deathly Hallows were, but didn’t have the energy to ask.

“We don’t even have Dumbledore’s quirky jokes to keep us happy anymore now,” said Charlie sadly. “Or his terrifying anger to keep us in line. We’re on our own.”

“Speaking of Dumbledore, I just got the news from Scrimgeour that Hogwarts will be reopening after all,” said Mr. Weasley. “We’re just going to have even stronger security. I’m not allowed to give the details, though.”

Harry noticed a new clock on the wall. There was one hand for each Weasley, and only two phrases written around the edge: “In Moderate Mortal Danger” and “In Danger of Dying a Particularly Painful Death in the Imminent Future”. Harry was glad to see that all nine hands were pointing at “In Moderate Mortal Danger”.

“Observing our newest possession, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley grimly, gesturing towards the clock. “Yes, I thought it might come in useful, and the old one was getting rather boring, with everyone’s hand always pointing to the ‘Mortal Danger’ spot. This new one was sold to me on the street by a woman by the name of Trelawney. She said she had built it herself to perfect accuracy.”

Harry suddenly felt a lot less reassured.

After dinner, Harry went up to Ron’s room with Ron and Hermione. On his way up the stairs, Harry could see Ginny’s eyes peering out of her bedroom door, which was open a crack, before she quickly closed it. Harry sighed, pulled himself together and continued on his way up the stairs. At least this wasn’t as bad as it had been to watch her snogging Dean Thomas.

“So Hogwarts is staying open after all,” said Harry to his two friends. “I wonder who the headmaster will be now.”

“Have you considered the possibility that Dumbledore might not really be dead?” said Hermione musingly. “He might be coming back to Hogwarts, you know.”

“That’s not a nice thing to joke about,” said Harry quietly.

“I’m not joking!” said Hermione shrilly. “I’m not convinced that he really died! The evidence isn’t exactly watertight!”

“Not exactly watertight?” repeated Harry incredulously. “What d’you mean? In case you’ve forgotten, I saw him blasted off the astronomy tower by Snape’s Avada Kedavra curse! I saw his dead body! He’s dead! There’s no denying it. No getting around it. Dumbledore is no more. Snape murdered him!”

“Actually, we don’t know that for sure,” said Hermione evenly. “We don’t actually have proof that Snape isn’t still on our side.”

“Oh, you’re not still saying that, are you?” snorted Ron. “The one issue between us where I got the privilege of turning out to be right, and you won’t admit it?”

“Come on, have some imagination,” said Hermione, although soothingly, squeezing Ron’s hand. She glanced at Harry and let go with a start. “Snape and Dumbledore could have been putting on a show for the Death Eaters to help Snape keep his cover and give Voldemort a false sense of confidence about Dumbledore supposedly being dead. Snape and Dumbledore probably planned it all out beforehand. Or maybe when Dumbledore said, ‘Severus… please…,’ he really meant to please kill him. You never know. Dumbledore always trusted Snape, remember? D’you think he really could have made such a misjudgment?”

“I think you’re barking,” said Ron. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“I’m serious!” retorted Hermione. “I don’t know how it could have worked, but I’m sure that Dumbledore couldn’t have really died that easily. And I’m sure that Snape isn’t really evil. He just can’t be! Not if I have anything to say about it!”

“Whatever,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. He was still subconsciously stroking the hand that Hermione had squeezed as though he never wanted to wash it again. Harry pretended not to notice.

“Anyway,” said Harry, “either way, we still need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And then there’s the factor of how unwilling most of the parents will be about sending their kids back to Hogwarts.”

“How could the seventh years’ parents be so unwilling?” gasped Hermione. “This year is our N.E.W.T. year. That’s extremely important! It could affect our entire futures!”

“Honestly, Hermione, you’re way too obsessed with academics,” said Ron lazily. “Anyway, I suppose if my parents give permission, we’ll go without you, Harry?”

“Why do you say that?” said Harry sharply.

“Well,” said Hermione tentatively, “you did say something at Dumbledore’s funeral about not coming back next year, didn’t you?”

Harry sighed and gave a small smile. “Oh, you know I never really mean things like that. I just have trouble controlling my emotions sometimes, and I say stuff. Of course I’m coming back. How am I supposed to be able to keep my mind on destroying the Horcruxes and Voldemort himself �“ oh, stop spasming uncontrollably like that, Ron, it really disturbs me �“ if I’m weighed down with homesickness for Hogwarts?”

“We hoped you’d see that logic properly, Harry,” said Hermione in relief. “It really is quite obvious, you know.”

“Right now we should put our efforts into living with Bill and Fleur until their wedding,” said Ron. “And it would help if we don’t get any Death Eater attacks during that time, either.”

“He’s worked out a way of making himself immune to Phlegm’s presence,” said Hermione, smiling wryly and jerking her thumb towards Ron. “It’s one of those mind control things…”

“Have you made any progress on R.A.B.?” Harry asked Hermione now.

“No,” she said sadly. “I decided to stop thinking about it for a while and let the answer come to me. Wait a minute…” She suddenly looked transported. “I think I just figured it out!”

“Tell us!” said Harry and Ron together.

Hermione seemed far away. “I… no, but… no, that would make sense… except that… but maybe…”

“Have I told you how much I hate it when you do this?” said Ron grumpily.

“I’ve got to go to the library,” said Hermione abruptly.

“There is no library here,” Harry reminded her.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said Hermione. “All right then… how about Regulus Black?”

There was a thirty-second silence while Harry and Ron thought this out. Then…

“It never occurred to me,” said Ron dully.

“How could it not have?” said Hermione to Ron in a superior voice. “He was your own best friend’s father’s best friend’s brother, after all.”

“I bet you think we’re really stupid, do you?” snarled Ron.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “How could we have been expected to remember about Sirius’ Death Eater brother out of the blue like that?”

“Harry should have been taking notes while Sirius lectured him on his family tree the summer before last and then studied them with Ron,” said Hermione severely, and she left the room to let Harry and Ron stew in their own indignation.

The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour was by and large a successful event, although not without its glitches. During the whole ceremony, while staring at Fleur, Ron’s face appeared to be screwed up in concentration, and when Bill and Fleur were pronounced man and wife, he tried to clumsily hide from Hermione the fact that he was woefully wiping his eyes on his father’s handkerchief. Meanwhile, Bill, Charlie, the twins, Ginny (who was looking anywhere but at Harry), and Hermione were all struggling to stifle involuntary gagging noises. Nymphadora Tonks distracted and offended everybody with her bright, blue hair in the Mohawk style, and Mundungus Fletcher was busy the entire time examining the jewelry that had been given as wedding presents. After the ceremony, the party found that the cake was virtually inedible after Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody had checked it for 138 different kinds of poisons and jinxes. The festivities went on late into the night. When Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher got into a verbal cut-down argument about what kind of incompetently concocted potion the other had been dropped into as a baby, it was unanimously decided that it was time for everybody to go to bed.

Two days later, four owls arrived, one each for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They were each letters from Professor McGonogall which included the school lists for Hogwarts.

“Still no mention of who the next headmaster or headmistress will be,” remarked Harry, who was sitting on Ron’s bed with Ron and Hermione.

“It says something about something called ‘Deathly Hallows’ though,” said Ron. “What d’you reckon those are?”

“No idea,” said Harry. “Your dad mentioned something about them the other day.”

“You know, maybe we’ll be better off without Dumbledore this year,” said Ron thoughtfully. “I used to think of him as a genius who was also insane, and now I just think of him as insane. I mean, honestly.” He put on a croaky, sing-song voice. “‘I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape!’”

Just then, all three froze, staring at the foot of the bed. A shriveled, blackened hand was reaching out from under it. Hermione clutched Ron’s arm in horror and then seemed to decide to clutch Harry’s as well, just to be fair. And then a deep voice said, “Not a bad impression, although you might want to work on the syllabic intonation a little.”

And as the long, thin, wizened form of Albus Dumbledore began to drag itself out from underneath the bed, Hermione gave Harry and Ron a significant look which clearly said, “Told you so.”

Three voices stuttered in unison. “D-D-Dumbledore?”

“None other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” said the old man serenely as he struggled to crawl into view. His long, white beard was a little more tangled than usual, and his half-moon glasses were perched rather lopsidedly on his crooked nose, but he looked otherwise like his usual self. “Were you expecting somebody else from under the bed this morning?”

“No,” faltered Harry, as he stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. “It’s just that, well, I thought you were dead.”

“Dead? What a funny fancy!” chuckled Dumbledore as he got to his feet.

“Does this mean you’re staying at Hogwarts?” gasped Ron.

“Of course,” said Dumbledore good-naturedly. “What did you think I was going to do with myself, go off to become the Minister of Magic?”

“But I saw Snape murder you,” said Harry, who still couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected him. “But I must say, I do enjoy your sense of humor. And now, let us talk seriously.” He sat on the bed and spread out his hands in front of him so that the tips of his fingers were touching. “I have been rather overly busy in the last several weeks. Tell me honestly: were you worried about me not keeping in touch with you all this time?”

“How could I have been worried? You were dead! Everybody knows it!”

