A Summer Like None Other

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this fictional universe. JK Rowling, some publishers, and some film companies own everything. I'm not making anything from this except a hobby.

Timeline and Caveats: See Chapter 1.

Thanks and credits: This saga would never have been the same without the assistance of a great many people. First and foremost, I must thank Mercredi who has been with me in this universe from the very first. She's the one who challenged me to write an adoption fic in the first place, and I can honestly say that I could never have stuck with it for so long without her love and support. She's been the genesis of a huge number of plot twists, including some right here in this, the final chapter of A Summer Like None Other. She's been ever so much more than a beta.

Other essential contributors to this chapter, as well as the story in general, are Keira, who chatted with me endlessly and read *so* many drafts-in-progress, and Diana, whose just recently caught up with the story after a long time away. She offered her assistance, and since I have spent many a long evening thoroughly enjoying her works, I was delighted to accept. She's a fine writer in her own right, and her attention to detail in this chapter really helped it become as well-crafted as possible. Clauclauclaudia also read drafts several times and picked up on things I had missed. I most sincerely thank all these wonderful ladies for their time, efforts, and generosity of spirit.

Lastly, as ever, I want to offer a final thanks to everyone who has read the stories and come on this journey. This universe would be a lonely place if not for the readers. Your questions and comments have kept me inspired. Your enthusiasm has renewed my own when it was flagging.

This last chapter, I dedicate to all of you, the fans who keep the fandom alive and kicking!

Please see my author's note at the end for information about the Year 7 fic in the "Like None Other" universe.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Twenty-Four:

Aftermath

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Harry could scarcely keep track of what happened after Molly Weasley's anguished question. Too much started taking place all at once.

As the wireless announcer kept droning on, repeating the same news, the party-goers outside began to react. Sounds of panic swirled around the rushed, frantic questions being asked. Nobody knew exactly why or how the Ministry had been destroyed, but speculation, of course, jumped right to "You-Know-Who." That was when the panic outside started to gather force.

People began screaming.

Just then, the night sky that Harry could see through the kitchen window began to light up in blazes of orange and blue, like sheet lightning gone amuck.

"They're attacking the Burrow!" someone screeched, and for a moment that seemed to stretch into hours, pandemonium reigned.

Harry lunged toward the garden door, no definite plan in his mind, just an overwhelming need to get out there and protect his friends. Dark powers could do it, probably, unless the level of destruction at the Ministry meant that Voldemort had also accessed his, which would mean that Remus' information was wrong, which would mean that Remus had been found out as a spy--

Snape moved like lightning, catching Harry by the wrist before he could leave the room. "No," he said, the word stern and quiet as he spoke it against Harry's ear. "We must find Draco and return to Hogwarts."

"But--"

Dumbledore's voice cut across Harry's. Coming from outside, his words rang out with the loud, clear tones that only Sonorus could produce. "The Aurors here are merely reinforcing the wards protecting us," he bellowed. "A precautionary measure, I assure you. Calm yourselves, my friends. The Burrow is not under any sort of attack!"

Harry slumped with relief, and might have fallen, except for the fact that Snape had put an arm around his shoulder, his grip a firm one that Harry could lean into. Home, thought Harry, longing for the stone walls of the dungeons. He wanted to be behind the adoption wards, the ones that would never admit anyone who meant him harm, because then his brother and father would be safe, too.

But what about everyone else?

Harry's arms started prickling something awful, but he forced the feeling back by concentrating on the stark facts of the matter. Kingsley Shacklebolt was here, and Tonks, and they were keeping the protective spells tight and strong, even though Voldemort showed no sign of wanting to attack the party. How would he even know about it?

And if by chance he did think to come to the house of a minor official from the Muggle Artefacts department, he'd have to confront Albus Dumbledore.

Yeah, Dumbledore could make sure the Burrow remained secure until everybody made it home safely, and after tonight, people would be on the alert, establishing extra wards on their home, and escape plans in case the wards were breached, and . . .

Everybody except . . .

A sharp claw seemed to tear at Harry's innards the moment he thought about his cousin. "Dudley, too," he said, wrapping a hand in Snape's robes and tugging. He didn't care if that made him seem childlike. "He has to come with us. And-- oh, God, my mother's ring was destroyed and I don't even have the gems on me, so what are we going to use for reciprocal magic this time?"

Snape patted the top of his head, which normally would have made Harry feel very much a child, but at that moment, he was grateful for the feel of the man's strong hand. Snape was a brilliant, capable wizard, Harry knew. He'd find a way to make it all work.

This must be what it's like to have a father to depend on, Harry suddenly thought, feeling dizzy with the force of the realisation. He'd trusted Snape before, of course. Plenty of times. But this, now . . . Harry hadn't even thought about things before he'd spoken. He'd just . . . known, that Snape would come through for him, whatever it took.

"Your cousin spent enough time at Hogwarts last year that there should be no issue." Snape's hand moved to Harry's back and braced him, a little. "And even if there is, we will bypass it by Portkeying directly into the castle proper."

Oh, right. The enchantments keeping Muggles from seeing properly were only on the outside of the castle, Harry remembered.

Once, he would have objected that a Portkey would be too frightening for Dudley, but now, he thought his cousin was comfortable enough with magic to bear it. Besides, it was better than the alternative, which was Apparating to Grimmauld Place and then flooing to Snape's quarters. Harry wasn't even sure that Muggles could floo, but if Snape thought they could Portkey, that was good enough for Harry.

Behind his father's gentle words, Harry heard Molly Weasley sobbing, and Arthur breathing harshly as he patted her back and struggled to console her. The sight of them curled around each other in grief was so awful that Harry had to look away. Probably best, anyway. By then, he felt like he was intruding on something intensely personal and private, and the fact that he'd come here for a birthday party . . . it was practically obscene.

"We understand that you may wish to go home and ascertain that your families are well," boomed Dumbledore's voice. He sounded like he'd had a moment to come up with a plan, which was probably what the people outside needed most. "Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks have begun assisting those wishing to Apparate out. They are opening small, fleeting gaps in the wards upon request. The Floo remains locked, as during the party, and is not recommended for use since it presents an obvious route in as well as out--"

At that same moment, the twins burst into the kitchen. "Mum, Dad! Bill and Charlie just sped off on their brooms to look for Percy--"

Molly Weasley made a horrible noise, then, a noise halfway between mourning and hysteria.

"I'm sorry, boys," said Arthur in a rough voice, raising his head, pulling Molly in a little closer. "The clock, you see."

Fred, or maybe George, gulped. The other twin raised a fist to his mouth and bit it, and then they were both pushing past everyone to go into the hallway and see for themselves.

"Can't be," Harry heard one of them say, a hushed conversation following.

"They'll be killed!" Molly wailed, sniffling. "And for no reason! Percy's already gone!"

"Now, now," said Arthur, patting her back once again. "If confirmed reports were coming in, it means others are on site by this time. The worst is over. And a curse-breaker and a dragon-tamer, Molly mine. Our boys will be just fine."

"Not all our b- b- boys--"

Draco appeared in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione close behind him. "Severus," he said, sounding like remaining calm was a strain he could hardly bear. "Good, Harry found you, I see--"

"Mum? Have you heard from Percy, then?" asked Ron. It didn't take him two seconds to put it all together, though. His father's stricken face. His mother's tears. The twin's muttering. Ron looked into the hallway to check the clock, which Harry thought was probably instinctual for somebody raised with one of those around.

Ron went pale for a second, and then his face flushed red. "That prat, that absolute prat! Why couldn't he come to the party like he was asked, eh? I wrote him twice! I practically begged, and all he could talk about was his effing important job. Well, fat lot of good it's done him now--" Ron's voice broke, but he went on, still furious. "Why'd he have to insist he had to work, eh? Stupid prat, got himself killed--"

"Oh, hush, Ron," sobbed Molly, breaking away from her husband just enough to hold an arm out. "I know you're angry but . . . just hush."

Hermione bit her lip, and then gave Ron a gentle push toward his mother.

Ron glared at her, but then he stumbled across the room and fell against his parents. Molly folded him into the hug, and started sobbing harder, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief. "Where's Ginny, then?" she asked through her sobs, her voice rising as other thoughts occurred to her. "Somebody will have to tell Ginny! Oh, Merlin, tell me she hasn't tried to follow her brothers to the Ministry!"

"I'll go and look for her," said Harry.

Snape's glare down at him was positively feral. "You will do no such thing!" Letting go of Harry, he stalked to the door, cast Sonorus on himself, and called out her name. She appeared just a moment later, as though she'd merely been standing around the corner of the house, an impression which was confirmed by what she had to say.

"It's not true," she said, crossing her arms. "I don't care about the stupid clock. You know it's been wrong before. There was that time it said I was at school when I was standing right there! And the way Dad's hand used to spin around backwards every third Tuesday. And--"

"Oh, sweetie. Come here," said Molly, opening her arms wide.

"No!" Ginny stomped a foot so hard that the floorboard under Harry vibrated. "I'm fine, Mum. Percy's fine! You'll see--"

She ran past Harry and pounded up the stairs to her room, her hair streaming out behind her. Harry made a convulsive move as though to go after her, but changed his mind when Hermione gave a shake of her head.

Molly started to detach herself from Ron, but stopped when the twins came back in.

"We'll go up," said Fred, forced cheer in his voice. Or at least, Harry thought it was Fred.

As the twins ambled up the stairs after her, Ron made a noise of disgust. "They'll tell her brainless jokes until she turns green and pukes," he snarled. "Like that's what Ginny needs just now--"

"Oh, hush, Ron," moaned Molly, folding him into an embrace again, with her husband hugging the both of them. Ron squirmed, but then he let himself be hugged.

Looking at the three of them, Harry felt like he'd swallowed hot coals, or maybe one of Snape's vials of strong acid. His throat hurt, all the way down, and hiss stomach felt like it was filled with fire. He was getting dizzy from the sensation, and the room around him went fuzzy as he stared, the edges of everything starting to blur, just like it would if he were crying.

But he wasn't crying. He couldn't, because what good would that do? He was just thinking that it was all so unfair, and that life really couldn't be so horrible. Could it? The entire Ministry, destroyed, just like that? Percy, dead, when the moment before his hand had pointed to "Work," as though life would go on as it always had?

But then, Harry had seen death come swift and merciless before.

The whole world could change in one instant; he knew that. It had happened when a baby had defeated Voldemort, and then again, years afterwards, when Voldemort had resurrected himself using that same child's blood.

And now, the world had changed again, Harry thought, a dawning sense of horror sweeping through him. He'd been expecting this for a long time, but still, some part of him had never really thought it would happen.

But it had, and there was no turning back from it. The war had begun.

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The four of them ended up gripping a ribbon Dumbledore had enchanted the moment before with Portus.

Harry staggered as he fell out of the whirl that was Portkey travel, but he managed to keep on his feet. Not so Dudley, who was fairly flung out of the spell. He ended up careening on his arse across the floor, only stopping when his head collided with a bookshelf, knocking several volumes off the shelves.

Snape would normally scowl about that sort of thing, Harry knew, but instead, he offered a hand to help Dudley up, and got him seated safely on a couch. "Draco, if you would see to a healing spell," he murmured in a distracted voice.

"I can--"

"No, you can't," Draco interrupted. "I've seen your lexicon and you haven't covered those yet."

Draco was right, of course, but Harry still insisted on using a damp flannel to clean the gash on Dudley's scalp, and not just because he wanted to do something to help. He also thought that Dudley would find all-magical healing a little bit daunting.

Draco gave Harry an impatient look, but then, he just waited until Harry stepped away, and then waved his wand over the wound to close it.

In the meantime, Snape had been down the hall to his bedroom. When he returned, he spoke briefly to the Floo. After a glass of pumpkin juice sparkled into existence on the coffee table, Snape drew out a vial of pale blue fluid from his robes, and in full view of everyone, tipped it into the dark orange liquid. "A sleeping draught," he said, motioning for Dudley to drink the juice. "Magical healing is notoriously draining. It would be best for everyone if you drank that and got some rest."

Draco had a dead-pan look on his face, like he was deliberately hiding his thoughts. Harry couldn't manage the same. What was Snape on about? Healing a little scratch like Dudley had got wouldn't be draining!

Dudley was staring at the glass, his expression doubtful. "No offence, Professor Snape. I know you teach Potions and I'm sure you know what you're doing, but I didn't like that pumpkin stuff much--"

"Harry, if you'd be so kind," said Snape, his voice as smooth as cream.

