Harry Potter and the Crystal Fire

Chapter 12: Learning Curves

Harry sat in the nearly-empty Common Room on Thursday afternoon, doodling on a half-empty page of Care of Magical Creatures notes. Ron and Neville were in the Library, searching out information on the important magical fire that, at least so far, had proved elusive. Hermione was in Arithmancy class, and Harry thought that Ginny was in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had decided to sit alone in the Common Room in hopes of finish his Care of Magical Creatures essay.

Hagrid, Harry mused, would never lose his affection for creatures which the rest of the world considered highly dangerous. Their essay was on the Lethifold. The rest of the wizarding world considered Lethifolds killers. Hagrid had begun to show a rather ominous attraction to them. The essay, which Harry had only just completed, was titled, "The Lethifold Does Not Deserve Its 'Most Dangerous' Ministry Rating. Discuss."

The mere thought of Lethifolds, gliding blackly through darkness to cover and suffocate their prey, was enough to make Harry shiver. They were too much like Dementors for his taste. Harry wanted nothing to do with anything dark that went around gliding through the night, not so much as a black Puffskein on a skateboard. No matter how good a friend Hagrid was, he would never cure Harry of that particular prejudice.

Harry saw that the ink on his essay was dry, and slid the roll of parchment back into his bag. He supposed he should be getting some other homework done, but he couldn't bring himself to take out his books. He was done with classes for the day, and he decided that he would start working again when Hermione returned to the Common Room. He'd already accomplished a lot today; that would be soon enough to continue working. For the moment, he just wanted some time alone to think.

He'd found himself thinking more and more often over the last few days about Sirius. He supposed hearing that Morrigan was being hunted by Death Eaters had brought it all back to him. He knew that she was safely hidden away; he and the others had gotten a message from her on Sunday morning, saying that she had arrived and that she was safe. The message had not said where she was. The arrival of that message hadn't stopped Harry's thoughts from whirling around and around, from Sirius to Morrigan and back again.

Somehow, the worst of it was that she was the only one he could think of to ask about Sirius, and she wasn't accessible. The last thing he wanted to do was to endanger her by contacting her. He certainly wasn't about to put her in danger only to ask her questions that he didn't really need answers to. Even if it seemed as though questions seemed to multiply inside his head by the hour, especially since he'd decided he wasn't going to get in touch with Morrigan to ask them. The number of things he wanted to learn from her seemed to increase exponentially with the realisation that he could not bring them up at all.

With a sigh, he headed up to his dormitory to put away his Care of Magical Creatures books and get his Charms book, to do some reviewing before Hermione arrived. He'd promised her that they could begin working on the Charms essay they had been assigned that morning. He tossed his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters on his bed and bent down to go through his cupboard in search of his Charms textbook, which seemed to always be at the farthest point from where he wanted it at any given time.

Harry saw the book, finally, in the far corner of his cupboard, and reached in for it. His fingers found a smaller, unfamiliar book just to the right of the Charms book, and he pulled both of them out. He looked down, saw that the smaller book was a photo album of sorts, and recognised Morrigan's excessively neat handwriting on the cover. A shiver ran down his spine but he threw the album, along with his Charms book, into his bag and headed back down to the Common Room. He was fairly sure that Morrigan wouldn't have given him anything that he couldn't let anyone else see him with. Knowing her, he thought that the album was likely to be doubly safe, since it had been placed in his cupboard. Everyone in the Tower had access to it when he was gone during the day.

Harry saw an empty table near the window. The sunshine pouring in the window onto the table made it by far the most attractive study spot in the Common Room. He set his bag down on one empty chair, his robes on another, and his feet on the third extra chair. Considering, he went and dragged over another chair. He would have brought two, but Ginny had another lesson before dinner.

As he was about to sit down, he thought of the photo album again. Almost without thinking, he went into his bag and pulled it out. He inspected the outside carefully. Made of heavy black cardboard, held together with the same scarlet-and-gold ribbon that tied the cover closed, the album cover was blank but for Harry's name, in gold, in the bottom right-hand corner. He untied the ribbon and opened the cover. A piece of parchment slid out.

Harry picked up the parchment, and recognised the handwriting, in green ink, as Morrigan's. He sat down in the chair he'd left empty and began to read.

