Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Chapter Thirty-Two

With Drooping Wings

Harry heard a noise and he opened his eyes. He immediately closed them again; his neck hurt like hell from sleeping in the wing chair in Snape's office all night. His mouth tasted terrible from the whiskey, but his head felt oddly clear. He tried opening his eyes again and looked around the office; there was a dim light coming from somewhere, and looking up, Harry noticed for the first time the narrow clerestory windows at the top of the high wall behind Snape's desk, partially obscured by the objects sitting before the windows on the tops of the bookcases lining the wall. Bell jars, mason jars with pickled dragons' eyes and other creatures' body parts as well. The eerie color of the light was in part a result of the morning light being filtered through the contents of these containers. How cheery, thought Harry. It's no wonder Snape's always in such a sunny mood...

He grimaced. Snape. Snape was just the person to suit his disposition, now. He felt he would probably want to blast out of his way anyone even slightly more cheerful than Snape usually was. Harry understood now Malfoy's irritation with him that morning in the prefects' bathroom. Misery certainly does love company, he thought.

The door to the office suddenly opened, and Snape stood framed in the opening, regarding Harry with an inscrutable expression. He nodded a mute greeting to him and then gestured for Harry to follow him into the classroom. He rose and plodded after him, legs like lead. Snape stood at one of the ancient granite sinks in the corner of the room. He turned on the single tap for cold water and handed Harry a goblet. Harry looked down into it; the goblet was dark brown, and Harry could not tell what color the contents might be. He looked up at Snape, who nodded, and he took a deep breath and drank the contents of the goblet, remembering with a touch of irony the way he'd been appalled at Lupin for drinking the steaming potion Snape had brought him...

Harry felt dreadful; he immediately spat the contents of his mouth into the sink, where they swirled down the drain, helped along by the running water. Then he put his hand under the tap, cupping his hand to collect some water, which he brought quickly to his mouth, again and again, as when he'd been with the giants.

He brought the sleeve of his robes up to his mouth, looking at Snape. "What was that? "

Snape gave him what passed for a smile. "Homemade mouthwash. Your mouth should taste better now." To his surprise, Harry found that he was right; there was a residual taste of ginger and mint.

"I thought it might be something for hangover..."

"Why? Do you feel like you have a hangover?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "No. Which is odd, because I felt like the whiskey really put me under, and I'm not used to drinking..."

"You no doubt fell asleep from pure stress. I have been watering my Ogden's for some time now, to cut down on my intake. It is really not good for me, but...At any rate, what you had was actually about eighty per cent water. Even someone with no tolerance should not find that unwieldy."

Harry nodded. "It probably was stress...But thanks for letting me stay down here."

Snape nodded. "I told the headmaster and Professor McGonagall where you were, and not to worry. Where were you before that?"

Harry explained to him about having to get far enough from Hogwarts to use the tape player, the message from Wormtail. "I remember now; Hermione said that the wizards who abducted her in Bulgaria talked about doing something to a Muggle boy when he was still in his school last June...They were planning to kill him for a whole year!"

Snape looked utterly unsurprised. "I am afraid that there is very little you could tell me about Death Eaters that would shock me, Potter. Your godfather went to see your aunt and uncle; they were at your cousin's school, summoned there because of the--tragedy. He should return soon."

Harry nodded, still numb somehow. He almost wished he had really gotten drunk. No, he thought, what I really wish was that I'd read Dudley's letter in time...if only...if only...

"You should go upstairs. It is too early for breakfast. Let your housemates know you are all right. Professor McGonagall told them not to worry about you, but I am sure they shall be glad to see you." Harry's throat felt very tight. Snape had never seemed so--nice. He almost wished he'd stop, that he'd yell at him or take house points away...

"And Potter," he said then, a little stiffly. "You are a prefect. You know the rules." Harry furrowed his brow, clueless about what he was going to say. "No leaving the grounds without permission. And I am quite certain that you should not have let anyone see a golden griffin flying over the village. I think it would be fair to say...twenty-five points from Gryffindor. I doubt Professor McGonagall would disagree with me." Well, Harry thought, I got my wish. Although, for possibly the first time, he thought the points taken away were justified...

"Now," Snape said even more sternly. "Sleep in my office all night or drink any more alcohol and it will be fifty points from Gryffindor."

Harry restrained himself from smiling. "Yes, sir."

Harry checked his watch as he slogged up the stairs. It was early, but not early enough to run. This was about the time he usually showered after running. Showering; that sounded like what he needed. He made his way to the prefects' bathroom and almost didn't see Hermione standing there waiting for him.

"Harry! Oh, Harry, I've been so worried, and Ron's been worried, and Neville, and Ginny, and even Draco Malfoy..." She moved to enclose him in an embrace, and he recoiled and made a face as though he found her to be utterly repulsive. She cried, "Harry! What--"

"Don't touch me!" he choked, trying to avoid coming in contact with her; he backed up against the opposite wall of the wide corridor, putting as much distance as possible between them. "Never," he said, and she looked stricken at his expression, "ever touch me again!"

He ran from her, going toward Gryffindor Tower. He heard her crying behind him, calling his name with tears in her voice, but he ignored her and kept moving forward, onward and upward. When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he gave the password and entered, then crossed the common room and strode up the stairs to his dorm. He stood by his bed, shedding his clothes and putting his dressing gown on. Ron and the others still slept. He went to use the regular showers, to avoid going back to the prefects' bathroom. No one would be in there at this hour. After he had put his glasses in his dressing gown pocket and hung it on a hook, he stepped under the spray, leaning against the wall and just letting it hit him like a fire hose...his tears came pouring forth again, then, blending with the water from the showerhead, mixing in the drain as the water swirled around his feet. After a time, he stopped crying and put his hand up to clasp the basilisk amulet. He stared at the tiles on the opposite wall, holding the basilisk, and eventually, a feeling of calm pervaded him, and he reached out to turn off the water, feeling like his head was clear at last. He knew what he must do.

