Harry Potter felt very sick. The butterflies in his stomach were flapping enthusiastically away, and becoming more and more of a nuisance with each breath. All fifty members of the Wizengamot were staring down at him with hard, unwavering eyes. Dumbledore’s presence in the chair next to him should have been a comfort, thought Harry, but the Headmaster would not even look at him. Harry had to press a hand firmly down on his leg in order to stop it bouncing frantically up and down.

“I’d like to call a witness,” said Dumbledore. Harry looked at him curiously, though Dumbledore kept his calm, blue eyes focused resolutely at the Wizengamot.

“Ah,” said Fudge, disconcertedly. His plump face, which had been smiling pompously throughout Harry’s testimony, faltered for a moment. He had obviously not expected this. “Well, yes, of course. Very well, then. Ah, Weatherby, if you would…” Fudge gestured vaguely at the doors opening to the courtroom.

But before Percy could eagerly leap out of his seat to obey, the doors flew open. Heads swiveled about in the direction of the entrance, and Harry could hear the sharp clicks of high-heeled footsteps approaching hastily. He couldn’t yet see the impending figure, but he heard various gasps echo throughout the courtroom. More than surprised, Harry thought many of them sounded impressed.

“What is she doing here?” he heard one witch sitting high up in the benches whisper loudly. Harry looked straight ahead of him, and was more confused than ever. He knew for a fact that he had never met the austere witch approaching the stand, but he felt a twinge of familiarity nonetheless. Percy was the only other person in the vast dungeon that appeared to be as mystified as Harry.

Harry estimated her to be about thirty. She wore wispy, soft-looking robes of white, and square spectacles that magnified the large brown eyes staring straight into Harry’s. One hand gripped a thick, shiny black briefcase that swung back-and-forth slightly by her side. Her hair was knotted tightly at the nape of her neck, and matched the determined eyes Harry found he could not look away from. Her stern expression reminded Harry fleetingly of Professor McGonagall’s, the strict but fair head of Gryffindor House. As she came closer, she paused for a single beat in front of Harry and winked. The corners of her mouth were upturned ever so slightly, and Harry felt the taught muscles in his stomach loosen dramatically. Then the smile was gone, the stern expression returned, and she sat gracefully into the chair beside Harry that Dumbledore offered her.

“Ms. Daniels,” said Madame Bones’ booming voice. The excited murmurs echoing throughout the courtroom quieted instantly. “Welcome. As you can see, your reputation precedes you. However, I must admit I cannot think of a reason why the most distinguished Healer in Europe is testifying in this young man’s trial,” she said, gesturing at Harry.

“I was in the neighborhood,” said the witch, “and thought I’d call in a favor to a close, personal friend.” Her voice was soft but firm, and Harry immediately recognized her robes as the traditional Healer’s garb. The witch to the right of Fudge whispered something in his ear, and Harry caught the unmistakably livid glare he fixed on Dumbledore.

“As you can see,” announced Ms. Daniels, bending over and digging out a sheet of paper from her briefcase, holding it up for the entire Wizengamot to examine, “I hold here in my hand an official medical record of subject: Dudley Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive.” She paused for a moment and readjusted her spectacles higher up on her nose. “Subject suffered from deep shock and a mild case of hypothermia. After a thorough examination, it was determined that his symptoms were not of a human source. Subject was treated and his memory modified. The record is dated and signed by both the subject and his guardians. Minister,” she said, “ I’m fully prepared to testify that the young man in question was situated within the very close and dangerous presence of a dementor, and quite likely more than one. I examined him myself.” At these words, Harry felt his heart leap and a rush of gratitude surge through his system. He could tell by the awed buzz of the dungeon that this last statement had settled the matter.

Harry had never been so bewildered in his life. He knew he should be elated; he had been cleared of all charges. But immediately after the sentencing, Professor Dumbledore had spoken a few words to Ms. Daniels out of Harry’s earshot, and then swept out of the dungeon without so much as a backward glance. Harry couldn’t help but feel ignored and insulted. And, he thought bitterly very much alone. Dumbledore had always been very personable and honest with Harry, but now…

Could Dumbledore be mad at him? Harry immediately brushed this aside; after all, he hadn’t done anything wrong, he assured himself. He had saved Dudley from the dementors! When was anybody going to realize that?