Harry,

I guess this just goes to show that you never know the true value

of a good Banishing Spell until you're on the run. Otherwise,

Merlin only knows how we'd have gotten this to you safely. These

are some photos Malcolm and I found in the attics of a certain house

we all know. I don't think that any of the people in them would object to

your having them now. If anyone's entitled to a few good memories

of those people, it's you. Mal and I messed around with them a bit,

so don't be surprised if they seem different than other Wizarding

photos you've seen.

You don't have many people around to ask questions of, and

I have no doubt that you have more questions than you have answers

about the past. There's nothing particularly secret about these, though

I wouldn't advise leaving them lying around for anyone to get into.

The album is Charmed to recognise you, and won't open for anyone

else--at least, not as itself. Still, better safe than sorry these days.

I'm sorry I couldn't stick around longer. It was wonderful to be with

all of you for as long as I was, and better to be where I could help

easily if you needed me. But I'll be in touch, so at least that's something.

M.A.F.C.

Harry stared at the initials for a long moment, confused. They began to blur in front of his eyes as he thought. He sat up suddenly, the realisation like an electric shock. M.A.F.C. Morrigan Alhena Farrell Carrick. He grinned, shaking his head. The parchment went blank. Apparently, Morrigan had decided to make sure that the burden of keeping everyone's secrets didn't rest entirely on Harry. It was nice, he thought fleetingly, to have someone take the need for worry out of his hands. And, if he was being honest, the fact that she'd saved him the trouble of any worry at all was a relief.

Still smiling, Harry turned to the first page of the album, and couldn't quite prevent his gasp. He was oblivious to the other students in the Common Room turning to look at him intently. Gradually, when he showed no further signs of distress, their attention returned to their books or their conversations.

Grinning up at him from the first page were three Hogwarts students, all of them familiar. On the left, Sirius Black beamed up at Harry, his tie askew, his longish hair wind-tossed, his collar crooked, and his black eyes sparkling with what could only be described as mischief. On the right, Remus Lupin, his tie knotted correctly, his brown eyes glowing, his brown hair shaggy above his slightly frayed robes, was waving at Harry. In the center, James Potter was laughing, his blue eyes glowing with welcome and amusement, his tie hanging undone around his neck, his collar up on one side and down on the other.

As Harry watched, they all winked at him. He stared, transfixed, as they began clowning around, jostling for position inside the photograph's white-framed edges. Sirius nudged James and Lupin out of the way, and Lupin was momentarily cut out of the frame altogether. Then Lupin shoved back, and Sirius disappeared for a moment. James took advantage of the moment to shove in front of both of his friends and mug for the camera. Apparently, this was a temptation the others could not resist, and they tackled him. All three went down in a cloud of flailing arms and legs, flying robes, and silent laughter. Harry grinned as he watched them wrestle, and had to stifle laughter when they ended up in a tangled pile on the ground, still beaming at him. They waved. He caught himself before he waved back, and turned the page.

James and Sirius, standing beside the Hogwarts Express, stared back at him rather solemnly. They wore khaki pants and sweaters, and they were shuffling their feet nervously as they stood on the platform at King's Cross. They didn't seem to know each other very well, Harry thought; there was none of the rough-and-tumble closeness of the first photograph. As they stood there, uncomfortable, a man in wizarding robes wheeling a trolley stacked with trunks passed through the front of the frame and knocked a tall, skinny boy with brown hair and a somewhat moth-eaten green sweater into them.

James reacted first, stopping the skinny boy before he managed to hit the ground. Even as the tall boy straightened, Harry knew it was Lupin. Apparently the ice had been broken by that one chance encounter; the boys grinned and laughed as they introduced themselves. Sirius dragged Remus into the picture, and their previously formal and stilted pose became natural. Harry could see the dawning friendship between them. It made him want to stare at the picture forever. His father, his godfather, and the closest thing he had left to a father, meeting for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Well, Harry thought with a twinge of guilt, he supposed that Mr. Weasley was awfully close to a father as well, but Mr. Weasley was different. Mr. Weasley hadn't known Harry's father when James was at Hogwarts, and he had children of his own. Professor Lupin just felt more like a father in Harry's mind, the way Sirius had felt more like Harry's father up until the moment Sirius had fallen through the veil. Harry liked Mr. Weasley a lot, and he loved being part of the Weasley's wild, chaotic, caring family. But no matter how much the Weasleys liked him, when he was with them Harry felt no connection to his past, as he had with Sirius and still did with Lupin.

