Metaplot and Masterplan

1 - Harry

It was July 31st, so it had to be his seventeenth birthday, but hardly anybody seemed to take notice. Sure, he got a hug from Hermione and a manly clasp on the shoulder from Ron; also, both said he'd get a present later on, but there wasn't even a cake. He would have thought Mrs Weasley would bake him a cake, but maybe her makeshift home down at the refugee camp didn't have an oven for baking. There wasn't anything from Sirius, of course, as Harry's godfather was still trapped somewhere in New York City; however, it was strange that not even Hagrid had come to see him yet and bring him any kind of present - or rock-hard cake. Harry was miffed - so miffed, in fact, that he abstained from going to Hagrid's cabin of his own accord, or mentioning his birthday to anyone.

After breakfast, Professor Lyons had given Harry a letter from Cho - as direct communication with Harry would endanger Cho, it had been addressed to the teacher. It was a plain letter, not a card, to avoid suspicion. Most of the paper was covered with a fake letter to the teacher, reporting of her progress as an employee at Gringott's bank, and describing an Arithmancy problem to him. In the figures of this Arithmancy problem, Cho had coded a message to Harry. As the two had agreed before the holidays, she had used two separate number codes for letters, one for reading backwards, one for reading forwards; words written backwards and forwards interlocked, a code impossible to crack in her opinion. Therefore, decoding the short, faked 'problem' was a difficult task, which took Harry most of the morning. When at last her message was legible, its brevity and predictability was somewhat of a disappointment to Harry, in spite of the words of love it contained:

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday! I hope you have a chance to party a bit with your friends today - I wish I was there with you. I am thinking of you all the time. Working at Gringott's is alright - there are a lot of interesting things to learn, and everyone here is nice (except for the goblins), but I miss Hogwarts, my class mates, and especially you. I love you and I hope we will see each other again soon. Love, Cho

Harry knew how important it was for her to remain inconspicuous; the last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to kidnap Cho as a means of harming Harry. Their ongoing relationship had to remain a secret. However, he couldn't help wishing for a more ardent letter, or even better, the presence of Cho on his birthday, if not always.

He re-folded the piece of parchment and put it into its envelope, wondering how to spend the rest of his birthday. It wasn't quite time for lunch yet. There had to be something pleasant he could do. Although many students were staying at Hogwarts for the holiday, hoping they were safer within its walls than outside, the Gryffindor common room was almost empty of his classmates. He wondered where Ron and Hermione were; they had disappeared after breakfast. Outside, an unpleasant, steady drizzle was falling, hardly the weather for a nice walk outside. Wherever they were, they were not by his side, trying to make his birthday a pleasant one, he decided.

Just as he had - somewhat listlessly - decided to read a book on Countering curses Hermione had recommended to him, a small figure approached him: Dobby, the house-elf. Harry smiled at him, expecting socks for a present. However, the house-elf only bowed low and whispered:

"Please, Harry Potter, I is sorry to disturb you, but I is asked to bring you to Professor McGonagall on great urgency." Again, he bowed low.

Harry frowned. He had never been summoned to a teacher in this fashion. Although Professor McGonagall only disturbed the students' common room if there was acute need for it, she could have come for him herself. However, remembering the teacher's recent frailty, he put down the unread book and followed the house-elf out into the corridor and into Professor McGonagall's office. He found her seated at her desk, visibly thinner than a few weeks ago, looking up from a faded piece of parchment and peering at him through her spectacles. Next to her desk, Professor Flitwick, Professor Lyons and Professor Varlerta had drawn up chairs.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Professor McGonagall said gravely after he had closed the door behind him. The other three teachers repeated the words in tones hardly warmer than hers. This was nothing like a celebration, Harry knew at once. These were the four teachers who knew about Dumbledore's death, and they looked like they had something very serious on their minds.

"Thank you," he replied, noticing how his own voice lacked resonance and conviction. As Professor McGonagall motioned for him to sit, he took the chair standing opposite of her and waited for her to speak.

"Harry, we have asked you to come here because we have to tell you something of great importance," the teacher said.

Harry nodded. He had expected no less.

