The Ablution Solution by BrianMcLyr



Summary: Single point divergence from the end of OOTP, evident in the first 100 words, strung up on Jo's scaffold.
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstar
Categories: Post-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2018.05.11
Updated: 2019.12.22


Index

Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Ablution
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 A Will and Away
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 A Little Phlegm


Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Ablution

Chapter 1. Ablution




And then Harry's scar burst open. He knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance-

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature's began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape-

And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move....”

“Kill me now, Dumbledore....”


What no one knew, not Harry nor Dumbledore nor even Riddle, was as soon as Tom possessed Harry the parasitic soul shard that, for fourteen years, had taken refuge in Harry's scar merged with its other, greater, malevolent self.

Like pouring a glass of water back into the half filled pitcher. There is no moment when there are two distinct volumes of water in the pitcher greeting each other, they combine instantly, seamlessly, as a whole.

Harry, completely engulfed in excruciating pain noticed not. Riddle, experiencing the same identical pain while he still tried to goad Dumbledore into striking at the child, noticed not. If the soul shard brought any memories of the time spent tied to Harry they were ignored as Riddle was already awash in Harry's thoughts. It wouldn't have mattered if any of them had notice the merging anyway. Once the deal was done, it was a done deal.

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again....

“If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy....”

Let the pain stop,
thought Harry. Let him kill us.... End it Dumbledore.... Death is nothing compared to this....

And I'll see Sirius again....

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creatures coil's loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay on ice, not wood....

And there were voices echoing through the hall, more than there should have been: Harry opened his eyes, saw his glasses lying at the heel of the headless statue that had been guarding him, but which now lay flat on its back, cracked and immobile. He put them on and raised his head an inch to find Dumbledore's crooked nose inches from his own.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

“Yes,” said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. “Yeah, I'm- where's Voldemort, where- who are all these- what'-”





The head of the golden wizard statue hit the floor with a resounding “clunk” after slipping from his grip. Harry looked around and realized Dumbledore had port-keyed him right back to Hogwarts, directly into the heads office.

Hesitating only a moment, sensing that the magic was spent, Harry picked up the statues head and placed it atop Dumbledore’s desk. He turned from the desk and sat in the closer of the two chairs that were before it to await Dumbledore.

Sitting back in the somewhat overstuffed chair he reflected on the last few minutes. He had been dazed and confused when he regained himself after Voldemort's possession. That was understandable though, he figured, certain the pain he had felt was comparable to the cruciatus spell. Not that he would be willing to put that to the test anytime soon.

However, now, only minutes later, he felt like someone had slipped him a bit of Pepper-Up-Potion. Here in the wee hours of the predawn morning his thoughts were beginning to race. He assumed it was an effect of the adrenalin that was probably still swamping his mind, or brain. Whatever or whichever, he thought.

Images of the night’s misadventure kept assailing him. Hermione being hit with the purple curse from the one Death Eater. Ginny’s stoic perseverance with a broken ankle. Ron with the disembodied brains attached to his arms. Neville’s with a busted face telling Harry not to give the Death Eater’s the orb, even after he’d been Crucioed! Sirius stunning Malfoy and then Sirius falling through the Arch. The amazing duel between the Headmaster and Voldemort. His possession.

Harry felt very unsettled sitting quietly while all these scenes were rapidly playing out in his head. He anxiously sat forward in the chair, with his hands gripping his knees. But he still felt rather unbalanced and out of sorts.

Harry stood and started to pace about before the desk. Sitting still, it seemed, was not an option.

The memory of Sirius falling through the veil caused him an all but debilitating grief. Then his grief rolled into an anger. Anger at Sirius for letting himself be killed. Anger with himself for putting his Godfather in the position to be killed. Anger at Dumbledore for not being the all powerful, all knowing wizard everyone touted him to be and allowing this to have happened. Anger, no Rage, at Voldemort and his arse sucking bitch of a witch that killed the last bit of his family.

In the midst of his anger, concern for his friends started to nibble at his conscience. Again he watched Hermione hit with the horrible curse. How Ron got all wonky after the brains attacked him. Neville's broke nose and busted mouth or Ginny's broken foot or ankle. Luna had come out of it apparently unscathed, like himself, but he felt so guilty about it all. It had been his doing that got them all there and he should have been able to stay with his friends till they were looked after.

Instead Dumbledore plopped a golden statue head in his arms and with a wave of his wand, a cast of a spell and slurp-poof, he is stuck in the Heads office with only his guilt and grief for company.

His guilt was soon overwhelmed by his swelling grief. The grief again was lessened with his anger. The anger in turn replaced with concern for his friends which lead him back to his guilt. And the guilt was soon overwhelmed by his grief.

It was a vicious cycle.

The third time through the grief, anger, anxiety cycle Harry tried to distract himself by inspecting Dumbledore's office. The last time he was in this office the headmaster had exited in a fiery explosion causing all sorts of damages. As Harry remembered it, some of the mysterious little silver widgy-gadgets that he had always found intriguing had gotten knocked about and broken and he was sure he remembered a portrait or two falling from the walls. However, the room looked completely undamaged. All the little silver thingamajigs seemed to be in place as well as Harry could recollect, whirling away or puffing the occasional bit of steam. Also, all the enchanted paintings were hanging as should be, almost all feigning sleep as normal.

Almost all. Harry’s attention was drawn to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, which held a hand over his mouth as he noisily yawned. “Ah… Young Potter….” he said after dropping his hand and looking owlishly about the room.

The painting narrowed his eyes as he returned his gaze to Harry and scrutinized him. “What possible purpose could you have in the headmasters office at such an early hour?” The portrait asked shrewdly. “Did Dumbledore send you? Oh, don’t tell me…” Phineas added with a bit of pique, “I am to hie off with another message for my worthless great-great-grandson.”

The painting didn’t know and Harry wasn’t ready to say the truth of Sirius’ passing out loud just yet. Even though there wasn’t a bit of him that didn’t know the painful truth.

Some of the other portraits started to stir and Harry started to back towards the door. He had no wish to be interrogated by the enchanted vissages of past headmasters.

“”I hope this means that Dumbledore will be back with us soon,” said the corpulent, red nosed wizard that hung directly behind and above the headmasters desk.

Harry backed all the way to the office door, his hand fumbling behind him found the doorknob, but it was locked. He was shut in.

Harry looked to the painting of Headmaster Dippet, he thought was the name, and nodded while trying the doorknob again, but it still wouldn’t budge.

“Good. It has been a bit dull without him.” Stated the wizard’s image.

It was then that the fireplace flared into emerald green flame. It so startled Harry that he stepped away from the door while reaching for his wand. He relaxed only when he recognized it was Dumbledore unfolding from the flames. The portraits all seemed to wake up and many gave the headmaster a rousing cheer as he stepped forth from the fireplace.

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” The headmaster softly said, modestly waving the accolades aside. After depositing the newly re-hatched Fawkes on the tray below his perch he turned to look directly at Harry for the first time in months, “You will be happy to hear, Harry.” He said. “None of your fellow students will suffer any lasting effects from this nights events.”

Harry wanted to say “good” but failed to do so. It really sounded to Harry like Dumbledore was trying to subtly remind him his friends were hurt because of him. “Your just trying to make me feel better about it all, aren’t you.?” he asked with all the sarcasm he could inject into the question.

By the look Dumbledore gave him, Harry realised it was his own guilty conscience that had colored the headmasters words.

Before he could bring himself to apologise the headmaster said, “If anyone should shoulder the blame for tonight, Harry, it would be me.” Dumbledore turned and walked to his desk and sat in his throne like chair, motioning for Harry to sit in one of the chairs before the desk.

Once Harry was seated the headmaster started to explain. “The fault lies squarely at my feet that you did not know that there was no need to run off to the ministry.” With remorse readily apparent in his voice Dumbledore continued on. “It was obvious to me early on that your connection to Voldemort was stronger now that he was returned to a physical body. I erroneously thought that if I distanced myself from you he would find no purpose in using the connection. That was wrong, obviously and completely wrong. Instead of trying to create a situation that would “hopefully” deter Voldemort from using your connection I should have instead brought you more firmly into the fold and explained what Voldemort wanted and what he might try to do through your connection to get it.

“You would have then known to suspect your vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries and your Godfather would still be with us. That you were left to act in ignorance is completely my responsibility. I am to blame.”

“Are you speaking of my great-great-grandson, the last of the Blacks?” Phineas asked morosely.

“Yes, Phineas.” Dumbledore stated plainly.

“Poppycock!” The portrait proclaimed. “I don’t believe it!” could be heard as he hurriedly exited his frame.

The headmaster ignored the paintings interruption and went on with his commentary. “As you are now fully aware, Voldemort wanted a record of a prophecy made before you were born.”

“It’s destroyed now!” Harry interjected. Uncertain if that was a good thing or bad.

“Not completely lost Harry, I assure you, but let me finish explaining why he wanted it.” Dumbledore gently admonished. “As I was saying, there was a prophecy made shortly before you were born. It concerned a dark lord, Voldemort of course, and a child that would be able to vanquish him. One of his followers overheard some of the prophecy and unfortunately relayed it to his master. In time Voldemort decided the portion of the prophecy he heard referred to you and that is why he murdered your parents and tried to murder you that fateful halloween night.

“I believe he assumes it was his ignorance of the complete prophecy that lead to his undoing that night. A baby thwarted him at the pinnacle of his power. He was determined, I think, to know the whole prophecy, in total, before he made the same mistake again.

“It was to me that the prophecy was originally recited, Harry. I could show you the memory but it is simpler if I just relay it you. It is quite literally branded in my mind.” The professor paused briefly before going on. “The one with the power to Vanquish the dark lord approaches….”

After Dumbledore told him the prophecy they discussed what some of the individual lines meant. It was well after sunrise before the professor suggested they curtail their discussion as Harry needed rest and the professor needed to prepare for a busy day. As Harry was leaving the headmasters office he really wondered why Dumbledore had risked people's lives, Mr. Weasley’s in particular, to prevent Voldemort from confirming what he seemingly already knew. One of them was going to kill the other. An activity Voldemort was already committed to. Harry really didn’t have much doubt who would be the victor.




“In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed returned to this country and is active once more.” Hermione was reading the article from her bed in the infirmary to the group of friends. When she got to the part about, “Meanwhile, the boy who lived….” She lifted her eyes up from the paper to look at her friend and noted, “ I knew they would drag you into it somehow!”

Harry who sat at the foot of Ron’s bed, where they both had listened to Hermione read the front page, gave a simple shrug. Ron, his arms heavily wrapped in bandages from where the stupid brains had attacked him, offered his observation. “Least he is ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ again rather than ‘delusional-attention-seeking-delinquent!”

Ginny, whose ankle had been fixed in a Hot-Hogwarts-Minute by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up across the foot of Hermione’s bed. Neville, whose nose had been returned to its normal shape sat in a chair between the two beds. Luna, who like Harry had escaped the whole ministry adventure unscathed, was perched on the edge of the empty bed along from Hermione’s, reading a copy of the Quibbler.

“They have most assuredly changed their tune.” Hermione agreed as she scanned the rest of the article. “Voice of truth...never wavered...ridiculed and slandered.” She snorted a bit at that last comment. “Failed to admit it was their own articles doing all the ridiculing and slandering!”

Hermione winced a bit and tried to shift herself a little to be more comfortable. Of them all, she had got the worst of it with the curse she had been hit with. “Well,” she said as she folded the paper and set it aside. “They certainly have found a lot to write about. They even ran a reprint of the interview you did for the Quibbler, Harry.”

“Daddy sold it to them.” Luna said, not looking up from her Quibbler. “He said they paid so handsomely that our three week expedition to Sweden to look for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks can now be extended to the entire summer hols.”

“That sounds… nice.” Hermione clumsily stated.

Ginny tucked her chin to her chest to prevent either of the girls from seeing her amusement at Hermione’s discomfiture. She blushed a little when she found she had turned right into Harry’s line of site and he was looking her way. They shared a quick smile at the exchange.

Harry quietly listened as his friends conversation rambled from Fred and George’s swamp to Filch's disappointment and on to whether Umbridge was truly in shock or simply sulking. All the while he looked from each of his friends to the next. Although he did tend to let his eyes linger a bit longer on one or two of them.

Ginny was wearing jeans along with a white school blouse and Harry was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her. She was right there in front of him. Where he sat on the foot of Ron’s bed, she was there on the foot of Hermione’s bed. She was laying across the bed on her side with her knees pulled up and her head propped up on her one hand. Her bum was rather prominently centered in his field of view and her jeans did nothing to hide how shapely it was.

Harry never had thought of himself as an ogler. Looking and appreciating yes, but not ogling and leering. And he was certainly ogling. He would force himself to look elsewhere only to find that the way the sheet was tucked under Hermione’s breast really highlighted her development. Or, the way Luna’s skirt was hitched a couple inches above her knees, because of the way she was leaning against the far bed, showing off her very nice legs. Harry was aware that on a warm day any muggle girl in Surry would certainly be showing more skin, but for Hogwarts it was quite titillating.

His attention was always drawn back to Ginny’s bum though. He could imagine her fair complexion and….

Merlin’s mother’s monocle, Harry silently cried. He needed to get away from these girls before his body’s reaction got worse and embarrassed him or he simply got caught leering. He sprang off the bed and turned towards the door saying, “I told Hagrid I would be down today and I need some fresh air.” It sounded rather lame in his own ears but no one questioned him on it. Hermione did say to give Hagrid their best and ask after his “little friend.” The “little friend” almost broke him up considering his current mindset, but he managed to stifle the chuckle and wave in acknowledgement.




As Harry descended the Grand Stairs into the Entrance Hall Malfoy and his two ever present goons were just coming up from the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. They all froze when they noticed each other. Neither moved and nothing was said, the only sounds were the ambient noise of students out on the grounds and in the Great Hall.

Malfoy looked around. Harry assumed the little weasel was checking that there were no teachers about. “ You're dead Potter!” he said when he was sure there were none to over hear him.

“ Odd that I haven’t stopped breathing then.” Harry replied as cheekily as possible.

“You’ll pay!” Malfoy all but whispered fervently. “I’ll make you pay for what you have done to my father…”

“Well, that’s me pissing myself then isn’t it.” Harry said with as much sarcasm as he could interject. “I suppose Voldemort is just the opening act and you three are the real deal.” He had noticed the way they all flinched at Voldemort’s name. “What, isn’t he a family friend. Comes over for Sunday Tea and all? Not afraid of him are you?”

“You think you’re all that and a chocolate frog, but your not” Malfoy said as he started walking towards him, his two goons in tow. “I will have you for what you did. You just wait.”

“I’ll wait Malfoy. But don’t expect me to hold my breath.” Harry told him.

“ The dementors have all left Azkaban.” Malfoy informed him with a lowered voice. “My Dad and the others will be out in no time…”

Harry shrugged dismissively. “Everyone knows they’re scumbags now though.”

That was the straw. Malfoy instantly reached for his wand but Harry was the quicker. His wand was out and pointing at Malfoy’s nose while the little ponce’s hand was still fumbling about inside his robes.

“Potter!” Snape roared from behind him. The sleazy git sidled up beside Harry and demanded, “What do you think you're doing?”

“Deciding which curse to use on this piece of…” Harry started to say.

“Put your wand away at once.” Snape commanded curtly. “If Gryffindor had any house points, Potter,” Snape glanced to the completely empty hourglass that was indicative of Gryffindor’s points. “I would dock you. Instead it seems the only option is to....”

“Add some!”

“Professor McGonagall!” Snape acknowledged in surprise. “Back from St. Mungo’s so soon?”

Harry smiled with relief not actually realising how concerned he had been about his House Head’s health till he saw her. “Welcome back, Professor!” Harry greeted her warmly.