Harry almost scoffed, but then he caught the expression in his father's eyes. Do this, it said. Now.

Well, fine. Snape wouldn't hurt Dudley, that much was sure. "Go on, Dudley, drink up," Harry urged, crushing down the impulse to turn to his father and ask what he thought he was doing. "You'll want to wake up tomorrow feeling fine, not with your head . . . uh, still throbbing with . . . uh, reciprocal magic."

Dudley sighed and drank the juice. "Come on, my bed," said Harry, leading the way. "You remember where the loo is, I'm sure . . ." He hastily dug some pyjamas out of his trunk and transfigured them to a larger size. "You've only got about five minutes until you're out of it, so best hurry . . . What?"

"You were hissing."

Oh, right. Dudley had heard Harry talking about how his magic had returned, but Harry hadn't gone into details. "Yeah, I know some pretty wild spells," he said, not wanting to explain everything all at once. Besides, it wasn't the kind of thing Dudley could probably understand very well.

Harry waited until Dudley was settled in bed and snoring, and then quietly closed the bedroom door as he went back to Snape and Draco.

Once in the living room, he couldn't help but firm his jaw as he stared at his father. "All right, what was that? Magical healing is draining? Any particular reason you decided to drug my cousin and lie about why you were doing it?"

"I don't care for your tone," said Snape, but his own was mild.

"Oh, give over. I trusted you enough to play along, but now I want the truth!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I actually considered dosing him on the sly, but I trusted you, too."

That brought Harry up short.

"Wait," said Draco. "Healing a little cut is one thing; it's just a matter of stretching skin together, but I thought things like potions didn't work on Muggles."

Good thing Dudley's already asleep, thought Harry. No point in reminding him how none of us could use magic to help his mum . . .

"They don't," said Snape. "That was an infusion of a Muggle sleeping remedy, finely ground."

Harry gaped. "You keep things like that on hand, do you?"

"I acquired a few such when last your cousin visited." Snape's brows drew together. "We're getting rather far from the point, gentlemen. I want Harry to give a report to Albus so that we can decide how best to proceed after tonight's events, and for obvious reasons, I do not want your cousin privy to all the Order's secrets."

That made so much sense that Harry almost groaned. He should have thought of it himself, but his mind was still too full of horror to fit one more thing in. Perhaps that was why he'd been so intent on arguing with Snape about the potion--for a moment, it had distracted him from that very horror.

But now, of course, he had a new nightmare blooming in his mind. He suddenly understood better just what kind of stress his brother had been coping with these past weeks. "Dudley's a target," he gasped. "Voldemort knows where he lives, and he'd definitely attack him to get to me--"

"Agreed. Now that Voldemort is active, your cousin will not return to Number Four." Snape took a seat and crossed his ankles. "We'll arrange something, Harry, but that can wait until he wakes."

"Maybe the Dark Lord will attack in the meantime and do away with that horrible Piers character," Draco drawled.

Harry shuddered. "That's awful. Don't say that."

Draco bared his teeth. "Well, would you rather hear me talk about how I'm supposed to be meeting Rhiannon right about now? She's going to think I stood her up, and on her opening night, too!"

"As I was saying," said Snape, raising his voice, "we have more important matters at hand. Draco, your petite amie will survive the disappointment, and if she truly loves you, she will forgive your failure to celebrate her new opera." He leaned forward in his chair. "Harry, please floo up to the headmaster's office. If he's returned, ask him to join us here."

Draco huffed, but threw himself into a chair, his features brooding.

Dumbledore was indeed back from the Burrow, and as soon as he saw Harry, he nodded and stepped through the fire to join them in the dungeons. He took a seat without being invited, his blue eyes looking about as worn and tired as Harry had ever seen. For a long moment, he just sat and stared at the hearth. Then, he shook his head back and forth, his beard weakly swaying.

"Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus, yes," murmured Dumbledore, looking like he was coming out of a disorientation spell. "You've checked the wards here?"

"Yes, straight away. All is well." Snape hesitated. "You've been to the Ministry?"

Dumbledore sighed. "What remains of it."

That had Harry sitting up a little straighter. "It wasn't completely destroyed?"

"Very nearly. The Atrium and all levels above have been utterly annihilated."

It took a moment for Harry to absorb the implications of that. It was one thing to hear that "the whole Ministry" had been wiped out. When he thought about it level by level, even if the lowest portions had survived, the scope of the destruction seemed much larger. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department for Magical Games and Sports, the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the Apparition Test Centre . . .

Harry swallowed, feeling a bit guilty when the next thought that struck him was how he wouldn't be able to get his Apparition license, now.

"The Department of Mysteries was slightly damaged, but survived the worst of the explosions. Level Ten appears undamaged," Dumbledore went on.

Just his luck, Harry thought. If anything had to be destroyed, he'd have put that horrible courtroom at the top of the list.

"You said explosions, plural," said Snape in a careful tone. "You have certain information?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Oh, yes. Bill Weasley has set to work using his curse-breaking skills to uncover the root source of the damage. By his reckoning, at least twelve separate but simultaneous explosions caused it. He suspects magical incendiary devices."

Harry blinked. "You mean bombs?"

"After a fashion."

"But why would Voldemort need bombs?"

"He's hardly omnipotent, Harry," said Snape. "The public tends to regard him that way, but the Order, and you, must not."

"I know. It's just . . . bombs?"

"You haven't heard from Lupin, I take it," said Snape dryly.

"Not as of yet." Dumbledore sighed.

Harry felt his heart stutter, and then seem to freeze over. "Oh, my God. Has he been killed? I mean, as a spy? Because obviously Voldemort had big plans for today, and his sending off his Death Eaters was a feint!"

"The Dark Lord might have thought somebody else a spy," said Draco, his teeth chattering.

Harry knew what was causing that: Draco was afraid of what might happen to his mother if "Lucius Malfoy" was found out as a traitor. Somehow, though, that didn't stop the wave of anger that suddenly swept through Harry. "Will you stop calling him that? He's not a lord! He's nothing like a lord! He's a cowardly arsehole who kills hundreds of people at a time--"

"Harry," said Snape. He stopped after that one word, but it was enough to make Harry draw a breath before he spoke again.

"Percy's gone, I know," he said in a choked voice. Not that he'd ever much liked Percy, but he hadn't deserved to die. "Was there . . . did Bill find him, I mean? And who else was killed?"

"There's nothing left of those who were killed," said Dumbledore in a gentle voice. "Magical incendiaries leave no remains, Harry. And as to the list of those who are missing . . ." Dumbledore paused. "Like Hogwarts does for students, the Ministry keeps a self-updating roster of employees. A roster which was destroyed, of course. But there was a duplicate in the Ministry vault at Gringotts, and as there is some question at present as to where ultimate magical authority lies, the goblins kindly consented to my request that a copy of it be owled to me. Percy's name . . . does not appear."

Harry cleared his throat. "I . . . yeah, I knew that. I mean . . . the clock." He waved a hand, trying to move past it. "Who else, then?"

"Difficult to say, as I don't have a full list of who was currently employed earlier today. But of those I know to have been Ministry workers . . . many are missing. Amelia Bones. Dirk Cresswell. Arnold Peasegood. Dolores Umbridge. Amos Diggory--"

"Albus," said Snape. "I really do think that's enough, for the moment. Harry has a report to make."

Harry was caught between wildly swinging emotions, feeling horribly sorry about Mr Diggory, and not so sorry about Umbridge, but his father's last comment brought him out of it and reminded him of his own responsibilities to the Order. "Yes," he said, sitting up straighter as he tried to organise his thoughts. His father knew some of this already, but the headmaster didn't, so Harry turned to face Dumbledore. "Voldemort's responsible. I mean, of course he is, who else would do something like this, but he . . . uh, told me so."

"He broke through your Occlumency?"

Harry winced. This was the part he'd rather not mention, but the Order might need to know the full truth, so he swallowed back his reluctance. "No, Headmaster. I dropped my wall of fire for a moment. I'm sorry."

Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Sorry?"

He didn't sound sarcastic or snide, but merely concerned, which only made Harry feel worse. "Well, I shouldn't have--"

"It would seem not," said Snape dryly. "I would much rather that you had not had to hear Voldemort taunting you. But the fact that he did, that does not make the catastrophe at the Ministry your fault. A series of magical incendiaries such as the headmaster describes is not assembled at a moment's notice. This attack was planned in advance."

"For my birthday present," muttered Harry. "Look, I didn't say it was my fault. I'm not mental enough to think I'm responsible for what Voldemort takes it into his head to do. But it was creepy, the way he said, 'Happy Birthday, Harry,' to me, just a couple of minutes before the wireless started reporting on the Ministry."

Snape leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. "Perhaps we should have heeded your instincts earlier, and attacked."

"Ha," said Harry. "For all we know, that was a trap. He might have had his bombs ready to blow us up the minute we arrived."

Snape nodded, his dark gaze remaining focussed on Harry. "I am most gratified to see that you are not blaming yourself, this time."

"Yeah, well . . . " Harry sighed. "Hard not to feel a little bit of that. He did pick my birthday, after all."

"He picked a month-end night," corrected Dumbledore. "A time when, as Bill Weasley has heard from the few survivors, security goes home as usual at shift's end, but some workers in each department stay on into the wee hours. The perfect time to cause maximum loss of life with minimal chance of being stopped."

"Not omnipotent," said Snape softly.

Harry gnashed his teeth. So, Ministry workers had been put in harm's way by an asinine policy! "Fudge really is an idiot."

"Was," said Draco in a bleary voice. "Severus, I'm certain that Rhiannon must be home by now. I need to get in touch with her, to explain--"

"That will not be possible."

"All I need is a telephone. Can't we get hold of a mobile, somehow, and floo over to Grimmauld Place so I can use it?"

"There actually is a mobile already there, I think," said Harry, remembering the one he'd used to call Dudley. "Batteries are probably dead by now, though."

"Severus?"

Draco's pleading tone did nothing to sway Snape's mind. "We are not moving from the protections of Hogwarts until we understand the situation better."

Draco turned his face away.

Harry sighed, but there wasn't much he could say, since he thought their father was right. "What about Voldemort's taunts, Dad? Was it just dumb luck that he noticed my shields were down?"

Snape shook his head. "I imagine he wanted to gloat to his enemies, and you're the obvious choice, given the connection you share. He would need to be close by to enter the headmaster's mind, or mine, but with you, matters are simpler."

"Only because I stopped Occluding."

"It would be best to protect your thoughts as much as possible, now," Dumbledore said, very softly.

"Should have been doing that all summer," muttered Harry, thinking of how often he'd let his concentration waver during Seeker's games with Draco, or while he was working on his spell lexicon.

"Well, we believed that Voldemort had gone largely underground, so to speak."

Snape's voice took on a grating tone. "No, we were led to believe that, Headmaster. I stand by what I told you before term ended: this scheme of letting Lupin play at spying is unsound in the extreme. What has he done but lull us into a false sense of security?"

"In point of fact, I believe you called the plan 'insane,' Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. He reached into a robe pocket as though fishing for something.

Harry had a bad moment when he was afraid the headmaster would offer a sweet to Snape. He almost winced; the last thing any of them needed was another explosion, this one of the verbal variety.

"It is insane," said Snape, his voice deadly quiet. "You can trust that I'll be having words with Lupin about the decidedly slipshod work he's been doing. How many people are dead because he didn't divine Voldemort's plan to attack the Ministry? How many potential allies have we lost in this debacle?"

Harry wanted to defend Remus. He was sure the man was doing the very best he possibly could. He remembered, though, how badly his father reacted to Harry arguing with him in front of the headmaster.

Still, there was one other thing to say that he couldn't hold in. "Remus might be dead, too, you know. I . . . I can't think it's good news that he hasn't reported in, yet."

He hated the way his voice wobbled, but maybe it was all right, even at his age. Snape seemed to think it was; he actually got up from his chair and pulled Harry to stand, but then, instead of embracing him like Harry was expecting, he patted his back a few times.

Awkwardly, like he'd just remembered that Albus was watching.

Draco made a noise like he'd swallowed a chuckle. Harry might have resented that, but it did break the tension, so he supposed it was all right.

Snape stepped away, his sallow complexion faintly tinged with pink. "Harry, have you anything to add to your report?" The man paused until Harry shook his head.

Dumbledore stood up from his chair. "Keep these boys of yours safe, Severus."