"It may come as a bit of a shock to you," she continued. "Professor Dumbledore meant to keep these matters from you until you are older, but we have come to the conclusion that the time for you to know about this has come, or at any rate, that we cannot delay it any longer." Unhappily, Professor McGonagall glanced to her right at Lyons and Varlerta. Somehow, she looked as if she did not wholeheartedly agree with this conclusion. She sighed and continued:

"Just after you were born, Professor Trelawney made a prophecy during her final exam at Divination College. This prophecy concerned you."

Harry felt his heart beat faster, but Professor McGonagall paused again. She cast another questioning glance at Lyons as if she was hoping he would stop her, but he only gestured for her to proceed.

"Professor Trelawney prophesied that only you could overcome Lord Voldemort," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "She said you were the only one who could stop him, and if you failed, the world would fall prey to his cruel dominion for seven generations."

For a few moments, the room was absolutely quiet. Her words were ringing in his ear; he was trying to grasp what she had just told him.

"Did she say how I was supposed to stop him?" he asked at last.

Professor Lyons and Professor Varlerta mutely shook their heads; Professor Flitwick followed suit.

"She did not, I'm afraid," Professor McGonagall replied. She cast her eyes onto the desk's surface and said no more.

"You must understand, Harry," Flitwick addressed him in a hurried tone, "everybody used to think that you already had stopped him, as a little baby - everybody except Dumbledore, that is. When the story became known - well, of course it wasn't supposed to be known, because prophecies concerning the welfare of individuals, especially when they are defenceless children, are protected by law. However, it was a public exam, so word got around. This sent your parents into hiding, because, of course, they feared that You-Know-Who meant to kill you before you could become a danger to him." He sighed. "We all know what happened then. When You-Know-Who disappeared, people said you had fulfilled the prophecy, and so did many books about contemporary magical history state." He raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"I've never read anything about myself in any kind of book," Harry said, his mouth very dry all of a sudden.

"You never looked?" Varlerta asked, sounding slightly surprised.

Harry shrugged. He had always felt a slight embarrassment about being famous for something he did not even remember doing. Reading his own praise in print somehow seemed like the one thing he could not let anyone else see him do, so he had never looked himself up in any kind of reference book.

Something else was bothering him. His parents, Flitwick was implying, had only gone into hiding because of him. It was the prophecy about him which had caused Voldemort to come after them. His parents had not only died for him; they had died because of him. Somehow, it was not the same thing, and Harry did not like the thought at all. In fact, it made him feel slightly sick.

"At any rate, my dear boy, the prophecy was not given much more thought after You-Know-Who's fall," Flitwick continued. "Only Dumbledore believed that your true fight against him was still to come. We have discussed this matter among ourselves for a long time, and now we all believe it likely that Dumbledore was right. It is your fate and your duty to fight a final battle against You-Know-Who."

"We want to train you for that fight," Professor Lyons continued. "What we are proposing is that you should spend your last year at school improving your skills at hexing, cursing and Countering. The best experts of each method of attack and self-defence shall arm you for that fight."

"Also, we mean to protect you as well as we can," said Professor Varlerta. "For example, my music mages and me, we will play to Shield and to Strengthen you. Please understand that we are asking you to fight this battle for us, because for reason unknown to all of us, you may be the only one who can fight it. This means we are asking you to put your life into extreme danger for the common good. However, we do not mean to let you fight this battle alone, unaided or unprotected. Everyone will fight at your side - if you are willing to be the one attacking Lord Voldemort."

Harry couldn't help thinking that the teachers all sounded a little stilted. Had they practised their parts prior to his arrival? Did they really believe well-chosen words were needed to convince him?

"I will fight Lord Voldemort as well as I can, no matter what the risk may be," he said firmly. "He killed my parents, and he killed Professor Dumbledore. I mean to take revenge. If you want to better my chances by teaching me new ways to fight him, that's fine with me."

"We all have reasons to wish for revenge," Professor Flitwick piped with a sidelong glance at Professor McGonagall. "Also, he is threatening to destroy all of our world, so we all have a reason to risk our lives in the fight. But because of the prophecy, your case is special. We believe that you will have to face him."

"I faced him before," Harry reminded him, thinking of that long-ago evening after the Triwizard Tournament, and he suppressed a shudder. "I will face him again. Just tell me when my training starts."