Harry turned the page, and this time he couldn't hold in the gasp. His mother and Alice Longbottom were sitting together on the same sofa that sat in front of the fire in this very Common Room. He recognised Neville's mother immediately. Just as she had in the only other photograph he'd ever seen of her, she looked very much like her son. Neville had inherited her round face and her cheerful, sparkling eyes. In the photo, she looked as though she might have been a year or two older than Lily Evans, who might have been twelve at the time. They seemed to be fairly good friends despite the age difference.

Lily's dark red hair glowed like fire, and her green eyes were bright with laughter. Alice Longbottom's dark hair and dark eyes picked up light and reflected it back at the camera, and her smile was as sweet as her friend's was enchanting. They waved at Harry, then burst into giggles, leaning on each other for support as they laughed and laughed. Harry's smile was automatic and a bit fierce. He'd known a great deal more about his father than about his mother. It had always been easy to imagine James surrounded by friends, but most of what he'd known about Lily was what he knew from the Dursleys. He was glad to see that Hogwarts had been as good to her as it had been to his father.

"Harry!" Neville walked through the Portrait-Hole and grinned on finding Harry already there. "I got sick of the Library," he continued, and made his way over to the table by the window, then dropped his bag down to the ground. He removed Harry's robes from the chair nearest Harry, and handed them over. Harry hooked his robes over the back of his own chair absently, and heard Neville's gasp.

"Hey. That's my Mum," Neville said, staring at the picture. "And yours," he added. He sounded absolutely fascinated, and thrilled to no small degree. "I've never seen a picture of my Mum when she was that young. I almost didn't recognise her."

Harry laughed. "Neville, you look just like her," he said with a shake of his head. "There's no way you could miss her."

Neville looked absurdly flattered by this simple statement. Harry thought for a moment, and decided that perhaps this wasn't as absurd as it first appeared. If Neville had never seen any early pictures of his mother, and if Neville didn't remember seeing his mother except as she was now, perhaps he didn't realise how strong the resemblance was. He grinned and they watched the picture together, Neville and Harry smiling down at their mothers, who were beaming up at them and waving.

"This is great," Neville said after a while. "Are there more like this?"

"I'm not sure, really," Harry said. "I just found it in my cabinet--it's from...a family member," he finished, and Neville nodded his understanding. "There's a few good ones of Professor Lupin and Sirius and my dad," he said, and paged back to show Neville. While they were looking at the first photo--James, Sirius, and Lupin were wrestling again, this time fighting for a small, silvery object in Sirius' hand--Hermione came in and sat down. Harry and Neville shifted over so that she could see what they were looking at. Hermione forgot all about the homework she was planning to get started on.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, as the three boys in the photograph ended up in a tangled lump on the floor, Lupin holding the small silvery object triumphantly, laughing. "They're so young, and so happy!" She sounded as though it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge into tears. Harry rescued her by turning the page, and they all laughed as they watched James, Sirius, and Lupin meeting for the first time on Platform 9-3/4.

Hermione exclaimed softly over the picture of Lily and Alice, and she, Neville, and Harry looked over to the sofa before the Common Room fire involuntarily, then back at the photo. Looking more closely, Harry caught a glint of mischief in Alice's pretty, dark eyes, and as he turned the page thought he saw something in her hand.

He forgot all about that when he caught sight of the next photograph. Someone had apparently decided to have a Halloween party in the Gryffindor Common Room, Muggle-style. His father, Sirius, Lupin, his mother, and the Longbottoms were all in costume, standing in front of the Portrait-Hole. He had to smother the laughter that was threatening to burst out of him in hysterical peals. James and Sirius were dressed as werewolves. Lupin was, if his lack of costume was any indication, dressed as a normal old Wizard. Lily and Alice were hippies. Frank Longbottom was a vampire.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville watched as Sirius and James pretended to attack Lupin, who pretended to be afraid. Lily and Alice put on sunglasses with round blue lenses and did a little dance. Then Frank grabbed Alice and pulled off a very creditable Dracula imitation, bending her backward over his arm and showing his fake fangs as he leaned over to "bite" her neck.