Snape nodded. "I know you must have a great deal to do," he said smoothly, his body turning almost imperceptibly towards the fireplace. "But do let me know when more information becomes available."

"Of course, Severus." Dumbledore gave a faint smile. "Good night, Harry, Draco."

"Good night."

"Thank you for attending our party," added Draco, an odd look on his face.

Before Harry could ask about it, the headmaster was gone, and Snape was talking again. "It's been a stressful evening, to say the least. I suggest that you both seek your beds."

"Dudley's sleeping in mine, so I'll take the couch," said Harry, shrugging.

Draco crossed his arms. "If you think you can sleep, you may as well take my bed."

"It will do no good to stay up brooding about missing your rendezvous with the young lady," said Snape, his lips pursed.

"How about brooding about all the rest of it?" Draco scowled. "I'm not stupid, Severus. This attack means the war is on in earnest, which means Rhiannon will be in more danger than ever, if anyone should see us together, which means I'll basically never see her again, doesn't it?"

"Draco, how can you worry about that when so many people died tonight?" asked Harry.

"What can I do about the people who died? Nothing--"

"You can do nothing tonight about Miss Miller, either," said Snape.

"If you liked her, you'd call her Rhiannon! And you'd better figure out how to like her, Severus, because she's going to be your daughter-in-law someday, and . . . oh, fuck."

For once, Snape didn't chide Draco for his language. "What is it?"

"Dinner with her parents," groaned Draco. "Day after tomorrow. I guess that's off, now. And I did want you to meet them."

"I know," said Snape in a soothing voice. "Draco, I have nothing whatsoever against Miss Miller. She seems a personable young lady and I will be happy to welcome her into our family should the time ever come. For now, though, your safety and hers must prevail, and there is no sense in your losing sleep over the day's events. Tomorrow may bring new trials."

"Another attack?" asked Harry, feeling his palms grow clammy.

"Or additional information about this one," said Snape grimly. "Draco, do you require a potion?"

"No." Draco sat down on the couch. "I'll try to sleep. Harry, you go and share the room with your cousin. He did pretty well with everything, but he might wake up upset."

Dudley might, Harry knew. A Muggle sleep aid wasn't Dreamless Sleep potion, after all, and the destruction of the Ministry could call to mind memories of what had happened to Number Four last year. Besides, this might be Draco's way of saying that he'd like some time to talk with Snape. "All right, I'll take your bed," said Harry, yawning a little.

"Clear your mind before you sleep," advised Snape.

"Constant vigilance, yeah." Harry nodded, and padded off to his bedroom, leaving his father and brother alone.

------------------------------------------------------

Just after lunch the next day, the Floo suddenly flared to life.

Harry tensed, standing up from the table, noting that Draco had drawn his wand as soon as the noise began. Clearly, the attack on the Ministry had them both on edge. This could just be their father returning . . . or it could be somebody else entirely.

Grimacing as he stood ready to cast, Harry wished their father hadn't taken Dudley off earlier that morning. On the other hand, he was really grateful to Snape for the help. He'd got in contact with Marsha, and had asked for her assistance with helping "young Mr Dursley find alternate accommodations, preferably in a place far removed from Surrey."

Dudley had been a bit worried about finding another job, but Harry told him that if he had any trouble, he just had to let Marsha know he needed some money to tide him over. After all, what good was Harry's vault if he didn't use it to help the people he loved?

That last word had made Dudley blubber a bit, which Harry found embarrassing. Then again, Dudley might be surprised to hear that Harry loved him, after everything that had happened when they were younger. That was all past, though.

And unimportant, compared to being ready to face the person trying to Floo into the dungeons.

The flames whooshed in the grate, and then began flashing green as largish boxes wrapped in plain brown paper tumbled out.

"Stay back," warned Draco in a low voice, motioning Harry farther away from the fireplace. Harry was sort of offended by that, since he was more prepared than Draco to protect them, after all. But then he saw that Draco was stepping back, too, and Harry swallowed, telling himself that his brother was just concerned for his safety.

Five parcels later, the fire in the hearth abruptly died.

Draco gave the boxes a critical glance, then shrugged. "Probably our gifts, but best to be certain, I suppose." He began casting, checking for hexes and curses and such.

Harry felt something like a slow burn of anger begin in his belly. Draco was his brother, and he loved him and all that, but sometimes he could be mind-bogglingly selfish. "Their son was killed, just last night! I hardly think the Weasleys have nothing better to do than pack up a lot of stupid presents--"

"They aren't stupid. They're coming-of-age gifts, which means they're important. Any wizarding family would understand that," said Draco quietly. For once, he didn't mention Harry's Muggle upbringing as some sort of deficiency. "Besides, Harry, don't you know that when somebody close to you dies, you . . ." Clearing his throat, he shook his head and didn't go on.

The burn in Harry's gut became an ache. He hoped that Draco wasn't thinking of Lucius. Maybe it was somebody else, though. "Remembering Pansy still hurts that much?"

Draco flicked his gaze toward Harry, clearly startled. "No, of course not. What I feel for Rhiannon puts all that in much better perspective."

"Then what were you trying to say? I mean, not say?"

"I was thinking of you."

"Me?"

Draco nodded, his hands moving a little haphazardly, but by then he was finished casting. "Remembering your godfather still does hurt you, I think. But when he died, Harry, didn't you need things to do, to take your mind off it?"

"Might have helped," said Harry tightly. "I spent most of the summer alone in my room. Lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, mostly."

"Your aunt and uncle let you? They really were disgusting specimens--"

"They didn't know that Sirius had died," said Harry, shaking his head. "I didn't want them to know, since having a dangerous godfather who cared what happened to me could come in handy, dealing with them."

"You're proving my point, you realise."

Harry smiled, a little wryly. "Yeah, I know. It's hard to get worked up over it, now. Maybe I'm finally ready to start forgiving them. And anyway, I can hardly blame them for not noticing what a wreck I was, last summer. Uncle Vernon must have been out of his mind with worry over his wife being so ill, and Aunt Petunia . . . she was so quiet, every time I ran into her. She looked bad, now that I think about it, but I was in no state to notice that at the time. But now . . . I think she must have been pretty afraid of dying."

Harry sighed, feeling vaguely guilty. He'd thought about the afterlife a lot after Sirius had died. Constantly, that summer, but he'd hardly given any thought at all to what might have happened to his aunt. Thinking about it now, he winced. "Do you suppose . . . do you think Muggles go to the same places as wizards, after they die?"

Draco abruptly sat down, his forehead creasing. "No, I don't, and before you start calling me names for thinking there's a difference, just remember that that's one of my nightmares. That when Rhiannon dies, I'll never, ever be able to see her again."

"Maybe you will," said Harry bracingly, though he actually didn't want to see Petunia or Vernon ever again. Not even to tell them what he really thought of them.

"Ha. Only wizards can come back as ghosts, so by extension--"

"You don't know that for certain," said Harry. Nearly Headless Nick had once alluded to something like that, but considering he haunted Hogwarts, he might just not know any Muggle ghosts. "Look, there are loads of ghosts stories, some of them of really famous people. They can't all have been witches and wizards."

"Name one," said Draco morosely.

Harry cast about in his head. "Uh . . . well, there's this battlement at the Tower of London, called Elizabeth's walk, for where she used to walk when she was locked up there, I think. People say she still walks there, sometimes."

"Someone famous, I said."

"Princess Elizabeth?" asked Harry, almost smiling. "Queen Elizabeth, Draco? Henry VIII's daughter?"

Draco's fringe moved a little as he blew out a breath. "All right, that smarmy look on your face can only mean one thing. I need to study some Muggle history."

"Eh, well considering Rhiannon . . ."

Draco shrugged. "Maybe those Muggle Studies books'll have a smattering of history in them. Because there's nothing dark on any of those parcels. The handwriting detection spell did say there was a letter in that one, though." Draco pointed to the smallest of the boxes.

It turned out to be a short note from Ginny, apologizing for not packing up the presents the night before.

Harry bit his lip. "God, how could she think I'd even expect that?"

"She's not thinking anything like that," said Draco calmly. "I told you, Harry. She's keeping busy so she doesn't have to think about the other."

That made so much sense that Harry nodded. He could see Mrs Weasley deciding to knit, bustling about seeing to clearing away whatever remained of the party, and demanding that all her children help with de-gnoming the garden, even though Ron had spent a lot of the summer doing that, already.

Draco had several of the boxes open by then, and was lifting out gift after gift, his wand directing them to float over to the table.

Just seeing them made Harry feel the terrible contrast between the morning before, when he'd been so happy to finally be officially grown-up, and today. Only a single day had passed, and suddenly, the world looked a whole lot darker.

Harry sighed, wishing he wasn't so familiar with how fast things could change. He didn't realise that he'd spoken out loud--well, muttered, really--until Draco looked over at him. "Things could be worse, you know. The Dark Lord might have attacked later than he did, and you'd have had to give a speech."

Well, that certainly put things in perspective. Harry could hardly believe he'd been so worried and anxious over something so utterly meaningless. Other things, though, weren't so meaningless. "Call him Voldemort," he urged. "Please, Draco. I hate hearing you talk like . . ."

"Like a Death Eater?"

"Like you're in awe of him."

"Scared shiteless would be the more accurate term," drawled Draco.

His tone was dry, like he was making a joke, because of course Draco normally wouldn't admit to being afraid. He was though, and this was the only way he could say so.

"But being afraid of his name just makes that worse, don't you think?" Harry went over to help with the boxes, mostly because having something to do with his hands somehow made it easier to talk about this. "And it's like Dad said. We can't start thinking he's all-powerful, or we'll end up feeling powerless, ourselves. To think doom will fall just because you say his name, Draco--"

"It's not his name," Draco snapped, his wand flashing as he banished a box he'd finished with. "It's a style he's taken on, which is rather different. But--"

"That's nitpicking, don't you think?"

"But," Draco continued, raising his voice, "I'll give your concerns all the consideration they deserve."

"And that's just snide."

Draco blinked. Then a smile slowly raised the sides of his mouth. "Oh. I suppose it could be, but I didn't mean it that way. You make some good points. Well, you and Severus, and if he can stand to say it . . . I'll think about it, all right?"

"All right." Harry wondered how Dudley was doing, and how it felt for him, having to abandon the house he'd so recently got rebuilt. Hmm, probably Draco was right about it being better to have things to do. He headed for the pile of presents on the table. "Let's get this lot put away before Dad comes back."

They almost made it, but they might as well not have bothered, since after leaving Dudley with Marsha, Snape had gone to Devon to collect all their things from there. He'd thought better than to send it all through the Floo, though. Instead, he'd shrunken their belongings to fit in his robe pockets.

"My XL," moaned Draco, cradling it as it popped back to normal size.

Harry leaned over. "It looks all right."

"But what a way to treat a fine broom."

Snape cleared his throat. "I dare say you'll forget about that when I tell you that there was a letter waiting for you in Devon, Draco."

"A letter?" Draco swallowed. "Oh, no. The Ministry wasn't the whole plot, last night, then? Something's happened to my mother, and it's probably that fucking werewolf's fault, and--"

Snape thrust a hand into his robe and pulled out a Muggle envelope. "Show some decorum, if you would, instead of jumping to hysterical conclusions."

"Rhiannon," gasped Draco, snatching the envelope from Snape's fingers. Or trying, rather; Snape held fast to it.

"I insist that you inform her at once about your plan to conceal letters," said Snape sternly. "Muggle stationery is decidedly ill-advised."

"I'll tell her in my reply, yes." Draco nodded, the motion a little frantic.

The instant Snape let go of the envelope, Draco turned with it towards their bedroom, the door almost slamming behind him, he shut it so quickly.

"Young love," said Snape, shaking his head, though the words had been said with more fondness than ridicule.

"Were you ever . . ." Harry abruptly shut himself up. Asking that was probably an even worse idea than demanding information about Hostilian Snape.

"Was I ever in love?"

"Uh . . . yeah. I mean, if you don't mind the question, if . . . erm."

Instead of answering, Snape ordered a pot of tea, then sank into a chair in the living room and sipped at his cup for a moment. Finally, he looked at Harry, his eyes shadowed.

Shite. Harry quickly poured his own cup, keeping his back to his father. By the time he sat down, he felt like he'd got his expression under control, so then and only then, he met his father's gaze. "Sorry, sir. I shouldn't have asked, not something personal like that."