"We were hoping you'd say that," Professor Flitwick said with a smile. "There is, however, one more thing. We must think of the fight ahead of us, but also of the future - of your future, to be precise. We believe you should drop all the classes that do not benefit your skills in defence and attack so you can wholly concentrate on your training this year. As for the ones we recommend you to keep for the moment, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms, you may soon advance so far beyond your classmates that you will prefer training alone. This will mean you cannot finish school the way you mean to. When, as we all hope, you overcome You-Know-Who, you should not be without a further qualification, however. As teachers of this school, we would hate to ruin your chance at passing your NEWTs. Therefore, we are trying to convert your training into school class equivalents whenever possible. Of course, that will not be the same as taking the classes you choose. Rather than leaving you without a degree, we will try to give you an Auror college preparatory degree. It is rather limiting, I admit, but - could you imagine training for an Auror afterwards?"

Harry felt his head swim. He had never really thought about what he would like to do after school; recently, he had worried much more about finishing school alive. Did he really have to decide these things here and on the spot? Being an Auror sounded exciting somehow, but he was not wild on losing his eye or leg like Mad-Eye Moody. Then again, if he fought Lord Voldemort, he was likely to lose much more than that.

"You don't have to decide anything today," Varlerta said gently. "And don't mind us trying to run your life for you - the truth is that we all feel quite bad about sending an underage boy into battle for us without even giving him any kind of NEWTs. However, once we get the bigger problem sorted out -" her smirk suggested she did not really think this as easy as she made it sound, "we'll work out your career for you, too."

"I do know that I want to train for fighting Lord Voldemort," Harry replied firmly, putting all other matters aside. "When do I start?"

"During the next few weeks, Ambrose Curtis is going to refine your combat magic skills," Professor Lyons replied. His tone confirmed Harry's suspicion that nobody had doubted he would go along with their plan. "You are meeting him out in the grounds tomorrow at ten. Once school starts again, all your other classes are on hold."

"That does not mean you won't be seeing a lot of Professor Varlerta and me soon," Flitwick piped in. "Your training will include learning and practising a wide variety of spells and hexes from me. Also, I believe Professor Varlerta will teach you a variety of her music magic."

"Most importantly, you will train with Neville and Ginny, as we will ask them to defend you during your encounter with Lord Voldemort," Varlerta explained. "As you know, my job is mainly to teach the different varieties of defence, while in you, we plan to mainly build up skills of attack. We will leave your defence to the experts, so I will teach you only some basics to use in case these experts fail."

Harry nodded. It seemed much planning had gone into their strategy; now all he had to do was carry it out.

"I believe you know what's best in this case," he told them. "I will do what you tell me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deeply lost in thought, he went back to Gryffindor Tower, only to still find it empty of everyone he knew well. He went to have lunch by himself, thinking about his conversation with the teachers. So they wanted him to fight Lord Voldemort. So there was a prophecy telling him to risk his neck for everybody else's. A part of him felt elated about his own importance; a part of him felt mostly fear, and yet a third part nagged that this prophecy was quite a convenient thing for everybody else. Quietly, he devoured his meal without really tasting what he was eating.

After lunch, he went to visit Hagrid after all, only to find his hut empty. Frustrated, he considered visiting Mrs. Weasley in the refugee camp: There had to be someone who was interested in his birthday. However, visiting people for this precise reason was a bit pathetic, he decided; instead, he went for a walk in the rainy grounds to find the Thestral. The black winged stallion still roamed the grounds freely and only came to Harry occasionally, being his own master and invisible at will. Since the fire that had transformed a large part of the grounds into a burned, sooty desert, Harry had only seen the creature once - enough to know it had survived the battle. Now he longed for a ride on the Thestral's back, something to lift his spirits in spite of the depressing weather. He looked for him in the friendly, green parts of the ground and even went into the blackened parts until the sickening memories he had of that place made him turn around and flee, his stomach churning.

Harry called for the Thestral repeatedly, but it did not come. Maybe it had left the grounds to roam the wide world; maybe it had left him altogether, showing no more interest in him than the rest of his friends, he thought bitterly. Moist and dispirited, he went back inside. He would read the book on Countering curses, after all.

Immersed in misery, not quite knowing what to make of the situation, he hardly saw where he was going. On the landing before the Fat Lady, he literally bumped into Ginny.

"Harry, I've been looking for you everywhere," she told him, rubbing her head. "It's - it's about Ron and Hermione. They are having a terrible row. Maybe you could come and help them make it up?"