“Yes, Professor Snape, after the healers did their job I was sent on my way. And thank you, Mr. Potter, it is good to be back.” She stepped close and handed her carpet bag to Goyle, “Take this to my office, young man. I am certain you remember where it is.” Turning to Crabbe she shucked her travel cloak and handed it to him. “Take that to my office as well, please and thank you.” She had used a rather imperious voice with the two and they both marched off with her items obediently.

“Now!” She said turning back to Snape. “It strikes me that Potter and his friends deserve a reward of fifty house points each for alerting the world to You-Know-Who’s return. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“What,” Snape asked with evident consternation. “Yes… I suppose so…”

“Good then!” McGonagall said and buckets of rubies fell into the Gryffindor hourglass while a few sapphires dropped into the Ravenclaw’s. “Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you should be outside on such a glorious day.”

Harry took full advantage of the dismissal. He gave neither Malfoy nor Snape another look as he stowed his wand and headed towards the front doors.

The visit with Hagrid didn’t go as well as it could have. Hagrid tried his best not to say anything to remind Harry of his loss. So, of course, he managed to say the wrong thing repeatedly. Harry had cut his visit short and loitered a bit by the lake before returning to the castle for the Leaving Feast.




The train trip back to London was somewhat eventful.

As he returned from the loo, Harry politely nodded or waved in greeting to the D.A. members in the open compartments he passed on his way back to his own. After traversing almost the full length of the carriage he was only meters from rejoining his friends when the hair on the back of his neck sprang up. He quickly spun around, raising his left arm instinctively while he reached for his wand with his right.

Before he was completely turned about he recognized Malfoy and his two lackeys at the other end of the carriage with their wands out, pointed at him. Malfoy looked surprised that his sneak attack was foiled and immediately cast a cutting curse at Harry. Crabbe and Goyle were quick to cast a couple of second year hexes directly after.

With spellfire flying at him Harry panicked a little. His robes had bunched up about his wand and getting them out of his way with just the one hand was taking to long. In desperation Harry gripped the wad of cloth that his wand was wrapped in and, while stiff arming the oncoming spells with his other hand, cried “!Protego!”.

To his vast relief and utter surprise, it worked. A foot beyond his stiffend arm his magical shield thrummed into being. It held a hint of a bluish tint and was a bit bigger than usual, filling the whole of the corridor, stretching from floor to ceiling, wall to wall.

Harry didn’t really notice any of the particulars regarding his shield only that Malfoy’s cutting curse crashed against it with a yellowish green flash and an audible bang. The hexes of his two henchmen followed right after but didn’t flash and each only ‘popped’ a bit when they hit. The bangs and pops were no doubt lost in the constant whine, clanging and clatter of the moving train.

Keeping his eyes on the three adversaries, Harry used his off hand to open his robes and clear the excess of fabric so he could finally draw his wand. The need however was suddenly moot.

As Harry was raising his wand and considered if or when he should lower his shield to go on the offence, Malfoy and his ’friends’ were engulfed in various flashes of spellfire. It erupted from the compartment they were standing in front of. The sound of six or seven spells being cast simultaneously drifted down the corridor as Malfoy and Goyle fell to the floor and Crabbe was slammed into the outside wall before collapsing atop the other two.

He dispelled his shield but kept his wand in hand as he approached the three prostrate ponces. On close inspection the Slytherins rather looked like giant slugs stuffed in Hogwarts school uniforms.

Glancing into the compartment from where the barrage of spells had come from he found almost half of the fifth year Hufflepuffs and a couple of Ravenclaws.There was Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, both of whom he had acknowledged with a smile as he had passed, to and from the loo. Along with them was Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, all members of the D.A..

“I must say, I am looking forward to seeing Malfoy’s mother’s face when she collects him at King’s Cross!” Ernie, who stood to the fore of the group said with a noticeable bit or rancor.

“Marked improvement for Goyle if you ask me.” Susan Bones stated amusingly.

“They didn’t get you did they Harry?” Finch-Fletchley inquired.

“No. Mostly thanks to all of you, though. I would have been stuck on defence with the three of them hexing me together.” Harry admitted.

“Well, the D.A. looks out for each other don’t we. Besides, we owed them some didn’t we!” Ernie proclaimed.

“Thanks anyway, ok!”

“Anytime, Harry.” Hannah Abbott said with a giggle. Harry couldn’t see her as she was behind the four boys that were crowded in the compartment door way.

Harry glanced in the next compartment along and suggested. “This one is empty, should we toss them in there? You know, just to keep the corridor presentable!”

The five boys made quick work of stowing the senseless Slytherins in the empty compartment. They even went as far as stowing them in the overheads, just because they could. Harry offered his thanks one last time to the six before again traversing the length of the carriage to return to his friends.

Harry had his robes pulled open, checking out the loose inner lining as he entered the compartment. All of his friends were still in the same seats as when he left for the loo, which seemed like hours ago now. Ron sat on the left side closest to the window perusing a Quidditch magazine. Neville was seated across from him, his attention alternating between the passing scenery and the plant he held in his lap. Luna sat next to him reading a copy of the quibbler, sidewise. Across from Luna, reading a school textbook which was right side up of course, sat Hermione. Beside Luna and next to the door was Ginny, not reading a thing, but paying attention to the compartment in general.

Seeing Harry’s ripped robe she was quick to offer, “I can fix that for you.” Ginny’s cheeks pinked a bit and she added, “I mean, you know, if you want.”

Harry gave her a smile in thanks and nodded keeping his robes open so she could ‘fix it’.

She drew her wand and touching the tip to the top of the rip cast “!Tela Subjungo!” and dragged her wand tip down the length of the rip. The lining and the robe came back together behind her wand and the stitching was repaired. When done she smiled winningly at Harry and put away her wand.

“Thanks!” Harry told her gratefully. “This seam’s undoing was almost my undoing just now.” He added with a chuckle.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Ron put voice to everyone’s curiosity, as he looked up from his magazine.

Harry motioned behind him with his thumb saying, “Malfoy had a go at getting his revenge just now and when I reached for my wand I got my hand stuck inside the lining and couldn’t really touch my wand. It was a bit of a close thing getting a shield up!” Harry shrugged and sat down beside Hermione. He realised he had all their attention and was expected to continue.

“I did get a shield up, obviously,” he said motioning to the lack of any evident hexes or curses. “But only just.” he snorted. He went on to explain how the six D.A. members intervened and that they then stuffed the Slytherins in the overhead of an empty compartment.

The story got a laugh from Ron, Neville and Ginny. Luna listened with a dreamy smile while Hermione simply looked thoughtful.

“Wish I had been there! Would’a bloody loved to get a hex on Malfoy.” Ron exclaimed with a distant look after Harry finished.

When the trolley came along Harry bought cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice for everybody. While they were eating Ron cleared his throat and pointedly nodded towards the glass looking out into the corridor.

Everybody turned and looked.

Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe were passing by. Cho turned and blushed when she found herself the focus of the entire compartment. She turned her head back and hurried along.

A couple of moments passed before Ron bluntly asked, “So what is between you two now?”

Harry shrugged while he shook his head. “Nothing.” He really had not given much thought to Cho with everything else going on. But he knew his interest in her had certainly waned.

Hermione offered tentatively, “I hear she may already be seeing someone.”

Harry considered that possibility briefly and realized it didn’t bother him at all. He gave an exaggerated shrug to express his indifference. “Fine by me.”

“Well,” Ron offered in a tone Harry assumed was supposed to be consoling. “You’re better off without that one. I mean sure she has a nice… umm...smile and all. But you really need a girl that is a bit more... cheerful.”

Harry remained silent but nodded in agreement. He didn’t feel a need to discuss Cho any longer.

“Who is she seeing now, then?” Ron asked, turning to Hermione.

It was however Ginny that answered. “Michael Corner.”

“But!” Ron blurted, whipping his head around to stare at his little sister. “He’s your boyfriend!”

Ginny snickered a bit and said, “Not any more of course. He got all tetchy when we beat Ravenclaw on the pitch. So I told him to… well , I told him to sod off, is what I told him. It would seem at some time he and Cho started consoling each other.” She scratched the side of her nose and smiled at everyone in turn.

“Loser’s Lurgy.” Luna observed, shaking her head, “is horribly unbecoming.” That got a chuckle from everyone.

Ron’s smile was a mile wide. “Well, I always thought he was an idiot. Pick better next time.” He glanced at Harry as he said the last bit.

“Well, would Dean Thomas be better?” Ginny asked vaguely.

“WHAT!” Ron shouted.

Nobody spoke immediately after that but then it wasn’t too long before the train started slowing as it approached King’s Cross.




Harry was very touched that all the adults he knew, well at least the ones that mattered, would attempt to intimidate his aunt and uncle into treating him better. It was embarrassing but touching. And, Harry was quite sure, futile.

After the confrontation, if you can call Uncle Vernon’s initial bit of bluster followed by aquesant head bobbing a confrontation, all the goodbyes were said and Harry left King’s Cross with his ‘family’.

The ride down to Little Whinging from London had been quite quiet. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were both so incensed from receiving a dressing down from the likes of ‘them’ they silently steamed the whole way.

In the back seat Harry and Dudley both sat quietly. Harry because he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance of pressure and have it vent in his direction. Dudley’s silence though was a mystery. However, from the half smile and nod he got when he looked over to his cousin, Harry was certain it was purposeful.

When they got to #4 Privet Dr. his aunt and uncle quickly climbed from the car and effectively stormed into the house leaving Harry to his own devices in regards to his belongings. Surprisingly enough, Dudley helped Harry get his trunk from out the boot and up to his room.

Harry stayed in his room the remainder of the afternoon and evening. Partially, in hopes that without him wandering about the house his aunt and uncle would cool off a bit. And maybe, with cooler heads, they would comply with the ‘suggestions’ Harry’s ‘magical minders’ had given them.

Mostly though, he just really didn’t want to deal with the Dursleys along with everything else he had on his mind. He was distraught enough as it was.

However, as Harry thought about it, distraught was not the most apt description of his inner turmoil. It was a bit more like he was completely losing the plot, actually.

Yes, after the fight at the ministry he‘d been grief stricken over Sirius’ passing. Ever since the infamous night in third year he had considered Sirius as family, his only real family, someone that was concerned for him regardless of circumstances. And Harry had helplessly watched him pass through the Arch.

To make matters worse, he knew that Sirius had been there only because of Harry’s own foolish actions. If he had listened to Hermione, Sirius would be alive. If he had not been so stupidly full of himself, thinking that only he could rush in and save the day, Sirius would be alive. It was his fault Sirius was gone.

A very soft mental whisper from the pragmatic and analytical part of him tried to lessen the grief, pointing out he had only met Sirius two years prior. Harry would have none of it though. Sirius had been family.

The whisper went on about how Sirius and he had spent no more forty days together in those two years. Harry refused to listen. Sirius had been family.

The similarity of Sirius rushing to the Ministry to save Harry, and Harry having rushed there to save Sirius was softly pressed forth. Harry ignored it.

The idea that he had been so easily manipulated rankled him. That it was at least in part because Dumbledore had left him in ignorance rankled him. If he had been told Voldemort might try to influence him through his scar, he may well have not been so anxious to run headlong to the rescue. He was fairly sure if he had been told the evil bastard wanted the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries he would have suspected the dreams to be a ruse rather than a vision.

But, as Harry lay in the silent darkness of his room fretting about pretty much everything, it was not his grief, guilt, sorrow or anguish that had him thinking he was going a bit off the rails. No, what had him concerned was despite his bereavement and anger he was experiencing recurrent, inappropriate and highly erotic fantasies of girls.

It certainly wasn’t that he had never fantasized about them before. Since his voice started to drop in second year, along with everything else, he had been aware of the fairer gender. Just not obsessively so. Susan Bones was the first girl in his year to develop, as Seamus called them, a rack. He had of course noticed as had the other boys in his year, Harry just didn’t need to drool about them like the others.

His crush on Cho had even started near the end of third year when , during a Quidditch game, he noticed how she straddled her broom. He had over that summer had a dream about brooms and bums and raven black hair flying in the wind. When he woke with a start and found what had happened he was very glad it had not happened at school. Finnigan would make crude jokes about stuff like that all the time but Harry didn’t appreciate the humor and never wanted to be the target of his repartee .

He was convinced Seamus was a complete pervert and Thomas wasn’t much better. He thought Ron was quite likely an average bloke while he considered himself and Neville to be the more civilized of the five.

But now, since the battle, Sirius’ death and the brief possession by Voldemort, things had drastically changed. Where before he was very appreciative of the female form, he now seemed obsessed.

In the midst of his mental malaise, his mind would wander a bit and he would find himself fantasising about any one of the many cute witches he knew, or had even only seen at school.

Given half a tick of inattention and an insidious sexual thought would bubble up from his subconscious and pervade his waking mind. Predominantly it was Ginny who starred in the wicked scenarios. He thought her red hair and creamy complexion rather exotic. Cho, with her darker complexion and raven coloured hair, made many appearances as well. Harry kind of preferred to fantasize about Cho. Because, although he still found her very attractive, he didn’t like her that way anymore and it just seemed a bit more ‘harmless’.

Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Lavender Brown and the Patil twins all paraded through Harry’s brain. Tiny naked dancers in his mind, or something like that.

Regardless, Harry was convinced something had gone wrong with him that night at the ministry. It was like someone had hit him with a hormonal hex or some such, although Madam Pomfrey had checked him thoroughly for any untoward magics . He knew something had happened though, he’d had more sex fantasies in the last week then in the whole year before.

And his scar was bothering him!!! It didn’t hurt like it would if Voldemort was close to hand. No, it didn’t hurt, it simply ‘ITCHED’!



direct excerpts
*
** taken completely or partially from Jo’s work, book 1-7, although …


A/N Don't hold your breath waiting for an update, I believe my track record suggest a less than speedy posting. Besides this was a tickle and Spooky is the real itch. So think of this as a one shot with potential. Actually this is conceptualized to the end of HBP, but again I point towards Spooky


“!Tela Subjungo!” cloth/join /shrug

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2 A Will and Away

Chapter 2
A Will and Away!

Harry was comfortably ensconced on the couch, with a large bowl of popcorn, watching a movie about a man who had been cursed to live the same day over and over again. The movie was ok, funny even, although it was a bit tedious. However, what Harry really wanted was some of the spicy corn crisp that were advertised at each commercial break, over and over again.

Now that would be the topper for his aunt and uncle, Harry thought. Him lounging on the couch, watching the tele while eating spicy orange corn crisps. He laughed out loud when he imagined wiping orange stained fingers on the upholstery.

Not that he would actually do such a thing. Be a bit spiteful and petty, wouldn’t it? Besides the last two weeks, or so, hadn’t been all that bad, well, at least not due to the Dursleys.

The first three days back at Privat Dr., he had done his best to avoid his aunt and uncle and they seemed willing to ignore him when they did cross paths. Meanwhile, Dudley had become strangely polite, and remained so actually.

On the fourth morning, while he was washing up after breakfast, his aunt finally broke the silence as she had sat to table with her tea, watching him. She huffed a bit then loudly complained about having been dressed down by the “likes of them”. Harry kept his tongue behind his teeth and nodded his understanding. The same day, at dinner, his uncle vented similar sentiments, albeit a bit more stridently. Again Harry had kept silent, nodding agreement, and that was the end of it.

Other than those two instances they seemed to take the warning to heart, not that Harry was pushing any boundaries anyway. He kept the dishes washed up, vacuumed and swept the floors on even days, dusted and gardened on odds. His ‘chores’ took no more than a couple hours a day, which left him approximately fourteen hours each day to be a moody, broody self absorbed git.

His bereavement over Sirius. His feelings of guilt for his death and his friends injuries. The stark reality of what the prophecy said he would face and then his conclusion of how that would turn out all combined to put Harry in a rather morose mood. The occasional sexual thought or fantasy notwithstanding.

Added to that, he had subscribed to The Daily Prophet before he had left school and, while at Privat Dr., he eavesdropped as his uncle watched the BBC news each night. Together they certainly did not help left his spirits any.