"No, you certainly should not have," said Snape in a biting tone as he set his cup down with a clatter. "It's not as though we have any sort of relationship. Now, if I had ever, for instance, adopted you as my very own son, things might be different, but as they stand, Potter, you have absolutely no right to presume--"

"Potter!" exclaimed Harry.

"Are we not on formal terms, then? You called me 'sir,' and I certainly don't see a classroom in the vicinity."

"I don't understand you," exclaimed Harry, tea sloshing as he set his own cup down. "Look, you don't talk about your past so much, and I should have remembered that before I asked, and . . . why are you so angry? Just because I accidentally called you 'sir?'"

"No, because I've scarred you, it seems." Snape folded his hands in his lap, but his fingers were tightly curled, Harry noticed.

"Scarred me, how? All I mean by 'sir' is that I respect you, you know."

"I know," said Snape heavily. "I don't like that tendency of yours, but I do understand it. I'm more concerned about this distance between us. I see now that I've encouraged it. A less-than-pleasant realisation, I assure you."

"What distance?"

"What would you call it?" Snape's nostrils flared. "You practically quake at the thought of asking me about a trifling personal matter. Well, suppose you did offend me, Harry. Suppose you seriously offended me. What do you believe would happen next?"

"I don't know--"

Snape's voice was sharp and to the point. Almost cutting, in fact. "You aren't still worrying about unadoption?"

"No!"

Snape stared at him for a long moment more, and then appeared to relax. "Ah. Well, that's good to hear, at least."

"But I wouldn't call have you ever been in love a trifling kind of question," Harry went on. "It's, you know. Really personal."

"I should think that you could ask your father a personal question, though."

"Not that one," muttered Harry, looking away.

When he looked back, Snape's gaze on him was a bit quizzical. "Harry . . . is there something you would like to tell me?"

"You sound like Dumbledore when you ask that."

Snape stared at him for a moment longer, his dark eyes looking like they were coming to conclusions about . . . well, something. Harry wasn't sure, and before he could ask, his father was speaking again.

"Sometimes I forget what it was like to be your age. I suppose, at the time, I would have felt that falling in love was a sensitive topic. Now, though . . ." He gave a low chuckle. "Yes, I've been in love, Harry. Or at the very least, in lust. Who hasn't?"

Harry hurriedly snatched up his tea and took a big gulp of it. Good thing it had cooled down, by then. In lust?

He didn't mean to ask, but he had to say something. "Er . . . so, somebody here at Hogwarts, then?"

"Several somebodies," said Snape dryly. "I had a bit of what you might call a wandering eye. But then, that could have been because I was no more attractive then than I am now, and when the object of my . . . affection was clearly looking elsewhere, I tended to, as well. Slytherin pragmatism."

"You're not unattractive--"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And to think, Poppy swore those new glasses of yours were the right prescription."

Harry tucked a finger under his collar to loosen it. When had it got so hot? "Uh . . . no, I can see just fine. I meant, well, now that I know you, I see you sort of differently, and you know, if you'd just, er . . . "

He stopped himself before he mentioned shampoo.

"I came to terms long ago with the fact that I'm hardly every woman's ideal," said Snape, shaking his head.

"But you're so clever, at all sorts of things, and you're really brave, spying all those years, and so loyal, saving me like that, and--"

"Oh, do go on. This is fascinating; I'm apparently a member of every house except Slytherin--"

"And you're so funny, all the time, just like that!"

"You needn't try so hard to spare my feelings, Harry." Snape glanced away, as if considering what to say, then gave a slight shrug. "As you say, I have some traits that compensate. It's not as though I've never partaken of the joys of . . . feminine companionship, shall we say."

That was better than in lust, Harry decided. He blushed a little more, even so, as he asked in as diffident a voice as he could, "Anybody I know, then?"

"I do believe you're acquainted with Irma Pince, yes."

Harry almost spat out his tea, he was so shocked. As it was, he managed to swallow before gasping out, "Oh, my God."

"Have I mentioned how much I admire your gift of tact?"

"That wasn't tactful," said Harry ruefully, ashamed of himself, by then. Well, nothing for it now but to try to erase the gaffe. Polite interest might be the tack to take. "Uh, well, I guess it didn't work out? Is it hard having her on staff, now?"

"She was on staff then, too," said Snape, his mouth lilting up a little at the corners, his voice rich with fond remembrance.

Too rich, Harry suddenly realised. "You're having me on!"

Snape's smile widened. "Of course I am, you idiot child. Ah, but there's a good question. Will you object to being called that, now that you've passed your seventeenth birthday?"

"No, you can call me that." Harry thought he'd miss it, if Snape ever stopped. Idiot child wasn't about age, any more than the adoption had been about the paperwork. "That's a bit low, though, making me think about you and Madam Pince like that!"

If Snape noticed Harry's shudder, he didn't remark on it. "I suppose all I meant to say was that for all I'm willing to speak to you about my past, things like the details of my affaires de coeur aren't mine alone to tell."

"Well, that cured me of asking for them," said Harry, smiling a little. "But you shouldn't get upset just because I'm trying to respect your boundaries, like about Hostilian."

"You sound so grown-up."

"Well, Marsha says things like that. All the time."

"Ah." Snape tapped his fingertips together. "Hostilian Snape is best left undiscussed. You must trust me on that, Harry. But I don't wish for you to generalise the limitation. You're my son. If my past can't be precisely an open book to you . . . well, I'd rather it not be a closed one, either."

"I'm your beloved son," said Harry, a little smugly. "You said so. In front of everyone. Bit surprising, really."

"Tradition," said Snape gruffly, but at Harry's quick glance, his voice softened. "A good tradition."

Harry grinned. "I thought so. Thanks, Dad. For the goblets, and . . . well, you know. Everything." On the heels of that thought, though, came one that was much more depressing. "Have you seen the headmaster at all, today? Has he heard from Remus? Did he say?"

"Albus' Patronus found me in Devon. And yes, Lupin has been in contact with him. Your friend is safe and sound."

That last bit was almost sneered. Harry noticed, but decided to leave it be. Even though it reminded him of Snape's contemptuous claim that Remus had always kept himself safe and warm while others put themselves in danger, there was no point in having an argument.

"At any rate, there's to be an Order meeting this evening."

Harry twisted a lip. "Let me guess. Draco and I aren't invited--"

"What are you on about? You're members, and what's more, you're adults, now."

Harry sat up a little straighter. "Oh. I figured that with the war heating up, we'd get left out. Too dangerous, all that."

"Quite the contrary. You're both likely to be targeted, in one form or another, so the more information you have, the better. Ignorance may be bliss, but it's hardly conducive to true safety."

Harry gave a sharp nod, trying to be more like an Order member, and less like an eager child, even as he asked the question clanging through his mind. "And Remus? Will he be there?"

"He's the reason for the meeting." Snape stood up, his jaw taut. "He's to give a report. Perhaps he'll explain why we should allow him to continue his work, given the miserable job he's made of it thus far."

"He'd have told us if he'd known about the Ministry attack--"

"My point exactly."

So much for not arguing, thought Harry furiously. "He can't win, can he? If he does a good job, you'll hate him for usurping what you think of as your role in the Order, and if he does a lousy job, you'll sneer at him for not measuring up to the standard you set!"

Snape's robes billowed as he crossed his arms. "I know very well that you love him, Harry, but he does not deserve your approbation."

"How lucky that we don't all get what we deserve, then!" Harry blew out a breath, almost wishing he could call those words back. Almost. "Look, all I mean is that you set a really high bar, Dad. And don't you know, even if Remus manages to follow in your footsteps . . . the Order respecting him more doesn't mean they'll respect you less. It's like with having two sons, right? When you took on Draco, it didn't mean you had less love for me."

"That comparison is hardly instructive." Snape narrowed his eyes until they were almost slits. "Lupin is worthless, and totally incompetent as a spy, but I don't wish to discuss the matter further."

"Fine," said Harry, the word clipped. No talking about Hostilian, no discussing Snape's past loves, and no talk of Remus. But his father didn't want to be a closed book!

Harry was starting to wonder which pages the book would open to.

Thankfully, before he could say something he'd regret, Draco's door creaked open. He could have heard it all, since neither Harry nor Snape had thought to cast any privacy spells, but Draco had had better things to do than eavesdrop. "Rhiannon's the most clever girl in the world," he said, stepping out. "The most clever, I tell you. When I didn't show up for her premiere, she realised something serious must have happened, so after the opera, she borrowed her uncle's car and drove a couple of hours to get to Hermione's parents' house. Wrote me a lovely letter, not a trace of resentment in it, only concern over what might have prevented me from joining her--"

"Draco," Snape interrupted in a heavy voice, "I assume you've already composed a reply?"

"Yes, but I wasn't certain quite how much to tell her, let alone how to phrase it." Draco sighed. "Would you read the draft and give me suggestions, Severus?"

"I'd be pleased to assist."

Draco smiled, just a bit. "I thought you would be. Actually, I thought you'd want to see the letter in any case, considering. I went with a rogue-dark-wizard sort of approach. Harry and I had mentioned that much before, that even the wizarding world has its criminal types. And I touched on the war, but I didn't explain everything, of course--"

"As long as you fully clarified the need for her to be cautious when contacting you. No more Muggle envelopes."

"No, sir. She won't do that again."

Draco wasn't rebuked for saying "sir," of course, but Harry wasn't too bothered by that. He understood, now, that Snape was doing his best by each of his sons. Harry and Draco needed different things, that was all.

And right now, Draco needed to concentrate on his letter.

Harry stood up and stretched. "What time then, for the Order meeting?"

"Five."

Draco's gaze snapped up. "What's happened?"

"Nothing new," said Snape, shaking his head. "Barring unforeseen events, Remus Lupin will attend to share what he knows about Voldemort's attack on the Ministry. I must stress, Draco, how important it is that you conduct yourself well. I know you are concerned for your mother's welfare, but that topic is not the purpose of the meeting."

"I wasn't planning to interrupt Lupin's report to ask if he'd heard from the Continent." Draco raised his chin. "Because yes, I know that many of the good members of the Order still look at me askance and wonder where my true loyalties lie--"

"Not many, just Moody," corrected Snape. "And since he doesn't yet trust me, that's hardly a surprise."

"Oh, the rest of them all trust me?" Draco laughed, the noise more resigned than bitter. "I don't think so, Severus."

"They don't necessarily trust your judgement, of course. And I don't believe they all place their faith in your devotion to the Light. They do, however, trust your loyalty to Harry. They can do no less, given that Albus has vouched for you."

"That's lovely," sneered Draco, his lips twisting. "My actions on their own weren't enough? I saved Harry, over and over last year--"

"Twice, you mean?"

Draco ignored Harry's interruption. "I saved him from my very own father! I mean, the man who raised me! I saved Harry Potter from Lucius fucking Malfoy! And if we really want to nit-pick, I saved him from the Dark Lord himself, since that's where he was going to end up! And where are my thanks, eh? Where are my accolades?"

"A hundred and fifty points and the Cup to Slytherin," said Harry fiercely. "And I don't begrudge you any of it, even though it meant Gryffindor lost, and you know how important Gryffindor is to me. But don't you dare say that nobody thanked you, Draco. You were thanked in public by the headmaster himself."

"What sort of Slytherin does something for thanks, in any case?" asked Snape.

"I didn't!"

"I should hope not."

"I just don't like the idea that after all that, I had to be vouched for." Draco crossed his arms.

"You're in good company," said Snape dryly. "Or do you think they first trusted me for my sunny disposition? We're a pair, you and I."

Harry felt like that was his cue to go to the bedroom for a bit. "Well, I'll just leave you and Dad to work on that letter."

"Stay, Harry," said Draco. "I want you to read it, too. You know Rhiannon better than Dad does, and you understand Muggle thinking far better than either of us. Can you make sure I'm not coming across as . . . well, mental?"

It was ridiculous to feel so pleased, Harry thought. But he was. Father-son time was something good, for Draco as well as himself, but the three of them working on something together was even better.

"Sure," he said, dropping into a chair at the table. "But I don't think you have to worry."

Draco actually winced. "Say that after you read it, Harry. When I try to see it through her eyes, even I think I sound mental."

"Yeah, but remember that poster at the squib home, the one about that stupid telly programme? Rhiannon was talking like she believed in government conspiracies and flying saucers landing on Earth, and somebody named Cancer Man. I keep wondering if he's like Superman in reverse . . . but anyway, news of a war in the wizarding world won't sound all that strange, I bet. Not to her."