Harry sighed. Why was it always his job to save the world, and what's more, on his birthday? The least Ginny could have done is remember it was his birthday, he thought. Nevertheless, he turned towards the portrait.

"Not this way - they are in an unused class room in the third storey, screaming at each other at the top of their voices," Ginny said, pointing over to the west wing of the castle.

Harry shrugged. Whatever. When Ginny went downstairs, he followed.

Wordlessly, the two of them walked down the corridors. Harry was wondering what Ron and Hermione were fighting about. They had not had a proper row in quite a while, he mused, but nevertheless they were infamous throughout Gryffindor Tower for loud arguments. Seamus Finnegan had once called them 'an old married couple who's never quite been a couple.' Harry had little experience with old married couples, but he knew most Gryffindors had been expecting Ron and Hermione to become girlfriend and boyfriend a long time ago. He wasn't so sure himself. He never knew what to make of them.

Ginny led him downstairs, around a few corners, along a couple of hallways and upstairs again. Harry didn't pay much attention. Finally, she indicated the closed door of a disused classroom.

"I don't hear them," Harry remarked, trying the door handle. For a moment, the silence of his supposedly rowing friends spooked them. He opened the door a bit and peered through. All of a sudden, a big tumult broke loose.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" The classroom was full of people - Ron, Hermione, Neville, Rhonda - yes, there were most of the future sixth and all the future seventh year Gryffindors and many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs of the same age. Hagrid towered above everybody else, and if he wasn't mistaken, Mrs Weasley was there, too.

Ron took Harry's arm by the wrist and pulled him inside. A bulk of students approached to hug him or shake his hand. Only vaguely, Harry noticed that they were inside Ginny's and Neville's band room, that somebody had pushed the instruments to the side to make room for a large buffet, and that a stereo was bleating rock music in the background.

"You should see your face," Hermione said, grinning. "You look aghast."

"Bet you've never had a surprise party before," Ernie McMillan remarked. Terry Boot laughed in a good-natured way.

Harry shook his head. "No, never," he confirmed. He knew he should be pleased, even overjoyed. There were decorations on the walls, he noticed - mostly Muggle and wizard band posters, Ron's Chudley Cannons posters, as well as a number of little red and yellow Quidditch players drawn by Dean Thomas. The buffet, courtesy of the house-elves, most likely, looked as fine as any they had ever had for a Quidditch party. Beneath the table, there was a large crate holding shiny bottles of butterbeer. The presence of Julian Hengert, the guitar player and Ravenclaw Quidditch player, as well as the little Slytherin girl playing keyboard in Neville's and Ginny's band, suggested that there might even be live music coming up.

"Thank you all - this is fantastic," he said loudly, grinning broadly, but he felt more confusion than pleasure. He had thought they had all forgotten him, and had gotten used to his bit of resentment over the course of the day. Now it was hard to suddenly get rid of his negative feelings, and to retrieve the good spirits the situation required.

To show him he had not been forgotten, Hagrid came over to give Harry a spine-breaking hug, and to wish him a happy birthday; his gift was a special currycomb for the Thestral which, Hagrid said, helped the winged stallion's fur become invisible more easily - something Harry was not sure he really wanted. Nevertheless, of course, he thanked Hagrid. Mrs. Weasley had baked him a cake; it was red and had golden Gryffindor lions on it. Behind her, Dobby suddenly appeared; it seemed he had been hiding behind the half-giant. He gave Harry another pair of his hand-knitted socks, one red, one golden. Both had the image of the Thestral on it, Dobby insisted, and Harry thanked the house-elf enthusiastically, even though he could not see any Thestral. Then he finished greeting everybody and thanked them for contributing to his wonderful party.

"Speaking of wonderful," Ron stepped forward. "This is from all of us." Unceremoniously he took a large parchment envelope out of his robes' pocked and pressed it into Harry's hand.

"May it serve you well in the battles that lay ahead of us," said Seamus Finnegan pompously.

Battles? Harry couldn't help wondering what they knew. Of course, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville knew as much as he did; they had seen Dumbledore die, too. Just like him, they were strictly forbidden to mention it to anyone, let alone discuss it as party banter. On the other hand, all students of Hogwarts knew about the battle that had destroyed a large part of the Hogwarts ground; rumours of the dead enemies had spread around school. Nobody, however, knew about the things Professor McGonagall and the other three teachers had just told Harry - or did they?