Harry instantly remembered Ms. Daniels. She was now standing next to the chair Dumbledore had extended to her with her back facing him. Harry watched as she delicately removed her glasses and snapped them shut into a case. Reaching back into her hair, she removed a handful of pins and shook the tight knot at her neck free. Loose, shiny brown waves tumbled down to the middle of her back. She sighed gratefully and rolled her shoulders.

“Oh, that’s much better.” Her voice no longer had the harsh edge to it; now it was lighter and much gentler. She turned and once again looked directly into Harry’s eyes.

She was very pretty, Harry realized. He had thought her to be rather plain at first, but now he noticed that her skin was so white it almost seemed to be glowing, and it was difficult to discern whether her hair was actually black or a deep shade of brown. The woman no longer looked stern and forbidding, and Harry found it doubtful that he ever could have likened her to Professor McGonagall. She was smiling widely now, revealing straight teeth and adding a rosy tint to her pale cheeks.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” she said, and held out a hand. “I’m Miriam Daniels. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Harry offered his own hand, but instead of shaking it, Miriam merely held it delicately within her own. Her skin looked very soft, but Harry could feel rough calluses along her palm.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Look at you.” Her eyes studied every inch of Harry’s face. Normally, this made Harry very uncomfortable; he didn’t like people gawking at his scar. Miriam, however, did not seem very interested in that one feature; rather, she focused on his eyes, gazing into them searchingly. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what to say. He still couldn’t shake the strange feeling that he had seen this witch before.

“Look at you,” she said again. For a terrifying moment, Harry had the impression that she might cry. But Miriam simply released his hand, and tentatively ran her fingers through the mussed-up ends of his hair. Feeling self-conscious, he reflexively tried to press it down flat. Miriam laughed.

“Your father could never get it to behave very well, either.”

Harry suddenly felt as though he had been hit in the head with a sledgehammer as a wave of realization hit him. An image began to form in his mind of his parents on their wedding day. The rare photograph was a favorite of Harry’s. His mother was draped in lacy robes of white, and his father’s hair was as mussed as ever. They stood together, smiling joyously at each other, and then up at Harry. James Potter’s best friend and best man, Sirius Black, stood next to James, grinning wickedly. Every so often he would wink at the witch standing next to his mother. Dark wavy hair, pale skin, and holding an elaborate bouquet of flowers, she too would smile wistfully at the happy couple, then at Harry. The only difference he could see was that Harry remembered the witch’s eyes in the photograph as being light and open; they seemed the be smiling all on their own. The eyes that now gazed into Harry’s, though not unfriendly, seemed older somehow. Guarded. For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. He simply gaped at Miriam.

“I know you!” he suddenly blurted out. “I mean, I’ve seen you. I think. Not you, you, of course, but…” Harry felt his cheeks redden. “You were at my parents wedding,” he finished lamely.

Miriam laughed again. It was a pleasant sound, and Harry couldn’t help but smile despite his bewilderment.

“I was,” she nodded. “I was your mother’s Maid of Honor. Lily,” she added, “my best friend.”

Harry knew he was staring now, and rather rudely, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew quite a bit about his father’s life in Hogwarts; Sirius and Lupin saw to that, and they were always handy for a story about getting into some sort of trouble or another. However, he knew very little about his mother’s life as a student. Only that she, too, had been in Gryffindor, and had apparently fallen in love with his father.

“I’ve been traveling all over the continent for work,” Miriam explained, “but Dumbledore asked me to come in for the trial. He thought I might be useful since I happen to have unlimited access to medical records, and,” she said, lowering her voice so Harry had to lean in close, “a certain talent for forging signatures.”

Harry grinned. He was beginning to like this woman very, very much. She gave him a wink, and the next moment, Mr. Weasley burst through the tall double doors.