The Prophet reported that Fudge “officially refused” to hand the reins of the Ministry over to a “Terrorist” group. That night the BBC was awash with reports and specials about the collapse of the Brockdale Bridge due to ‘supposed’ harmonic resonance of the foot traffic. The next day the Prophet reported on the suspicious death of Amelia Bones while later in the evening the BBC again interrupted normal broadcast to report on a ‘hurricane’ having ravaged Somerset. The Prophet reported that Fudge had been ousted and Scrimgeour installed as the new Minister of Magic. The BBC reported that a Junior Minister that worked at Number 10 Downing St. had suffered a mental breakdown. The poor man was reported to have started quacking at his coworkers and waddling along behind the PM, he was whisked away to an unnamed facility where it was reported “he will receive the best of care”.

It was the seventh or eighth day at Privat Dr., Harry wasn’t real sure which, that things started to change some. It was about the same time that the silly “official” purple pamphlet showed up that Harry started to pull himself out of his funk.

He had mourned his godfather’s passing for better than two weeks by then and was realizing that railing at the injustice of his loss was unproductive. Yes he was gone and he had been family. But Harry was certain Sirius would not want him to stand in Diagon Alley wailing and rending his clothes. No! He would want him to get on with it, wouldn’t he.

He had also managed to come to terms with the guilt. While wrestling with it he had summed it up and got it into perspective with an analogy. He had been manipulated into putting his godfather and friends in a dangerous situation. But it had not been him that caused their death or injury. It would be like he had hailed a cab so he, Sirius and his friends could cross town… maybe to get to KIngs Cross… and while in route a lorry driven by Voldemort, with Bellatrix and Malfoy gleefully sitting in the passenger seat, purposely crashed into them. Perhaps not a perfect analogy. Harry knew he would feel at least a little guilt the rest of his life. He was also certain that when he passed out of this life Sirius would be there and would likely smack him upside the head for feeling even this much but he doubted he would ever feel completely blameless.

He even managed to get over most of the anxiety the prophecy caused him. It had involved two somewhat unrelated realizations. First, as Dumbledore had said, there was a real difference between being dragged into a battle and determinedly marching into it. Harry thought he had understood what Dumbledore meant when he said it, the man had been speaking english after all. But, understanding the words and taking them to heart were two different things it seemed. Over the last couple of weeks he had found greater meaning than the words had initially implied. He was not willingly marching into an arena to confront an unbeatable monster, he was willingly engaging an enemy of superior strength in a battle or war. The difference might well be subtle, but the difference between an unbeatable monster and a superior enemy, to Harry, was very meaningful.

The second realization about the prophecy was just that, it was a prophecy. If you believed in a prophecy then you had to accept there was some kind of predestination or fate at work in the universe. In which case the Prophecy guaranteed Harry would survive until he was Voldemort’s “equal” and gained “the power he knew not”. Neither of which was going to be anytime soon, he was pretty sure.

The message he received from Dumbledore early Tuesday morning certainly helped to thin the emotional pall as well. Harry read it and reread it enough to almost have memorized it.

Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four,
Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to
escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited
to spend the remainder of your school holidays.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance
In a matter to which I hope to attend to on the way to the
Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to
See you this Friday,

I am, Your most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore


The missive had put Harry in a really good mood. Hurriedly, he had sent his acceptance and agreement with the same owl. However, as he had watched it fly off, he belated realise just how perturbed the Dursleys would be with the Headmaster arriving so late in the evening.

Harry had rationalised that Dumbledore was a very busy wizard and certainly would have planned to come at a more circumspect hour if he could. Heck, he had even remembered thinking at the time, the Headmaster was so busy that he may not make it at all.

His good mood had stayed with him through the day. He even remembered whistling a bit as he pushed the mower over the two miniature swards that were typical of the front and rear greens along Privet Dr..

While working in the front Harry had the pleasure of watching some very pretty passerbys. The Tennison girl, who he remembered as being two or three years his senior, had marched past across the lane. She had always been a very pretty girl, and that day had been quite smartly dressed as if for an appointment or interview. She had given Harry no nevermind even though he had blatantly watched as she walked along.

A bit later, as he had been putting the yard tools away, another pretty ‘bird’ strolled by. Harry noticed her approach while she was still a few houses away on his side of the street, this time. He had not recognised her right off, but that may have been due to the distance or the distraction of the really short shorts she wore.

Tiny cotton gym shorts that did not get too far below her… inseam, and were split up the sides almost to her hips. Her legs extended all the way to her trainers. And oh, what legs, tanned and shapley.

His eyes traveled up to her top. Also cotton, white with a flower print. Long sleeves rolled up past her elbows, button up front. The lower bit of the blouse was rolled up to just under her pert breasts and tied in front showing her midriff. Her tanned, slim and toned midriff.

After fully assessing the important parts Harry finally lifted his eyes to her face as she crossed in front of number four. She had dark hair, cut short and stylish around a heart shaped face. Her cheek bones were pronounced and her nose was just a bit turned up. It took a moment to realise why she looked familiar. He had not seen her in years but this attractive girl was Piers Polkiss’ little sister. The last couple of years of primary Polkiss had always walked his sister home from school and because they were inseparable then, Dudley and Malcolm walked with them. And, as Harry had always kept an eye on his cousin and his flunkies so they could not surprise him, he knew of the younger Polkiss. Prudence Polkiss.

Of course, the sneer and rude hand gesture that the girl gave him as she neared were dead giveaways to the Polkiss pedigree.

Harry’s initial reaction to the girls attitude had been a bark of laughter. However, with further thought, he had raised his eyebrows appreciatively and smiled, almost leeringly.

He had achieved the desired results. The young Polkiss couldn’t be more than fourteen if he remembered correctly. A rather mature looking fourteen, certainly, but she still blushed horrendously at Harry’s obvious appreciation. She had quickened her pace and hurried on by.

Although there were no fireworks nor even any sence of a staggering epiphany, it was then, looking back on it, that Harry thought he turned an emotional corner. Shutting himself in his room after doing his chores simply did not appeal to him following his interaction with the prissy Polkiss. He hadn’t felt the need to quietly brood about his misfortune for hours on end. He hadn’t felt nearly so moody. Nor had he experienced an episode of what he had come to think of as ‘lugubrious lurgy’, but that he was sure most would simply call ‘moping’.

Wednesday, after lunch Harry studied the D.A.D.A. book Sirius had gifted him the year before. It was a bittersweet hour or so.

It was quite a warm day, so Harry surprised his uncle upon his return home from work, by offering to wash his auto. Vernon paused in his surprise then brusquely told him to be sure and do a good job or else.

Thursday, after he had finished the chores the Dursley’s expected of him and with his self imposed need of isolation ended, Harry had spent the afternoon strolling the neighborhood. First he had made his way over to Wisteria Walk, past Mrs. Figg’s house, to the small community Ornamental Garden park. It was tiny as parks go, no bigger than a lot that all the houses were built on. The perimeter was a hedgerow of tall junipers, the center a swath of grass interspersed with flower beds, manicured trees and a meandering paved walk.

From there he had gone round to the play park that he and Dudley had been attacked in the previous summer. It wasn’t so much a park as an empty field with some old school yard equipment. The roundabout was still rusty and squeaked a little bit louder. The swings were the same though the A-frame also showed signs of the passing year. He had made his way through the field, to the street beyond, and to the shops that fronted it.

He had spent some time in a sandwich shop, nursing a glass of water while he watched his small corner of Little Whinging carry on. Harry actually had ended up feeling a bit self conscious, because as he watched the everyday Whingingers walk by he noticed some were taking note of him. He had become very aware of his ill fitting and well worn clothes. He left when told the tables were for paying customers, even though it was well past lunch and the place was near empty.

Harry returned ‘home’ in time for the evening meal. At table, Vernon had started in on him about having so much leisure time on his hands that he could spend the day wandering the neighborhood. His uncle promised to find more chores to keep his idle hands busy.

It was then that Harry had gleefully blurted out that he would be collected by his headmaster Friday night at eleven. With an obviously false expression of contrition, he apologised for his inability to do any extra chores past then. Or any chores at all really.

In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. It would have perhaps been better if Dumbledore simply ‘showed up’.

Harry was subjected to almost two hours of Vernon going off about how inconsiderate and presumptuous his freaky friends were. Thinking they had the right to dress down two upstanding ‘normal’ people like he and Petunia at Kings Cross. And now, assuming it was acceptable to just show up in the wee hours of the night without even an ‘if you please’. Harry, his headmaster and all the rest of their ilk, as far as Vernon was concerned, certainly had no concept of acceptable social comportment.

Harry had quietly suffered through it. He nodded when needed and had escaped up the stairs at the first opportunity.

There had been no extra chores requested of him Friday morning. He did the wash up, dusted the house and then weeded the flower beds, front and back. It had crossed his mind to wonder who tended the gardening the ten months of the year he was in school. Did the Dursley’s actually stop a gardening service while he was back from Hogwarts for the holidays? He certainly could not picture any of them keeping the hedges trimmed nor pushing the mower about. Weeding? Petunia maybe. But that would be more for show. A large sun hat, pearl necklace, spotless dress, kneeling cushion, clean gloves and a shiny hand shovel. A perfect Privet Dr. homemaker elegantly tending the garden, waving pleasantly to the passing neighbors.

Later in the afternoon, when Vernon got home, Harry was informed that the Dursleys, Dudley included, were going into London to have dinner and catch a show. They would be staying in a hotel, Vernon had actually said ‘posh hotel’, and not be back until Saturday. He was to mind himself around their things, keep himself in his room, and to be sure to lock up when he was collected.

Which is how he came to be ensconced on the couch in the living room, with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching the telly at ten fifty nine, Friday night.

As the movie concluded, followed by another add for the orange corn chips, and the Dursley’s faux antique Grandfather clock struck the hour, there was a knock at the door.

In his haste to answer the door Harry almost overturned the bowl of popcorn. Getting his excitement under control, he set the bowl on the coffee table, then he leisurely made his way to the front door and opened it.

“Good evening, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore said with a twinkle. He had a dark purple travel cloak on over some light blue robes. His long hair was flowing loose but his beard was bound in a tie. “I do hope you had not forgotten that I would be dropping by.”

“No, sir! I remembered.” Harry said smiling. He didn’t mention that it had been foremost on his mind for the last three days. He stepped aside, holding the door open, and motioned his headmaster to come inside.

As he closed the door he asked, “Do you want me get my trunk so we can be on our way?”

“We shan't get away quite so quickly Harry. There are some important things to go over before we journey on.” The headmaster informed him with a hint of regret.

“Oh? Well.” Harry responded with a bit of surprise but pointing the way to the living room. He followed the professor.

When Dumbledore entered the living room he paused briefly and stared at the telly as the Doritos advert played on. “Ah! Television! And in colour now, amazing!” The picture started to go a bit funny. Harry rounded his professor and grabbing the remote off the table, hit the power button.

“Yes sir! Please make yourself comfortable. I have popcorn if you’d like?” Harry said, offering the bowl as Dumbledore sat down on the divan.

The headmaster picked three popped bits of corn from the bowl and eat them. An eyebrow raised up and he said with a chuckle, “Delicious Harry. But leaves one a bit thirsty, doesn’t it?” Dumbledore pulled his wand from out his sleeve but paused before casting whatever spell he had in mind. “Your guardians Harry, are they already abed?”

Harry couldn’t help but snicker. “No sir. After hearing you would be collecting me tonight, they somewhat spontaneously decided to spend the night in London.”

“Ah! Pity!” Dumbledore said with pursed lips and a knowing nod. He waved his wand and a bottle of mead and two short but stout glasses appeared on the coffee table. With another wave the bottle tipped it self and filled both glasses. “I had wanted to share some thoughts with them this evening. But perhaps it is for the best. Little sense in extolling on about the beauty of the stars to the blind, as they say.”

Harry had never heard anyone say that, but it did make some sense in regards to the Dursleys. He reached out, taking one of the glasses and took a sip. It was tasty, sweet, but tasty. He noticed that Professor Dumbledore put his wand away before he reached for the other glass. It was then that Harry noticed the professor’s off hand was shriveled and darkened.

“Professor! Your hand!” Harry exclaimed with readily apparent concern.

Dumbledore lifted the affected hand from his lap and looked at it, offering it for inspection by Harry as well. “Yes. Well, atrocious to look on but painless I assure you. However the tale of it shall needs await another time as we have things of greater import to discuss.” He took a healthy swig from his tumbler and added, “Rosmerta’s best meade, one of my favorites.

“Now.” Dumbledore continued as he set down his drink. “We have a bit of a situation and I am afraid that only you can resolve it.” The professor caught Harry’s eye and held it as he told him, “Even though I would as soon not burden you with this so soon after your loss, it concerns Sirius’ will.” The older man paused, obviously gauging Harry’s reaction before carrying on.

Harry nodded. Acknowledging the others concern but letting him know it was unneeded.

“Other than two moderate monetary bequests to his cousin Andromeda Tonks and Remus Lupin , as well as two minor obligatory bequest to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix LeStrange, you are the primary beneficiary.” Dumbledore paused to allow the information to penetrate the obviously surprised teenager. “It is all rather straightforward. You get a sizable amount of gold added to your account along with some miscellaneous items of value. The problematic part of the bequest is Grimmauld Place.”

Harry sat silent, stunned. After a bit he ventured, “Ahh…. You can keep…” Harry seemed to leave something unsaid. “Keep using it as headquarters if that is a concern.” He rambled as he stared off across the room, somewhat confused about what he thought of the whole thing.

“Yes. And thank you for that generous and considerate offer Harry but it is not the crux of my concern currently.” Dumbledore picked up his glass and took another healthy swig before clarifying. “It is Black family tradition that the house pass down through the direct line, from the Black family Patriarch to the Black male heir.

“However,” Dumbledore explained. “Sirius was the last of the Blacks. While his will makes it very clear that you are his primary heir and the house is to be yours, it is very possible that there are enchantments on it that may prevent you from actual ownership.”

“Because I am not a Black!” Harry said confidently.

“Yes, there is that, though your great grandmother on the Potter side was Black. But the Black family motto is ‘Toujours pur’ which might imply other qualifications required for ownership.”

Harry thought of the crazy portrait in the entry of the dilapidated multi storied mansion and quickly concurred. “I bet there is!”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore agreed. “If so, the house may pass to the closest pure blood male relative, Draco Malfoy, or mayhap to the closest and eldest relative, Bellatrix LeStrange.”

“No!” Harry all but shouted in adamant refusal of that possibility.

“Yes, of course none of us wish for either of them to get the house as it would mean the same thing in the long run. But, with Sirius’ passing, we are somewhat uncertain of the potency of our enchantments on the structure to keep it hidden. Therefore, until ownership is proven one way or the other the Order has abandoned the building.”

“But,” Harry asked, obviously perplexed, “How do we prove it?” Shaking his head he asked “The Wizengamot isn’t going to rule on it, are they? Might as well burn it down now!”

“Your confidence in our legal system disheartens me Harry.” The old professor admonished with an indulgent smile. “But no, there are quicker and surer ways to ascertain ownership than through the court. A simple test, really. Painless even. Well, painless for you anyway. You should understand, Harry.” The headmaster explained as he again pulled his wand from his sleeve. “If the house is yours, so too is…”

Dumbledore waved his wand over his head and then flicked it towards the center of the room. There was an ear shattering pop and Kreacher, the house elf, appeared, compleat with his snout like nose, floppy bat ears and bulbous bloodshot eyes. He seemed a little disoriented, no doubt from being forcefully summoned.

“...the house elf, Kreacher.” Dumbledore unnecessarily supplied.

The old elf instinctively crouched a bit as he looked around to determine where he was and why he was there. When he saw Harry his eyes locked onto him and, in his hoarse frog like voice, immediately started saying, “Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t!” He stamped a long narrow foot with each declaration. “Kreacher is a Black house elf and belongs to Miss Bellatrix, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won’t serve the Potter brat. No, Kreacher won’t, won’t, won’t.”