“Of course that’s what everybody else thought, but I would have assumed that someone with your ingenuity knew better,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Did you not put together the clues?”

“What clues?”

“Quite clearly, Peter Pettigrew, who had recently come back to our side, was posted at the top of the astronomy tower disguised as me with Polyjuice Potion. After I got up there with you, he quickly replaced me as I became invisible, which I told you I could do without an Invisibility Cloak back in your first year, did I not? The clues were there, as I said… So poor Professor Snape mistakenly believed that he was murdering me, when actually, he was giving Wormtail the death that he had so narrowly escaped from some fifteen years previously. Meanwhile, I lurked in the shadows, jumped down to the ground, and performed a complex charm on the dead body to make it remain permanently in the form of yours truly.”

“But you weren’t very well, were you, Professor?” said Hermione. “Not after having recently drunk that potion of Voldemort’s.”

“I must admit, I was definitely not up to my usual level of vigor for the remainder of that evening,” said Dumbledore. “However, a few square meals afterwards did the trick. Anyway, enough about me. Have your holidays been satisfactory so far?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other.

“Well, given that Voldemort is still on the loose and I’ve still come no closer to destroying any more of his Horcruxes, I suppose things could be worse,” said Harry finally. “And yours, sir?”

“Not so spectacular. I’m afraid that I have rather a lot on my mind these days,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Apart from anything else, I once again need to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It’s a shame that the Ministry is trying to arrest Professor Snape and that I can’t let him back in to teach.”

“Wait a minute,” said Harry suddenly. “You’re not telling me that you still think Snape’s on our side? Sir?” he added quickly.

“Alas, poor Severus,” sighed Dumbledore. “I see what you’re getting at, Harry. Obviously, after having seen him attempt to kill me, you think that he is no longer trustworthy. But you see, it turns out that it was all a big misunderstanding. Professor Snape and I had agreed on a secret body signal that would indicate that I had a way to block the Avada Kedavra curse and that it was okay for him to attempt to use it on me to keep his cover in front of the Death Eaters. The problem is that there was no time to inform Wormtail of the signal. And so when Wormtail, in my body, inadvertently allowed his left foot to move forward three inches at a thirty degree angle from the perpendicular, Professor Snape interpreted it as the signal and felt that he had no choice but to aim the killing curse at him. Professor Snape explained everything to me yesterday and apologized, and then I decided it was a good idea to come visit here and see how you three were getting on.”

He beamed at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as though he wanted nothing more in life than to see them all standing there with their mouths open in front of him.

“And now, I had better make my presence known to Arthur and Molly. I will see you at Hogwarts on September first. And don’t forget, if you run across any object that appears to have a sliver of Voldemort’s soul in it, make sure to send me an owl as soon as you can.” He straightened his robes and swept from the room.

The news that Dumbledore was alive spread quickly throughout the wizarding world. Most people greeted it with happiness, although there were a few notable exceptions. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, was caught in public muttering under his breath about how he had “thought we were finally rid of that bothersome, stubborn, old codger,” and raised somewhat of an uproar with this remark. Several judges interviewed him in the Wizengamot, and the scandal was only resolved when Scrimgeour managed to convince them that he had meant it in the kindest way possible.

Soon it was Harry’s birthday, the day when he would turn seventeen and finally become of age in the wizarding world. On the morning of his birthday, Mrs. Weasley asked him what he would like to do that day.

“I dunno,” Harry mused, poking his fork in his bacon. Then he was struck by a brilliant idea.

“I know what I want to do today!” he said. “I want to visit the Dursleys!”

“What was that, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley.

“I want to go to Privet Drive and visit the Dursleys,” Harry said clearly.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other.

“Are you sure you feel all right this morning, Harry?” said Mr. Weasley nervously. “Maybe you want to go back to bed and get some rest?”

“I know it, it’s my fault, I should have known that all that treacle pudding last night would be bad for him,” fretted Mrs. Weasley. “Maybe we should check him into St. Mungo’s quickly?”

“I’m serious,” said Harry. “I can legally do magic outside of school now, can’t I? So I want to visit the Dursleys and show them a few tricks.”

He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley expectantly. Mrs. Weasley looked doubtful, but a slow grin was unfurling on Mr. Weasley’s face.

“Excellent idea, Harry!” beamed Mr. Weasley. “I’ll go with you! I’ve been wanting to examine some more of those eckeltric appliances again.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned disapprovingly at both of them, but Mr. Weasley was already clutching Harry’s hand, saying, “We’d better do this by side-along Apparition, you know, since you’re not legal to Apparate yet.”

A few uncomfortable seconds later, Harry was once again standing in his bedroom at the Dursley’s, this time with Mr. Weasley holding onto him. He could see that the window had been replaced, but otherwise nothing had changed. There were voices coming from below.

“So I’m sure that you’ll be glad to be finally rid of the boy, Arabella,” Harry heard Aunt Petunia say as he crept downstairs, Mr. Weasley at his heels.

“Oh, no!” cried a voice Harry recognized as belonging to Mrs. Figg, the batty old neighbor who also happened to be a Squib. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to do in the summers when I can’t have Harry over for tea! I guess I’ll just keep on inviting myself to your place…”

Harry arrived on the scene to see the Dursleys looking uncomfortably at each other while Mrs. Figg, who clearly hadn’t thought to change out of her slippers that morning, grinned at them. Then suddenly, all three adults turned and saw Harry and Mr. Weasley.

“You!” roared Uncle Vernon. “What part of not wanting to see your disorderly-looking head in this house again didn’t you understand?”

Harry couldn’t stifle an enormous grin. “What you actually said was not to let you see me at your doorstep again, and I haven’t been on your doorstep.”

Mr. Weasley hitched an awkward grin onto his face as Uncle Vernon began to swell up in fury. “Er, don’t mind me,” he said timidly. “I’ll just go and have a look at, erm, your macrowave.” But nobody took any notice of him.

“I thought I taught you a lesson about getting smart with me!” shouted Uncle Vernon at Harry, and he leapt forward with his arm extended, as though preparing to throttle Harry, but Harry took his wand out and pointed it straight at him.

“Be very careful,” said Harry quietly. “I can use magic now because I’m seventeen.”

“I guess we should have tried harder to remember his birthday,” muttered Aunt Petunia.

Harry raised his wand and thought, “Levicorpus!” At once, Uncle Vernon was levitated several feet into the air, where he stayed, his face steadily turning the color of an overripe plum. Harry flicked his wand and wordlessly let him down again.

“Now apologize!” shouted Harry, “or I’ll do it again!”

Uncle Vernon’s face was still purple with a mixture of both fury and terror. He began to rip and tear at his bushy moustache, seemingly subconsciously. Finally, he said, in a trembling voice, “Apologize for what, may I ask?”

“Hmm… let’s start with how you treated me this summer.”

“I apologize,” said Uncle Vernon, breathing hard. “Will you go now?”

“Wait a minute, you think we’re already done?” laughed Harry. “Oh no, no, no! Next, I want you to apologize for how you treated me last summer!”

Uncle Vernon became more agitated, but after a few minutes of stuttering, he finally said, “All right, I apologize!”

“And the summer before!”

“Whatever you say,” moaned Uncle Vernon. “I’ll apologize for that, too! I’m sorry for all the summers, now just go away!”

“We’re only barely started,” said Harry. “Let’s get into how you treated me during all the school years that I had to live with you!”

“I’m sorry for those, too!” Uncle Vernon cried out. There was now a pile of pieces of moustache lying at his feet. “Just go, and I won’t bother you again!”

“Okay, now I want you to apologize for letting Aunt Marge’s dog chase me up that tree.”

“Now �“ now that’s going too far,” stammered Uncle Vernon, trying to wave a finger at him. “It was for your own �“ “

“Harry, no!” shrieked Mrs. Figg, but Harry paid no attention. He shot a spell at Uncle Vernon that forced him into the wall, clutching his neck.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” choked Uncle Vernon.

“You don’t sound like you mean it,” said Harry mercilessly.

“I mean it!” Uncle Vernon squeaked out.

“Good,” said Harry, letting him go.

Uncle Vernon collapsed at Harry’s feet as Harry turned to Aunt Petunia. “Now it’s your turn.”

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry seriously and said, “I suppose it’s time to explain a few things to you. You see, there’s more to me than you’ve ever been aware of.” And without any warning, she turned into an old, thin, dirty man with a long beard, the man who worked behind the bar at the Hog’s Head.

“I’ve never introduced myself to you properly,” said this personage, extending a grimy hand to a speechless Harry. “Aberforth Dumbledore. I am a little hurt that Albus informed you of his livelihood before coming to his own brother.”

Uncle Vernon, who was clearly having a very bad day, cried out, “P-P-Petunia! How could I not have known…?!”

Aberforth Dumbledore turned to Uncle Vernon with an angry expression on his face. “I worked every day during the day hours in Hogsmeade, but of course you spent so much time at work, ignoring your own wife, that you never realized I was gone. And you didn’t even notice me drinking the Polyjuice Potion every hour. If you wish to file for divorce, I will gladly cooperate.”