“Harry!” he panted, bending over with his hands on his knees and making a noble effort to catch his breath. “There you are. I…(pant)…was worried. Thought you had…(wheeze)…gotten lost. Taken…(gasp)…the wrong way out.” Mr. Weasley coughed once and straightened. His eyes widened as he noticed Miriam.

“Ms. Daniels!” he exclaimed, seizing her hand and shaking it energetically. “Arthur Weasley! I would have recognized you anywhere. Your picture has been all over the papers. I just read about you last week in the Daily Prophet. Amazing, how you cured that Egyptian prince from those poisonous boils, really incredible. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My wife will be so pleased, she’s been talking about this all week. Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice.”

“Wonderful to meet you too, Arthur,” said Miriam. “Please, call me Miriam. And it was my pleasure. I’m just glad I could be of assistance.”

“Miriam is going to be staying with us for a while at Headquarters,” explained Mr. Weasley, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’ll be acting as our very own resident Healer.”

“Dumbledore said you needed the best, although hopefully you won’t be needing me all that much. And besides,” she said, her eyes suddenly darker and much more intense then Harry had yet seen them, “if Lord Voldemort is truly back, well, I’ve got a personal stake in seeing to his demise.”

“We all do, Miriam,” said Mr. Weasley quietly. Harry looked from Miriam to Mr. Weasley, a bit surprised from the sudden intensity in the air. But he was truly impressed by Miriam; she hadn’t been at all hesitant about saying Voldemort’s name. And couldn’t help but appreciate the passionate revulsion it was pronounced with.

Mr. Weasley noticed Harry’s curious expression, and cleared his throat.

“Well, we best be off then. The other’s will be dying to know how your trial went, Harry,” he said, and picked up Miriam’s briefcase. “I think our headquarters should accommodate you quite nicely, Miriam. We’ll get your office set up in no time.”

Miriam nodded, and smoothed out her robes distractedly. She offered Harry a reassuring smile, and he thought that it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The alarming storm gleaming in them, Harry noticed, had yet to subside.

Harry thought the trip back to number twelve was the highlight of his entire summer. He could easily understand why Miriam was so successful as a Healer; Harry felt immediately at ease with her. She laughed easily and listened intently. Harry thought she would know how to talk to just about anybody, and remembered the way she spoke so coolly and professionally to the Wizengamot, then switched effortlessly to warmth and cheer. She didn’t talk to Harry like a child either, as he knew many adults had the tendency to do. Mr. Weasley was content to walk ahead and let Harry and Miriam get to know each other, and they chatted the entire way back, pausing the conversation only to let Arthur instruct the telephone booth send them back to Grimmauld Place.

Miriam told Harry fantastic stories about his mother and father at Hogwarts; how she and Lily had grown the largest pumpkin in Herbology their fifth year, just in time for the annual Halloween Festival’s pumpkin competition. Harry’s father, however, thought it might be funny to jump out from behind a suit of armor and scare Lily in his very authentic werewolf costume. Lily was so angry that she smashed the pumpkin straight over James’ head, and refused to dance with him for the rest of the evening. Miriam also told Harry how she used to help Lily and James sneak back into the castle after hours as they huddled underneath James’ invisibility cloak. When Harry asked why they had to sneak back into the castle, Miriam simply winked, and told him to figure it out for himself.

Harry enjoyed listening to Miriam’s stories and telling some of his own so much that he didn’t realize when they had arrived at the square where number twelve stood hidden. He became so caught up in telling Miriam about his thoughts regarding the new Quidditch team now that their Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood, had graduated, that he had walked nearly ten feet ahead before he realized Miriam was no longer by his side. He stopped abruptly mid-sentence, and turned around. Miriam was standing, seemingly frozen in place, staring straight ahead of her. Harry didn’t know what to make of the expression on her face. Her brows were furrowed tightly together, and her mouth hung slightly open. Her eyes seemed glazed over, as if in a daze, or under some sort of hypnosis.

“Miriam?” There was no response. Harry called out her name again, louder this time. Still Miriam stood, unresponsive and transfixed. Then, to Harry’s utter bewilderment, she took a step backward. And another. Then she turned on her heel and began to walk away.