Neville and Hermione laughed. Harry lost his battle with laughter. He laid his head down, trying to muffle his laughter in the crook of his arm. It didn't work. They met each others' eyes and laughed until they were howling with it, tears streaming down their faces. After a while, Neville looked at Harry questioningly, and Harry nodded. He was still laughing too hard to turn the page on his own.

Hermione gasped. Neville's eyes went wide. Harry's laughter choked off so suddenly that he was left without any breath at all for a long moment. It was the Longbottom's wedding.

Alice looked impossibly sweet in long white robes, her hair shining darkly against the garland of white flowers that crowned it. Frank looked a bit dazed, half a head taller than his bride, in dark robes, his earnest face glowing with happiness. Harry had to swallow against a lump in his throat. He remembered the Longbottoms' wasted bodies and empty eyes back in St. Mungo's and compared them to the Longbottoms as they had been. He thought he heard Hermione sniff. Neville was absolutely silent, staring transfixed at the photograph.

Harry recognised a great many people surrounding the Longbottoms in the photograph--his own parents; Sirius and Lupin; Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall; Moody; Arthur and Molly Weasley; Elphias Doge, wearing the stupidest hat Harry had ever seen. More people moved in and out of the frame, as though the photo had been taken in the middle of a dance floor where silent music was still playing--a young Wizard who resembled Susan Bones greatly; Benjy Fenwick, Marlene McKinnon, and Dorcas Meadowes, who Harry recognised from Moody's picture of the old Order; Professor Snape; Peter Pettigrew. Gideon and Fabian Prewett reeled by, obviously the worse for drink, laughing merrily at whoever was holding the camera.

"Neville, they're so beautiful," Hermione said softly. Harry nodded, thinking the word was strangely appropriate. Separately, the Longbottoms were good-looking but nothing that would make you take a second glance. Together, in this photograph, they were beautiful. Harry felt that lump in his throat again.

Neville simply stared at his parents, who looked young and full of life and enormously thrilled with the world in general. He was silent so long that Harry started to get worried, then he looked over at Neville. He thought he'd never seen a smile that wide on anyone's face. He doubted that he would ever again see one that affected him as much.

"This is why it's so important," Neville said softly, nodding. He looked at Harry and Hermione, his smile fading. "This is why it matters so much, fighting them. Because this is what they destroy."

Harry nodded solemnly. "That's why we're going to win," he said simply. "Because things like this can't ever really be destroyed."

They stared at each other for a moment, then looked down as Sirius reached over and gave Frank Longbottom a smacking kiss; it was so melodramatic that they could almost hear it. The three of them laughed as James leaned over and planted a similar kiss on Alice's cheek. Neville had just moved to turn to the next page when they were interrupted by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had a question about the next D.A. meeting. Neville shut the album instinctively, and Harry, looking down, saw that the cover had changed. It now appeared to be 101 Magical Objects and Amulets. He grinned, and turned back to Lavender and Parvati.

*

It was close to midnight when Harry, Ron, and Neville finished with their Potions essays--on the advice of the new tutor, Ron was doing the essays along with Harry and Neville--and wearily put their books away. Ginny and Hermione had gone to bed what seemed like hours ago. Harry's fingers were itching to pull out the photo album.

"Oh, go ahead, Harry. You've been reaching for that thing every half-hour or so since Parvati and Lavender came over this afternoon," Neville said, laughing. Harry grinned and pulled out the album. Its cover had changed back to a simple black background. He untied it, opened the cover, and Ron pulled his chair closer for a better angle.

The first photo, of James, Sirius, and Lupin, made Ron laugh, and Harry and Neville grin. The second made them laugh together. This time, instead of saving Lupin's fall, James and Sirius fell down with him, and they ended up in a tumbled heap on the platform, steam from the engine billowing around them. The next pictures--Lily and Alice, the Halloween party, and the Longbottoms' wedding, were the same. Ron exclaimed over all three, and pointed out in a wondering tone that his parents looked young. He didn't seem to have ever really considered what his parents had been like when they were young, Harry thought with a grin. Harry himself had never really considered what his parents would have been like had they grown older.

Neville finally got to turn the page past his parents' wedding photograph, and they all studied the next picture with wide eyes. Even Neville, who was hardly the world's biggest Quidditch fan, was impressed. When he'd turned the page, the three of them had been watching a photograph of James standing on the Quidditch pitch with his broom. As they stared, James had mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground, whizzing up into the air in a red-and-gold blur. The photograph shifted perspective to follow him, and was moving in closer to James when a green-and-silver blur streaked across the front of the frame. Harry, Ron, and Neville started, then stared harder.