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth in an effort to speak and fell into a dead faint.

“I suppose it won’t be easy to tell Dudley,” grunted Aberforth to nobody in particular, as Harry heard two cracking noises behind him. He turned and found himself face-to-face with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, accompanied by his predecessor, Cornelius Fudge.

“Hello, Harry,” said Fudge, smiling at Harry in a fatherly, although awkward, manner and taking off his green bowler hat. “Er, nice day?”

“So,” said Scrimgeour, leaning on his staff and looking sternly at Harry. “You may be of age now, but are you aware that there are still laws against performing magic in front of Muggles?”

Harry felt like banging his head against the wall. How could he have forgotten?

“So let’s see,” said Scrimgeour, thinking to himself. “This will mean that you are expelled from Hogwarts and must attend another hearing in order to determine how many months you should stay in Azkaban.”

“But it’s my birthday,” pleaded Harry. “Can’t I be given a break, Minister?”

“Wait a minute,” said Fudge, turning to Scrimgeour and fidgeting with his bowler hat. “Do you think that, er, maybe we should give young Harry a chance to get out of this, er, rather severe punishment? He is the Chosen One, after all…”

“All right,” said Scrimgeour after thinking for a moment. “Potter, I will drop all charges against you if you… let’s see… if you will retract your claim of being ‘Dumbledore’s man through and through’.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Okay, I’m not Dumbledore’s man through and through,” said Harry to a look of triumph on the Minister’s battle-scarred face. Luckily, nobody could see that he had his fingers crossed behind him.

“Very well,” said Scrimgeour smoothly. “You are once again cleared of all charges. Now, I can perform further services for you if you’ll just release a public statement saying that you approve of my leadership…”

“Wait, I don’t feel ready to go that far yet,” said Harry nervously.

“Very well,” said Scrimgeour again, although he was clearly having trouble containing his frustration. “Cornelius, I think we had better be going now to deal with that rally of the Deathly Hallows over in Oxford.”

“Excuse me,” began Harry, “but what exactly are �““

But Scrimgeour and Fudge Disapparated just as Mr. Weasley entered the room holding a lightbulb.

“I finally figured out how to remove it!” he said triumphantly. Then his eyes fell upon Mrs. Figg and Aberforth Dumbledore, who were staring stupidly down at the lifeless form of Uncle Vernon. “Er, did I miss something?”

Harry smiled at the look of confusion on Mr. Weasley’s face and said, “No, nothing much.”

The remainder of the summer holidays was rather uneventful for Harry, given the chaos and tumult that was going on throughout the wizarding world as well as even the Muggle world. The fact that Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were at large and had a particular grudge against him meant that Harry was kept sheltered under lock and key in the Burrow for most of the time after his birthday on the Ministry’s orders. Even his plans of visiting his parents’ graves at Godric’s Hollow were not fulfilled. The one exception to these new rules of protection was the day that Harry was taken to the Ministry of Magic to take his Apparition test only a few days before term was to begin. He passed narrowly, despite the fact that he inadvertently splinched off the ends of his fingernails. To celebrate having gotten his Apparition license, he decided to Apparate straight from the confines of the Ministry to Fred and George’s empty room in the Burrow to pay them back for all the times that they had startled him by Apparating into his room. The effect was somewhat dampened by the fact that Fred and George happened to be over in Diagon Alley working at their joke shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, at the time that Harry chose to arrive. However, as far as Harry was concerned, the sentimental symbolism was still there.

Before anyone knew it, it was the last night at the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley cooked a magnificent dinner and many people came over to help eat it, including Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Lupin, and, to Mrs. Weasley’s displeasure, Mundungus Fletcher. Mrs. Weasley became cross towards the end of the evening, when the rest of her family insisted on socializing without having packed properly to leave the next morning, and she became even more upset when she caught Moody keeping Harry up past eleven, telling him stories of his youth that were certainly not appropriate for school-age wizards. Mrs. Weasley very severely told Moody off and tucked Harry into bed herself.

The next morning, things went fairly smoothly, except for the presence of no fewer than half a dozen Aurors, who insisted on driving Harry in a separate car. It was quite an uncomfortable journey, with four beefy Aurors sitting all around him, one sitting on his head, and one taking the place of the seat cushion. Harry was quite glad when they arrived at King’s Cross, although the six Aurors insisted on surrounding him closely so that he could barely walk and on accompanying him all the way to the doors of the train. Harry observed that at least one of them had forgotten to cast a Body-Odor-Vanquishing charm on himself that morning, but noticing his raised wand and threatening expression, Harry chose not to say anything. The Aurors only gave him space when Hermione, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny came running to meet him.

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley sobbed as she flung her arms around him, “do take care of yourself, won’t you? Don’t go out looking for You-Know-Who!”

Harry didn’t say anything, as he really didn’t have the heart to inform her that it was his primary goal and duty to do just that.

“And you two take care of yourselves, too,” continued Mrs. Weasley, gulping down more tears. “Just because you’re not specifically on You-Know-Who’s top-ten list of people to slaughter doesn’t mean that you should get too confident! Oh, oh, oh!” Her sobs redoubled. “I know someone’s going to die this year, I just know it! Last year it came so close for you, Ron…”

“Don’t be stupid, Mum,” said Ron in an obvious attempt to comfort her. “Just you wait and see; You-Know-Who will be destroyed by Christmas.”

“Dumbledore will take care of everything, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione. “I mean, at least this time around, he will.”

“No, you mark my words,” wailed Mrs. Weasley. “By the end of another year, somebody standing here is going to be dead. I dream about it all the time!”

Just then, however, the train doors began to close, and this rather morbid conversation was forced to end. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny ran into the train.

“Blimey,” muttered Ron, as he watched the receding figure of Mrs. Weasley out the window as the train began to move. “Has she been getting together with Professor Trelawney or something?”

“Let’s go find a compartment, then,” said Harry briskly.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Harry couldn’t shake off a strong feeling of dejà vu.

“Erm, Harry?” said Hermione. “I know it may take you three years to get used to this, but Ron and I have to go to the prefects’ carriage.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry dully. “That good old prefect’s carriage.”

“You understand what we’re doing, don’t you?” said Ron anxiously. “I mean, it’s not something we do for fun. We have to meet with a crowd of other prefects and memorize instructions. It’s not like we’re going off to have the first part of the journey alone or something like that. I mean, not that we’d want to… It’s dull work, nothing more. Not that we would have anything more in mind, of course…” He awkwardly broke off.

“Ginny can keep you company,” said Hermione brightly to Harry.

Ginny took one terrified look at Harry and said, “No, I can’t, I have to meet, erm…” She then seemed to remember that she no longer had a boyfriend to meet, and Harry could see the wheels spinning furiously in her head. Before she could say anything more, however, she was tapped on the shoulder by Luna Lovegood.

“Oh, hello, Ginny and Harry,” said Luna dreamily. “I’ve missed you over the summer. Ginny, you would have loved the exhibition on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks my father took me to see…”

And so, Ginny had no choice but to follow Luna and Harry into the nearest compartment, where Neville was already sitting with his mimbulus mimbletonia.

“Had good summers?” Neville asked them. “Mine’s been kind of scary.”

“Oh, no,” gasped Harry. “Nobody close to you has been attacked, have they?”

“Worse,” said Neville grimly. “My gran decided that I am as talented as my father was after all. She’s been putting me through rigorous Auror-level defense training programs at the Ministry and saying that I have to be your second in a duel against You-Know-Who. If he kills you and I’m not there to destroy him in response, the family honor will suffer its worst damage in fifty years!”

“You’ve been taking classes at the Ministry?” said Harry in amazement.

“Yeah,” said Neville. “They say I’m awkward but impeccable. Try hexing me; just see how I react!”

Neville was looking at Harry expectantly, but it was Ginny who, without warning, thrust her wand in Neville’s direction and muttered, “Impedimenta!”

Neville’s shield charm was so strong that when Ginny’s curse bounced off it, it flew through the glass pane of the compartment door and shattered the glass. Harry jumped up to repair it.

Luna was reading the Daily Prophet, apparently paying no attention to the commotion around her. “Oh, this is interesting,” she mused. “An article about mutant house-elves drinking unicorn blood.”

“In the Daily Prophet?” said Harry incredulously. “Can I see that?”

Luna handed the paper over to him. At the top of one of the pages ran the headline, “DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOKESWOMAN NOT DEAD AFTER ALL”.

This was indeed a very intriguing headline, and it contained the expression “Deathly Hallows,” which Harry had heard several times lately. He read on:

The woman who served as the public voice for the Deathly Hallows, who goes by the title Madam Browne, spoke to the Ministry of Magic last night in her first public appearance in over sixteen years.

“I apologize for pretending to be dead for sixteen years,” she said in a statement to Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic. “I had my reasons, but I am not at liberty to explain them.”

Browne is reported to have resumed her old position as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry.

“She’s been working to resolve the inconsistency to between the you-know-whats and the other thingies in order to aid the opposition to You-Know-Who,” explained a Department of Mysteries representative awkwardly. “Well, we know you know who You-Know-Who is, but you’re not allowed to know what the aforementioned you-know-whats and thingies are.”