As Kreacher continued on ranting about how he ‘won’t’, Harry realised what the painless test Dumbledore mentioned had to be. If he owned the house, then he owned the elf. If he owned the elf, the elf would obey him, and thereby, verifying the ownership of the house, simple really.

“Kreacher, Shut It!” Harry commanded!

The last “won’t” that Kreacher tried to say seemed to stick in his throat, choking him. A flash of surprise crossed the elf’s face. But it was quickly replaced by his more usual look of disdain and loathing. However, try as he might, and it was obvious that he was trying, he could not speak against the ‘Potter brats’ command.

“Quite demonstrably, Harry, you are Kreacher’s master, which establishes you as the master of Grimmauld Place as well.” Dumbledore commented as he watched the house elf struggle against Harry’s command. “Very good, my boy, very good indeed. Your quick and keen wit tonight has allayed some rather distressing concerns of mine.” The professor added with a look of approval.

Harry did not acknowledge his headmaster’s comment. Instead his gaze bored into the futilely struggling elf. “I don’t need to keep this miserable piece of… work with me, do I?”

“Not if you wish not to, Harry!” Dumbledore informed. “I might suggest that you order him to work at Hogwarts. The other elves would keep an eye on him there.”

Harry, again, did not turn his head, nod, or do anything really to indicate he had heard the headmaster. He had of course, but his mind had leapt forward to next year’s holidays when he would be of age. The wards that protected Previt Dr. would fail in a little over a year, on his birthday, and he would finally be free of ever returning there. But he would need someplace to live. He certainly hoped the Weasleys would invite him to stay with them next summer as well, but that was presumptuous and not guaranteed.

And even so, the Weasleys had moved in with Sirius last summer for security reasons, so maintaining Grimmauld Place as a safe house seemed vital. And getting the house in a livable condition was highly preferable. Particularly if Harry ever had to stay there again. The dark dungeon motif that the later occupants seemed to have prefered was unacceptable. Sirius had hated the house and Harry was quite sure he would, himself, be as batty as Kreacher if he spent any time in it without some changes.

“Sir,” Harry said turning to the older wizard, “now that we know it is ‘my’ house and not Bellatrix’s, will you continue using it as headquarters?” He asked. “I mean, all the spells will remain or be recast if needed, right?”

“In all truth, my boy,” Dumbledore confessed, looking a bit contemplative as he glanced briefly at his withered hand before returning his attention to Harry. “if you proved to have inherited the house I had not considered recasting the security charms and enchantments a priority. Some of the magic would be marginally weakened due to the change of ownership, but would remain quite effective, I assure you. However, with the uncertain times ahead of us we are obliged to stay ever vigilant with our security.”

Harry wasn’t sure if the headmaster had meant to mimic Professor Moody’s signature saying or not so did his best to keep a straight face.

“Therefore, Harry, before the fall term starts we shall reinforce and recast all of the security spells on your house. You will need to be present for the casting of the Fidelius charm. And you will need to find a new secret keeper before then, as well.

“If you are sure that we can continue to use the house as headquarters I only ask that the secret keeper be an active member of the Order. The primary choices would be Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley or even Nymphadora Tonks.” Dumbledore offered the five names without any inflection.

“What about you professor. You are the secret keeper now, aren’t you?” Harry asked the headmaster, a little surprised he had not mentioned himself as an option.

“Indeed I am, Harry.” Dumbledore quickly responded. “However, I am a bit of the ‘Old Guard’, aren’t I? I think it is time that some of the generation that will be more involved in this conflict to become more… involved.” He finished with a broad smile.

“I should mention that William Weasley has put in a request to be transferred to Gringotts’ main branch in London and so could be a possible choice as well. Although when, or even if, he will get the transfer is, as yet, an unknown.”

Harry did not think for a moment that Dumbledore's ‘Old Guard’ reasoning was his primary motive for not offering himself as the keeper. But, other than knowing there was more to it, he was still clueless as to what it was.

Remus and Arthur were the two most familiar to him but he knew Moody and Shacklebolt were the more capable fighters. Tonks was a bit of an unknown really, even if he had instinctively liked her from the moment they’d met. Although, her metamorph ability would afford her personal security that would be good for a secret keeper.

“There is really no need to choose right this moment, Harry.” Dumbledore said, breaking the silence when he obviously realised Harry was weighing the options.

Harry gave a soft derisive snort and shrugged before saying, “Kingsley Shacklebolt I guess.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow a bit in surprise. “I shall broach the subject with him before Monday and schedule a date and time if he is agreeable.”

Harry nodded before turning to the house elf, who, though silenced, was physically expressing his displeasure by throwing himself to the floor and flailing his arms and legs. The noise as he hit and kicked the floor was muted by the carpeting.

“Kreacher!” Harry called in the most forceful voice he could manage, which wasn’t to bad considering his age. He waited for the elf to stand up before he continued. “When you return to number twelve Grimmauld Place you will not leave the house…. You will not leave number twelve Grimmauld Place again... unless I call you. You will not speak…. You will not communicate in any way shape or form with anyone other than myself or Professor Dumbledore. If a houseguest makes a reasonable request of you, you will … comply in complete and utter silence. And you will clean, Kreacher. You will clean the house thoroughly and completely. No doxies or pixies or any other pest will be left undisturbed. Start in the kitchen and work up to the attic.”

He paused briefly. There were more specific orders and restrictions Harry considered giving the elf but he decided they could wait. He glanced questionably at his headmaster, wondering if he had left an obvious loophole in his commands. When Dumbledore pursed his lips and shook his head Harry concluded, “Kreacher, when you leave here, you will go directly to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Go now!”

With a look filled with petulant anger, the elf snapped of his fingers and, with a soft pop, disappeared.

“Overall, well worded Harry. If we were in school you would have gotten house points for your clarity and exactitude.” The old man professed. “But why did you decide to send him back to Grimmauld Place rather than Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, sir. I assumed he could be of use during an Order meeting. Also, I figured since my seventeenth is next summer, I may need a place to stay and it might well take him that long to get the place in shape.”

Dumbledore nodded as he reached for his meade. “Quite right Harry, quite right. It is your house after all, and you have every right to get your own house in order. Although I am sure the Weasleys would always offer succor if you were in need.” So saying the headmaster slightly lifted his glass before he finished his drink. Setting the tumbler back down the headmaster waved his wand and the bottle tipped itself again and refilled it.

“There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak.” Dumbledore continued after the meade bottle had settled up right. “Sirius bequeathed him to you. I am sure it was simply to insure the creature was looked after because he certainly knew he had no legal right of ownership. Even in the magical world, escaping on the back of a condemned hippogriff in no way constitutes a claim of ownership. But I am sure you will be happy to know the creature is back in Hagrid’s care.” Dumbledore snickered a bit. “Hagrid calls him Witherwings now but, as hippogriffs display more hauteur than a horde of house cats, it’s name is only significant to the ministry.”

Harry nodded. “If I can help with his upkeep in anyway I will. I am sure Sirius would want me to, I think he and Buc... err ... I mean Witherwings had grown close.” He offered.

“Harry, regardless of Sirius’ concerns for the hippogriff’s wellbeing, Hagrid considers the creature ‘his’. Although, I am not completely sure whether as a pet or a friend but he would no more expect recompense for it’s care then he would for his dog Fang.” Dumbledore picked up his meade and doffed it all down in a go.

“Now, Harry, is your trunk all packed?” He asked as he set his glass back down.

“Yes sir. My trunk and Hedwig are up in my room. Let me go get them.”

“Allow me Harry. You should finish up your meade if you are going to.” The headmaster offered. He looked in the general direction of Harry’s bedroom up stairs and waved his wand. Soon Harry’s trunk and Hedwig's cage, containing a very perturbed Hedwig, came floating down the stairway and into the living room.

Harry smiled as he watched his trunk settle softly on the living room carpet and Hedwig,in her cage, settle just as softly atop it, all the while as he sipped the sweet meade. The meade which had with each sip, progressed from sweet, to overly sweet and on to, with the last sip, disgustingly sweet. Harry decided meade may not be his cup of tea, so to speak.

“Is this everything, Harry?” Asked the headmaster.

“Yes sir.” Harry replied as he placed is empty glass on the coffee table. He then watched as Dumbledore waved his wand about in an odd pattern and caused Hedwig, her cage and his trunk to disappear.

“I sent your owl and things on to the Burrow, my boy.” Dumbledore explained with a smile, as he turned back to Harry. “We needn’t be burdened with them as we have places yet to go before we can rest our weary heads.”

“Brilliant professor!” Harry professed with awe as he stood up. “I didn’t know there was a spell that could do that!”

“Magic can do almost anything, Harry.” Dumbledore exponded. “The elves use a very similar charm to move the students belongings from the Express to the castle each fall.

“Now,” he asked gesturing towards the front door, “shall we?”

Harry glanced at the coffee table with the bottle of mead, two dirty glasses and the half empty bowl of popcorn and smiled, a little mischievously. “Certainly sir!” He replied as he stepped past the headmaster and lead the way from the house.




Harry gulped in great gasps of the cool night air as he stumbled away from Professor Dumbledore. It had felt like he had been crushed, squashed and squeezed down to the size of a spaghetti noodle and then pulled through an even smaller rubber tube. He hadn’t been able to breath for the pressure but then he wouldn’t be surprised if there was no air in the inbetween of apparition. There had been no sound nor smells. It had seemed darker than just an absence of light would explain. The only sensation had been the horrible feeling of the spaghettifying, extruding and then expanding as he popped back into sudden existence again.

Oddly, Harry was struck with a strange sense of familiarity by the whole experience.

They were in a residential lane with houses crowding either side but this was no longer Privet Drive. The houses were noticeably bigger, spaced further apart, and each one was different from the next. The sky, which had been clear and starry on Privet Drive, was now ominusly dark and there was a light drizzle falling. Also the front greens were much grander, as were all the hedgerows. Harry knew he wasn’t in Little Whinging anymore.

Feeling rather nauseous Harry continued to stumble to the edge of someones front green. There, with his hands on his knees, he stood hunched over waiting for the sick to rise from his churning stomach or the nausea to pass.

“The sensation does take some getting used to.” Dumbledore offered Harry, solicitously.

Harry’s only response was lifting and weakly waving a hand. Although he was soon surprised at how quickly the feeling was passing. He stood a bit straighter as he gained some confidence that he wouldn’t in fact be spewing popcorn and mead about someone’s front green.

“I think I will stick to brooms, thanks.” He stated while holding one hand to his stomach still.

Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing smile before pointed down the lane. “This way.” And set off at a quick pace.

As Harry hurried a few steps to catch up with his headmaster, he wondered where they were going so late at night. He guessed it was midnight at least, if not a little later.

They quietly walked along the lane, passing before many homes, when Dumbledore broke the silence with a surprising question, or so Harry found it. “Tell me, Harry, has your scar caused you any discomfort since that night at the Ministry?”

“No, sir.” Harry said as he reached up under his fringe of hair and rubbed at his scar while keeping his pace alongside the professor. “ A little tingling and some itching but not anything like… some of the times last year.” Perplexity apparent in his voice. “And, that is rather odd, isn’t it. I mean….” Harry trailed off, unsure of how to put into words concerns that were only just formed but not yet fully realised.

“Some might think it odd, Harry. But I think I have a guess as to why.” Dumbledore confided reassuringly. “I believe Voldemort has realised that you may have the same access to his thoughts as he has to yours, and is likely using occlumency now, to block the connection.”

“I won’t be complaining.” Harry deadpanned. He had enough to be getting on with without any more weird dreams at night or insane insights into Voldemort’s mind during the day.

They continued on down the lane to an intersection where the headmaster turned the corner, leading them up another lane.

“Sir? Where… err… well, where are we going if I may ask?”

“Ah, yes, of course, I apologize Harry. I should have informed you before now.” Dumbledore responded. “Over the years it has become a bit of a tedious tradition that during the summer holidays I need to seek qualified personnel to fill vacant staff positions. Most notably the staff openings caused by Defence Instructors that, for various reason, are unable to continue in that capacity. Tonight we shall attempt to convince a former colleague of mine to forego his retirement and return to his former position at Hogwarts.”

“How am I going to help with that, sir?”

“I believe of the two of us Harry, you will be the greater influence.” Dumbledore assured him, even though Harry found his answer confusing. “It is just along here.” He added pointing ahead.

He lead them on a bit farther and then stopped on the side of the lane before the darkest house in the neighborhood. Almost every other house had an entry light on and most had a window lit from within. But this house was draped in shadows. It was hard to tell but Harry got the impression that some of the windows had been broken out and boarded up.

“Dear me. It does not look very warm and welcoming, does it?” The headmaster extracted his wand and held it before him, at the ready. “Wand out Harry, if you would, and please stay behind me.” He then quietly walked up the garden path to the darkened entry door, Harry at his heels.

At the front stoop the headmaster cast “Lumos!” and keeping is wand out before him, slowly opened the door. The hinges squealed unnaturally loud. In a hushed aside the professor whispered, “An effective alarm!” before he entered.

The foyay was a ruin. Paint was peeling off the walls. The floor was filthy, there was even a scattering of dead leaves from the previous fall. A grandfather clock that still stood, looked like it had been bludgeoned. Its glass fronts shattered, the pendulum was alay on the floor and the clock face was a concave bit of brass held in place, seemingly, by habit.

They moved forward, into the sitting room. It was more of the same. More peeling paint, more debris strewn about the floor and more broken furniture. Harry watched as Dumbledore surveyed the room.

The headmaster scrutinised everything about the room but it looked to Harry that he payed more attention to the heavy gold drapes, the upended piano and an overstuffed armchair. After a moment of this the headmaster walked to the chair and poked it with the tip of his wand.

“Ouch!” exclaimed the armchair.

Harry instinctively took a step back and pointed his wand at the armchair which had turned into a man. An elderly man, who was a bit past portly and well past balding, was staring at the headmaster with an aggrieved glint in his eye.

“That was uncalled for Albus. Highly uncalled for, I say.” He admonished while rubbing his overstuffed midsection.

“My apologies, Horace. I certainly did not mean to cause you any real discomfort while persuading you to drop the illusion.”

“Yes, well. What was it that gave me away, Albus?” The man asked, not at all discomfited for having been found hiding as an armchair. Harry, quickly getting over his surprise, noted more of the man than his girth and baldness. He sported a great big gray mustache that made him look like a walrus. He wore a very posh looking crimson evening coat, with shiny gold buttons, over some nice, what Harry thought were silk, pajamas. Excluding the fine clothes and bald head, the man reminded Harry a bit of his uncle. He decided to try and keep an open mind.

“Your upholstery was of a much higher quality than the other pieces.” Dumbledore replied, waving his hand to indicate the sofa and chairs. The other furniture had curved dark wooden legs and curved wooden arms with padding. Certainly nicer than anything the Dursleys ever had but not as nice as the piece the portly man had pretended to be.

“Ahh.” The man said, nodding sagely as he glanced passed the headmaster, at Harry, “ They do say quality will out in the end.” The man’s eyes flicted up to Harry’s forehead. Harry was certain his fringe of hair covered his scar because there wasn’t the standard surprised look of recognition even though the old walrus’ eyes did widen some.

“May I assist you in putting things to right, Horace/” The headmaster politely inquired eyeing the general mess.

“Oh, Albus, as I am sure you are aware, it is almost all illusion . If you set the upright piano upright again I will dispel the rest.” The shorter old wizard said with a jovial chuckle. The two waved their wands in bewildering flourishes and like magic everything was put right. The piano was back top side up, the floor was clear and clean, the paint on the walls became pristine and the lights came on. Harry was thankful for the lights as the illumination of Dumbledore’s wand had started to give him a headache, particularly when he waved it around.

“Now, Albus, I do believe that introductions are in order.” The bald wizard said as he stowed his wand in his housecoat pocket, all the while keeping his attention on Harry.