"Well, then thank Merlin for bad American telly programmes," sighed Draco.

Harry grinned. "Merlin didn't do it for thanks."

That got him groans from Snape and Draco both, but then they all leaned over together to read Draco's letter to Rhiannon.

------------------------------------------------------

The mood was sombre in the kitchen of Number Twelve, that afternoon.

The full Order wasn't there, just the ones who most needed to hear Remus' report. Or maybe, Harry thought, just those who hadn't heard it already.

Yeah . . . Snape hadn't said anything one way or another, but Harry pretty much figured that Remus had already given Dumbledore a private report. The headmaster might have summoned some Order members to his office to be briefed privately.

It would explain, at any rate, why Tonks and Shacklebolt weren't at Grimmauld Place.

Some others were missing as well, but Harry didn't give them much thought. He was more concerned about the people in the room. Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Bill and Charlie, and the twins. Ron and Ginny weren't here, and Harry had a feeling that they weren't upstairs, either. They'd been left home, Harry thought. Like children, even though Ron was older than Harry was.

Harry grimaced, thinking that the decision to exclude them had likely been more Dumbledore's than Molly Weasley's.

"Now, now, none of that," said Fred, lightly punching Harry in the arm. "You look like you're the one who's lost a brother!"

Harry gave a sickly grin, trying to pretend he'd liked the humour. He didn't, though. How could anybody make jokes about a thing like this? But then the answer came to him. Fred was probably managing the only way he knew how, like Draco had said. Only with Fred, it wasn't a matter of keeping busy. He had another way to cope.

Harry pulled out a chair next to Fred, then, noticing that Draco had taken a seat almost directly across. Snape looked as though he didn't intend to sit at all; he was leaning against a wall, his expression forbidding, his arms crossed as though he had determined, in advance, to disapprove of every word that passed Remus' lips.

But then, he probably had.

Harry just hoped that Snape refrained from ripping Remus apart verbally. If he didn't, Harry thought fiercely, then Draco had every right to call their father a hypocrite, lecturing him on self-control!

He dimly registered that George, on the other side of Fred, was chuckling. Fred must have cracked another joke, one Harry hadn't even heard.

"Oh, come on, Harry," George suddenly exclaimed. "Where's the funeral?"

Fred guffawed.

"Boys," said Arthur Weasley from farther down the table. Glancing that way, Harry saw that Mrs Weasley had her face turned away. Well, she no doubt understood why her sons would act this way, but that didn't mean she was in the mood for morbid jokes.

Harry did his best to distract the twins. Leaning towards Fred, he spoke to them both. "Can you let Ginny know that Draco and I really appreciated her packing up our things?"

"Well, she is a little sweet on you, Harry--"

"Always has been," chimed in Fred.

"Be serious," said Harry, a moment before he realised that that was probably impossible. "She got over that years ago."

"Eh, she's just been playing it cool--"

"Your attention, please," said Dumbledore in his low, calm way. Harry hadn't noticed him coming in. He hadn't even noticed Remus, who was standing alongside him.

Snape had noticed, though. He was glaring.

Harry shot his father a critical look, hoping he didn't catch hell for it, later. It did the trick, though; Snape immediately schooled his expression into one of bored interest.

Remus didn't look well, Harry thought as the man slipped into a chair and sat with his head slightly bowed. There were lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and his posture reminded Harry of how he looked just after the full. He was in pain, obviously, even though his last transformation would have been two weeks earlier.

Pain . . . oh. Harry suddenly felt sick. He recognised this sort of pain. Not a werewolf matter, after all; anybody could suffer Cruciatus.

Harry frowned, hating the thought of Remus being punished like that. And if it was happening a lot, maybe Remus really didn't have what it took to carry on as a spy . . .

"The Wizengamot has met in emergency session," announced the headmaster as soon as he had everyone's full attention. "Following a little-used precedent, they have determined the individual best suited to become the next Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour, who these past few years has worked as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, is their choice for the post. I do not know the man well, but Kingsley has briefed me on his character. Scrimgeour is no fool, as Minister Fudge was. He is a hard pragmatist who will not hide from the truth."

"He won't arrange for Ministry personnel to work all hours without proper security?" asked Mrs Weasley in the silence that followed. Her tone was awful, Harry thought. Scathing and furious, but beneath all that was so much pain that it hurt Harry just to listen.

"No, Molly, he won't," said Dumbledore, very softly. "In fact, Rufus Scrimgeour had several times filed complaints about that very practice."

Molly made a huffing noise and turned her face away, as if to say, Too little, too late.

"What's this precedent you mentioned?" asked Moody, his face taut with suspicion. "Never have heard of a Minister being selected by the Wizengamot, bunch of fools that they are. What happened to good old-fashioned standing for election, eh? What happened to letting ordinary witches and wizards be the ones to select their leader?"

"The Department of Magical Elections has been utterly annihilated," said Albus quietly. Molly bit her lip, all the same. "The Wizengamot decided that an emergency measure was appropriate, in the circumstances."

"Didn't answer my question, though, did you now? What precedent did they dig up to push this through?"

"Selection by Divination."

Snape's nostrils flared, his eyes flashing with obvious scorn. "Our fearless leaders don't want the blame if their emergency measure makes things even worse. This way, they can fault the Tarot or the winds or some other such nonsense."

"I expect they will, yes," said Albus mildly, his thin shoulders lifting for a moment. "Assuming that matters become worse. Perhaps they won't."

"But, Albus . . . Divination?" That was Arthur, his brow deeply creased. Harry wondered how he could care how the new Minister had been selected, just a day after his son had been killed, but perhaps this was one more instance of something to keep his mind occupied with other matters. "You know as well as any of us how few true practitioners there are of that art. Most seers are charlatans, and in any case, people usually see what they wish to see, when they read the signs."

"True, true," murmured Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Though in this case, that may work to advantage. Just think of the man chosen to take on the duties of Minister. Head Auror, an experienced fighter, in this, a time of war. Most apt. Suspiciously so, one might even say. The witches and wizards of the Wizengamot have indeed seen what they wished to see, but by calling it Divination, they are ready to shift the blame in case their judgement is proven faulty."

"Slytherin," said Draco, nodding slightly.

"Why, yes, Draco." The headmaster beamed, though the expression was far less radiant than usual. Too much sorrow in the air. "Rufus Scrimgeour was in fact sorted Slytherin when he attended Hogwarts."

Draco visibly jerked. "No, I meant the Wizengamot-- never mind."

Harry raised an eyebrow. A Slytherin Minister of Magic? That might prove interesting.

Either that, or it would turn out to be a very, very bad thing.

But Slytherin doesn't mean evil, he reminded himself. Strange that he would have to. He'd known it for a long time, now.

But still, the first thing he'd thought of when he'd heard that the new Minister had been a Slytherin was whether Scrimgeour might agree with Voldemort when it came to blood purity. Daft thought, really. He couldn't have risen through MLE if he was a blatant racist.

Unless he hid that part of himself. Slytherins are good at misdirection--

Harry sternly told himself to stop it. Until he had a reason to distrust Rufus Scrimgeour, he'd . . . well, he wouldn't actually trust him. He couldn't, not after the way Fudge had behaved. But, Harry decided, he would give Scrimgeour the benefit of the doubt.

"An announcement will have been made over the Wireless, by now," Dumbledore was continuing, his glance seeking out the clock on the far wall. "Rufus Scrimgeour assumed the post of Minister a few moments ago. He will hold it for six months, at which point a regular election will either confirm or end his appointment. Lists of those killed in the attack on the Ministry will be released to the newspapers tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing. Kingsley has been promoted to head the Auror Office."

"That could turn out useful," said Moody, nodding. His eye rolled about in his skull, like he was checking for hidden spells every which way.

"Indeed." Dumbledore glanced around the crowded kitchen. "If there are no questions, then, I will ask Remus to speak next. As all of you know, he has been impersonating Lucius Malfoy in all walks of life for some time now. As such, he has managed to gain Voldemort's ear, as it were. Remus was present during the attack on the Ministry."

A shocked silence descended, though beneath it, Harry thought he could almost hear undercurrents of the thoughts swimming through everybody's mind. Present? Present during the attack?

Meanwhile, Snape was scowling deeply, his black eyes shining with what could only be resentment. Harry wanted to gnash his teeth. Snape should be delighted that the Order had some inside information! But no, he couldn't be, because in this case, it meant that Remus was the one responsible.

Well, Harry didn't care what Snape thought. For his part, he was happy that Remus was doing so well as a spy. It meant he had what it took to succeed in the position; it meant he would manage to survive the dangerous work he was doing.

"Albus rather overstates the case, I'm afraid," said Remus, looking a little shaky as he rose to his feet, his fingers twitching. "I wasn't present when the attack was planned, or the Order would have been forewarned. I wouldn't say that I have the Dark Lord's ear."

"Now, now, Remus," chided Dumbledore. "You know you were the only one he summoned back to join him from abroad. The only one of his followers he decided to trust."

Snape looked more sour than ever, hearing that. Harry had to bite his lip, in case he remarked on his father's expression.

Nobody else noticed Snape, though, because what Remus had said was too shocking.

"The Dark Lord, is it?" growled Moody. "Are you sure that mark's not doing something to you?"

"A slip of the tongue could end my spying before it's properly begun," said Remus wearily. "Keeping to that here is just another form of vigilance."

"Quite right, quite right."

Albus' quiet approval silenced the murmurings.

Drawing in a breath, Remus went on. "As the Order knows, the Dark Lord sent his all of his Death Eaters away from Britain yesterday. All save me have remained abroad. I, however, was summoned to his side just as the Ministry attack was about to commence."

"Why you?"

That was Snape, his voice perfectly level, his features neutral again. Harry personally thought he shouldn't have asked at all, and certainly he shouldn't have interrupted Remus' report to ask. He was doing what he'd cautioned Draco against: letting his personal feelings influence his conduct at the meeting.

But then, perhaps after all he'd done for the Order, he was entitled.

"Because while I don't have the Dark Lord's ear, I do have his trust," said Remus, his voice dark with emotions Harry couldn't guess at. "I managed better than I knew last year, Severus. Sowing dissention and distrust among the Death Eaters . . . the Dark Lord could have concluded that Lucius Malfoy was among his least loyal followers. Instead, he decided that if Lucius' reputation was being targeted so extensively, it must be because the other Death Eaters knew him to be the Dark Lord's most loyal supporter. By destroying faith in Lucius, they would make it possible for someone else to become the Dark Lord's right hand. Hence, the Dark Lord decided that Lucius was to be trusted and honoured most of all, not least." Remus shrugged. "What can I say? We all know the Dark Lord isn't one for rational thought."

Harry shuddered. He understood Remus' reasons perfectly, but he was still disturbed to hear him saying the Dark Lord so many times, like that.

Good thing he came to the meeting looking like himself, Harry thought. Maybe Snape was right to keep me away from him, this summer. Maybe I'd have had a hard time spending time with him, if he was looking like Lucius all the while.

But then, Harry strongly suspected that his father had also had an ulterior motive. He hadn't wanted Harry spending time with Remus, full stop.

"And when you arrived at the Ministry?" asked Charlie, his voice a little impatient.

The trembling in Remus' fingers began to crawl up his arms, making him look a little palsied.

"Cruciatus," said Snape, sounding like he was biting off each syllable. "For Merlin's sake, Lupin. Sit down. Something obviously went wrong, since you look like you spent the whole of last night being punished."

"Nothing went wrong," croaked Remus, though he did suddenly sit as Snape had said.

An eerie moment passed, then. Harry wasn't sure if anyone else even noticed it, but he did. Snape was looking at Remus, his dark eyes intent, and Harry could practically smell the Legilimency in the air. Well, of course he could. After the times they'd practiced Occlumency together, and the times since, when Snape had been deep inside Harry's mind, Harry recognised the presence of Snape's, reaching out.

No, nobody else seemed aware that it was happening, Harry decided. Except Dumbledore. He wore a keen look as he glanced from Snape to Remus and back. He let it go on for a moment, then spoke.

"Continue, please."

Remus glanced away from Snape and cleared his throat. "The plan went exactly as the Dark Lord intended. All summer long, he had been snatching Muggleborn children, and some half-blooded children as well, and hiding them away in the amulet he wears around his neck."

"In an amulet." Bill's voice was fierce. "I've seen the like."

"Su Li," gasped Harry, clenching his fists. "Wayne Hopkins. Laura Madley! All of them, in an amulet?"