Harry looked up at Luna. “I don’t understand what Deathly Hallows are!”

“I thought everybody know what they were,” said Luna matter-of-factly. “They’re gigantic mutant house-elves, of course. They want to use unicorn blood to develop devastating powers in order to wipe out both camps in this war.”

Harry knew better than to swallow this piece of information from Luna without a huge grain of salt.

The rest of the morning passed fairly uneventfully, except for Romilda Vane, a third-year girl who had been trying to win Harry’s affection for the last year, sticking her head into their compartment to say hi to Harry.

“I hope you defeat You-Know-Who soon so that you get back together with Ginny,” said Luna mistily to Harry when Romilda left. “Ginny loves you, you know. It was really very cruel of you to break up with her like that at the end of last year.”

Harry frantically tried to think of a way to change the subject and suspected that Ginny was doing the same, but thankfully, at that moment, Ron and Hermione arrived. When Hermione opened the compartment door with a mild bang, Neville was looking in the other direction. His reaction was immediate. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, waving his wand wildly and blindly in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione was blasted into the wall and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, clearly knocked out.

Ron pushed his way in and stared at Hermione’s attacker as though he’d never seen him before. “Who are you and what have you done to Neville?” he gasped.

“I’ve been getting extra training at defense by the Ministry,” said Neville proudly. “I bet my reaction times are up to par with Mad-Eye Moody’s by now!”

“So’s your paranoia,” muttered Ron.

Neville glared at him. “Don’t mess with me, or I’ll knock you unconscious, too!”

Ron eyed Neville apprehensively and, with slight resentment, dropped his gaze to the ground. He sat down next to Harry and propped Hermione up against the seat opposite them.

Not long after that, there was a banging knock at the compartment door. Harry got up to open it and found himself face-to-face with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, the stooges of his former arch-enemy at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy.

“What do you want?” said Harry aggressively.

Crabbe looked at Goyle, and Goyle looked at Crabbe. Then Crabbe took a grubby-looking piece of parchment from inside his robes and struggled to focus his piggy eyes on it. He began to read from the parchment in a dull voice:

“So, how are Potty and the Weasel doing this year? Had good summers? I hope that Potter hasn’t suffered yet another in… in…”

He mouthed wordlessly as he stared at the next word, apparently unable to read it.

“Injury,” Goyle supplied after staring at the word that Crabbe was pointing to.

“…injury since I last saw him, so that the Dark Lord will at least be able to have a bit of fun with him before killing him. Hey, how are you doing, Granger? Don’t you dare smirk at me that way, you Mudblood!”

“Wait a minute,” said Harry. “Hermione’s not smirking! She’s unconscious, look!”

Crabbe and Goyle stared down at Hermione’s limp form.

“Oh, right,” said Goyle. “Well, Malfoy told us to say that stuff to you, anyway. And then he told us to beat you up.”

He and Crabbe approached the other six with their fists raised.

Neville calmly pointed his wand at the two aggressors and wordlessly cast the leg-locker curse on them. A moment later, they were lying rigidly on the ground.

“Now the only problem is that I’m not strong enough to carry them back to their own compartment,” said Neville as though nothing had happened, displaying his pudgy arms. “I guess I should have worked out over the summer as well.”

“Never mind that,” said Ginny briskly. “Levicorpus.” Ron followed suit and the two of them led the floating bodies of Crabbe and Goyle out of the compartment. By the time they came back, the train was beginning to slow down.

“We’re going to have to levitate Hermione’s body as well,” Ron remarked. “Not that I’m not strong enough to hold it myself.” As it was, there was barely time to change into their Hogwarts robes before they had to get off the train. The six formed a line, with Harry at the lead, levitating Hermione’s body in front of him. They had decided on Harry because he was the one most accustomed to being stared at while getting off the train. Then, one by one, they stepped out of the front doors of the train and into the cool night air.

There were definitely fewer students in the crowd exiting the train this year. Clearly, more parents than ever had refused to send their children to Hogwarts in light of the dangerous situation. As Harry and his party fought their way through the group of students who were there, they heard a familiar shout.

“Firs’ years, firs’ years, this way! Firs’ years, follow me!”

It was, of course, Hagrid, who was gathering the new students together to take them on the traditional trip across the lake to the castle. Hagrid looked around and met Harry’s eyes.

“All righ’, Harry?” he shouted, his hairy face beaming. “How are yeh? Holdin’ up? Hey, wha’s wrong with Hermione?”

Harry approached Hagrid, still holding Hermione’s body up with his wand.

“Wha’ happened?” said Hagrid in a concerned tone. “Who did this to her?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” answered Harry. “Do you remember how to revive someone who’s knocked out? There’s some ‘ennervate’ spell, but we’ve never really learned it…”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Hagrid, raising his umbrella. Harry, who knew what was actually hidden inside it and didn’t have much confidence in Hagrid’s magic, held his breath nervously. But Hagrid did nothing but swish the umbrella through the air and poke Hermione hard in the chest.

“Ouch!” squeaked Hermione. And then, “Oh! Where am I? What happened?” She blinked confusedly and put a hand to her head.

“We’re on our way up to the castle,” Harry said to her.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” she squealed. “I’d been planning to go through another N.E.W.T. practice paper on the journey over!”

“It’s all right,” Harry assured her. “Voldemort will probably have attacked the school before we have to take our N.E.W.T.s.”

“So,” said Hagrid, “Dumbledore’s back! How abou’ that, eh? Great man, Dumbledore… Yer won’ believe what he brought in fer extra security, it’s my happiest fantasy…”

Indeed, Hagrid did seem to be in an unusually good mood, which struck Harry as ominous.

“Nah, I won’ tell yeh, I’ll let it be a surprise,” said Hagrid to Harry’s expression of foreboding. “But tha’s not all! Look who I brought ter join us in the boat?”

In the shadows, an enormous figure that Harry had mistaken as a tree revealed itself to be the humongous giant half-brother of Hagrid’s.

“Thought that with fewer new students this year, there’d be room in the boat for Grawp,” Hagrid boomed happily. The first years gathered around him did not look similarly pleased.

Grawp extended a hand to Harry. “Well, hello there!” he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. “It has been quite a long time since we last conversed.”

“See?” Hagrid said proudly. “I told yeh he was makin’ progress!”

“And Hermy,” Grawp continued, turning to Hermione. “I hope I find you well?”

Hermione was very shaky on her feet still, but she said in a quavering voice, “I’m fine, thank you! Actually, it’s Hermione, not Hermy. We just taught you the name Hermy because we thought it would be easier for you to say…”

“Because you thought I was stupid, did you?” shouted Grawp in a threatening voice whose volume was steadily increasing. “Just because I didn’t speak English?”

“N-n-no!” wailed Hermione, sounding terrified. “I mean, Hagrid says you’re the most intelligent giant around!”

“Good,” boomed Grawp in a satisfied voice. “To quote a Muggle named William Hazlitt, ‘Prejudice is the child of ignorance.’”

“Yes, yes, of course it is,” said Hermione shakily, and she and Harry quickly got out of the way to let Hagrid and the first years into the boat. They joined Ron in one of the carriages drawn by thestrals that would take them up to the castle. Harry told him about what Hagrid had said about new security on the castle.

“One of his fantasies?” Ron said incredulously. “It better not be more skrewts…”

They weren’t very close to the castle yet when Harry got a poke in the arm from Ron. He looked up and saw strange, bright lights in the direction of the castle.

“Oh, dear,” muttered Hermione when she saw the lights too. “Surely not…”

Harry thought he knew what she was thinking, and sure enough, as they drew nearer to the castle, their worst fears were realized. No fewer than five dragons were standing in front of the front gates of the castle, their scales glinting off the light of the flames that they belched into the inky darkness. The thestrals drawing the carriages stopped abruptly a couple hundred yards away from them. Then the dark, hunched figure of Filch came running up to the carriage, holding an enormous box.

“Dumbledore ordered the construction of a flame-resistant cloak for every one of you stinking kids,” he snarled. “Come, take one, each of you! And if I catch any of you without one and you aren’t burned to a juicy crisp yet, I’ll make you wish you were!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione each took a thick cloak out from the box and got jabbed in several sensitive places by Filch’s Secrecy-Sensor.

“Evidently, security’s been increased even more over the summer,” Harry heard Ernie McMillan saying to Susan Bones. “They’ve been talking about having dragons at the school entrances for ages, but as you can see, it takes a real crisis to get anyone to actually do something about it.”

The group of students gingerly made their ways up to the front doors of Hogwarts, each one getting hit by some flames through the cloaks, but it felt pleasantly ticklish. They made their way into the Great Hall, where candles floated over all four House tables and the teachers and ghosts sat or floated in wait. After they were seated at their respective House tables, they didn’t have long to wait before Hagrid came in with the first years, who were likewise wearing flame-resistant cloaks. Hagrid appeared to have several fresh burns on his face, and Harry guessed that he hadn’t bothered to put on a cloak himself. Even through his apparent pain, Hagrid beamed and winked at Harry as he sat down at the staff table.