Dumbledore laughed softly. “I am sure you have no idea who he is.” He turned to the other wizard and gestured with his wand towards Harry said, “Horace, allow me to introduce Harry Potter. One of my students at Hogwarts who will be entering his sixth year this fall.” Turning towards Harry, his wand turning to indicate ‘Horace’, he continued, “Harry this is the friend I mentioned and former Hogwarts Professor, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn stepped forward with his hand extended, “A pleasure to meet you young man.” He said with a bit more formality than Harry was used to.

Harry took the offered hand and greeted Slughorn in return. “Thank you, sir. It is a pleasure as well.”

“I of course knew who you were at first sight. You have your father’s looks about you. His hair, his cheeks and his chin but your eyes are most definitely Lily’s.” Slughorn confided before releasing his hand.

Harry gave his best fake smile and said, “Yes sir. I have been told that before.” It wasn’t that he actually minded having his appearance compared to his parents, he just was never sure how to respond.

“As intrigued as I am with your idea of me returning to teach again,” Horace, who had turned back to Dumbledore said, before he turned briefly to Harry and gave a quick apologetic smile. “I am uncertain if it would be advantageous for my health.”

“Well Horace, should I inform Pompey of your lack of confidence in her ability?”

“You know that is not what I meant, Albus” Slughorn retorted goodnaturedly.

“The castle’s security is somewhat better than what you have here, Horace.” Dumbledore commented dryly.

Slughorn smiled. “I have been considering an extended vacation in Brazil. For my health, of course.” Harry was convinced there was more being said than the words these two old men were actually saying but he could only guess at what.

“You would be doing me a personal favor, Horace, as I have told you before. And may I point out that Brazil will still be there next year. In fact, Brazil will probably be there for a few years yet.” Dumbledore commented congenially.

Slughorn did not reply immediately. His expression turned a bit shrewd and maybe a little pensive while his gaze fell on Harry.

“If I were to choose to teach at Hogwarts, Albus, there would be those that would think I am choosing to side against them.” Horace stated plainly, turning his attention back to the headmaster.

“Any thing you do Horace, short of joining them, will be seen as taking sides against them.” Dumbledore told his old friend.

Harry was getting uncomfortable being the third man in a two man conversation. He started looking appraisingly at the sofa and chairs. Slughorn must have noticed.

“I am being quite rude. Please, both of you, sit and make yourselves comfortable.” Slughorn waved them towards the sofa suite. “I am afraid all I have to hand to offer you is a nice tawny port. A fine vintage though and already decanted.”

As Harry and Dumbledore moved to the couch, Dumbledore accepted the offer on both their accounts.While they sat Slughorn was quick to get his decanter of port and three wine glasses on a silver serving tray and brought them over. Harry was wondering, mead at the Dursley’s, wine here, what was waiting for him at the Weasley’s? Firewhiskey?

After setting the tray on the coffee table, although in this case Harry considered cocktail table more fitting, the portly wizard poured the port. Harry was a bit surprised when he filled each glass equally. He handed Harry and the headmaster each a glass of the brownish red wine before taking the last for himself and sitting down in a chair. Harry cringed, unnoticeably he hoped, with Dumbledore to his right and Slughorn to the left he was in the center of something in which, truthfully, he felt like the odd man out.

The two older men swirled their glasses and sniffed at their wine before taking a sip, Harry simply sipped at his. The wine was not quite as sweet as the mead had been, and there was a slight tartness that almost puckered his cheeks. Harry, if put to the test, would prefer the wine, or port as Slughorn called it, over the mead, but he would rather some regular pumpkin juice over either.

“Quite nice, Horace.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it.” Slughorn responded a little wistfully. “Dona Solina gifted me a few bottles of this when I stayed, as a guest, at her family villa, outside Madrid.”

Dumbledore smiled and lifted his glass slightly, saying. “To Dona Solina and her Gobierno de Brujería.” After which he took a sip of his wine, as did Slughorn and Harry. Although in Harry’s case it was simple emulation as he had no idea who Donna Solina was nor why she had a ‘goober naughty brouhaha’.

“I had no idea you knew the Dona, Horace.”

“I’ve had the honor of tutoring three of her grandchildren over the years.” Slughorn replied.

“To their improved academia, your good fortune and this most excellent port then!” Dumbledore proclaimed making another toast. Harry decided the wine was tasting better and better the more he sipped at it.

Having effectively finished his wine Dumbledore set his glass down and stood up. “Horace, might I use your facilities?”

“Certainly, Albus. Second door down.” Slughorn said while pointing to what Harry assumed was the hall doorway.

As the headmaster made his way out of the room Slughorn refilled both of their glasses and offered to refresh Harry’s as well. Harry cheerfully accepted.

“So, Harry? May I call you Harry?” Slughorn asked.

“ Sure, shir...sir.” Harry affirmed with only a little trouble with the s’s.

“I taught both your parents, you realise. Yes, well, I was at Hogwarts for fifty years before I retired so I taught a lot of people and their parents. But.” The old professor reminisced with a speculative gleam in his eye. “As I remember, your father’s early years at school were more about the pursuit of a laugh rather than of knowledge. Although he was always a very personable young man. He and his friends only started to seriously apply themselves in their fifth year. In anticipation of their upcoming owls of course.

“He got an outstanding owl in my class. And, obviously, he did quite well in his other subjects, because he was named Head Boy a year after. An astounding achievement considering that he had been the school scoundrel for his first few years.”

Harry knew about some of what his father, Sirius and Professor Lupin had got up to while in school. And it really only made since that he had become a better student before his seventh year or he would have never been named Head Boy.

“Now your mother on the other hand,” Slughorn went on, his smile deepening somewhat.”She was a serious student from her very first day at Hogwarts. I think it was plain to see by anyone that she was simply rife with potential even then. Always maintained the proper decorum in class. Determined to do well on all her assignments. Always charming, always a smile. A real pleasure to teach. Likely the brightest witch, and certainly my favorite student, of her year.” He chuckled some and offered in asn aside, “My favorite student of her full seven years, truth be told.

“She got Head Girl too, you know.” Slughorn asked, looking directly at Harry. “I assume that is when they started getting along with each other, your father and her, I mean.” He chuckled again. “Until then there had always been an air of tension between them.”

Harry had to smile. He enjoyed hearing about his parents, even if it was stuff he had heard mentioned before. Hearing from someone different, though, who had also known them, that is what made it interesting.

Harry started to feel a little embarrassed about becoming a bit emotional while hearing the old professor speak of his parents. He thought he covered it well though by taking a big gulp of his drink.

“I stayed in touch with your mother after she finished Hogwarts of course. I was even at their wedding you know.” Slughorn proudly professed.

He became a bit morose and shook his head. “It was such a tragedy when her and your father’s lives were cut short that infamous night.” Slughorn consoled. “It was then that I decided I was ready for retirement. Your mother’s passing was a major impetus in bringing me to that decision, you see.” He finished with a sad commiserating smile.

Mentioning the death of his parents and the ‘infamous night’ of halloween nineteen eighty one certainly brought Harry back to the here and now. In the silence that followed Slughorn’s sad statement all Harry could think to do was noisily sip at his wine.

The aged professor visibly shook himself before attempting to change the subject somewhat. “I of course keep up with some of the professors still at Hogwarts. So I think I know a little about your last few years, but no specifics of course.” Slughorn assured with a gracious smile. “So, Harry, why don’t you tell me about the friends you have cultivated while at Hogwarts?”

Harry snorted when he envisioned himself tending to all his friends growing from pots inside Hogwarts greenhouses. Most of the Weasleys would be growing in a long flower box, Mr. Weasley and his wife at one end Fred and George at the other and the miscellaneous brothers in between. Of course, Ron and Hermione would be in their own pots as would Ginny, Neville and Luna. Although now, thinking about it, Luna’s pot would be special somehow, but really nothing came to mind.

“My two best friends are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, sir. However, I like to think I am close to all the Weasleys, or so I hope.” Harry confided.

“Weasley you say? I remember having a student named Weasley, I think. A gangly young man with red hair. I don’t believe he was horribly studious. Well, not in my classes at any rate.” Slughorn reminisced. He could not have said anything more off putting to Harry than to disparage a Weasley. Any Weasley, in anyway.

“And your young lady friend, Granger. Is she of the Dagworth-Grangers of Essex or the Scottish Grangers?” He politely inquired.

The question gave Harry pause. He realised he had no clue where Hermione lived and it saddened him somewhat that he had put so little effort into getting to know the particulars of his close friend. He was a complete git, he thought, and it surprised him he had any friends at all. “Well, I am not sure, sir. I mean she is not Scottish, that much I know. But we never talked about where she lives. We talk about where she and her parents go on holiday but I haven’t the slightest idea where her house is.” Harry realised he was babbling just a bit and ended it there.

“I find it hard to believe you only have the two friends Harry?” Slughorn said humorously, encouraging him to carry on.

Harry gulped a bit of his wine before continuing. “I would like to think Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood are my friends now too. I mean, we…ah.” Harry, aware of his odd willingness to ramble consciously avoided mentioning the Department of Mysteries. “We spent some time in a study group last year and got to know each other better I think.”

The professor nodded his head. “Longbottom is an old and established family. They have a seat on the Wizengamot, you know, and Augustus Longbottom is quite the formidable force within that body.” Slughorn paused a moment. “I remember old Tiberius Mclaggen telling me some years ago that his nephew was sorted into Gryffindor. He should be about your age I would think. Do you know him? The younger McLaggen I mean?”

“ I know of him,” Harry supplied hesitantly. “He is a year ahead of me and I don’t think we have ever spoken.” Harry admitted. He knew his teammates, Angelina, Katie nor Alicia liked him and that was good enough for him.

“He is someone to get to know, my boy. His uncle is well connected at the ministry and a personal friend of the new minister I believe.” He told Harry sagely.

Harry stared at the retired professor a moment before he laughed out loud. “Fudge and Umbridge were evil stupid gits.” He proclaimed. “This new bloke will have a long way to go before I will have any need for ‘connections’ with him or the ministry.” Feeling proud for having spoken his mind, Harry finished off his wine and set the empty glass on the table.

Slughorn glanced from the empty wine glass to the brash expression on the rosey young face and snickered. “Harry, Harry, Harry, there is a certain subtlety and finesse one should always try to achieve in both the social or political arenas.” He admonished goodnaturedly.

Harry harrumphed, but refrained from speaking his mind. There would be no finess ranting about Fudge’s use of the Daily Prophet to launch a vindictive campaign against Dumbledore and himself all last year. And it wouldn’t be at all subtle if he showed Slughorn the scars on the back of his hand.That would be considered a bit blunt and crude. He was tempted though.

Fortunately, before Harry’s resolve to not alienate Dumbledore’s old friend could be put to any further tests, Dumbledore, himself, strood back into the room.

“Ah, Albus. We were about to cast a location charm to insure you hadn’t gotten lost.” Slughorn chidded.

The headmaster rejoined them before the coffee table again but did not move to take his seat. “Lost? No, I was simply reading the ‘Commode’s Comical Companion’ which, somewhat serendipitously, I found placed near the commode. Humor in the bathroom can be entertaining but I fear I found the jokes just a wee bit crass.” He looked from Horace to his younger charge and added, “Well, Harry, we should be going. We have intruded on Horace long enough.”

Harry was quick to get to his feet. He arose with such alicrity that he struggled to keep from falling onto the coffee table. He managed to regain his balance and stood, certain neither of the two older gentlemen had noticed. Ignoring a slight wobble, Harry waited for Dumbledore to move towards the door.

“Surely you aren’t leaving already Albus. You have not tried to persuade me to return to my old position at Hogwarts yet, at least not conspicuously.” His gaze crossed to Harry as he said the last.

“Oh, no, Horace.” The headmaster said with a sly smile, or so Harry thought. “I have come to realise that neither my compelling arguments nor increased offers of compensation will convince you to return to teach at Hogwarts and enjoy it’s security. No, no, old friend, I shall start seeking someone else to teach Harry and my other students while you unnecessarily exile yourself to the often warm and sticky climes of Brazil.”

“Yes, yes, well.” Slughorn sputtered. “It is a much warmer climate than one would find here in Britain.”

“You will be able to continue your correspondence with your influential friends and acquaintances through overseas owl post.” Dumbledore observed.

“Yes. Of course. But there will be a noticeable delay in delivery won’t there!” The other groused.

“I understand the scenery at the beaches is very pleasant.” The headmaster commented drolly.

“I am a mite old to be spending to much time out in the sun enjoying the scenery. A mite old for the scenery as well, I suppose, if I am honest.”

“And just imagine all the new flora and fauna you will get to experience.” Dumbledore quickly added.

“Yes, yes. I shall likely be living under a permanent “Pestermeno!” charm.” The portly wizard replied testily.

“Also from the southern hemisphere you will see new stars and new constellations! An all new night sky to learn and admire.”

“As you well know Albus, astronomy was never one of my many interests.” He grumbled.

“Well Horace , I do need to get Harry along to his rest. So let me say how much I and my staff members regret that you won’t be joining us this year. Minerva and Filius were quite hopeful you would choose to return as were Severus and Vanessa. Goodbye Horace, and please enjoy Brasil as best you can.” So saying, Dumbledore stepped to the side and motioned for Harry to proceed him to the door.

Harry was sure he could feel Slughorn’s eyes on him as he walked to the door. He wasn’t quite to the door when Slughorn rather energetically exclaimed from behind them.

“Alright Albus. Alright, I accept!”

Harry turned to watch the interaction of the two old men.

Dumbledore had turned and Slughorn had stepped forward. “So you will return and teach this year?”

“Yes, yes.” Slughorn agreed fatalistically even though he smiled as he looked over to Harry. “I am sure I am quite certifiable, but yes!”

Even though Harry could barely see the side of Dumbledore’s face, he could tell the old man wore a grand smile. “Perfect Horace. Just smashing as they say. So we will see you the last of August.”

“Certainly, Albus. For the salary you offered in your last post and Merriweather's old office.” Slughorn replied.

The headmaster nodded his agreement and said, “Done and done, my friend and thank you. Now, though, we really must be on our way. Until August thirty first then, Horace.” He turned back to Harry and shooed him through the door.

Before the door closed behind them, Slughorn wished them both a good night.

As they walked down the garden path Professor Dumbledore told Harry softly. “Well done, my boy. Well done, indeed.”

“I didn’t do anything, professor.” Harry responded, somewhat confused.

“Yes you did Harry. You reminded him of what he has been missing for the last eleven years. Grooming, guiding and befriending magical Britain’s next generation of ‘Movers and Shakers’.” Dumbledore informed him.

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed anyone would think him a ‘mover and shaker’ but refrained from saying so. As they walked along, having gotten a good distance from Slughorn’s house, the headmaster offered Harry his arm and twisted them away.




The squeezing spin of the inbetween didn’t bother Harry so much this time. He thought it comparable to a really intense maneuver on a broom. Rather like pulling out of a steep dive into a sharp turn, then doing a roll before pulling back into a climb. A maneuver that could take your breath away and leave your stomach behind.

He did not feel at all nauseous when they popped back into existence. He was a little dizzy though and had trouble keeping his eyes focused on anything without them tracking to one side or the other. The sensation was much like spending too much time on a playground roundabout. He wasn’t falling down and getting sick dizzy, more the stagger a bit and giggle dizzy.

Which is what he did. Harry giggled. And he realised why he had had such a strong sense of ‘deja vu’ when Dumbledore had first apparated them from Little Whinging. He had done it before. Apparating was how he had found himself on the school roof when he was nine and being chased by Dudley. That realization made him giggle even more. You weren’t supposed to aparate until you were seventeen, but obviously what you were supposed to do and could do were not the same thing.

He stopped giggling when he felt Dumbledore’s hand grasp his shoulder and gently lead him forward along the dirt lane they had aparated to.

“You seem to have better fared the discomforts of apparating this time, Harry” Dumbledore said as they started to walk. Harry thought the headmaster may have given him a knowing smile. However, as there was no moon out and it was a dark country lane, illuminated only by star light, he wasn’t able to truly tell.