"Oh, there were so many children reported missing," moaned Mrs Weasley. "And they were held captive by You-Know-Who, trapped like that and carried about with him? The poor dears . . ."

Remus' eyes looked bloodshot when he glanced up, looking anywhere but at Molly Weasley, it seemed to Harry. "Yes, but it gets worse. There were fifteen children in all, some of them too young to have begun at Hogwarts. The amulet formed a magical realm into which the Dark Lord himself could venture at will. A realm, moreover, which rendered young minds . . . malleable." Remus fixed his gaze on the table. "He has spent the summer manipulating them, moulding them to his will, until he was certain they would perform like . . ."

"Robots," said Harry dully. All that got him was a baffled look from everyone else in the room. "Er . . . trained monkeys, something like that."

"Are the children still held prisoner there?" asked Bill, flipping his long hair behind an ear. "I'll research what kinds of curse-breaking might set them free--"

Remus glanced at him, his whole face etched with pain. "There's no point. They all died at the Ministry. They'd been moulded into weapons. The magical incendiary devices your spells uncovered? They were made of corrosive magic grown within the children's own bodies, because, after all, who would think a child so very dangerous?"

Shocked exclamations echoed around the table. Bill looked no less shocked than the others, but he was slowly nodding. "That would fit what little evidence we found. We'd been puzzled--"

"Of course we were puzzled," erupted Charlie. "Who could come up with a plan like that?"

"An evil dark lord," said Remus without humour.

"Would you stop calling him that?" Draco suddenly exclaimed. Then, when everyone turned to stare at him, he coloured.

"And the reason you didn't report to us, regarding Voldemort's involvement in the kidnappings?" snapped out Snape.

"I didn't know about it." Remus gave a long sigh. "He kept it from each and every one of his followers, Severus. He was watching and waiting all summer, and deciding whom to trust. In the meantime, he didn't need us for much, because he was occupied with this secret project of his own. But with the attack, he knew he would lose the small army he'd gathered together in the amulet. Hence his summons for me to join him at the Ministry. I learned of the plan scant moments before it all commenced."

"Why children, though?" asked Molly Weasley, her voice anguished. She was thinking of other mothers like herself, Harry knew. Other mothers who had lost a child to Voldemort's evil schemes.

"Because they are more easily moulded."

"Bit odd, though, the half-blood angle," put in Mundungus Fletcher, who up until then, hadn't said a word.

"Not from his point of view," said Remus, closing his eyes in clear exhaustion. "It's symbolic."

"Half-bloods and Muggleborns destroying our world," said Dumbledore, the words coated with sadness. "Literally, this time."

"And your assignment was?" pressed Snape.

Remus hesitated for less than a second, but he did hesitate.

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he began staring again.

"To watch and approve, as his second-in-command," answered Remus. "To demonstrate my favoured position to the other Death Eaters. To announce to them that I alone was trusted to witness the culmination of the Dark Lord's plan."

Snape stared for a moment longer, and then he actually flinched. No, more than that. His face paled.

He's seen something, Harry sensed. Something in Remus' memories. Something that . . . well, something shocking, something Remus hasn't said out loud.

What that could be, though, Harry had no idea.

"But why were you Crucio'd?" asked Draco, leaning forward, his eyes taking on that silvery shade they got when he was working out a difficult Arithmancy equation. "Severus was right about that. I recognise the signs."

"Exuberance," said Snape smoothly. "Voldemort doesn't use the spell merely to punish, Draco. It's also a form of celebration, for him."

"But I never heard of anything like--"

"Thank you, Draco," interrupted Dumbledore, his voice just as smooth as Snape's had been. "We do appreciate that you have unique inner knowledge, having grown up in a Death Eater household. Information which you have freely shared with us, I will remind everyone. But you mustn't forget the point at issue, which is that we are dealing with a man deeply caught in the grip of insanity."

Draco looked confused, then. Like he knew he was being managed, being shut up, in fact. But clearly, he didn't know why he should be.

Harry swallowed, his brain feeling like it was overheating, he was thinking so hard. Dumbledore shutting Draco up . . . no, Snape doing it first, answering with that "exuberance" explanation. He didn't believe that himself, I don't think. And Draco clearly doesn't believe it.

Snape and Dumbledore both know something, and they don't want the rest of us to figure it out. But what is it? Some part of Remus' report that isn't quite true, and they don't want it questioned too closely . . .

But what? What could have happened at the Ministry that they would need to keep secret?

Harry had no more time to think, though, because his father was speaking again, and he had to listen to that, hopefully to pick up a few more clues.

"What else can you tell us, Lupin?"

Huh. Harry wouldn't exactly call Snape's tone gentle, that time, but it was a hell of a lot less harsh than usual. And that, more than anything else, convinced Harry that something strange was going on.

Something very strange.

Remus briefly closed his eyes, looking defeated, somehow. "There's little else to tell. The Dark Lord and I were in the very bowels of the Ministry, in tunnels beneath the lowest level, as he directed his charges on the levels above, controlling them using a variety of Legilimency that requires no eye contact. Legilimency being an art that can be misused," he suddenly added, lips twisting. "And when they were in position, he triggered the spells that would serve as . . . fuses."

A pair of fat tears rolled down Mrs Weasley's cheeks. Arthur clutched one of her hands with both of his, looking like he was trying to lend her strength.

Remus began speaking more quickly. "And then the earth shook, and he looked to be in raptures over how well it had all come off, and with the wards down completely by then, we Apparated to what used to be the Atrium, to survey the damage before we escaped back to Little Hangleton, where he gloated all night."

Harry hated to ask, but he felt like he had to know. "Er . . . Remus? Did Voldemort send me that hateful message before or after he'd set off the explosions?"

For a split-second, Remus looked nothing short of baffled, but he covered it soon enough. "After. Part of his gloating."

Remus hadn't known the answer, Harry realised. He hadn't known about a message at all. Either Voldemort had sent it without even going into any kind of trance--unlikely, from what Harry knew of Legilimency--or Remus wasn't with Voldemort at the moment he reached out towards me.

And that's the case . . . has to be. It would explain why Snape shut Draco up like that.

So . . . Remus wasn't with Voldemort like he's claiming he was. He was somewhere else. But where? Doing what?

And why is it something he can't mention to us?

"What's this all about? What message?" pressed Moody, scowling at Harry.

"I'll explain that after Remus finishes his report."

"It's finished," said Remus, his face more weary than Harry had ever seen it. Cruciatus, definitely. Oh, no. He must have done something that Voldemort had disapproved of. Had he tried, hopeless as it must have been, to save one of the children?

But that didn't make any sense. Remus would probably be dead in that case. He certainly wouldn't be sitting here, claiming to be Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater. Remus wouldn't lie to the Order like that.

Except . . . he was lying about something, wasn't he?

Mainly because he didn't have much choice, Harry managed to get his mind off the puzzle, and onto what Moody had demanded to know. In as few words as possible, he explained about the awful Happy birthday he'd heard in his mind.

Moody snorted. "Thought you Occluded better than that, boy. Or did your father mislead us on that account? Wouldn't be the first time he's been less than honest. He ought to take a page from the rest of us, good people who know the difference between truth and lies--"

"That's quite enough, Alastor," said Dumbledore, but his warning glance was directed at Snape.

Remus, meanwhile, had gone stiff, his face looking like it might crack from stress.

Snape's robes billowed as he took a step closer to the table and glared down at Moody, who glared right back. "There's a time and place for deceit in warfare, as you well know. Or would you rather I'd told Voldemort the truth about the Order? He did ask, I quite assure you. He asked incessantly."

"I was trying out some new magic, and I thought Occluding was getting in the way," Harry quickly put in, hoping the two men would drop their argument. Nobody was going to win it, after all. Neither Moody nor Snape was going to back down an inch.

"Well, mind you're more careful in future," snarled Moody, his magical eye spinning as he whipped his head around to face Harry again.

"Harry didn't cause the attack!" said Draco, his voice louder than it needed to be.

"Didn't say he did. Obviously, he didn't. But it could still be a problem, Potter making a habit of giving that swine access to his mind!"

"Yeah, I remember getting Sirius killed, thanks!" shouted Harry.

"Boys, boys," said Dumbledore soothingly, in a tone that Harry suspected included "boys" far older than seventeen. "This is a stressful time for everyone. I suggest we let our tempers calm. Perhaps some tea and cakes wouldn't come amiss."

Mrs Weasley began rising to her feet, but Dumbledore gave a tiny shake of his head and waved his wand several times in a complicated swirling pattern. Food appeared from one end of the long table to the other. Fancy little cakes, crumpets smeared with cream and jam, tiny cucumber sandwiches . . . along with three pots of fragrant tea.

The elves must have had all this made and ready to go, Harry thought, reaching for a crumpet. Mmmm. He'd missed Hogwarts' cooking, especially on days when Draco had been in charge of food. Though Harry had to admit, his brother had had less contempt for cooking once he'd realised that Rhiannon wasn't any sort of witch.

Mrs Weasley got up anyway, bustling about to fetch cups and saucers. She neatly slid a plate in front of Harry so he had somewhere to set his crumpet down. "Thanks, Mrs Weasley."

"Of course, Harry, of course," she answered, barely sparing him a glance as she hurried around the table, keeping herself busy.

Harry glanced about for his father, thinking he'd take him a cup of tea and quietly ask what going on. What is Remus so carefully not saying? On second thought, he decided that a question like that should wait until they were all home. But he could still bring Snape that cup of tea.

That was when he noticed that Snape was slipping from the room, moving as silently as a wraith, the conversations all around serving as a kind of cover to keep his absence from being observed.

And Remus was nowhere to be seen.

Harry waited until Dumbledore's back was turned--he was speaking intently with Moody--and then he slipped out, too, stepping as quietly as he could, following the very faint scent of potions that clung to his father's clothes.

He stopped when he heard voices coming from behind a closed door.

"Take it, Lupin," Snape was saying, his voice pitched low, his tone serious.

"That's not necessary, Severus--"

"It is. I know it, and you know I know it."

Remus gave a sigh. "Don't, Severus. You weren't meant to know."

Snape's voice lowered still further, until Harry had to strain to hear. "Then you should Occlude far better. How have you managed to fool him, when you cannot even fool me?"

"Being here, seeing . . ." Harry heard a rustling noise, and wondered what it meant. "It was more difficult than I expected."

"Obviously," said Snape, dryly, but again, without any malice that Harry could detect. "Perhaps meetings should be more . . . limited, in the coming months."

"Better to face it." Remus' voice became impatient. "Severus, put the potion away, now. You know I don't dare use it. The Dark Lord would wonder over my recovery, and he would only punish me again."

So Remus had been punished . . . he'd done something at the Ministry, when he'd been out of Voldemort's sight, something that had angered Voldemort . . .

"Ah, too true." There was a clink of glass, sounding like two vials lightly knocking into one another.

"Did you offer me nerve restorative only to taunt me, then?"

"No." Snape paused for what seemed like a long moment, to Harry. "I did it to make another point, Lupin. I did it to say, to attempt to say . . . that I stand corrected. You are doing as fine a job as anyone could ask."

But that doesn't make sense, not when he infuriated Voldemort, just last night!

Remus made a noise that sounded like a strangled gasp. "You can say that, after what I did?"

"Ah, but I know why you did it." A rustle of robes. "Your thoughts were most unguarded, Lupin. A weakness you can ill-afford when you leave these walls. Watch yourself. And . . . be well."

Harry might have fallen over from shock, if he hadn't been holding himself so stiffly as he tried to remain absolutely silent.

Remus softly laughed, but the noise was bitter and hollow. "Oh, the irony, Severus. To have gained your good opinion only at the expense of my own."

"Don't be so maudlin. It serves no purpose, especially in this case. Your conscience can be clear. You know it can."

"You're planning to tell Harry," Remus accused. "That's your game."

"Your present company has made you less trusting, which is all to the good, I suppose. But if you think I regard my son as a rope to be tugged between us, then you don't know me at all."

"Will you tell him?"

"No, but Harry's not a child, Lupin. In many ways, he never has been. He would understand. I think you should tell him."

"How can I?" Remus sounded like he was cracking in half. "I'm all he has left of James. I mean . . . I know he has you, Severus, and that he loves you, and James doesn't matter any longer, but--"

"Don't talk like the fool I've always thought you," said Snape in a low, dangerous voice. "Of course James matters to him."

"Then all the more reason. I can't tell him. I can't possibly."