Professor Flitwick ran up to a seat in the front of the room and placed a patched, frayed hat on it. Everybody waited quietly. Then a rip in the brim opened into a mouth, and the hat burst into song, although somehow the lines didn’t scan as well as usual:

Another year has come and gone,

It seems so short to me.

How will I come up with a song

To sing to all those I see?

It isn’t easy, my dear friends

To be creative each year

When any moment we may come to an end,

And all we feel is fear.

I suppose I should introduce myself

To save you from suspense

That is, for those who don’t already know…

I suppose I’m making no sense.

I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

I’ll place each of you in

Either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff

Or Ravenclaw or Slytherin.

Gryffindor is for the brave

Who care not for themselves.

Hufflepuff is for those willing

To work like house-elves.

Ravenclaw is for the sharpest minds,

Who never miss the ball.

For Slytherin, if I can’t think of something nice,

I shan’t say nothing at all.

I’ll place you each in one of these;

It should not take long.

And the only other thing I have to do

Is somehow end this song.

I’m running out of inspiration,

Help me, someone, please!

The only lines I can think of

Are ones that won’t rhyme, bother.

And my closing lines must rhyme with each other…

[long pause] Buther.

The Great Hall burst into applause, although there was plenty of laughter in it. The line of terrified-looking first years, which was already shorter than usual to begin with, got even smaller as each one came up to the front, put the hat on his or her head, and got placed in one of the four Houses by the hat’s voice, which sounded rather feeble tonight. At last, the Sorting was over, the hat was taken away, and the Great Hall became noisy once more.

“Poor hat,” said Harry. “I guess it’s reached the end of its tether.”

“It’s a good thing Fred and George aren’t here,” said Ron. “They’d never stop taking the mickey out of it…”

Hermione nudged Harry and Ron, and they looked up to see Albus Dumbledore getting to his feet, spreading his arms to the crowd, and beaming.

“To our new students and to our older students, welcome to Hogwarts and welcome back respectively!” he cried out jovially in one breath. “Eat, eat, eat!”

Magnificent food appeared on the table, and soon the room full of the clinking of knives and forks and the sounds of chewing and swallowing.

Nearly-Headless Nick appeared between Harry and Ron. “So, the start of another year at Hogwarts,” he said, sighing wistfully. “I wonder who’s going to die at the end of this year?”

“Oh, hi, Nick!” said Ron, his mouth full of food. “You just reminded me, I heard the most hilarious dead person joke over the summer, wanna hear it?”

“Every time I think the old light will go on in your head and you will learn proper manners…” chided Nick in a dignified voice, and he floated away from Ron.

Harry was looking up at the staff table. There was Dumbledore in the middle, the candlelight glinting on his silvery beard. Next to him was Professor McGonogall, and on his other side Harry could make out the vast form of Professor Slughorn, the recently re-hired Potions master. Professors Flitwick and Sprout were clearly visible, but in the seat where Professor Snape should have sat, there was a woman who couldn’t possibly have looked less like Snape. She was a pale redhead, very clean-looking and somewhat glamorous, and she was smiling and winking at various people. Harry saw her throwing her head back frequently in laughter. He pointed her out to Ron and Hermione.

“I reckon that must be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” mused Ron. “She’ll be quite a drastic change from Snape, though, won’t she?”

“I can’t shake off the feeling that she looks a bit familiar…” began Harry, but just then, Professor Dumbledore stood up again, and the whole Hall went quiet.

“I wish you all a good evening,” boomed Dumbledore in a voice that echoed in the silent Hall, “and I do apologize for any distress or disquiet I may have instilled in you by appearing to have died at the end of last year. I am very touched by the magnificent funeral that was presented for me last June, which was quite enough for any man to die for. And now, a few brief start-of-term notices, before your digestive systems kick in and make you too sleepy to listen to an old man making dull announcements.

“First of all, I must inform you of an important change in staffing this year. As usual, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I would like to introduce to you Professor Browne, who has kindly consented to take up this post after having been believed dead for the last sixteen years. She also is the spokeswoman for the Deathly Hallows and works at the Department of Mysteries.”

The students applauded as the cheerful-looking lady that Harry had noticed before stood up before the crowd and gave a little wave. Now Harry knew why she looked so familiar; he had seen a picture of her accompanying the Daily Prophet article.

“And now, to move on to more serious matters,” continued Dumbledore (an appropriate comment, given that Professor Browne’s demeanor seemed anything but serious). “As you all know, the wizarding world is now in more danger than ever before. In an effort to have fewer close calls this year than we had last year, we have taken stronger safety measures than ever. I am sure that all of you will have noticed the new guards at the school entrance �“ I must admit that I have rather a soft spot for them after having to tolerate the dementors four years ago �“ and you will all have noticed that Mr. Filch is still searching everyone who enters and leaves the castle with his Secrecy Sensor. Furthermore, we have a number of new rules in store for this year. Students will take to each class only the materials used for that particular class. Students may not use school materials as weapons. All wands must be sanded down at the tip so that they cannot be used to threaten anybody. You may not carry any liquids or gels in your bags unless they are kept in containers of no more volume than that of a Chocolate Frog. Your bags will be checked at the door of each classroom you enter by the teacher…”

He went on this way for several more minutes as the attention of most of the students began to wander, and then said, “…but enough is enough. We must now take our minds away from thoughts of Lord Voldemort and towards getting a good night’s rest. Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the wrackspurts bite.”

Dumbledore sat down and the students began to get up. Ron and Hermione pointed the first years in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, and Harry and the other Gryffindors followed. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she said, “Password?”

“Buther,” said Hermione.

“Correct. Now turn out your pockets, all of you.”

The Gryffindors turned out their pockets. The Fat Lady refused to let them in until Seamus Finnigan had thrown away his rather sharp-pointed spare quill. Then at last, Harry got into bed and tried, as Dumbledore had requested, to take his mind off the possible fate that might await him at the hands of Voldemort, and go to sleep.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Harry noticed, once again, that there were much fewer students than usual in the Great Hall when he went down for breakfast with Ron and Hermione.

“What’s taking McGonogall so long?” muttered Ron as he watched her rove around the House tables, giving out schedules as she normally did on the first day of term.

“I dunno, but she really seems to be pausing for a long time at each person,” remarked Harry, staring at the back of her head as she bent over Terry Boot’s plate.

When Professor McGonogall got to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they found out what was taking so much time with each person. She insisted on asking them each a couple of obscure questions to check that they were not Death Eaters in disguise. Harry’s questions were “By what lucky accident did Harry Potter and Ron Weasley manage to knock out a mountain troll in their first year?” and “How do you say, ‘I can eat bubotuber pus; it does not hurt me’ in Parseltongue?” (She had to conjure a pocket dictionary to confirm the last one.)

“Look,” said Hermione. “We get Slughorn this morning, and then our first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson this afternoon. I wonder what that Browne woman will be like…”

“She’s got to be better than Snape, hasn’t she?” said Harry.

“You never know,” said Ron darkly. “She might be Snape’s secret lover or something.” In reaction to Harry’s and Hermione’s looks of disgust, he added, “I mean, they say that opposites attract, don’t they?”

Harry refused to speak to Ron for the rest of the morning in order to teach him a lesson about making light-hearted jokes about Snape in his presence. The seventh-years who were taking Potions at the N.E.W.T. level trooped into the dungeons that morning for their first lesson. Professor Horace Slughorn’s entire body was filling the doorway, and he searched the bag of each student before letting him or her in.

“Hope you all had good summers!” shouted Slughorn jovially, once they were all inside. Then a look of slight concentration came over his pudgy face, and he frowned. “That is to say, hope you all haven’t suffered too many losses this summer! I lost my dear friend Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies… what will I do now without free tickets to the games? But enough about me. Today we’re making a fun little potion that I call Gooey Solooey. The instructions are on the board… you have one hour… begin.”

Harry did his best to follow the instructions, but found that as the hour went on, his potion got more and more brittle. Harry looked around at his neighbors. Ron’s potion was shooting into the air and splattering back inside the cauldron at random intervals, but Hermione was actually dipping her bare hand into the potion and pulling out a perfectly concocted green goo that had the consistency of silly putty. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He knew that Slughorn had high expectations of him, despite the fact that his performance in Potions classes has slipped at the end of the last year after his loss of the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook. Finally, he raised his hand to get Slughorn’s attention.

“Yes, Harry, m’boy?”

“Er, Professor? I think I’ve forgotten some of my skills over the summer in my stress over Vol �“ I mean, You-Know-Who and everything, and I was wondering if you could, er, give me a review of how to crush knarl bones to the correct consistency…”

Harry looked into the round face of Slughorn, who had walked up to his table, and saw that his walrus mustache was quivering with a suppressed smile.

“Now don’t think I don’t know what the problem is!” admonished Slughorn, waving his finger at Harry. “I don’t need to hear another word out of you, boy! I know that it has nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! The correlation is obvious: ever since you lost that book owned by the Half-Blood Prince, your performance in my classes has dropped enormously!”