Harry opened the envelope to see what kind of battles they meant - and found a coupon for a complete broomstick re-binding, paid in full. Battles, right. The Quidditch field appeared to be all his class-mates were thinking about.

"As great as your Firebolt is, we felt it could use the hand of a professional," Rhonda explained. "We asked about twigs sticking out, and the lady in the shop said after three years of heavy duty, even a Firebolt could do with some servicing."

"Wow, what a fantastic idea," said Harry, who was thinking to himself that in spite of a few odd twigs sticking out, he would have postponed sending in the Firebolt to be re-bound for another year - it was expensive, and he did not think it absolutely necessary yet. However, he knew they meant well.

"We figured the holidays were the right time for re-binding, because you will have it back when school starts again," Ginny said. "We just wanted to make sure you will hold the Quidditch cup in your hand in your last year at Hogwarts."

"What a devious plan - if I'd known about it, I'd never agreed to paying my share for this," Julian Hengert, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Keeper, said, but he was winking and hugged Ginny around the shoulder in a not-too-brotherly way.

"Thank you all - this is fantastic," Harry said, beaming, thinking that he was not being overly original in his words of thanks today. And as everybody appeared to have paid a share for the re-binding, he shook all of his guests' hands, feeling a bit awkward.

Having dispatched their gifts and attended the onset of the party, Mrs. Weasley, Hagrid and Dobby now took their leave, saying they would let Harry celebrate with his other guests now. The students were finally among themselves; the party could begin. The stereo was turned up; the lights were turned down. If Harry had felt like partying, he would have been very pleased, he thought to himself. While he was still trying to get himself into the proper mood, he felt a finger tap his shoulder. Turning, he encountered Ginny once more. The girl leaned towards him; while her short-cropped hair brushed his cheek, she whispered in his ear:

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, as you've probably done the whole day. We haven't forgotten your birthday, none of us, even though it may have seemed like it. Now it's party time."

Moving away from his ear, she said aloud: "Happy birthday, Harry, old man, and all the best for coming of age. I hope your rheumatism permits you to still partake in dancing and the like."

Harry managed to laugh. Jokes about being old were to be expected if you came of age, for sure, and he knew she did not mean to hurt or annoy him. However, her whispered remark had hit the nail on the head, and he did not like it: He had been feeling sorry for himself, had felt singled out, a bit of a stranger among his friends. The conversation with the four teachers had not made things exactly better. His friends could party all they liked and forget about all their trouble - but he could not forget he would have to face Voldemort in the end. It did not please him that Ginny was making fun of his brooding. He was not brooding for nothing. The world was a fearsome place these days.

However, there was no time for brooding now; at his surprise party, he was the centre of attention. Ron and Hermione led Harry to the buffet, where he tried all the house-elves' treasures - the cold meats and the salads, the treacle tarts and the pies, and even the crisps some Muggle-born had contributed to the little feast. Everyone had bottled Butterbeer, and some people danced to the music on the stereo. As the room was not overly large and the band's instruments were crammed to one side, the dancers kept bumping into the spectators, which contributed to the feeling of the event being a proper party.

After an hour or two, Ginny announced that the band would play for Harry now. Rhonda, Julian, the little Slytherin keyboard player and Ginny readied their instruments; Neville, who had been rather quiet the whole evening, assembled his flute and took his place behind the microphone. After a bit of fiddling with amplifiers and guitar tuners, the band was ready for take-off. The party-guests cheered and clapped. Harry, who did not care for rock music overly much, cheered along. After all, they were going to a lot of pains for his birthday.

The band played half a dozen songs; Ron insisted they had improved considerately. Harry, who hadn't noticed, agreed amiably. All the while, Harry's birthday guests were dancing; when the band played a song called 'Creep', a song obviously known to everyone but Harry, serious kissing commenced among the sixth and seventh year couples. Suddenly, Harry was missing Cho very much. It might have been easier to appreciate his surprise party if she had been with him, ready to kiss him in public and to happily take a place on Harry's side in the centre of attention. As it was, Harry had to admit that the party was very pleasant and that everyone had sufficiently shown how much they cared for him on his birthday - but his heart wasn't in it.