Another rustle of robes, as if Snape had moved closer to Remus. "And that, I understand. All too well. Watch yourself, as I said. And for his sake, do be well."

Sensing that the conversation was over, Harry quickly ducked into another room, dashing out of sight and hiding until first Snape, and then Lupin, walked all the way down the hallway. Then, he slipped out and headed towards the loo so that he could be seen emerging from it.

Barely able to contain his curiosity, which of course had to wait, Harry headed towards Draco as soon as he made it back to the kitchen. He stopped short of reaching him, however, so shocked was he to see Draco in earnest conversation with Molly Weasley.

". . . and when my . . . when Lucius died, you were the only one apart from Harry and Severus who was worried about me, instead of just being delighted that he was dead, and, and . . ."

"That's all right, dear," said Mrs Weasley, patting his shoulder like she would a small child's, even though Draco was taller than she was. "I think I know what you mean."

"You probably do." Draco grimaced. "And I know condolences can't mean much, but I still wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

Mrs Weasley's voice lilted. "Oh. I didn't realize that you knew Percy that well."

Another grimace. "I didn't, actually, but I do remember how kind you've been to Harry and me both, this last year, and . . . well, I'm sorry you're feeling the . . . the way you must feel. If that makes sense?"

"Oh, it makes perfect sense. It hasn't been long since you were the one grieving."

It was news to Harry if Draco had done very much of that, but he didn't contradict Mrs Weasley. Of course, maybe he was thinking about Pansy. He had grieved for her, Harry knew.

"If you'll excuse me, Draco, I think I'll just pop around and top up everyone's tea--"

"Of course, ma'am."

Harry waited a moment, then stepped forward. He wasn't sure what to say. That was nice of you wasn't probably such a good idea. Then again, Harry had more important things on his mind. "Let's go see the tapestry room."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "The tapestry room? I've been all through this house and I never once saw any such thing."

"Oh, well Dad and Remus got rid of the tapestry last October, since it was full of Dark Arts," explained Harry as he headed towards the room where it had been. "But it used to hang in here." He pointed at one of the walls.

"And now this is just a nondescript room. You're a scintillating guide, Harry, but I don't think I need one in my own house."

"Prat." Harry closed the door and warded the room, something Snape really should have done. "Listen, something really strange is going on."

"I noticed that, yes." Draco rolled his eyes. "Cruciatus is so frequently used in celebrations, after all."

"Right. And Dad knows the truth."

"I thought as much from the way he was trying to manoeuvre me. Dumbledore knows too, obviously. So . . . he told Dad, I suppose? What do you think Remus Lupin has done?"

"Eh, well I think Dad figured it out using Legilimency, actually. But whatever it was that Remus did, it was enough to infuriate Voldemort."

"Not necessarily. I do happen to know that he throws Cruciatus around when he's merely annoyed. He curses people for taking to long to arrive to a meeting, for example." Draco shrugged. "Crabbe's dad gets it all the time. Or used to, at least. I wouldn't know about lately."

"Well, I don't think Remus was punished just for being late," said Harry. "Because I just overheard him talking with Dad. Whatever Remus did to anger Voldemort, it was something Snape was practically congratulating him for. And not sarcastically, either. He really meant it. But why would Dad want Remus on Voldemort's bad side?"

"I don't know, but if he is, it could be bad for my mother," said Draco in a tight voice. "She may be out of Britain, but she's still caught in the thicket Lucius wove around her."

Harry bit his lip. "Um . . . been meaning to ask for a while, but . . . is your mother Marked?"

"What the hell kind of a stupid question is that? Is she Marked? No, of course she's not Marked, Harry! Lucius would definitely have risen to the Inner Circle with an unmarked wife, after all. It would make him so trustworthy, and--"

"All right, so she's Marked," said Harry, sighing.

"See, you have a functioning brain, after all!"

"I'm not sure my ward will work for screaming," said Harry levelly.

"I happen to be shouting." Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, fuck it. I shouldn't yell at you, even if you do ask the most moronic questions ever uttered. It's just . . . all this cloak-and-dagger rubbish is getting on my nerves."

"You can handle it. You're a Slytherin."

"And now you've descended to moronic statements, as well. Well, I've learned something, Harry. Being a Slytherin doesn't help, not when it's your own mother in danger. Not to mention . . . well, I won't mention her, wards or no wards. But I will go and find Remus Lupin and ask him if he's heard from my mother. And once we're home, you and I will get the truth out of Severus."

"Good plan--"

"Excuse me, then." Draco was through the door and headed back to the main part of the house before Harry could say another word.

Harry felt like the rest of his time at Number Twelve was a strain. He wanted to talk to his father but he had to wait. He wanted to talk to Remus but didn't dare, not with so many people around. He ended up chatting for a while with Charlie, who wanted to reminisce about Percy. Understandable, but Harry didn't feel like he had much to contribute. You weren't supposed to speak ill of the dead, after all. Particularly not to grieving family members.

"You must have some good stories, though," said Charlie, after he'd finished telling Harry how Percy used to make checklists every summer. Checklists of what he needed to do every day. And what Ginny needed to do. And Ron. Apparently he'd given up on making a checklist for the twins after they'd charmed his quill to squirt ink in his eye every time they completed a task he'd set them. "You were with him at school for a few years."

Put on the spot like that, Harry struggled to come up with something, anything, he could say. "Yeah, he was a really good prefect," Harry finally managed, feeling pretty guilty by then that he couldn't remember much else to commend Percy for. Saying that he'd been the world's biggest prat was hardly appropriate. And . . . well, even though he had been a right pain, particularly during fifth year, he'd probably thought he was doing the right thing. Of course, he'd been pretty snooty about it. Harry still fumed when he thought of Percy, so sanctimonious as he took notes during Harry's trial. And he'd been just beastly as the year wound on, advising Ron to ditch Harry, coming to Hogwarts to help arrest Harry . . .

Harry sighed, feeling even worse than before. The longer he tried to find something good to say about Percy, the more bad things he remembered. "Er . . . well . . . oh, yeah. When I was a first-year and feeling lost in the castle, Percy led us to Gryffindor Tower after the Welcoming Feast."

Charlie brightened, clearly wanting more, so Harry racked his brain. "Uh . . . yeah, I can still remember the way he would say, 'Come on, now. Hurry up!' when I was gawking at the moving portraits . . ."

"That sounds like Percy, all right. He was so proud of being made Head Boy," said Charlie, fondness overwhelming his voice. After that, though, he sighed. "Maybe at the funeral, you can talk to Ron, Harry. He's breaking Mum's heart, still going on about how Percy did this to himself, putting work above family. There's no point saying so, not now. And not in front of Mum."

"Yeah, I'll give it a try," said Harry, frowning. He didn't have any idea what to say to Ron. "He can be stubborn, though, so I can't guarantee anything. Er . . . is the funeral set, then?"

"Tuesday at the Burrow. At noon." Charlie grimaced. "More of a memorial service, really. Considering."

When Harry thought back to Pansy's funeral, he thought he understood what Charlie meant. Without a body, some of those funeral customs wouldn't be possible. Harry gulped as it came to him that that might make things even more awful for the Weasleys. They'd loved Percy, after all, and the way it had all happened, they wouldn't ever get to feel like they'd said good-bye. They'd always feel like . . . like Percy's death wasn't real, or at least, not as real and final as death was supposed to be.

An old spasm of missing Sirius clenched in his gut, and made Harry determined to do what he could for Ron. "I'll be there." Then another thought struck him. Being seventeen didn't mean he was making all his own decisions. Draco hadn't been allowed to go and see Rhiannon, and Harry could easily see Snape deciding something similar about the funeral. "Um, if I can, that is. After what happened to the Ministry, my dad's pretty paranoid about our safety."

"Well, he should be." Charlie gave him nod of approval. "We're all glad you've got him looking out for you, Harry. I don't suppose we can mind him doing just that."

Harry understood all that, but the prospect of missing the funeral still rankled. "Yeah . . . well, I guess it doesn't matter that the Apparition Test Centre was destroyed, since I won't be going anywhere, anyway--"

"In point of fact, I will arrange for you and your brother to be tested at Hogwarts," said a cool voice behind him.

"Oh." Harry tried to hide his embarrassment as he turned around. It wasn't too hard, since he straight away started wondering about the wards preventing Apparition at school. Well, Snape must plan to arrange something about that, too. "Thanks. I just meant . . . oh, hell. Not sure what I meant, actually."

"Don't worry about it." Snape looked past Harry. "Mr Weasley. I regret I didn't have more time to speak with you at the party last night. I was going to inquire about your work at the dragon preserve."

Charlie gave a weak smile, one that said he was trying his best to look jolly. "You were going to ask if I could owl you more of those Welsh Green scales, you mean."

Snape's lips twitched. "That might have been mentioned, yes."

"I'll see what I can do, Professor. And I'll see you both at the funeral?"

"You'll see all three of us, if I can satisfy myself as to the security arrangements."

Charlie flushed. "Of course. I didn't mean to leave Draco out. I don't expect you'd want to leave him alone at a time like this."

"Indeed not." Snape glanced about, then settled his gaze on Harry. "Where is your brother?"

"He wanted to talk to Remus. Three guesses about what."

"Hmm. It's time we returned home."

"All right," said Harry, giving Charlie a little wave. "See you later, then."

They found Draco in a hallway near the rear of the house. Remus was with him, but leaning heavily against the wall. He looked even shakier than before.

"Not once?" Draco was asking as Harry and Snape drew near. "You haven't heard from her once since she went to visit her relatives in France?"

"It's only been a few weeks," answered Remus in a patient voice that meant, most likely, that he'd already answered that several times. "I'm sure she's fine, Draco."

"Fine!" Draco hissed through his teeth. "How would you know, if you haven't heard from her? And don't you think it's a bit suspicious, her leaving her husband so soon after he was 'hexed from behind'? What if the Death Eaters start to wonder over it? What if they think she's left the fold? They'll hunt her down!"

"Would you like me to summon her back? That would mean she'd be living with a werewolf, again."

"Well, there is that . . ."

Snape abruptly cleared his throat. "Lupin, I'm positive that when Albus told you to get some rest, he in fact intended you to actually do it!"

"I couldn't leave without speaking to Draco."

"Of course you could have."

Draco ground his teeth together.

Snape ignored that. "Get yourself back in character and take the secured Floo route back to Malfoy Manor, where you belong. I'm sure Draco would be the first to agree."

"You should go, yes," said Draco, biting his lip like he'd realised how selfish he'd been. Or maybe he hadn't, considering his next words. "You look awful, and one slip-up could mean my mother's death, so you'd better get back in top form."

"There's more at stake here than your mother," snapped Snape.

"Severus, he's only seventeen."

Snape turned a glacial glare on Remus. "When I need your assistance to raise my sons, you can be certain I'll ask for it. Now, I do believe we'll be leaving. Neither one of my sons needs to see you looking that part of Lucius Malfoy."

Harry was about to protest that he could handle it, when he realised that he'd better not. Snape didn't like to be contradicted in front of Remus. And besides . . . Harry didn't want to see Lucius Malfoy in the flesh, ever again. He didn't even want to see the statue at Hogwarts.

Thankfully, he wouldn't ever have to. When he went to the Owlery, he wasn't going to look down.

"'Bye, Remus," he said, stepping closer to give the man a brief hug. Remus looked startled, and then pleased, but the expression quickly died. Harry wasn't sure why, unless it had to do with that "Don't tell Harry" business that he and Snape had been discussing.

"Good-bye," said Draco politely. His voice wasn't warm, but at least it wasn't chilled, either.

Snape didn't bid Remus good-bye at all, but Harry figured that was just for show. That be well from earlier really said it all, didn't it? Snape didn't hold Remus in as much contempt as he used to.

For some reason, though, he didn't want Harry to know that.

Except, Harry already knew. And as soon as they were home, he was going to know it all, every bit.

---------------------------------------------------

"All right, what gives?" asked Harry, the instant the three of them were back behind the safety of the adoption wards. "What is Remus hiding?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, his expression so blank that if Harry didn't know better, he'd think the man had no information at all. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry wasn't about to fall for that. "I saw you Legilimising Remus, and I know he did something he didn't report on, or at least, not to the full Order. What was it?"

"I'm really not at liberty to discuss the matter," said Snape, crossing the room, his gait so stiff that his robes didn't flutter like usual.