The picture, they realised, was tracking the entire game. It panned the crowd from time to time, showing students holding banners reading "Gryffindor for the Cup!" and "Another Slytherin Win!" among other, ruder sayings. The stands were a sea of red, gold, green, and silver. The players were little more than blurs whizzing by. After a moment or two of frustration, Harry decided to try and slow the action down. He tapped the picture with his wand, then hesitated, wondering what to say.

Words appeared below the picture, written in what was unmistakably Malcolm's careless scrawl. "'Slow' for slower action, 'Fast' to speed the action up, 'Zoom' for close-up shots, 'Freeze' to pause the action, 'Rewind' to go back, 'Fast Forward' to go forward."

Harry looked at Neville and Ron. They grinned at each other. Harry said, "Slow," and the players hurtling across the pitch slowed so suddenly that he felt his stomach lurch. But he could see his father up ahead, as James caught the Quaffle with easy grace and sped toward the Slytherin goal hoops. Two red-and-gold-robed players moved with him, and they passed the Quaffle between them with a speed that even the slowed action showed as a blur.

"Wow," Neville said, impressed, as they watched James score the first goal. "That's a really neat piece of magic, Harry. I wonder how Mal managed to make it show the whole game?"

"Good question," Ron said, nodding, and tried not to look too disappointed as Harry reached out to turn the page. "That would come in handy if we could teach it to Colin, wouldn't it? We could review every game."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Neville started to laugh.

"One more, then I'm for bed," Ron said, finally, and did his best to cover up a huge yawn.

Harry and Neville nodded. Tomorrow was bound to be a busy day, and now that the three of them were studying as much as Hermione, it was harder to stay up so late without a really pressing reason. Harry turned the page. Then he wished he hadn't.

James, Sirius, Lupin, Frank, and Peter Pettigrew held raised glasses up, tilted in the direction of the camera. The sight of Pettigrew--Wormtail fit him much better, Harry thought with a scowl--was enough to bring all Harry's pain and grief close to the surface. He hadn't felt it this strongly since before meeting Malcolm and Morrigan this summer.

As Harry watched, this photo began to move, just like all the others. But this one was different, somehow. It was as though the people in the photograph knew everything that had happened since it was taken and were intent on making their feelings about more recent events known. Pettigrew began to slink off to the side, toward the edge of the photograph. Sirius grabbed him by the collar, spilling Wormtail's glass. Lupin took hold of one of Peter's arms, Frank the other. James grabbed one leg, and Sirius released the collar of Wormtail's robes to take the only leg left. Their mouths moved in unison.

"They're counting," Ron realised, just as the four men began to swing Wormtail forward, then backward. When they reached the number three, they all released him, sending him flying out of the frame. In the background, some plates and broken glassware rolled over the floor and into the frame. Harry guessed that Wormtail had landed on top of a table and sent everything crashing.

He grinned with the others, then grinned wider when he heard Neville whisper, "Way to go, Dad." But as he closed the album and headed upstairs with Ron and Neville, his mind was still seething with anger and loss.

*

Harry woke the next morning bleary-eyed and exhausted. He'd been afraid to sleep last night with his mind in the state it had been, and he'd spent an endless time trying to empty his brain of everything crashing around inside it. If his present weariness was any indication this morning, clearing his mind had taken a great deal longer than he'd thought.

He blinked as Ron burst into the room, his face murderous. Harry sat up in a hurry, his exhaustion forgotten in a flash. The last time Ron had looked like this, Harry and Neville had pulled him away just before he could start a duel with Malfoy in the corridor.

"What is it?" Harry asked, and was about to throw off his covers and head over to Ron's bed when Ron changed direction, stomped over to Harry's bed, and sat down heavily.

"Another owl from Percy," Ron said, lacing his brother's name with all the contempt he could muster. "I tell you, Harry, he's going to drive me to murder. It's more of the same. Stay away from Harry. He's dangerous. Do you want to work for me at the Ministry this summer. Wouldn't that be a treat." Ron's eyes met Harry's, full of something far darker than mere contempt. "A treat? Is he mad?" Ron started to rip up the letter, and Harry took it away from him to read it before Ron managed to destroy it.