“I…” Harry smiled and started to say before changing his mind. “Yes, sir. It isn’t so bad, but I would still prefer to fly.” He was sure Dumbledore would not be interested in some accidental magic he did six years ago.

“If we had flown, Harry, it would have been hours to get here.” The headmaster informed him and motioning with his afflicted arm directed Harry’s attention down the lane. A hundred yards or so along the lane, on the left side, was a dark silhouette of a tall stand of trees. Further along, at the end of the lane was another silhouette, this one an odd multi-storied collection of angles and shapes which, even in the dark, Harry easily recognised as his favorite house: The Burrow. There was even a welcoming glow in one window downstairs. Harry felt a bit warmer inside from simply seeing it.

As they walked along the lane Dumbledore kept his hand on Harry’s shoulder, almost like he was afraid he may stumble or dart off. Harry rather thought that if the two of them were observed by others, it would look like he was being frog marched to a disciplinarian. In primary he had been escorted to the assistant head in just such a manner many times when a teacher fell for one of Dudley’s lies.

“If you don’t mind, Harry, I would like to discuss somethings with you before we get to the Weasley’s.” The headmaster slowed their pace some with gentle force on Harry’s shoulder. “First, let me say how admirably you are coping with everything that happened at the Ministry. Again, I am so sorry for the loss you must feel from Sirius’ passing. Naturally you must…”

“I think I managed to deal with all that while I was at the Dursley’s,Professor.” Harry interrupted what he was sure would have been a heartfelt speech of empathy and encouragement. “I will miss him of course, but he would not want me to stop living because he .. he can’t. I am sure he would be telling me to live more, harder. I mean, life can be cut short, right? Just look at those people on the bridge, or Mrs. Bones and that Vance woman. No, I think all those people would tell me the same thing if they could, ‘Live every day to the fullest’. “ Because it could be your last, he added mentally. But he kept that thought to himself.

“Wise words, my boy. Wisdom well beyond your years, Harry, which is sad evidence of hard lessons learned early in life.” Dumbledore said with a hint of melancholy. “Can I assume this new outlook you have adopted pertains in part to the knowledge of the prophecy?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Harry answered with a light chuckle. “Knowing that he might have a go at me at anytime, or his followers, kinda puts a lot of things in a clearer light. I considered my two options; ‘hide, cower and maybe exist’ or ‘stand up, live and maybe die’. I decided to stand up.”

“You do your parents and Sirius proud with such an attitude, my boy, I am sure. And I commend you, myself.” The headmaster said proudly. “Now, you mentioned the unfortunate deaths of Madams Bones and Vance so I assume you have been taking the Daily Prophet.”

“Yes.” Harry answered quickly, wondering if he now would be told off for receiving a magical newspaper in a muggle home.

“Then you will have seen the innumerable speculative articles about your adventure into the Ministry, a possible prophecy about you and Voldemort, and the more personal ones about yourself?”

Harry snorted. “Ya!” He continued with a derisive chuckle. “From ‘attention seeking teen’ back to ‘hero of the hour’. I mean… it is nice to be, err ahh, valinfied and all.” Harry knew that didn’t sound right but he carried on without concern. “But now everyone knows about the prophecy and their calling me ‘The Chosen One’. I mean, Good Grief.”

“Validated, Harry. I believe that was at least one of the words you were trying to say.” Dumbledore offered with his own chuckle. “But only we two ‘know’ the prophecy. Everyone else, including Voldemort,can only speculate. And it is my hope that the uncertainty will continue to stay his hand from directly attacking you or striking at Magical Britain overtly.” The headmaster glanced to the stars before adding quietly, “At least for a year, I should think.”

Harry tensed a bit at the ‘year’ and rolled his eyes. Great, he thought, a year to get ready to face the darkest darkity dark dork lord. Well, he quickly let that thought go, he had already been down that road. The prophecy said he would know shite the Dork Lord knew not, so he would be able to avoid the ‘final fight’ until he was smarter than shite. He quietly snickered at the idea of him being smarter than shite.

“I should qualify that ‘I believe’ that only you and I are aware of the full prophecy, Harry. Do I correctly surmise that you have not told anyone?”

“Nope.” Harry said, shaking his head, “At school I was ….” He shrugged. “And it really isn’t something you can just slip into an owl post is it.” He added ruefully.

“Owl posts are not the most secure means of communication Harry, so no. But I do believe you should tell your friends. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger have shown ture commitment to you over the years. You should inform them, at the least, and it will do you good to confide in your friends, my boy.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He really did not want to deal with the drama that telling his friends would cause. Ron would probably get all quiet and pat him on the back consolingly, while Hermione would cry some before researching other possible meanings of the prophecy and the way it was worded. He assumed they would be walking on eggshells around him for days after he told them. But yeah, they needed to know.

“And to move on to something completely different; I have decided, if you are willing, to give you some private lessons this year.”

“Private? Really, sir. What will you be teaching me?” Harry excitedly responded. Maybe he would learn something beyond the sixth year curriculum this year. He was still sure it would take more than a year to truly prepare though.

“A bit of this and a bit of that, Harry” Dumbledore told him vaguely with a mischievous smile. Or so he thought anyway. “Mostly though,” he added in a more serious tone, “ I will be teaching you about your adversary, himself.”

Great, Harry thought, so the next time Voldemort cast the killing curse at him, he would know when the bastard had learned it. Oh well, there might be a silver lining, he thought. “If I am in lessons with you sir, I won’t be in lessons with Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry. And no, I have come to believe that there is no reason to continue those lessons. I fear I had not fully understood the extent of the contentious relationship between you and Severus, and for that I must offer my apologies.”

Harry huffed loudly, both in relief and exasperation. How could anyone not know how much Snape hated him, or how mutual the feeling was. Of course, having only received an EE in potions, it meant he was done with potions and Professor Arsehole. Which meant he was in a sorry state if he wanted to be an Auror.

“Professor, is there a way to test for a newt in potions even if you don’t take the class in sixth or seventh year?”

“Certainly Harry. It would be absolutely ridiculous to force adults into a life dictated by the actions, decisions and abilities of their youth. No, the Ministry has always offered adults owl and newt testing twice a year. But you really should not discount your chances of studying potions this year just yet.” The headmaster told him with what Harry thought may have been a smirk.

Before Harry could think about what the headmaster could mean by the last statement they arrived at the Burrow proper. Dumbledore steered them to the kitchen door, where the light was on, but stopped them just before it. “Now, Harry, before we go in, I have one last thing to tell you. The Weasleys have allowed me to strengthen the wards around the Burrow for your visit, even at the imposition this causes themselves and some of their friends. So please Harry, respect the wards and do not venture beyond them unescorted.” And so saying the headmaster stepped to the burrow’s backdoor and knocked.

“Declare yourself!” The noticeably nervous voice of Mrs. Weasley sounded from within. Harry felt bad about showing up well past midnight and scaring her in such a manner.

“Molly, it is I, Albus Dumbledore. I have with me the dark haired young man you have been expecting.”

The door flew open and there stood Mrs. Weasley looking slightly frazzled. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun although some strands had escaped. Her apron was dusted with flour and the dress she wore beneath it could only be politely termed as a little out of fashion.

“Albus, and Harry, gracious me, but you said you would not arrive until morning.”

Harry stepped forward and hugged her, a hug the Weasley matron enthusiastically returned even if she was a bit surprised. Harry didn’t know what possessed him to do so but he wasn’t embarrassed about it. He was just so happy to be where he belonged.


A/N This is the last chapter that i feel needs to follow Jo's original script so closely. From chapter 3 on Harry's interactions with friends and enemies will be slightly different and cause some changes to his personal life and to how some of the plot points turn out. However Jo's agent of fate is marching the general story along to a cannon compliant culmination. By Bill and Fleur's wedding i plan my retelling of HBP to return a zero sum point, with the only difference being, hopefully, the time you spent enjoying the diversion.


A/N Now on to something completely different; I was looking about for something new to read, having familiarized myself with most of the content on S.I.Y.E. as well as the ff.net hp stories that didn't explore disturbing ships, disturbing to me anyway. I discovered 'FF.net>Books>Lloyd Alexander' section. I am sure most know his work, Prydain Chronicles primarily, although 'Time Cat' is worth a mention for any 7-10 year old readers. There I came across 'Sunrise by Companion Wanderer' which is an Eilonwy centric retelling of 'The Book of Three'. I enjoyed it as much as I had enjoyed the first time I read LA's original. The author has some other irons in the fire worth peeking at as well.


direct excerpts
*
** taken completely or partially from Jo’s books 1-7, although …
https://www.hp-lexicon.org/timeline/character-timelines/harry-potter-timeline/




“!Tela Subjungo!” cloth/join /shrug


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Chapter 3: Chapter 3 A Little Phlegm

Chapter 3
A Little Phlegm

A loud crash-bang startled Harry suddenly from a deep sleep. He jolted upright and was sitting up in bed, confused, wondering where he was and what was going on. There was the rasping sound of metal on metal and the room brightened painfully. Harry squinted as the light jabbed at his eyes and moaned as he felt the throb of a headache with each beat of his heart. He instinctively reached to his left to grope for his glasses that should be on his nightstand. He remembered he wasn’t at the Dursley’s when his hand smacked against a wall.

One of the blurry figures that had entered the room came close to the bed and smacked Harry on top of his head. “Goddamnit!” he cursed loudly and grimaced. Not so much from any pain of the hit on his head, but in anticipation to the next throb of his headache. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Ron!” Harry recognised Hermione’s admonishing voice. “Don’t hit him like that and Harry, cursing is often associated with poor verbal skills.”

“Sod my verbal skills. I’ve got a bloody great headache, Hermione.” Harry groaned, his shoulders slightly hunched while he rubbed at the back of his bowed head. As he squirmed back a bit to lean against the head board he realized he not only had the headache from hell, he felt a little queasy as well.

“So!” Harry asked as he put on his classes. “Why’d you need to hit me?” He looked at Ron and Hermione, he was happy to see them, he just wished he felt better. He considered the possibility he’d caught something from being in that light rain last night. Looking around the room Harry vaguely remembered Mrs. Weasley putting him in Fred and George’s old room because everyone was already to bed.

“Well, I was after waking you up, wasn’t I. When’cha get here last night?” Ron asked as he pulled the only chair in the room closer to the bed and sat in it..
.
Harry shook his head which he quickly realized was a mistake. “Don’t know. One maybe. Maybe later.”

Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, about mid way, close to were his shins were really. She wasn’t much closer to him than Ron but it made Harry a little uncomfortable. He was in bed. The bed covers pulled up round his waste, to be sure, but he was still only wearing an undershirt and boxers.

“How’s your summer holidays so far Harry. I hope your relatives were a bit more understanding this year and gave you space to deal with… everything.” She asked, ending a little weakly.

Harry chuckled. “Oh, yeah. The Dursleys are so understanding.” He laughed out right. “No, they pretty much did their best to ignore me and I tried to ignore them. Worked out fairly well. Still got stuck with all the chores though.”

“Bloody muggles!” Ron mumbled.

Hermione gave Ron a stern look for his language before she turned back to Harry. “Well, you are here now, right.” She said in a positive tone.

“Yeah.” Ron interjected. “And you were off with Dumbledor last night, where did he take you?”

“No clue really. He apparated us there, wherever it was. A bit darker, cloudy you know, and a tad rainy. But no idea where we were.”

“Yes, but we heard you and he were recruiting the new professor. What was he like? Do you think he will be any good?” Hermione rattled off.

Harry shrugged. “His name is Slughorn and he’d taught at Hogwarts for fifty years, so I imagine he’s got to be capable.”

Ron snorted. “It would take a real effort to find someone as bad as that Um-bitch!”

“Ron!” Hermione chidded.

“There is someone downstairs I want to curse almost as much as I did Umbridge!” Ginny said from the door.

Hermione said in a odd fashion. “I know, right! So full of herself!”

Ginny nodded as she crossed the room. She was wearing a light green long sleeve, and rather form fitting, pull over and some shorts. “That’s it right there. She talks to me like I was three or four. I swear if she tries to tell me how I ‘should do’ one more thing I will just scream.” She concluded as she sat on the end of Harry’s bed. She didn’t just perch on the edge either. She pretty much sat cross legged. “Hi Harry.” She added, giving him with a quick glance and smile.

Harry almost pulled the covers up for modesty’s sake. But then decided for modesty’s sake he would leave them bunched up where they were. Two girls sitting on his bed, with him so sparingly dressed, was quite embarrassing. But at the same time….

“She’s not that bad.” Ron muttered.

“Hiya.” Harry returned to Ginny. Although he was a little confused about who they were all going on about.

“Well of course you enjoy her being about no matter what she says!”

“It’s not like that!” Ron tried to deny, though he wasn’t terribly convincing even to Harry, and he was completely baffled.

“Who? What?” He asked with a confused look to each and all in the room.

“Phlegm!” Ginny quickly supplied.

“Fleur!” Ron and Hermione said at the same time.

“Fleur? You mean from the triwizard tournament?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Arry! Eet ‘as been too long!” A voice he had not even considered hearing again greeted him from the doorway.

Harry’s eyes shot to the newcomer. There stood Fleur Delacour. If anything, she was even prettier than he remembered. She was wearing a light purple summer dress thing but on her it looked quite elegant. Harry could almost make out a silverish glow about her that he assumed was her natural Veela magic. He had never seen an enchanting aura about her before. Perhaps it had gotten more pronounced now that she was older.

And she also had a breakfast tray in hand, which was a bit curious

She crossed the room as Harry gathered himself enough from the surprise of seeing her to express a “Nice to see you again too, Fleur!”

He noticed that the orange juice didn’t slosh about as she walked. She was that graceful. But what was she doing here at the Burrow?

Fleur came right to Harry and set the tray across his lap then leaned in and kissed him on his cheeks, which was a bit awkward as he was in bed. He blushed a bit and was reminded of the end of the second task when she had kissed his cheeks for saving her sister. If her magic had increased to where he could almost see it, he wondered way it had less of an effect on him than it had then.

Not that she wasn’t pretty, she was. But pretty like a beautiful painting or a picture or even like Hermione. Something he could admire as a great piece of art but with no desire to obtain it.

“Eet is good to see you again Arry. My sister, Gabrielle, has not stopped speaking of you since you saved her. She will be tres thrilled to see you at the wedding!”

“Wedding?” Harry asked.

“You didn’t need to bring the breakfast up. I was going to do it myself but hadn’t quite finished with it.” Mrs. Weasley stated as she bustled into the room, a small glass of tomato juice in hand.

“Eet was my pleasure maman Weasley. I so wanted to see Arry again.” Fleur replied, seemingly oblivious to the slight rebuke in the older woman’s tone. Then to Harry she added, “Next summer Bill and I are to marry.”

“Really!” Harry said in surprise. “Well, that’s great then. Hee...ck, I didn’t even know you two were a couple… I mean congratulations!” he added when the proper phase occurred to him.

“Qui! Bill, en Mai he asked me!” She told him excitedly. “He ‘s working ‘ard with la bank to settle his transfert. I only work part time to improve my Eenglish so Bill suggere I stay here to become familier with his famille. I was tres heureux to hear you would be here too.”

Mrs. Weasley stepped up next to Fleur and hid what Harry had thought was a look of exasperation. She reached past the younger woman and put the glass of tomato juice on the breakfast trey before him.

For the first time Harry actually looked at the trey. There were two fried eggs, two sausage links, two pieces of toast on a plate and now the two glasses of juice. None of it looked appetizing. Harry could just imagine the greasey glistening eggs and the sausages would lay in his stomach like lead weights. He was sure.

His discomfiture over the food must have registered on his face because Mrs. Weasley gave him a knowing smile when he looked back to her. “Drink the potion first, I think it will help you find your appetite.” She pointed to the glass he had assumed was tomato juice.