Harry was almost too stunned to speak. He tried to look anywhere but at Hermione’s expression of triumph. Finally he said, “How did you know about the Half-Blood Prince’s book?”

Slughorn threw back his head and let out a booming laugh. “Because I gave you that book on purpose!” he gasped. “I wanted to see what you would do, but I didn’t want to let on that I knew. Your mother, actually, she was hopeless at Potions, but she had such charm that I let her pass my classes, you know. And the best part about the whole thing was the way that you went on hero-worshipping the Half-Blood Prince without actually realizing it was Severus �“ ha!”

And he was soon overcome with laughter. This laughter was not prolonged, however, by Harry picking up his cauldron and dumping the contents of it all over Slughorn’s bald head. Jagged pieces of some yellowing substance rained like pebbles all over it, scraping Slughorn’s aged skin. Hermione gasped.

“There,” Harry savagely proclaimed into the stunned silence. “That’ll teach you to wind me up about Snape!”

The silence stretched while everyone stared between Harry and Slughorn in horror. Slughorn wiped the blood off the top of his head and looked very serious.

“Harry,” he said slowly and gravely. “That’s the true spirit that any potions-maker needs. In order to succeed at potions, m’boy, one needs more than brains and quick thinking. One needs to be able to tackle the problem directly, to be able to show the contents of the cauldron who’s boss, to be able to get right into its face, if you will. Your mother had this attitude even though she was no good; that’s one of the reasons why I admired her so much. Twenty points to Gryffindor!”

And he waddled out of the room to apply something to his head, leaving Hermione looking furious and Harry feeling very wrong-footed.

Harry assumed that he would be lectured by Hermione after leaving the classroom, but to his surprise, Hermione disappeared and was not seen until after lunch. When she greeted Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room, she seemed irritated by something entirely unrelated to Harry’s explosive temper in Potions class.

“I just looked through the school records for Regulus Black,” she said, “and he can’t be the R.A.B. that we’re looking for.”

“Why not?” yawned Ron. “I thought you said it was so obvious and everything.”

“That was before I found out that Regulus’ middle name began with an M and not an A!” snapped Hermione. “Now I’m totally out of ideas!”

But she did not have much more time to fret over it, because it was soon time to go to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Strangely enough, there was no teacher to greet them outside of the D.A.D.A. classroom, and so they did not have to have their bags searched.

“Clearly, one thing we know already about this new teacher is that she’s not very responsible,” pronounced Ernie McMillan as the students seated themselves behind desks in the otherwise empty classroom. “And she’s late. So far I am at a loss as to what qualities she has that made Dumbledore want to hire her.”

“Probably the very rare quality of being willing to take the job,” said Harry darkly. “I wonder what will happen to her at the end of the year…”

And just then, Harry suddenly felt as though his head had split open. His scar was on fire, it was pain past endurance… He fell out of his chair, unable to see anything with his eyes screwed up as though his face was about to explode. A high, cold voice above his head said, “Not expecting me, were you, Potter?”

Some of the pain cleared, although the scar on Harry’s forehead was still raging. Harry looked up and saw above him a snake-like head with cold, pale eyes and slits for a nose. He gasped in pure horror, unable to believe what he was seeing. One of the thin, white arms of Lord Voldemort was leaning on his desk, and the other was raising a wand and pointing it at Harry.

“Avada…”

“Harry! NO!”

Neville leapt halfway across the room, pointed his wand at Voldemort, and shouted, “Impedimentia!”

Voldemort calmly and wordlessly performed a Shield Charm, and Neville appeared to be hit in the gut with his own spell. He choked and staggered backwards.

“It’s nice to see that you have so many little friends who are willing to die in your place,” sneered Voldemort in a voice completely devoid of compassion. “But there is only one person whom I intend to murder in this room today.”

Harry looked at the other members of the class besides Neville and saw that most of them clearly did not look at all willing to die in his place. They were scrambling over each other, knocking down desks in their haste to get out of the room, but the door seemed to be locked. Harry, meanwhile, was trying to get to his feet, his eyes streaming with tears of pain. Neville was still staggering, and Hermione was standing with her eyes closed, running through spells under her breath as though thinking aloud.

“But it probably wouldn’t be too hard to kill most of the rest of you with a single curse,” added Voldemort as an afterthought, looking at the group of students who were huddled against the closed door, pounding on it.

Harry had got to his feet. “You’ll have to kill me first,” he said softly.

Voldemort stared down at him and muttered, “Oh, all of you are so pathetic.” And then, to everyone’s astonishment, he transformed in an instant into a clean-looking red-haired woman.

“I think we have a lot to learn here,” said Professor Browne with a smile. “Everyone back to your seats please.”

The class returned very shakily to their seats, looking stunned. Harry was rubbing his scar, which was still quite sore.

“What spell did you use to disguise yourself as You-Know-Who, Professor?” said Parvati Patil in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.

“It was an immensely complex spell which created a sort of hologram-like illusion surrounding my person,” said Browne lightly. “But enough jokes. To get down to business…”

“That was supposed to be a joke?” gasped Ron.

“Certainly,” said Professor Browne gaily. “I thought it was a good way to have a fun, hands-on experience in class and to be able to learn something at the same time. I mean, I didn’t actually murder anybody, did I? But anyway, it’s time for a more professional introduction. I am Ramona Browne, spokeswoman for the Deathly Hallows.”

“Er, Professor?” said Dean Thomas. “Who exactly are the Deathly Hallows?”

“That’s a subject for several lessons on,” said Browne with a cheerful smile. “I think we have quite enough to discuss today, what with the abysmal defensive strategies you just displayed.” And she gave them a list of criticisms, after which she insisted on putting them through several more mock battles against Voldemort. She even insisted in making Harry’s scar hurt each time to add to the verisimilitude, much to Harry’s annoyance, and she seemed to be the only one in the class who was having fun. By the end of the double period, she was calling everyone by their first names and expecting to be called “Ramona” rather than “Professor Browne”. Although Harry had to admit that he had never known a personality less like Snape’s, he was not particularly going to be looking forward to future Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with her.

At the end of the class, Browne turned to face everybody and said brightly, “Does anyone have any questions about what we’ve discussed today? Yes, Hermione?”

“Could I see your business card, please?” said Hermione, a little timidly.

As Hermione held the card in front of her eyes and the rest of the class began to file exhaustedly out the door, Harry saw her beckoning him and Ron over to her. When they were next to her, she showed them the card so that they could read it. It showed Professor Browne’s full name and listed her as both the spokeswoman for the deathly hallows and a newly-hired professor at Hogwarts.

“Don’t you see?” whispered Hermione. “Ramona Anne Browne. R.A.B.”

“Blimey, you’re right!” exclaimed Ron as they left the room. “She was thought to be dead for sixteen years… it all fits! We’ve solved the mystery of who R.A.B. is! But what should we do next?”

“I suppose we’ve got to go up to her office sometime and ask her about it,” said Harry. “How about this evening?”

So after dinner, the three of them made their way to Professor Browne’s office. They had no idea how they were going to put forth the question of the Horcrux with her, but they found to their surprise, as they approached the room, that there were voices already issuing from inside it. They stood with their backs against the wall to listen.

“But I brought you some more beef from dinner…” Browne’s voice was saying.

And the voice that answered was a cold, silky voice that Harry knew, and the very last voice which he expected to hear coming out of Browne’s office.

“I don’t care, I still insist on having more of their rice, it’s the one thing that those moronic house-elves in the kitchens know how to make competently…”

“But you’re not practicing a well-rounded diet, Sevvy!” came Browne’s voice.

“Ramona!” the man in the room said sharply. “I am sorry to say that you have a tendency to nag me incessantly about my personal habits, and I am tired of it. As long as I am living in hiding in your office, I should not be expected to…”

“I don’t nag you about all of your personal habits, as you very well know, Sevvy!” said Browne with a tinkling laugh. “After all, what would I do if you started washing your hair more often? It would lose that wonderful greasy shine that it has.”

The man’s voice did not respond.

“Oh, come now, you know you’re adorable when you get all sulky, but that doesn’t mean that it will persuade me to sneak down to the kitchens for more food!”

“In that case, you will have to pay the consequences,” sneered the man. “For a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, you are certainly lacking in many areas of common sense.”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings!” Harry could tell that Browne was pouting. “Very well, then, I will go down, but I don’t know how I’m going to be able to explain this to whatever teacher or student who notices me!”

Harry heard her get up but was mesmerized with shock. The next thing he knew, Ron and Hermione had got hold of both sides of him and had yanked him out down the hallway and out of sight of the door just as Professor Browne opened it. But Harry was far too fixated on the sound of the all-too-familiar male voice to resist, and he continued to tremble with hatred.

For the rest of the week, Harry could talk of nothing but his outrage at Snape for hiding in Professor Browne’s office. Ron and Hermione were similarly shocked, but neither of them seemed quite as obsessed with this scandal as Harry was. Hermione was still convinced that Snape was on their side, and Ron seemed to care more than anything else about this being his turn to say “told you so” in regards his theory that “opposites attract”. At last, they suggested that Harry write to Dumbledore. This Harry did on Wednesday night after wading through the complex homework set by Professor Flitwick. He sent a message requesting only that he be allowed to meet Dumbledore in his office as soon as possible, although it was no emergency. He got a message back from Dumbledore the next day, suggesting that they meet Friday evening and giving Harry the password to his office, which, due to security increases, was unprecedented in its complexity.