After the gig, Ginny actually managed to get Harry on the dance floor for a while, and later Hermione took over. Even Parvati and Rhonda asked him for a dance. Harry wasn't keen on dancing, and he knew he wasn't particularly good at it, but he knew they did not want him to feel too lonely without Cho. For a while, he actually forgot he wasn't enjoying himself and let them drown him in the flood of music and moving bodies.

The party wore on well past midnight. At some point, Harry found himself waking up on a dilapidated armchair half hidden behind the drum set; he must have fallen asleep, he realised. Someone was tousling his hair; turning drowsily, he realised it was Ginny, sharing a quiet giggle with Hermione.

"Not quite a party animal, our hero," Ginny said.

"It's not his style - he's more used to battling dragons or evil overlords," Hermione replied, pretending he hadn't woken up.

"It's a great party," Harry protested mechanically. "I am enjoying myself."

More giggling ensued, making Harry feel quite silly. "We know you are," Hermione said smugly. "Everyone is, as a matter of fact."

Harry looked around. A few die-hard dancers remained, among them Ron, Dean and Thomas; other students were sitting together in twos and threes, talking over the music or eliminating the leftovers of the buffet. In a corner, Julian and Rhonda were wrapped up in conversation, their noses almost touching. Apparently, nobody else had fallen asleep.

Harry sat up, trying to think of a harmless topic for conversation to preserve what was left of his dignity. He considered talking about the classes they would take in the next year - as Ginny had completed her OWLs, now all of them were of an age where they would have to choose between different classes and perhaps drop some. Then he remembered that he would not even take any classes the next year, and a funny feeling befell him. Could he tell them? None of the four teachers had asked him to keep the conversation secret. Of course, people were bound to notice if he did not go to classes anymore.

"I had a funny conversation with some teachers today," he told them, rubbing his tired face, "Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Lyons and Varlerta."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and Ginny gave her a meaningful look. The two of them obviously realised instantly that these were the teachers who knew that Dumbledore was dead, and that a 'funny conversation' with them might relate to this matter.

"What did they say to you?" Hermione asked.

"They said I should drop my classes and train for fighting Voldemort," Harry told them were quietly. "I suppose not everybody is supposed to know this, but there is no point not telling you two." He omitted mentioning the prophecy. Thinking about it made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

"So because you made him disappear once, they think you can do it again?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded; this was an explanation that made sense, and he went along with it.

"What about your NEWTs, though?" Hermione asked. It was so like her to think of these matters first. "You can hardly leave school without finishing your classes."

"They say they will give me qualifications to train as an Auror if I win, or something of that kind - if I survive. I'm not sure there is even much point in worrying about my degree," Harry replied. He did not want to sound too whiney, but neither did he take his success, or even survival, anything like for granted.

Ginny patted his arm. "Poor Harry, that's awful," she said, sounding quite serious. "How can they send you into such a fight? I should think that they could take the risk themselves just as well."

Harry suddenly remembered something. "Varlerta said you and Neville would try to protect me with music magic, and we should all train together one of these days."

Ginny gave him a warm smile. "We will, you can count on that. I think we are really getting better with shielding people, and we will do all we can for you."

"There's no point in you fighting Voldemort on your own," Hermione agreed. "We all know you have special powers, so you may be the best man for it, but we will certainly all help you the best we can. Together, we may have a chance, I believe."

Special powers? That was the first Harry had heard of it. True, he had fought Voldemort before, more than once, and he had Countered the Icy Fingers curse more than a year ago, but that hardly counted as having special powers, did it? Nevertheless, he could not help feeling pleased that Hermione had called him the best 'man' for the job.

"Together we may have a chance," he repeated. "Remember our first year, when you, Ron and me went down to get the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione? We all fought together then, and we succeeded. And remember two years ago, when so many people worked together against the Icy Fingers curse until it could be Countered?" He smiled at the two of them, glad that he could be sure of their help, and of many others who would fight at his side.

Then his smile faded. He suddenly remembered facing Quirrell, facing the basilisk, facing Voldemort and the Death Eaters at the end of his fourth year. The memories sent a shiver through him. He realised that in the end, often all help had failed him, and he had been the one forced to face the enemy. Would it be the same this time, would he have to meet Voldemort for a final fight - alone?