“Alright, you two?” Mr. Weasley called out. He turned around, saw Miriam’s retreating back, and faster than Harry would have ever thought he could move, Mr. Weasley sprinted past Harry and had caught up with Miriam, clutching her arm, and forcing her back around.

“Miriam! Please, try to understand �“”

She let out what sounded like moan, and tried to wrench her arm free. Harry could see that her eyes were no longer glazed over, but swarming with emotions. He was shocked to see the absolute horror reflected in them.

Just then, Harry heard the click of a door, and Remus Lupin was dashing past Harry just as Mr. Weasley had done. Rather than seize Miriam, however, he skidded to a halt a few feet in front of her. Mr. Weasley released her arm, and took a wary step back to where Harry stood watching. Lupin and Miriam stared at each other without saying a word for a full fourteen seconds. Lupin lifted his hands once awkwardly, then lowered them again, then stuffed them in his pockets. Miriam stared intensely at his face.

“Remus.” Her voice was barely audible. “You look like hell.”

It was true, although, Harry couldn’t ever recall seeing Lupin looking particularly healthy. His transformations into a werewolf every full moon were violent and painful, and it showed clearly in his pale skin and weary expressions. Even so, he smiled just a little bit.

“You would be the expert, after all. Miriam,” he said, and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” she demanded, her voice growing louder and harsher with each word. Her breathing was shallow and unsteady as though she had been running.

“Couldn’t,” said Lupin, firmly. “We have to be careful this time around, very careful. You know that. I wanted to tell you, believe me, the last thing I wanted was to spring this on you out of nowhere, but�””

“Why here?” Her voice had gone quiet again, and Harry thought she suddenly looked very tired. And, he realized, very sad. “I just don’t understand. I’m assuming we’re right outside headquarters, correct? This is the secret location? Remus,” she said, her voice taking on a pleading tone, “why here?”

Harry glanced up at Mr. Weasley questioningly, but he merely shook his head, signaling Harry not to say anything yet.

“It was the safest place we could think of,” Lupin answered. “And the last place anyone else would.”

This was very true. The neighborhood they were standing in was unkempt and seemed derelict. Paint was peeling from many of the houses, and some windows had web-like cracks running through them. There was the bittersweet smell of something rotten wafting in their direction.

“I’ll explain everything once we’re inside. Miriam.” Lupin was now smiling sincerely. “It’s been too long.”

Harry’s head was now buzzing in amazement. Right before his eyes, the grave scene he had been watching transformed, and in the next instant, and the air was now filled with laughter and merriment.

Miriam’s face had broken out into a huge grin, and with a whoop, she leapt into Lupin’s outstretched arms. He swung her around once, then she grabbed his face in both hands and placed a loud, noisy kiss right on his lips. Bouncing up and down excitedly, she took both of Lupin’s hands in her own, and kissed him again. Lupin blushed furiously. Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing his former professor act quite so lightheartedly, and he could hardly believe this was the same witch who had stridden so professionally into the courtroom. They looked, Harry thought, like children, and despite his confusion found that he too, was smiling.

“Remus! Oh, for goodness sakes, you look absolutely dreadful,” She seized his chin and began to examine his scratched-up face, clucking her tongue in such a way that Harry was strongly reminded of Ms. Weasley fussing over one of her children.

“What have you been doing with yourself? Oh, look at this, you have scarring everywhere. Well, no matter, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy. Still taking that potion, I hope? I’m working on a new recipe, apricot flavored, too. I’m almost positive this one will �“”

“Don’t you worry about me,” said Lupin reassuringly, tucking her hand into his arm and giving it a pat. “There’re more important things to attend to. But for now, we’d better get inside. The others will start to think Harry’s been tossed into Azkaban.”

Miriam nodded resolutely, and took a deep, shaky breath. Lupin gave her hand another pat.

“It will be alright. I’ll explain everything once we’re inside,” he promised. Miriam gave a short laugh.

“I certainly hope this is the worst of it. Any more surprises like this and I might keel over from the shock.”

Lupin laughed too, but Harry thought it sounded very forced. He still had no idea what had just happened or what was so shocking it almost had Miriam hurrying away in the opposite direction, but before he could ask any questions, Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his back and gently urged him forward.