“How about doing a bit more in our Transfiguration homework,” said Hermione on the scheduled evening, after putting the finishing touches to her rune translation.

“Aw, c’mon, Hermione,” Ron yawned, “it’s Friday.”

“I’ll help you do it,” said Hermione quickly. “We can do it together and get it done in half the time! Well, since you won’t do any of the work, I mean we’ll both get it done in the time that it normally takes me to do it by myself.”

Ron brightened up. “Really? All right, might as well get started, I guess.”

Harry stood up suddenly.

“Don’t leave on our account!” said Hermione in alarm. “You’re welcome to stay, too, and… watch.”

“It’s not that,” said Harry quickly. “It’s… I have to meet Dumbledore now.”

“Oh,” said Ron as Harry turned to leave. “Well, good luck with him, then.”

Harry quickly found the gargoyle on the seventh floor and said to it clearly, “Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans in the original flavors as manufactured in May of 1985.” In response, the gargoyle leapt aside, and Harry was able to step onto the moving spiral staircase which carried him up to Dumbledore’s office. Harry knocked at the door.

“Ah, Harry, good to see you again,” said Dumbledore, opening the door and smiling down at him. “Come in, do come in, and take a seat.”

Harry walked in and sat down at one of the tables with delicate-looking instruments on it. Dumbledore sat down across from him and surveyed intently him through his half-moon spectacles.

“So, Harry,” he said. “I trust that your first week has gone well?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“You have not had any detentions or anything so far, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“You are understanding this week’s lessons to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how are things going with young Miss Weasley?”

“Er… I’m not actually going out with her anymore, Professor.”

Dumbledore frowned. “That is a pity. I thought you made a handsome couple.”

Harry hesitated, then tried to explain. “You see, sir, I thought that if we continued our relationship, Voldemort might use her as bait to get to me.”

“Ah,” sighed Dumbledore, nodding. “That is a very wise decision. It just goes to show that even someone with my considerable genius does not think of everything. And now, on to more serious matters. You wanted to meet me to tell me something?”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore,” said Harry. “You see, I…”

Dumbledore held up his blackened hand to stop him. “I think that at this point, after all we have been through together, there is no need to continue to call me ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’. I give you my permission to call me whatever you wish from now onwards. In fact, you may even call me ‘Dumby’ if you prefer.”

“All right, then, er, Dumby,” said Harry uncertainly. “You see, I think I found out who destroyed the Horcrux that we thought we found in the cave at the end of last year. The message was signed by someone called R.A.B., and I’m pretty sure that Professor Browne is the R.A.B. that we’re looking for.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore. “Ramona Anne Browne. Yes, you may be right.”

“But on Monday night, I went up to her office,” continued Harry, “and I heard Snape’s voice from inside! She’s been hiding him in there the whole time!”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to correct Harry, but Harry said quickly, “Er, now that Snape no longer teaches, I shouldn’t have to call him ‘Professor’, should I?”

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, and then said grudgingly, “I suppose not. But are you sure it was Severus’ voice from inside the office?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “I’m positive. And that means that he’s up to even more trickery and deceit! First he tried to kill you, and now…”

“He did not try to kill me, Harry, as I explained to you after popping out from under your bed at the Burrow,” said Dumbledore, a little coldly. “And while I am surprised that Professor Browne went so far as to keep Severus in her office, I was aware of the relationship between them. One of the reasons why I hired Professor Browne is that although she was not qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I knew that Severus would be helping her every step of the way.”

“Being spokeswoman of the Deathly Hallows doesn’t qualify her?” said Harry curiously. “What are the Deathly Hallows exactly?”

“Now is not the appropriate time to explain it,” said Dumbledore delicately.

“Yes, Prof �“ I mean Dumby,” sighed Harry.

“At any rate, you have my assurance that what you tell me does not perturb me in the least,” said Dumbledore serenely, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

“So, Dumby,” said Harry in disbelief, “you still trust Snape, even after all this?”

“That’s enough!” said Dumbledore sternly, turning his penetrating gaze back down to Harry. “How many times do I have to tell you that I trust Severus Snape no matter what? It is time for drastic measures!”

Dumbledore strode over to the office door. Harry followed him, almost paralyzed with the fear of having gone too far.

“I have resisted doing this for years, Harry,” said Dumbledore unexpectedly softly, turning the doorknob, “but the time has finally come. Follow me.”

Harry followed Dumbledore out of his office and down the spiral staircase.

“Where are we going… Dumby?” he asked in a small voice.

“To Professor Browne’s office,” said Dumbledore. “I am going to do my utmost to demonstrate to you that Severus Snape is trustworthy. But it will involve certain cooperation on your part in a game of role-playing.”

Harry had not expected this and was not sure what to say. They paused outside of Browne’s office door.

“Maybe you had better put on your invisibility cloak,” Dumbledore whispered to Harry. “I think that Ramona and Severus will better be able to endure one startling surprise at a time.”

He knocked on the door as Harry threw the invisibility cloak over himself. There were a few muffled noises from inside, and then the door opened.

“Dumbledore!” beamed Browne. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“May I come in?” said Dumbledore politely. “I have very important business.”

“I don’t know…” Browne looked nervously around her small office. “Oh, all right.” And she opened the door a little wider to let Dumbledore in. There was just enough time for Harry to slip in behind him before she closed the door again. Harry could see no trace of Snape.

“How would you like a drink?” said Dumbledore, flicking his wand. Three small glasses of elf-made wine appeared on Professor Browne’s desk.

“Why, thank you, Dumbledore!” said Browne with a characteristic laugh. “But why have you conjured three glasses? There are only two people here, after all.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” said Dumbledore smoothly. He turned around to look at a small table in the room. Then, very suddenly, he did something that Harry had seen him do once before. Dumbledore poked his wand into the table very hard without warning, and the table instantly turned into Severus Snape, who was standing on all fours, with one limb where each leg of the table had been.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” said Snape sourly, straightening up.

For a moment, Professor Browne looked paralyzed, but within a second, she had forced her mouth into a silly grin as she yelled, “Surprise!”

“It’s quite all right, Ramona,” said Dumbledore serenely. “This works to my convenience. I needed Severus for something important. Maybe now is a good time for my invisible companion to reveal himself.”

Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak, and Snape snapped his gaze over to him.

“Potter,” said Snape in a voice of hatred.

“Snape,” said Harry in a voice of equal hatred.

“I have had enough of all this hostility and misunderstanding between you two,” said Dumbledore a little impatiently. “It is time now for drastic psychological methods of reconciliation. It seems to my analysis that the two of you may have gotten off to a bad start six years ago. But I am going to see what I can do to demonstrate to each of you that the other can be trusted. First of all, to show how much I trust Severus, I am going to switch my wine glass with his. Is that all right, Severus?”

“Whatever you say,” said Snape idly, not even looking at his wine glass.

“And now, to further prove that I entirely trust Severus and that we really are good friends, I will throw away my wand. You, too, Harry.”

Harry did not want to argue with Dumbledore, so he followed his lead in throwing his wand to the side of the room and turning back to face Snape, who was still sneering.

“Now, let us wipe the slate clean between you two,” said Dumbledore. “Pretend that you have never met each other until now. Channel all of that hatred and rage, stuff it into a little bottle and throw it out to sea, never to be felt again.”

Harry tried to do this, but did not seem to get very far. Snape seemed to be finding it similarly difficult.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, “let us pretend that it is the first week of Harry’s first year at Hogwarts. Let us go through your lecture on the first day of Potions class, with better results this time.”

“Very well, Headmaster,” said Snape reluctantly. He turned to Harry. “Welcome to Potions class, my new… celebrity.” He gave Harry a slight sneer and went on. “As there is little foolish wand-waving in this class, you will probably have difficulty with that tiny brain of yours in believing that this is really magic.”

“Tone of voice, Severus, tone of voice!” cried Dumbledore sharply.

Snape modulated his voice down to an almost expressionless whisper. “I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...”

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, “maybe a gentler wording for that would be…”

But Snape did not seem to be listening to him. His cold, black eyes bored into Harry’s. “I can teach you how to bottle fame… brew glory…”

There was a long pause as he continued to stare at Harry with a very slight smile.

“…even… stopper death.”

Snape’s smile widened, and Harry suddenly noticed that although he was looking directly at him, his wand was pointed directly at Dumbledore’s heart.

“If you aren’t as much of a moron as those whom I usually have to teach.”

Snape was walking very slowly towards the other side of the room without taking his eyes off Harry. He picked up Harry’s and Dumbledore’s wands with his other hand, opened a window, and threw them outside. Harry gave a yelp of protest.

“Not what you expected to see in your first lesson, is it, Potter?”

“You see?” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “He even has a sense of humor!”

Snape’s wand was still pointed at Dumbledore. “And now,” he said softly, still looking at Harry, “it is time to do what I have waited to do so for long.”