Dear Ron,

After your last owl, I feel I would be doing you a

grave disservice if I did not write again and try to

persuade you against this course of action. Though

I understand that Harry was your friend for a long

time and that you do not want to hurt his feelings

by refusing to have anything to do with him, I

really must protest your willingness to throw away

your future in this way. It pains me to say it, but I

see that the example our parents have set for you, and

the example our older brothers have set for you, have

begun to do you serious harm. If you do not change

your ways, I fear that you will irreparably damage

your chances.

The day before last, I was speaking to the Minister

--he could not be more kind to me under the

circumstances, which our family has made rather

difficult for me--and he mentioned that you had

done well on your O.W.L.s. Though this is another

step in the right direction, Ron, it will not be enough

to carry you through if you do not stop associating

with Harry Potter and his kind.

In the last year he has nearly gotten you killed at the

Ministry, has encouraged you to associate with known

murderers, and has done everything he can to sabotage

your future. If you do not do something soon to stop

this trend, your future will not be much brighter than

that of our father. And we both know how he has

failed to achieve whatever potential he once had.

Perhaps you would better understand if I gave you

a chance to experience the future you might have at

the Ministry next summer, beginning after your end-

of-term exams. I'm certain that you would understand

the value of what you are risking if you came to work

with me at the Ministry after school is out for the year.

Wouldn't it be a treat--living in London, working

for the Minister!

Please don't ignore this letter, Ron--I truly have your

best interests at heart.

Your brother,

Percy.

Harry was silent for a moment, taking in all that Percy had said. He understood now why Ron had reacted so strongly to this owl, when the previous seven or eight had become something of a running joke. Percy had truly crossed the line, calling his father an underachiever; insulting Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George. It was, Harry thought, as though Percy were trying to say everything he could to prevent Ron from listening at all.

Ron growled, "He's mad," and grabbed the letter out of Harry's hands to throw it in his drawer. "Honestly," Ron continued, standing up to pace from Harry's bed to the window and back. "Could he be more of a git?" Ron asked, hissing the last word out like a steam engine pulling out of the station. "I mean...I mean," he floundered, then went on, "Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie are a bad example, you're trying to sabotage my future career at the Ministry--and, by the way, Harry," Ron said, stopping and whirling to face Harry. "What's your 'kind'?" He raised his eyebrows at Harry, who made no attempt to answer. Ron wasn't looking for an answer. He needed to get his anger out, and Harry wasn't about to stop him. He knew only too well what it felt like to carry too much rage pent up inside.

"What a bloody awful git," Ron said bitterly, and cast a hate-filled glance at the letter, lying in the open drawer of his bedside cabinet. "A complete nutter." He growled and spun around again, walking back to the window, then back again. "A treat to work for him in the Ministry? Bloody hell, it would be worse than detention with Snape. A treat to work for the Minister? Is he joking?" Ron stopped, breathing heavily, staring at Harry.

"Well, at least he didn't call me violent," Harry said with an overdone sigh. Ron's eyes wavered between fury and amusement, then he fell back onto Harry's bed, laughing.

"Right, I suppose he's getting better, then," Ron said, and closed his eyes. "It's funny," he said after a long moment. "I always thought he would come through in the end. But he's getting worse and worse. Further and further away." Ron sighed, opened his eyes again, and looked at Harry. "He's about as likely to figure out he's wrong and make up with my parents as I am to tell him I want to work at the Ministry this summer."

Harry grinned. "I hate to say it," he said, "but I think you might be right." He sighed. "Do you think the others will want to know about this?" he asked.

Ron knew Harry wasn't talking about his parents. There was no way on earth he'd have considered telling his mother and father all about Percy's letters. It would only hurt them more than they were already hurt. "I suppose,' he said finally. "We'll--I mean, the six of us will--have to work it out, won't we?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "We'll talk to the others and see what they think," he said, then slowly stood up and started getting dressed. His stomach was growling, and his eyes felt as though he'd packed them in sand before going to sleep.

Ron waited for Harry, then they both went down to breakfast together.