“Inside,” he whispered, as though reading Harry’s mind. They walked forward and approached two of the more battered-looking houses on the block. Number eleven, and number thirteen. House number twelve was missing. Harry expected this of course, and concentrated on the address they were looking for.

Lupin took a folded paper out of his pocket, and held it out to Miriam. She pushed it away, without so much as glimpsing it.

“I know the address.”

Out of nowhere, a door began to appear between numbers eleven and thirteen, and soon an entire house materialized right before their eyes. Harry watched Miriam anxiously. Her face looked determined and she followed Lupin inside the house without a single hitch in her stride. But Harry noticed one hand buried within her robes, and he would have bet it was gripped tightly around her wand.

They walked into the foyer, and Mr, Weasley closed the door behind them quietly, magically sealing all of the bolts and locks with quiet clicks.

Miriam spun around in a slow circle. Her lips were pressed very tightly together.

“Things are a bit different in this house since the last time you were here,” said Lupin in a hushed voice to Miriam. “We’ve got be very careful in the hallways, wouldn’t want to wake�””

The door leading into the kitchen flew open, and Tonks, her hair blond as wheat today, threw her arms out wide and rushed towards Harry, followed by Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. They were all grinning at him, though upon seeing Harry, Mrs. Weasley looked as though she had just begun to breathe again after a very long hiatus.

“Harry!” Tonks half whispered, half shouted. Before anyone could do anything to stop her, one of her arms, flailing about wildly as she charged towards Harry, connected solidly with a dusty glass vase standing atop a dresser.

CRASH!

Instantly, Harry jammed his fingers into his ears and screwed up his face. Just as he had anticipated, the room erupted in dizzying noise. Angry shouts and piercing screams attacked them from the portraits that had awoken from the crash, bellowing insults and furious threats at the group. Harry could just barely hear Mrs. Weasley’s exasperated “Tonks!” Miriam clapped her hands over her ears, and yelped as she turned and saw the largest portrait in the hall, whose curtains had flown wide open, pointing directly at her.

Harry recognized the woman in the portrait from another unfortunate encounter similar to this. She was old and decrepit looking, her skin sallow and stretched, and wore a black nightdress and cap. She emitted a bloodcurdling shriek that echoed throughout Harry’s head despite his plugged ears.

“You!” she screeched in a voice so shrill, Harry thought for sure the vase would have shattered anyway if Tonks hadn’t already gotten to it. Her twisted index finger pointed so rigidly at Miriam it seemed as though she was trying to pierce a hole through the middle of her face. Miriam’s eyes were as wide as galleons.

“You! Filthy abomination! Wicked, foul mudblood! Tainted the blood of my flesh, how dare you walk into this house!”

Miriam looked horrorstruck. Lupin and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley dashed through the hall, stunning the other portraits into silence. Harry heard a brusque voice growl, ‘Not again,” and Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, came charging out of the kitchen straight towards the howling portrait.

“Vermin! Rotten blood traitor, shamed the name of my fathers, and it’s all her fault!”

With an enormous effort, Sirius dragged the curtains together once again, and turned towards the others, panting slightly.

“Alright,” he shouted over the noise that was just beginning to die down, “who’s the one that �“”

Sirius broke off shortly. The room had suddenly grown so quiet that Harry could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He looked around at the others. Everyone was standing very still, as though frightened that the slightest movement might set off the portraits again. Lupin looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words, and his mouth kept opening and closing like a goldfish. Tonks’ eyes were darting about wildly from one person to another. Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth with her hands, and turned her face into Mr. Weasley’s shirt. Still, nobody said a word.

Harry now looked back and forth from Sirius to Miriam. Sirius was staring at her, transfixed. Harry couldn’t read the expression on his godfather’s face; His forehead was creased, eyebrows strewn tightly together, his lips slightly parted, though Harry could tell his jaw was clenched forcefully. On the other hand, Harry found Miriam’s wide-eyes, dilated pupils, and open-mouthed expression much easier to decipher.

Miriam was staring at Sirius as though she had just seen a ghost.