“Is that a Detoxification Draught?” Hermione asked and not waiting for an answer turned to Harry. “Why would you need that?” She asked accusingly.

Ron was chuckling while Ginny gave a sympathetic smile.

“Because two old… ‘Gentlemen’ allowed him to drink some fortified wine last night.” Mrs. Weasley informed Hermione and the rest of the room.

“Eet would be quite acceptable in France.” Fleur unfortunately offered.

Mrs. Weasley gave her a look. “This is not France. And did they serve wine at Beauxbatons?”

“Non. Not in the school.” Fleur admitted.

Mrs. Weasley threw one hand up in vexation and gestured at Harry. “He was with his headmaster for Merlin’s sake.”

Ron was laughing outright and Ginny was chuckling. Hermione looked as disproving as Mrs. Weasley. Harry ignored them all and drank down the faux tomato juice. He immediately wished it was tomato juice, the potion tasted salty and sweet and fruity all at once. But for some reason it didn’t make him gag.

“Well, I am pleased you are ere Arry. Eet is boring ere unless you like cooking or chickens. Or cooking le chickens.” Fleur said with a laugh. “Profitez de votre petit-déjeuner.” She said turning and made her way gracefully out of the room.

“I thought she was supposed to be working on her ‘Eenglish’.” Mrs. Weasley muttered under her breath. She was close enough that Harry heard her and he was sure the others did too.

Harry kept his head down not wanting to take a side. He was staring at his food and realised is headache had lessened and his stomache had settled. He tentatively took a bite of sausage. It went down without any complaints.

“Mum hates her.” Ginny explained to Harry in case he had missed the tension in the air or disapproving looks.

“Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley admonished her daughter. “I said no such a thing. I simply have some reservations about she and Bill being a good match. Bill is down to earth and she …” Mrs. Weasley stopped short and shook her head. “Never you mind what I think young lady and don’t you go putting words in my mouth.” She said giving her daughter a stern look. “Eat your breakfast Harry.” She added as an after thought, still in a scolding tone, before she too turned and walked towards the door.

At the door she turned. “Ginny I want to make some tartes for afters tonight. Come and help me get them ‘round.”

“Mum!” Ginny complained, holding her hands out in supplication, gesturing at the others, as if to say ‘I’m talking here!’.

Harry glanced over while taking a bite of toast to see her response. She didn’t say anything, just gave her daughter a look.

“Okay, geez, I’ll be down in a moment!”

Her mother nodded and left.

“She just doesn’t want to be alone with Phlegm.” Ginny said in a lowered voice.

“She’s not that bad! Why do you both go on about her?” Ron asked looking a bit cross.

“Because she just thinks she is so perfect all the time.” Ginny snapped back.

“Plus, she thinks she’s smarter than everyone!” Hermione added. “And if you like her so much, Ron, maybe you should go make tartes with your mum and her.”

“I don’t know nothing about baking.” Ron quickly said in some odd attempt at defending himself.

“She is kinda smart, you know. Had to be the top of her class to be chosen as a champion didn’t she?” Harry asked rhetorically as he ate his eggs.

“I suppose you liked her bussing you just then did you?” Ginny asked with her lip lifted in a bit of a sneer.

Harry looked up at her from sopping the last of his egg yoke with the last of his toast. “Not really. That whole French kiss kiss thing is a little awkward, isn’t it.” He observed.

Ron snickered. “French kiss.”

Ginny gave a soft snort as well while Hermione just glared at Ron.

Harry frowned but kept his head down and quietly continued to eat.

Ginny unfolded herself and slid off the bed, standing up. “I should get down there before she starts howling up the stairs for me.”

Harry watched as she walked to the door. He was a bit more enchanted with her retreating form than he had been by Fleur’s. She punctuated her exit by slamming the door behind her. Which made Harry smirk a bit, she was angry, deservedly so as far as Harry was concerned, about being singled out by her mum. Harry knew a bit about baking, perhaps after he got around he could help.

In the wake of Ginny’s departure Hermione chose to stand and wander the room, investigating the few things the twins had left laying about. Harry chose to finish the last of his breakfast, the last sausage and the the last spit of his orange juice. While Ron seemed to have chosen to sit quietly, thinking.

“What do you think this does?” Hermione asked from the window. She was gently bouncing a brass telescoping telescope in her hands, as if to gauge its weight.

Ron turned at her question and without hesitation and a completely straight face told her, “That is a telescope Hermione. It makes distant things seem closer. It has to do with the way the big bit of glass in front is curved.”

Hermione only gave him a condescending smirk. “Really?” She asked and rolled her eyes. “I mean whether you thought if it was charmed or jinxed in anyway?”

“Well. this is Fred and Geoge’s room!” Ron supplied.

Harry was certain the spyglass was charmed in some way but he couldn’t put words to how he knew. He couldn’t explain it at all. “I’d put it down Hermione. Off hand I wouldn’t play around with anything in here. In fact, I am a little surprised I was put in here for the night.”

Ron shrugged. “Guess they coulda woke me up and put you in with me but other than that there wasn’t a choice really. Fleur’s in Percy’s old room and Bill’s back in his and Charlie’s old room, This was the only free bedroom.”

“Is Percy still…?” Harry wondered aloud.

“A complete arse?” Ron supplied. “Yep. We don’t hold out much hope for him, we think he got all the arsinine-niness in the family.” He stumbled a bit over his made up word.

“Contumaciousness.” Hermione said.

“Count-you-me-what? Bout the only person round here who’d know that word, Hermione, would be Percy, so no thanks, I will stick with arsedidness!” Ron asserted.

“Their not even real words!” She muttered as she set the spyglass back atop the dresser.

“And yet everyone understands what I am saying.” Ron muttered loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to be ignored.

Harry glanced at Hermione near the window, then at Ron in the chair, then at the closed door and finally at his pants that were laid on the other bed. He came to a decision. As much as he dreaded their immediate reaction, they were his best friends and should know. However, telling them while he was in bed and just this side of starkers was not the way he was going to do it.

“Ron!” Harry said as he handed him the breakfast trey. “Wouldcha put this on that bed and hand me my pants, please.” After Ron took the trey he carefully got his legs over the side of the bed and sat up with the bedcovers still about his waist, being aware of Hermione.

As he took his pants from Ron, Harry facetiously told Hermione as he pointed at the window, “Look, Hail-Bob’s comet!.” And although her checks turned pink she gave him a condescending smirk before she turned to the window. She held her hand up aside her face to prevent seeing more of Harry than was proper.

“It is Bopp. With a p. Actually it is p-p. The Hale-Bopp comet. Which I am looking forward to viewing once we get back to school.” She informed them.

Ron, who had seemed to be getting a bit distressed about Harry pulling his pants on with Hermione still in the room suddenly jerked his head towards her. “Comet! There’s a comet coming? They’re never a good sign! Portends of destruction they are.”

“They are just small icy bodies in long elliptical orbits Ron, not Harbingers of Doom.” Hermione told him from where she stood, her back still to them, a slight edge of ridicule in her tone.

Ron muttered and it sounded like he was listing things off. Harry thought he heard “Hastings”, “Chernobyl” and “Lohan” in the litany, but he wasn’t sure.

Having got both feet in his trousers, Harry pulled the bedcovers from around him, stood up and with a small hop, had his pants up. Once he was zipped and buckled he reached for his shirt and pulled it on as well , not bothering with any buttons. “Right then, I’m decent.”

Hermione turned slowly from the window dropping her hand while Ron pulled his chair back a foot and sat back down.

“Now.” Harry said as he settled back on the bed, this time cross legged. “I have something to tell you two but I don’t want any loud cursing nor crying.” He waited for his friends to nod in agreement but all he got were a couple of scowls. He pressed on anyway. “You know the prophecy that was destroyed at the ministry? Well, it turns out that Dumbledore was there when it was first given. And it pretty much says that at some point I have to go one on one with ‘him’. However,” He hastily added before the two could voice their reactions, “I will know something he doesn’t. A ‘Power he knows not’ is what the prophecy said”

“Bloody Hell.” Ron said rather loudly.

Hermione didn’t cry but her eyes did pool a little and she sniffled a bit before she asked. “What did the prophecy actually say? What were the actual words Harry?”

“I knew you were going to ask that but I am not certain I can remember it exactly. It was something like, ‘He who can defeat the dark lord approaches, born to those who thrice defied him as the seventh month dies, the dark lord will mark him as an equal, but he will know things the dark lord doesn’t and neither can survive while the other yet lives.’ Then it repeats the first line again, like a chorus.”

“Are those the exact words?” She asked rather sharply.

“Pretty much. Though I think it was more like, hummm ... ‘the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.’ Yeah, that’s it, that’s how it went!” Harry corrected, nodding, proud he had got it right considering the state in he’d been in when he’d heard it. Although, saying that last bit out loud did darken his mood a little.

“Bloody hell!” Ron said again, although this time it qualified more as whisper than a shout. “So you do hav’ta fight You-Know-Who! I mean again, wand to wand.”

Harry nodded and glanced over to a thoughtful and quiet Hernione as she took a seat on the other bed.

“Just so you know,” Ron continued. “The Prophet has called you the Chosen One a couple times now, so I guess they finally got something right!”

“Merlin, just what I wanted, more attention.” Harry mumbled.

“Did Dumbledore tell you what the ‘Power he knows not’ is?” Hermione asked distractedly. Like she was wrestling with a torrent different thoughts and it was the only one ready to be voiced.

“Not really, no.” Harry admitted. “He did say something about ‘Love’. But it’s not like I could ‘vanquish’ Voldemort with kindness or such. Although, Dumbledor is going to be giving me private lessons when we get back to school. So, maybe …”

“Brilliant!” Ron said earnestly. “You’ll learn all sorts of advanced spells I bet. Probably some immensely powerful vanishing spell that will disperse him across the aether.”

Hermione gave a soft harumph. “If Professor Dumbledor knew such a spell I think he would have used it last month at the Ministry. Besides,” she added. “I would think this ‘power he knows not’ will be considerably more esoteric than a simple vanishing spell.”

Ron gave Harry a half smile and a wink. “Well, what sort’a spell do you think it will be then?” He asked sarcastically, turning to her. Harry was pretty sure he was simply trying to wind her up.

“Oh, do me a favor, Ron.” Hermione quipped, returning his sarcasm in full. “We all just finished our O.W.L.s! Where as Voldemort is what, seventy years old? He has been submersed in the Dark Arts for over fifty years! None of us could, or even should, have any inkling of what he knows. Or doesn’t” She told him.

She immediately turned to Harry. “But Professor Dumbledor is twice his age and quite likely the smartest wizard alive. Also, everyone says Voldemort is dead afraid of him so I am sure he knows what you’ll need, Harry.” She offered in reassurance.

Harry smiled at her concern. “Speaking of Dumbledor and O.W.L.s he did say we might get our results today.”

Hermione was quick to react. She stood straight up, her excitement plan to see. “Why didn’t you say something sooner, I’ve been ever so anxious. I am just certain I inversed numbers left, right and center on the Arithmancy exam.” She headed for the door. “Come on then, lets go see if they've come.”

Harry glanced to Ron who, though he rolled his eyes, was quick to get up and follow.

“I will be down in a minute or two.” Harry told them as he followed them to the door. “I want to wash up a bit and get some clean clothes on.”

As Ron trailed Hermione through the doorway he paused, with his hand on the door frame, and turned back to Harry. “You won’t be alone when you face Him, you know. I’ll be right there with you, mate!” He said in a lowered heartfelt and serious voice.

Harry reached out, smiling, and clapped his friend on the shoulder saying, “Thanks Ron!” He was deeply touched, but as he and Ron were both blokes, there would be no hugs nor tears.

After his friends were gone Harry knelt down by his trunk. It was there just by the door, Mr. Weasley had helped him bring it up last night. Harry had been a bit embarrassed as they’d done so. Mr. Weasley had shushed him repeatedly as they carried it up the stairs, Harry just didn’t seem to have been able to say, ask or do anything quietly last night. He resolved to stick to butterbeer from now on and leave the mead and port to the old men.

As he rummaged around in his trunk for some clean clothes the experience he’d had the other day at the muggle lunch shop came to mind. The scrutiny he’d received from the passing muggles had made him very aware of how he appeared to others. Yes, his clothes were clean, as he often did the laundry, but they were worn and baggy. The people most likely viewed him as either a pitiable waive or a good for nothing wretch. Neither of which was the impression he wished to give. Particularly not with Fleur, Ginny and Hermione about.

Of course he didn’t have any casual clothes that fit. They were all hand-me-down baggy shite. The only things that fit were his school clothes. Black slacks and white shirt. He was going to be a bit overdressed.

Harry had a little laugh at himself. For years he had worn the ill fitting cast offs of his cousin without a second thought. Now, rather suddenly, he was embarrassed to wear them and embarrassed to wear better.

Harry took his tooth brush, pants and shirt before making his way to the loo on the floor below to get cleaned up for the day.




“School doesn’t start ‘til September, Harry.” Ron needled goodnaturedly as Harry descended the last flight of stairs. His two friends were situated on the large settee.

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he wanted to deliver a witty comeback but nothing came to mind. He was after all dressed as though he were at school, white shirt tucked into black slacks with a thin black leather belt, with the exception of a house tie, v-neck and robes. He also was wearing red trainers and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, neither of which would be acceptable Hogwarts.

“Ron, don’t be so insensitive!” Hermione rebuked. “I think you look very smart, Harry.” She added sincerely.

Being told he looked ‘smart’, even if by Hermione whom he didn’t think of ‘that way’, gave him a very pleasant feeling. “Thanks Hermione. And, well, you always look ‘smart’.” He said, stressing ‘smart’ so everyone would get his pun as he smiled back at her.

Ron’s ears reddened and he gave Harry a glare before turning to Hermione to retort. “I was ribbing a friend, Hermione. So what insensitivity? It was all in good fun!”

“Honestly Ron! Harry wouldn’t wear his school clothes unless he had to and he would obviously be self conscious about it. But you charge on and tease him about it anyway.” She scolded.

“He’s a big boy Hermione. He doesn’t need you to defend him and probably doesn’t appreciate it either. Besides, that’s what blokes do, Hermione, we joke and tease each other.”

“Sometimes, Ron, your teasing is a little malicious, just like the twins. And I know you don’t like it when they tease you!” She chidded.

Harry tried to tune out the escalating argument as he walked away. He rounded the central fireplace, stepping into the kitchen proper, joining the other three occupants of the house. They were all busy. Mrs. Weasley was at the counter dusted with a bit of flour, bread board pulled out, rolling dough. Fleur was standing before the old cooker using the handle of a sauce pan to gently swirl its contents. Ginny was at the table with a large basket of small red apples, peeling them over what looked like a laid out copy of the Prophet.

The three had looked up and smiled as he’d come round. Ginny and Fleur had gone back to what they were doing, Ginny with a comically put upon eye roll. However, Mrs Weasley paused a bit and plainly assessed what he was wearing.

“Do you need to get anything into the wash, Harry?” She asked.

Harry grimaced a little as he considered the best way to answer. “Well, yeah, I have yesterdays clothes, but I was thinking of chucking them in the bin rather than the laundry. Figured I would get some new when we go to Diagon Ally for our school things.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned. “The school owls haven’t even come yet Harry, so no one has a booklist.” She said before she tried to return to her dough.

“Oh! Last night Professor Dumbledor said we might expect our owls today.”

She turned back with her rolling pin held loosely in front of her. “Did he now?” She asked somewhat rhetorically. “We usually do school shopping the first week of August, Harry. And some Order members have committed to be in the Ally when we go so we can’t really change it.”

“Oh.” Was Harry’s initial response as he considered the reasons that Order members needed to be there when they went. When he went. Security. And hopefully not just for him but everyone else that happened to be there when he was.

Harry considered other possibilities. “Well then, is there a shope in the village I could get some casual everyday kinda clothes from?” He asked before he realised the problem with that idea, He hung his head and mumbled, “Of course I would need to get to 'Gringotts’ for some money first.”