*

As it turned out, Percy's owl was completely forgotten by the time they made it to their free period and found a table in the Library. At breakfast, Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet had announced that some of the escaped Death Eaters had been spotted. Malfoy had been seen by an old Warlock in Wiltshire; Avery and Dolohov by a young Witch and Wizard out for a sunset walk near Balfarg. Macnair had been reported by a young Witch out taking her children for a stroll in Knowlton; Rookwood had been seen walking down the street in Minions by an 'unnamed source'; and Rabastan Lestrange had been spotted by a retired Auror, hurrying into a shop near Blencathra. The news was all over the Great Hall in a matter of minutes, or so it seemed. Breakfast, a normally loud and fairly cheerful meal, was subdued, conversations were whispered. People looked nervous. The only person who seemed to be openly enjoying the news was Draco Malfoy. He was the center of attention at the Slytherin table, and he clearly loved every moment of his friends' fawning.

"I don't know why he's so happy about it," Hermione said crossly, folding her copy of the Daily Prophet back up and shoving it into her bag with unnecessary force. "He told us his father was out of prison at the end of last term," she added, glaring over at Malfoy, who was loudly regaling his friends with what seemed to be a story about his father. "Seems like if his father was any good at hiding and staying out of prison, he would have stayed out of the Daily Prophet, at any rate."

Ron and Neville snorted with amusement. Ginny grinned. Harry nodded absently, but he was thinking hard. His scar hadn't twinged at all, not the slightest bit. And he would have thought that Voldemort would have been happy, or angry--depending on whether the Death Eater sightings were true--on seeing the news spread all over the Daily Prophet. Since he'd had such a hard time clearing his mind the night before, he'd have expected to feel something when news like this was making the rounds.

"Something wrong, other than Death Eaters on the prowl, Harry?" Neville asked, his tone of feigned cheer finally getting through Harry's preoccupation where the others' questions hadn't.

Harry grinned at Neville. "Right. Sorry. Er...well, I was just thinking about the news, I suppose," he said, and saw Lavender and Parvati return to their own conversation. "Strange, I don't have a headache this morning," he said, and saw his friends' eyes widen with comprehension.

"We'll need to do that extra work after tutoring tonight," Hermione said, with a significant glance at the others. They all nodded, putting on a show of reluctance, and left for their first lessons of the day, beginning to count the hours until they could talk more openly.

*

His mind racing, Bill looked down at the scarred bar counter, then looked back up at Remus Lupin. He looked over at Tristan. They looked back at him steadily, and he was forced to try and accept what they had just told him.

Bill was thinking hard about what he knew so far. Tristan had told him Saturday morning that Nicholas had found the fire. This was Thursday evening, and they were taking advantage of the lull between the after-work crowd and the evening crowd to discuss some business. Someone on the other side already knew that the fire had supposedly been found. Had known since early that afternoon.

"Nicholas didn't find the fire," Bill repeated, his voice sounding strange in his ears.

"Nicholas wasn't even looking for the fire. No one has been, not since Friday."

Bill looked up again, his attention caught by Remus' overly gentle, almost fatherly, tone. Remus' steady gaze held a certain amount of sympathy, and Bill was suddenly certain that Remus knew exactly what had gone on at Tristan's house before Morrigan had disappeared. Bill didn't need to look at Tristan to be aware that Tristan knew what had happened. Tristan seemed to know everything the moment it occurred. Despite this, Bill couldn't even dredge up his usual half-amused irritation. He felt too damned miserable to even try.

"And no one else knew about Nicholas supposedly finding the fire--no one other than myself," Bill asked. He suddenly understood what Tristan and Remus were getting at.

"Not even Morrigan knew," Tristan said, and something flashed in his black eyes, then was gone before Bill was certain he'd seen it at all.

"How could she not have known?" Bill asked, hardly able to believe that. "She's in charge of everything, isn't she?" He remembered how he'd treated her on Friday evening, based on that belief, and felt worse than ever.

Lupin sighed and shook his head. "She never really has been. She's our Secret Keeper, of course. She's the one a lot of us look to. But nothing happens within our little group," he said, with an amused little smile at the inadequacy of that description, "that isn't a joint effort. She, Malcolm, and Tristan hash everything over, then they bring it to me, then we go to the rest of the group."

"You probably didn't notice, because we're very good at doing things below most people's sight lines. We've been doing it since we were in school together. But no decision ever gets made if anyone has a serious objection. We're all in this together, and we all get a chance to discuss it. That's what the meetings are for." Tristan arched a brow when Bill appeared ready to argue the point, then went on when Bill subsided. "As far as Mor is concerned, unless it's an emergency, nothing ever gets decided about the kids without everyone's input. She understands as well as anyone what risks we're taking. And what risks they run every day."