When Snape sat down, Harry dragged a chair close and did the same. "Look, I know you told Remus you wouldn't tell me, but--"

"Oh, you know that, do you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry, half the art of eavesdropping is not mentioning afterwards that you did it."

"I don't care," Harry shot back, rounding on Snape again. "You can punish me however you like, but first, we're going to settle this."

"One day past your birthday and you think you're in charge, here?"

Harry wasn't about to get sidetracked. "What I think," he said, stressing the phrase like Snape always did, "is that I've done what you kept asking me to do, namely, wait until we're home to have an argument. And I can say any stupid thing I like to you here, can't I? Isn't that what you promised?"

Snape's nostrils flared. "Manipulating me, Harry?"

"We're getting a long way from the point. You don't want to tell me what Remus is hiding, I know, but--"

"And I wouldn't have." Snape bared his teeth. "The matter is Lupin's to share or not, as he chooses, the details not mine to dispense. But now, Harry, I am not at liberty to discuss the matter at all."

Something about Snape's phrasing, or maybe his tone of voice, made Harry go still. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up, and stood on end as a chill swept straight through him. "Oh. Oh, no. You don't mean you won't, you mean you can't, I think. Er . . . Fidelius?"

"A variant thereof. I am conjoined not to divulge privileged information save to those who already know."

Harry's forehead wrinkled. "How is that different from the usual Fidelius charm?"

Snape snorted. "I alone am bound. Lupin is free to say anything to anyone, at any time."

Oh. Harry could see why that would irritate the hell out of his father.

"Well, he has to be," said Draco, speaking calmly, like he thought Snape was about to completely lose his temper. "If the Dark Lord punished Lupin for this whatever, then he already knows. Lupin can't be put in a position where it's clear he's under Fidelius. What if the Dark Lord orders him to tell the other Death Eaters what he did?"

"Albus' reasoning exactly." Snape crossed his arms and leaned back.

"Why not just make Lupin the Secret Keeper?"

"And you raised among the Dark Arts. Can you really not reason that out?"

"Oh . . . the Dark Lord might sense a change in his magic?"

Snape gave a sharp nod.

Harry felt fed-up by then, on several levels. "Why rail at Remus for saying the Dark Lord, if you're going to keep saying it yourself?"

Draco flushed, just a little. "Well, it sounds all wrong coming from him."

"If Lupin is idiotic enough to get used to saying Voldemort at this critical juncture-- but he's not. In fact, he's doing quite well, all things told." Snape's lips twisted, the expression bitter. "I wouldn't have believed it."

"How can he be doing well at his assignment, if he's ending up on the wrong end of Voldemort's wand?" cried Harry. "He was Crucio'd something awful! I could tell!"

"As could I. But Harry? I'm quite sure you understand now, that I cannot answer your question."

"Fidelius, right." Harry scowled. "But you weren't going to tell me, anyway!"

"True."

Snape's calm tone was too much for Harry to take. "How can you sit there and admit it? We're family! We're not supposed to be keeping secrets from one another!"

Snape's dark eyes flashed something dangerous-looking. "Draco. Your petite amie, was she untouched by man when you first met her? And if so, does she remain so?"

Draco's mouth dropped open. "You can't ask me that!"

"But I thought we weren't supposed to keep secrets," retorted Snape, in tones of mock-innocence. "Doesn't that give me leave to pry into your private business?"

"That's Rhiannon's private business!"

"As this is Lupin's," said Snape, facing Harry again. "And he specifically asked me not to tell you."

"It's not the same--"

"It's not sexual. Other than that, it is the same. Particularly since I was never in Lupin's confidence in the first place. What knowledge I have was acquired through stealth. All the more reason to respect his confidence, in my view."

"Confidence, ha," said Harry. "You think he has any in you, when he got you put under Fidelius so you couldn't talk?"

"Albus did that on your account," Snape retorted, his calm mask vanishing as he clenched his teeth. "Lupin quite properly reported to him that I'd discovered his secret, and Albus determined that with you in my household, extraordinary measures needed to be taken to protect the truth."

"Oh, that's rich when you're the one Legilimising people on the sly--"

"Yes, and all you do is eavesdrop!" Snape's eyes narrowed. "At the time, I saw Albus' insistence on Fidelius as a lack of faith in me, but considering your own behaviour this evening, perhaps it's more an understanding of your true character."

"True character!"

"Oh, yes," said Snape, his eyes gleaming. "I think of you as Gryffindor more often than not, but that is a misjudgement on my part. You are just as much a Slytherin."

"I am--" In time, Harry realised how silly it would be for him to shout, I am not. He'd be saying it to score points in their argument, not because it was true, or even because he believed it to be. "Yeah, I am."

Feeling a bit embarrassed by then, he looked down, but glanced up through his fringe. "Er . . . are you going to do anything about the eavesdropping, then?"

"Yes. I'll remember it, and ward accordingly."

"And there I thought you were Head of Slytherin," said Draco. "Why didn't you ward your conversation to begin with?"

"It wasn't supposed to be a conversation," growled Snape.

"Oh, sure it was," said Harry. "You wanted Remus to know that you'd found him out. That as good a spy as he ever is, you're better!"

"No, he already knew I'd seen the truth." Snape shook his head.

Maybe so, thought Harry, but you still enjoyed rubbing it in.

"I will say this much, Harry. Lupin . . . surprised me."

"In a good way," said Harry, feeling like he was casting a net, hoping to catch something. Anything. Snape made no reply, though, so Harry pressed a little harder. "I understand about the Fidelius. I do, really. But . . . isn't there anything else you can tell me? Please, Dad?"

Snape regarded him for a long moment, his eyes shadowed. "He isn't worthless, after all."

Once, Harry would have been delighted to hear that. Now, it was like having chocolate snatched away the moment you'd realised it was there. "That's all you can say?"

"Do you suppose it easy to admit that much, and to you, after all I've said about him previously?"

When Harry just waited, Snape blew out a breath. "Very well. One more thing, Harry. I think that Lupin will survive as a deep-cover spy. He does have the necessary . . . skills. But that really is the limit of what I can tell you."

Harry nodded, knowing better than to ask again. "All right. Um, so about the funeral--"

"Do you wish to go? I thought better than to ask in front of young Mr Weasley."

Harry gave his father an incredulous look. "Yes, I want to go."

"I rather had the impression you never much cared for Percy Weasley."

Was Snape really this dense? "Yeah, but I care about Ron a lot. And the rest of the family, too. It's not about him, it's about them."

"I should have remembered your insistence about seeing your aunt laid to rest." Snape nodded. "Very well. I will arrange matters, as I said."

Draco started shaking his head. "What if there's another attack?"

"Unlikely, as Voldemort has slain the small army he built up over the summer. Strange as it may seem, Lupin is indeed in his confidence now, and he assures us that Voldemort has no more captives in his amulet. But just to be safe, I will ask Albus to arrange Portkeys for everyone. At the slightest sign of trouble, all the funeral-goers will be whisked to safety."

"I'll stay here--"

"No, you will not," Snape admonished Draco.

"I'd hardly be welcome," argued Draco. "That was why I took the time to tell Mrs Weasley tonight that I was sorry."

"You are Harry's brother, and my son, and the Weasleys would not dream of excluding you. Not to mention, I am in no mind to leave you alone at Hogwarts for several hours."

"You did it earlier today."

"I left you with Harry, not alone."

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. "So now I need a child-minder, is that it? Why don't you just say I'm a weak wizard and be done with it?"

"Because you aren't. You don't have Harry's powers, but you have strength enough, I have no doubt. But when Harry is here, the adoption wards will protect you both."

"Oh." Draco almost sagged. "That makes sense. Er . . . does that mean you want us both to stay on here even after term starts?"

"I can't possibly evaluate that now." Snape sighed. "It's been less than a full day since the attack on the Ministry, gentlemen. Perhaps you could allow me some time to consider the best course of action."

"Of course, Severus," said Draco, subdued.

"I think we all need dinner," Harry added. "Whatever suits?"

Snape glanced at him, clearly distracted. "Oh, one more thing, Harry. Sals." Reaching into a pocket, Snape drew out a gleaming, snake-shaped bracelet, then murmured a spell to bring the little snake back to life. "I meant to give her to your earlier. My apologies."

Harry tickled the top of Sals' head, hissing at her a little as she swayed in his hand, Snape's spell only slowly losing its grip on her. He was sorry that she'd remained transfigured for so long, but he didn't have the heart to complain. Forgetting about Sals, more than anything else, told Harry how much strain his father was under.

Whatever suits, with Galliano, he decided as he carefully draped Sals around his neck. Or some kind of nice wine, if the liquor cabinet is still warded.

"What about Loki?" Draco suddenly asked.

"Loki?" asked Snape and Harry both at once.

"My ferret. I just realised, Loki wasn't included with the other gifts sent through the Floo earlier. Hmm, maybe ferrets don't take so well to going up in smoke, though."

Snape sighed. "I take it you're planning to keep her?"

"Him, I'm pretty sure. But yes."

"I don't care to have a ferret running loose through my rooms." Before Draco could reply, Snape was waving a hand as though to take that back. "But as I've never complained about Harry's snake, I suppose my fate is sealed. You're to house-train this ferret, though, Draco. The library should have some books that will guide you as to which spells may be of use. I warn you now, the animal will be banished to Hagrid's care if I find any of my books or papers chewed."

"As if Loki would do a thing like that," Draco said, pretending outrage.

"Or my furniture. I'm quite serious."

"She'll only gnaw your robes. I promise."

"Draco--"

"It'll be fine. I learned to live with a snake creeping about, after all." Draco smiled. "I'll collect her when the funeral's over, then. So that all sorts."

"Oh, no," said Harry, groaning. "Sals is going to be afraid of being eaten again!"

"Ferrets don't eat snakes. Do they?"

Neither Harry nor Snape had any idea.

"We'll work it out, Harry," said Draco, giving him a bit of a hug. Sort of a half-hug, really. Just an arm slung around Harry's shoulders. "That's what brothers do."

Harry huffed a laugh, unused to such open affection from Draco. Huh . . . Rhiannon really had been good for him, he supposed.

Snape was smiling, just a little, as he glanced at Draco. "Well, at least dealing with your pet will keep you occupied for the next few weeks. I regret that it won't be possible for you to see Miss . . . see Rhiannon, that is."

Draco covered his disappointment with a brave face. "We'll write. We'll . . . well, we'll make it through this, somehow."

"And I'll use the time in the castle to get that mirror working," said Harry, determined. "Might as well do something useful with the rest of the summer."

"Summer's over," said Draco. "We're back at school, after all, and there'll be no more trips to the theatre or the seaside. No more lazy mornings lolling about."

"Dad never let you have those, anyway."

"No more sunning at the pool," Draco went on, undeterred. "Oh, no. No more telly."

Harry laughed. "Well, I won't miss my swimming lessons, that's for sure. They were hard slogging near the end, all those endless laps. But Roger was a good sort, I think."

Snape seemed about to say something, but he must have decided the time wasn't right. "Dinner, then? Would you see to it, Harry?"

Later, when they all sat down together, each one with a different meal, Harry thought it almost seemed like the summer had never come and gone at all. It was just like last year, really, the three of them eating dinner together . . .

But in another way, it wasn't like last year at all. Harry wasn't worried now, not about what Snape might think of him, and certainly not that Draco might hex him any second.

They weren't just Snape and Draco any longer. Father and brother, that's what he had. And that was something to celebrate, even in the midst of the terrible events that had overtaken their world.

Smiling, Harry picked up his wine glass. Apparently they'd all needed a drink; when Harry had ordered whatever suits, a bottle of dark red wine had arrived with three stemmed glasses.

"A toast, then." Harry lifted his glass high. Once he had it there, though, he felt a bit shy of saying something soppy. "Er . . . to the future."

Draco nodded. "To our final year at Hogwarts."

They both looked at Snape, whose dark eyes gleamed with something Harry thought he could recognise, now. He'd seen it often enough, though he hadn't always known to call it love.

"To family," said Snape quietly. "My family."

The End

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Author's Note:

Coming Soon: A Family Like None Other

The working title for the Year 7 story in this universe has long been Brothers in Arms, but on reflection, Mercredi and I have decided that the title A Family Like None Other fits the story content on far more levels. AFLNO will pick up where A Summer Like None Other has left off, and continue the storyline through the end of Harry's final year at Hogwarts.

I do hope you have enjoyed the summer interlude and that you join us for the continuing adventures of Harry, Snape, and Draco as they face new challenges and obstacles in the coming year.

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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