Dumbledore stared at him, and then a spasm of fear went across his face for the first time. “No…” he whispered.

“Oh, yes,” murmured Snape in a silky voice. “Oh, yes, yes, yes.”

Browne shouted, “Sevvy! NO!” Snape pointed his wand at her and muttered, “Stupefy.” Browne slumped against the wall.

It was as though Harry were not present in the room. Snape and Dumbledore gazed at each other, Snape with an expression of long-awaited triumph and Dumbledore with an air of beginning to realize that he was cornered.

“You cannot be serious…” breathed Dumbledore.

“I have waited a long time for this moment to show my true form, Dumbledore,” said Snape softly. “How ironic it has been, to play the role of the Death Eater bringing about your demise, while all the while knowing that the act was merely a rehearsal for what I aspired to do eventually. And now you have placed yourself right into my hands.”

“You cannot do this to me!” implored Dumbledore. “Think what we’ve been through together! Don’t you remember how much fun we had that time we went krup hunting back in ‘89? And that camping trip in the Forbidden Forest!”

“Such sentimental memories are insignificant compared to my duty to the Dark Lord!” snarled Snape.
“Severus, please! Shirk your duty just this once for old time’s sake!”

“I’m sorry, my old friend. It is time for you to die again, and this time for real.”

Snape raised his wand with a savage look on his sallow face.

“No… Severus… please…”

“Avada kedavra!” A jet of green light flew out of Snape’s wand and hit Dumbledore directly. Dumbledore crumpled to the floor, unmistakably dead.

“NOOO!!”  Harry had leapt to his feet, pulsating with rage, ready to fly at Snape despite the fact that he had no wand and not much muscle.  But Snape pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry froze.

“Don’t try anything, Potter,” he whispered.  “The Dark Lord has forbidden me to kill you myself, but I am still allowed to make you wish you were dead.”

Professor Browne was coming around.  As she struggled to her feet, Snape flicked his wand quickly in her direction and said, “Obliviate.”  Immediately, her eyes unfocused and her expression became one of curiosity.

“What’s going on here?” she said, staring at Dumbledore’s dead body.

“Oh, the headmaster and I are giving Potter here a private lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Snape smoothly.  “Professor Dumbledore is displaying the typical symptoms of an Avada Kedavra curse.  Isn’t it time for you to report to the Deathly Hallows?”

“Oh, yes,” said Browne, looking frazzled.  She picked up a pencil, which was evidently a portkey, and disappeared.

“And now, we must wait here for Ramona to come back,” said Snape.  He spent the next few minutes turning an old book into another portkey.  Then Browne reappeared.

“Harry, I need you quickly!” she gasped.  “The Deathly Hallows are in desperate need of your advice!”

Harry felt about ready to explode.  “Nobody is ever willing to tell me who the Deathly Hallows even are!” he burst out.  “Who are they?  Where are they?  What would they need my advice on?”

“On how to destroy a Horcrux, of course!” laughed Browne.  “There are only three people in the world who have ever destroyed one of You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes: you, Albus, and myself.  I’ve already given my advice, and it hasn’t worked too well for them, and Albus” �“ she waved a careless arm in the direction of Dumbledore’s inert corpse �“ “appears slightly out of it at the moment.  That leaves you.  They want your instructions, and they will listen only to what you say.  Do you know of an incantation that will succeed in destroying a Horcrux?”

Harry was opening his mouth to say that the only time he had ever destroyed a Horcrux was in the Chamber of Secrets with a basilisk fang, and that unless one of those was on hand, he had no help to give to these amorphous Deathly Hallows.  But before he could speak, Snape jumped forward, pointing his wand in Harry’s direction with a strange gleam in his dark eyes.

“Imperio!”

And suddenly, Harry’s brain felt calm and clear.  A light, happy, relaxed feeling spread through him, and he could hear Snape’s voice in his head, saying, just say “Horcrux destructum”… just say “Horcrux destructum”…

“Horcrux destructum,” said Harry without resistance.

“Excellent,” said Browne, and she walked calmly out the door, apparently not recognizing that Harry had been put under the Imperius curse.  Harry neither noticed nor cared about her leaving.  He was still in that blissfully calm state of mind.

Just pick up the book… just pick up the book…, said Snape’s voice in his head.

No, I will not, said another voice.  No, I don’t have to do what you say, you nasty, greasy-haired murderer!

Just pick up the book…

And before Harry knew it, he had picked it up.  Snape was muttering, “Three, two, one…” Suddenly, Harry felt as if he had been jerked forward into a rush of howling wind.  Then his feet hit a solid surface, and he slowly came to his senses.  He was standing outside a house, probably far away from Hogwarts, and the Imperius curse had worn off.  Harry dropped the book and slowly looked around him.

He was standing outside the Burrow.  And with a thrill of horror, Harry looked up and saw the Dark Mark floating in the air above the house.

“Ah,” sneered a high, cold voice.  “I thought you might be coming by.”

Harry’s scar was suddenly on fire.  He looked above him, almost blinded with agony, and saw through the haze of pain the unmistakable figure of Lord Voldemort.  Harry knew that this time, what he saw was real.  They were meeting for the final time.  And given that he didn’t have a wand, it was easy to guess what the outcome would be.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” said Voldemort, waving an arm in the direction of the Burrow.  “I chose the wrong time to attack their house.  Nobody appeared to be home, not even the housewife.”

Just then, there was a crack, and Mrs. Weasley appeared about ten feet away from where Harry and Voldemort were standing, facing each other.  As soon as she saw the two of them, she let out a loud shriek and dropped the groceries she was carrying.

“Harry!” she shouted.  “What did I tell you about not confronting You-Know-Who?  Come with me into the house this instant, young man!”

“It’s not my fault I’m out here with him!” Harry yelled back defensively.  “I didn’t ask Snape to put the Imperius curse on me and force me to grab a portkey out of Hogwarts…”

“This bickering is boring me,” said Voldemort lazily.  Without even looking at Mrs. Weasley, he pointed his wand at her and muttered, “Avada Kedavra!”  There was a flash of green light, and Mrs. Weasley fell over dead.  Harry’s scar was giving him such pain right now that he didn’t even have time to react to try to save her.

“That’s one member of your favorite blood-traitor family down,” sneered Voldemort.  “That leaves seven, no �“ I think, eight more to go.  But there’s nothing you can do to stop me from hunting them all down.”

Harry’s eyes were screwed up against the pain, but he stood his ground.

“Then you’ll have to kill me too, Voldemort,” he whispered.

Voldemort flinched.

“What’s the matter?” snapped Harry, his courage rising.  “Don’t like to hear me call you Voldemort?”

Voldemort flinched again.  “That is the name that I have chosen for people to use when referring to me,” he hissed.  “When being addressed directly, I prefer to be called the Dark Lord.”

“Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!” Harry shouted, his voice rising.

Voldemort’s tall, thin body seemed to convulse in agony.

“Harry!” shouted a voice.  “Get away from there!”

It was Lupin.  He was running over with Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, and several others.

“Quick!” Harry yelled to them.  “Start calling him Voldemort!”

Most of the others winced at the sound of the name.  They were forming a circle around Voldemort and raising their wands.

“That man looks an awful lot like You-Know-Who,” growled Moody, his normal eye and his blue one narrowed in suspicion.  “We’d better kidnap him and do tests just in case that’s who he really is, because he might be dangerous.”

“You think so?” shouted Tonks sarcastically.

Harry continued to shout Voldemort’s name over and over as Voldemort continued to tremble uncontrollably.

“You see what Harry’s doing!” Lupin yelled to the others.  “You have to shout his name at him; it’s the only way we have a chance!”

The others exchanged scared looks and began to attempt it.  “V-V-V-V-V-V…”  It could not have been clearer that most of them had never said the name in their lives.

“Come on!” shouted Lupin.  “You can do it!”

Finally, the other wizards and witches began to pronounce his name, first quietly and hesitantly, and then more and more loudly.

“Nooooooo!” Voldemort shrieked, falling to the ground.  He writhed and flailed his limbs, and suddenly was gone in a puff of smoke.

There was a stunned silence.  Then Shacklebolt said slowly, “That was it?  That was all we had to do to get rid of him?”

“I suppose it was,” said Lupin, walking over to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “After all, nobody had been brave enough to do it before.  And Harry here started it.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Harry quietly.  “If Voldemort is truly gone, then that must mean that his Horcruxes…”

Just then, Professor Browne Apparated in front of him.  “Harry,” she said breathlessly, “You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes are all destroyed!”

“I figured they must be,” mused Harry, “as Voldemort himself appears to be vanquished.  But how did it happen?”

“Well, how do you think?” Browne laughed, rolling her eyes.  “The incantation you gave me turned out to be correct, Harry.  And as the Deathly Hallows were able to stumble across all four of them in succession, and your spell worked on all of them, they were able to vanquish them forever!”

“But how?” said Harry in amazement.  “What kind of people are the Deathly Hallows?  Are they people at all?  How did they manage to find the Horcruxes?  How did it all happen?”

But Browne had already vanished with a whoosh of her cloak.