Bill took a long moment, and a long drink of beer, to gather his thoughts tightly enough to manage a response. "So you two were the only ones who knew about the misinformation. Why are you any more trustworthy than the rest of us?" he asked. He realised too late that the question could hardly have been phrased to be more insulting to both men. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head as though to clear it. "My mind really doesn't seem to be working so well today. Bad day at work, I guess."

"Was it?" Tristan asked, interested.

Bill frowned. "Well, not until around lunch. Then things just kind of went to hell. I had too much on my mind, and I couldn't really concentrate."

Silence met his words, deep and thoughtful. In the middle of that silence, something clicked in Bill's head.

"I'll be damned," he said softly, with dawning horror. "That's it, isn't it? Someone at work..." his words trailed off, and he frowned. "I don't see what my day at work has to do with anything." His eyes clouded with exasperation, Bill stared at them almost defiantly.

Lupin met Bill's eyes, and his own narrowed, as though he didn't like what he saw there. Sighing softly, he moved his arm off the counter. His wand slid from beneath the sleeve of his brownish sweater. Lupin pointed his wand at Bill and said, "Finite," very softly but very distinctly.

Bill stared at him. "What did you do that for?" he asked, completely confused.

"How was your day at work," said Tristan, his eyes intent on Bill's face.

"Merlin, it was awful," Bill said. "Around lunch the whole day just went to hell, didn't it? It was as if..." Bill paused, and his bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "As if I couldn't concentrate on anything." He stopped, and when he looked at Remus and Tristan his eyes were clear and full of realisation. "As if I'd been Confounded," he said slowly.

Tristan nodded. "If it had been a Memory Charm, which was what Morrigan was afraid of, a simple Finite wouldn't have done any good. In fact, there was a possibility that it might have made things worse. That's why she didn't want us to try it. But we had to know. Sorry to be taking chances like that with your head, mate," he said, with a touch of his old humour, "but you can blame your brothers as well. They suggested that we should go for it."

"Charlie and the twins told you to go ahead and take a chance at frying my brain?" Bill asked, and was surprised to find himself amused by the idea.

"Well, you're half right," Lupin responded with a twinkle in his eye, sliding his wand back into his sleeve.

Bill couldn't help his laughter, which held as much relief as amusement. "So where do we go from here? I can't walk around Gringott's accusing everyone of Confounding me."

"Right. That wouldn't go over so well," Tristan said drily, and Bill grinned again. "Problem is, until we know who it is we can't move to plug the leak, so to speak. And now that the Charm has been broken, it will be obvious to whoever's picking your brain that we know."

"Who were you talking to around lunchtime today?" Remus asked, then looked down the bar and nodded to one of the few customers who was still gamely trying to drown the hardships of his workday in alcohol. He left for a moment, to top off the man's glass, and came back after a brief conversation with the Muggle, who was getting more and more cheerful with each refill.

Bill thought for a moment, and frowned. "About a dozen different goblins, two or three Curse-Breakers in from Egypt for a week. There were a few people from the office in and out--Johnson, Kerwick, Flicker, and..." Bill's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Fleur and a few of her friends came by on their way to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch."

Bill frowned. "Oh, you don't think..." he began, only to trail off. He hated to even consider that one of his co-workers would be working for the other side, but it only took a moment for that unease to pass. The feeling that replaced it in the next second was a far deeper disquiet. If the other side was working from inside Gringotts, and if the goblins went from neutral to enemies, the entire wizarding world could be held hostage, in effect, as their gold sat inaccessible and they could buy nothing. It wouldn't take long, under those circumstances, for the side that controlled the gold to gain control of everything else.

Tristan's eyes met Bill's. They said nothing, but each was aware of how serious the situation had suddenly become. And how important it was to find out who was picking Bill's brain for information about the Order.

Suddenly, all the preparation and all the planning of the last few months seemed grossly inadequate. Time was getting short, and the fight was coming closer. Though they'd hoped for more time, they had known the fight was approaching.

The fight that was coming was no longer the fight they had expected.

And they no longer had any idea who they would be fighting, or from what direction the first attack would come.

Bill eyed his mug and sighed. There wasn't enough beer in all of Muggle England to take care of this one.