“My Bill, he can do that for you, ‘Arry!” Fleur happily offered from the stove, gaining a sour faced look askance from Mrs Weasley. “He could even get it changed into your English livres.” She added without noting her future mother in-law’s expression.

“Yes, my son could get you some muggle money from the bank.” Mrs Weasley agreed tightly. “But, unfortunately the only clothing shope in St. Catchpole is an overpriced woman’s boutique. We’ll have to go to Badger’s Crossing where there is a nice clothes outlet with very reasonable prices.” She finished with a smile.

“Brilliant!” Harry beamed, though he did wonder when this would happen. Tomorrow or the day after? But he could go a couple days wearing school clothes so he didn’t feel a need to press the issue.

Turning to Ginny he asked, “Is there another paring knife I could use to help peel those?”

Ginny paused her peeling and looked up at Harry, her face showing a few different degrees of surprise before she finally pointed to a kitchen drawer at the end of the cabinet.

“Oh Harry, you mustn’t feel you need to help in the kitchen. You should be off with Ron and Hermione enjoying the holidays!” Mrs. Weasley stated as she went back to her rolling.

Harry, who was still facing Ginny when her mum had said this, saw the intense glare she had sent her mum’s way before turning back to the apple she had in hand.

He gave a soft chuckle as he went to the indicated drawer and searched for a sharp paring knife. “I’m no stranger to kitchen work Mrs Weasley and I don’t mind helpin’. ‘Sides Ron and Hermione aren’t the best of company right now!”

Ginny gave a giggle because although Harry’s two friends were certainly out of sight, they weren’t so far removed that their argumentive tones were indiscernible.

He found a knife he wanted and as he turned away he was still close enough to Mrs. Weasley to overhear “Those two!” which she muttered under her breath.

Harry hid his smile at Ron’s mum’s being exasperation at the interplay between ‘those two’ as he crossed back to sit opposite Ginny at the table. There were only a dozen or so small red apples left that needed peeling, coring and slicing. The two prepared the apples in silence and fell into an unspoken competition of who was the fastest. It didn’t really take long with the two of them at it.

When he and Ginny had only a couple of apples left ‘those two’, Ron and Hermione, rounded the corner and paused. Hermione, after a quick assessment, pulled out Mr. Weasley’s chair at the head of the table, the end at which Harry and Ginny were seated, and sat down.

Ron however was a little bit perplexed. “What are you doing Harry?” He asked before he took a seat in the chair just to the right of his sister.

Harry glanced up at Ron, then back to the apple he was peeling then back at Ron. “Carving turnips?”

“Yeah, right! I was really asking why? Ginny didn’t wheedle you into helping her did she?”

Ginny had just finished dumping the slices from an apple into the large bowl so her hands were free. She leaned away from Ron enough to get a good swing and punched him in the upper arm before she nonchalantly reached for one of the last two apples.

Harry smiled at the exchange while Hermione actually chuckled. Ron did his best not to react to his little sister’s hitting him. He managed it for the most part except for a small lifting of his upper lip. Harry was pretty sure Ginny had landed her punch well.

“I offered. It seemed the least I could do.” He told Ron as he tossed a double hand full of apple slices in the bowl along with the rest and reached for the last apple. With a sharp twist and thrust of the apple coring knife, something his aunt didn’t have, he removed the core and proceeded to peel the apple.

“Qui, he has been très utile with the pommes!” Fleur expressed to the room as she carried two suace pans from the cooker to the counter where Mrs. Weasley worked.

Harry held his half peeled apple out and said, “Pommes.” He wondered who was supposed to be learning whose language. However, he kept that thought to himself and returned to his peeling.

“Rouges pommes.” Hermione supplied.

“Pommes rouges.” Fleur corrected from where she was working at the counter, without turning.

“Pommes rouges, of course.” Hermione conceded with a roll of her eyes but still noticeably embarrassed.

Harry kept his eyes down on the apple he had started to section, hiding his smile. Harry wasn’t laughing at Hermione but at the situation. It was really no wonder Hermione wasn’t fond of Fleur. She was statuesque, pretty, magically attractive, smart and quick with a correction.

As he started cutting the last section of apple he saw Ginny was tossing her final slices in the bowl. He was a little disappointed in himself, he had tried to finish up before her but he hurried along slicing up the rest of his apple anyway and tossed it in the bowl as well. He looked over to his fellow kitchen drudge and gave her grin.

Ginny returned a warm smile before turning her head a titch and saying, “Done with your apples, mum.”

“Marvelous honey.” Mrs Weasley said from where she stood watching Fleur pour what Harry thought was caramelized sugar into two cake tins. “Just a thin layer on both bottoms, deary, you might have a bit left extra.” She told Fleur before turning away and stepping to the table.

“Well, isn’t that a job well done then.” She declared as she rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder while surveying the overly full bowl of apple slices, the mound of peels and cores atop yesterdays Prophet and the four teenagers. “You’re quite the apple peeling pair, aren't you.

“You should emulate Harry a bit more Ron.” His mum continued. “He offered to help while getting you to do a chore about the house is simply a chore in its self. So, why don’t you clean up for them.” She concluded as she picked up the bowl and turned back to Fleur and the cake tins.

“Huh?” Was Ron’s surprised and articulate response as he stared at the pile of apple bits.

Harry chuckled as he reached out and folded the two sides of the Prophet over on the peels and rolled it all up in a nice package for disposal before he pushed it towards his friend. Nothing had soaked through and the table wasn’t in need of washing.

Ron scowled a little as he got up and binned the apple rubbish. On returning to the table he didn’t immediately sit down, but instead stood behind his chair. Harry guessed he wanted to get out of the kitchen with his two friends before they were given more chores. He didn’t think it was just about avoiding chores for himself, he probably didn’t want his friends subjected to them either.

“What are you making Mrs Weasley?” Harry asked. His aunt baked cakes and buns and pastries. She never had a great need for such a lot of fruit. When he had seen the dough being rolled he had assumed fruit pies but the cake tins were confusing him.

“Apple Tarte.” Ginny offered in a pseudo whisper. “It’s Bill’s favorite!”

“Dad likes ‘em right well, too, but I’m more partial to mum’s apple rhubarb strudel myself.” Ron added.

“What’s that!” Hermione asked.

“You don’t know what strudel is Hermione?” Ron teased.

“Not that you ninny. That!” she clarified, raising her hand and pointing along the length of the table and out the open window. The same window Harry remembered Errol crashing into the very first time he had ever been to the Burrow.

Harry followed her pointing finger and in the distance saw a bewinged brown speck. After a moments scrutiny it was plainly flying from the north, towards them. “School owl?” Harry tentatively speculated.

“Oh, I do hope!” Hermione said excitedly. All four teenagers kept their eyes on the speck as it grew and grew, drawing closer and closer.

It became quite apparent that it was an owl and it certainly seemed bound for the Burrow.

“Dumbledor did say we should expect our O.W.L. results today.” Harry distractedly said as he watched the owl descend and seemingly orientate on the open window.

“So you said.” Hermione informed him as she too watched as the owl corrected its coarse a bit until it was unmistakably headed to the open window. “And so it seems!”

As Harry watched the owl’s approach he realised just how big the bird was. A third again the size of Hedwig. He became a little concerned because the creature’s wingspan was a good deal greater than the breadth of the open window. However, when the owl got to the window it folded it’s wings in almost tight to it’s body and shot through like a missile, then back winged a couple times and landed on the table directly in front of Ron.

“Oh my!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed in surprise. She and Fleur had obviously been too involved in laying apple slices in their cake pans to have paid attention to the teenager’s nattering. “Those are probably your results.” She informed them unnecessarily.

“Yeah mum, we had already figured that bit out.” Ginny responded inanely while her brother reached for the letters tied to the owls leg.

His face had gone a bit paler than normal and his hands took on a slight tremor. Between the minor shakes, short nails and his large fingers Ron was having a spot of trouble getting the letters free.

After watching a few failed attempts to untie the post, when even the owl was looking a little anxious, Ginny leaned over, pushed her brother’s hands out of the way and undid the ribbon freeing the letters.

The owl gave Ron a quick glance and ruffled it’s feathers before launching itself back out the way he’d come and flew off north. As Harry watched the owl wing away he heard Ron grumble about ‘bloody owl’ while Ginny lightly admonished him, conjecturing that it was a busy time for school owls.

Harry considered what Ginny said. Hogwarts had perhaps seventy school owls with which to send out results to all of last years students as well as this years Firsties. The chance that one owl could deliver multiple ‘letters’ at a time was probably the rarity. So, yeah, they were a busy lot this time of year.

Ginny had the letters and she slid the first one to her brother with a somewhat malicious smile, “Your O.W.L.s Ron.” She then pushed Hermione’s to her with a smile and a nod. Harry got his with just a slight smile.

Mrs. Weasley had stopped carefully laying apple bits in the cake pan and had come round the table to stand behind her two children, using her apron to wipe her hands. “Let’s see how well you two did then.” She said encouragingly. Harry paused opening his own results to watch Mrs Weasley fuss about her children. Hermione even contained her own excitement and curiosity about her results to watch Mrs. Weasley effusively gush over her youngest children.

Fleur had not moved from where she stood, but her attention was on the excitement at the table, apples slices seemingly forgotten in hand and a knowing smile on her face.

Ginny’s face turned a bit red while Ron’s went a tad paler, his eyes darting from Harry to Hermione and back.

With a groan of acceptance Ginny dropped her head into her one hand, hiding behind it somewhat, and held up her unopened fourth year results for her mum.

Mrs. Weasley took the offered parchment and ripped it open. “Three O’s and the rest E’s! Well done Ginny, well done!” She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek through her draping hair and set the report on the table before her.

There were murmurs all around of congratulations. Harry added his own, while he heard the others give theirs. Hermione offered an odd ‘Way to go girl’ while Ron simply echoed his mum’s ‘Well done’.

Fleur’s “Félicitations, Ginnee.” caught his ear. Harry turned a bit in his chair and looked a little behind him to see her. Bill and she were to marry. But Harry thought she probably felt like she was still considered an interloper and was doing her best to be accepted.

When she glanced his way as she turned back to the counter Harry gave her quick nod and a smile before turning round . He knew how she felt, or so he thought.

Ginny, lifted her head up a bit and gave the room a general ‘Thank you’ then pulled the report closer to read it for herself. Harry assumed to find out which classes she had done the best in. He knew he was oddly curious about her report, which classes she had gotten the O’s in, and if Defence was one.

“Come on Ron, open it up and tell us how you did.” Mrs Weasley chidded.

Obviously realizing he had no other option Ron broke the seal and opened his own results. After he looked them over for a moment, with his mum reading over his shoulder, he announced, “I got six E’s and one A.” He looked around with a rather stressed smile.

“Oh, Seven owls Ron, that’s very acceptable. Good on you.” Mrs. Weasley said encouragingly as she bent and kissed the top of her son’s head. Harry thought there might have been a hint of disappointment underlying her tone. He was pretty sure if Fleur, himself and Hermione weren’t on hand there would’ve been a bit more reproach in her voice. “But two P’s Ron! Honestly, how could you get a P in Divination? Everyone that has ever gone to Hogwarts knows it’s the softest subject offered. And History of Magic? Really Ron! That is just memorizing a bunch of dates and funny goblin names! How could you fail on that?” His mum gently rebuked, smiling even.

“Well, mum, Harry fainted during the History exam, you know. So, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that did poorly on it.” He glanced over at Hermione. “And I don’t know how I could have failed Divination, though. I know Tasseography, Haruspicy, Astragalomancy and all the ‘mancies’ too. I was sure I had done well on it.” He ended with some perplexity.

“Yeah Mrs. Weasley. Ron and I studied for Divination together and he knows all that stuff and how it worked!” Harry started to open his results ostensibly to prove a point. “We both did. Not that we could get it to work mind you. It’s all a lot of tosh really! I mean, you know, unless you have the ‘gift’ or the ‘inner eye’’.” Once his report was open Harry did his best to stay focused and look for his Divination results first. “Holy... I failed too. History as well, but no surprise there, right.” He looked up at Ron, frowning.

“Bloody well right mate, I was certain we had them sussed.” Ron agreed in a huff.

“Ronald! Language! I dare say the P you received says otherwise, but if you want you can to talk to Minerva about resitting those exams next year.” Mrs Weasley told her son. “You should think about it too Harry.”

“I don’t want to resit two classes mum. I failed em, big deal, Fred and George failed a good deal more than that.”

“And look where they are. Starting a silly business that will ...” She started but stopped herself short, her expression closed and unreadable. She returned to where Fleur stood at the counter and grabbed some apple slices from the bowl and laid a few in the pan before she continued. “You wouldn’t resit the class Ron.” She informed him without turning from her work. “Your a sixth year and wouldn’t be allowed to sit in a fifth year class. But you can resit the test. You just need to revise on your own.”

“Yeah, but mum, really I don’t need Divination or History. I mean, can you see me doing anything that might require an O.W.L. in either?” Ron argued.

“The Ministry, or any employers, are interested in which N.E.W.T.’s you took and how you did, but they only look at the ‘number’ of O.W.L.’s.”

“We’ll discuss this later Ron. With your father.” Mrs Weasley said with finality.

Ron frowned at his mum’s back before shrugging it off and asking Harry, “So how’d you do mate. I mean other than … you know.”

“I got an O in Defense and six E’s.” Harry said happily. “Of course that means I got an E in Potions.” He added with a good deal less cheerfulness.

“Yeah, I know, me too.” Ron consoled before he turned to Hermione. “How bout you? All O’s?”

“Well, no.” She replied quite crestfallen, eyes remaining on her results.

Ron gave a soft snort before he suddenly stood, leaned right across his sister and snatched Hermione’s O.W.L. results right from her hands.

“Hey!”

“I’ll give it right back.” Ron assured her as he sat down and looked it over. “Merlin, Hermione, only you would find fault with ten O’s and an E.” Ron shook his head. “Its brilliant, you know.”

“Wow! Congratulations Hermione! Good Show.” Harry declared.

Ginny reached out and gripped her shoulder, giving it a light shake, saying, “You go girl.” Then she leaned closer and in an stage whisper added, “I can barrow your notes, right?” Harry assumed the ‘you go girl’ was an in side joke between the two because it was not a turn of phrase he had heard either of them use before.

From behind Harry came, “That’s marvelous, Hermione!” and “Merveilleux!” from Mrs. Weasley and Fleur. Respectively.

Hermione blushed a bit and looked around the room as she, like Ginny, gave a general “Thanks.”

Ron folded the parchment and slid it back towards her.

“That was a little rude and presumptuous of you, Ron. What if I didn’t want everyone to know?” She softly scolded him as she collected her results.

“Oh, you wanted us to know.” Ron laughed. “You just didn’t want to completely embarrass your two cabbage headed friends.”

Hermione, Quite likely with an angry retort already in mind, looked stunned briefly before she chuckled. “Well, you are cabbage headed.” She smiled and let it drop.

“Although.” She went on. “Your mum is right, you know. Eight is the average number of O.W.L.’s people recieve. The seven core subjects and one elective, not that it is always that ratio. But eight, or actually eight and a half, is the average. And I am, you must know, err ...” Hermione glanced from one to the other boy, “sorry about the potions grade.”

Ron gave a shrug, doing his best to act like it didn’t matter, while Harry gave a sad smile and dipped his head at the offered solace. He didn’t want to say too much until he talked to McGonagall or Dumbledor. But, from what the old wizard said last night and what Mrs. Weasley said this morning, he was pretty sure he and Ron could study potions independently and request to sit the potion exam with the rest of their N.E.W.T.’s. Or, if not, they could sit the exam at the Ministry, post Hogwarts.



AN/ yeah, I said I was done following HBP so closely but, promise, last chapter

direct excerpts
*
** taken completely or partially from Jo’s books 1-7, although …
https://www.hp-lexicon.org/timeline/character-timelines/harry-potter-timeline/

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