He dried off and put his dressing gown on again. When he returned to the dorm, Ron was sitting on the edge of his bed, and Hermione was sitting there with him, crying on his chest. Harry looked at the other beds; the three other boys had gone down to breakfast. Ron's arms were around Hermione; her own arms were crossed over her chest as she huddled against him like a child, tears wetting the T-shirt he wore with his pajama pants. He looked unspeakably sad as he gazed down at her, then up at Harry.

But Harry's calmness went flying out the window; he felt a wave of hostility roll through himself again at seeing her. "What's she doing here?" he said as hatefully as he could. It wasn't easy, but this was what had to be done...

Ron leaned down and whispered something to her and she nodded, then he kissed the top of her head. She stood and left without looking at Harry.

Harry didn't look at Ron; he went to the wardrobe to get some clothes. "Well, I'll bet you're happy..."

Ron screwed up his face in confusion. "What? "

"Not about Dudley. About me and Hermione. What you've been waiting for, isn't it?" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Maybe that's what I should do, he thought. Alienate everybody. If I don't have any friends, maybe Voldemort can't hold anything over my head...

Suddenly, Ron ran at him and threw him against the wall, his hands on his upper arms. Harry gasped with the shock of the impact, wincing at the pain emanating from where his head had struck the wall. He felt a sudden grudging respect for Malfoy for not crying out when Ron had done the same thing to him. Ron spoke with his face very close to Harry's.

"You don't know anything, Harry! What do you think we were doing up here? I'll tell you what: she was crying because you said you don't ever want her to touch you again! That's what. What the hell is wrong with you? How can you blame her for this? This is not her fault, Harry. You think you could have saved him from Wormtail, but if they really wanted it to happen...how could a Muggle be safe? Unless your aunt and uncle were to let Dumbledore bring him here? As if that would ever have happened. Don't you take this out on her! You need her right now, you can't afford to push her away. She wants to be there for you. Don't you think she feels terrible? She needs you to tell her it's all right, that she did nothing wrong, as much as you need to hear it, too. Don't be a sodding bastard to her, Harry. She didn't kill Dudley. No more did you."

Harry stared at Ron, amazed. He swallowed; he'd been very tense, but now he collapsed against the wall, and when Ron released him, he sank down onto his haunches. He nodded at Ron.

"You're right, of course. Damn you...I hate it when you're right..."

He looked up to see Ron smiling. "I'm still getting used to it, frankly. It's a weird feeling."

Harry tried to smile feebly back. "You can see a lot when you want to, Ron, you know that? After those essays you wrote for Moody...maybe you should go to Muggle university, become an Oxford don, teach literature..."

Ron looked ill. "Nah. I can't wait to finish school. Muggles are gluttons for punishment, all those years cooped up in libraries...I want to get a job as soon as I walk out of the castle for the last time..."

Harry sat silently for a minute. Ron sat on his bed again. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, it was a pleasant, companionable silence. Oddly, it reminded Harry of sitting quietly with Snape in his office. Suddenly, Ron was moved to speak.

"Harry, at least--at least you and Dudley became friends before--you know--"

Harry shook his head. "But we didn't..." and he explained to Ron about the Congeniality Charm. Ron tried to offer explanations: maybe Wormtail was lying, just trying to upset Harry, maybe...But Harry told him about Hermione's recollections about being abducted, and he stopped talking, unable to reconcile these things.

"They made me care about him, Ron, just to take him away. How could anyone...how can a human being be so cruel..."

Ron sighed. "I'm not sure Death Eaters are human beings anymore, Harry. But this just goes to show, you really can't hold yourself responsible for Dudley. They were planning this for a year. A year, Harry. If you didn't do what You-Know-Who wanted, he was going to do this, any way that he could. If you caught Wormtail, someone else would have been sent to do it."

"But at least if I'd caught Wormtail, there'd be a chance of Sirius getting cleared..."

"Is that part of it? Wormtail got away again? You've got to stop obsessing over him, Harry. Sirius probably doesn't think about it as much as you do. I have to try really hard sometimes to forget that rat slept in the same bed with me. How do you think it makes me feel that he's doing the things he is now? And I never figured out that he was a wizard, not a stupid, sickly rat? He lived with us for twelve years. He knows more about my family than I'm really comfortable with a dark wizard knowing. And Percy...he used to be Percy's, remember. He and I were talking about Wormtail a little last summer, about some things we noticed about him that didn't make sense until we knew he was an Animagus. Percy feels guilty for never noticing, too. The thing is, Harry, some people are determined to do certain things, and as much as we'd all like to be onto them and stop them before they can hurt people...well, I have to work really hard sometimes not to blame myself for what happened to you after the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry swallowed. "I never blamed you for anything Wormtail did, Ron. You had no idea."

"Exactly. And don't blame yourself, or Hermione, for Dudley."

Ron put his hand out to Harry and he took it, pulling himself up. He didn't release Harry's hand right away. They gazed at each other, and Harry knew he was incredibly lucky to have Ron for his friend. He didn't want to alienate him--not that it seemed he could, even by saying quite despicable things to him. They each dressed and went down to the common room. Hermione was waiting for them there. She stood up from her armchair by the fire as Harry walked toward her, her bottom lip shaking. He strode purposefully toward her, then he was holding her in his arms, whispering into her hair, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," over and over, while she clung to him and said, "Yes, yes, it's all right..."

He finally kissed her on the forehead and separated from her, looking at Ron. "You should thank Ron for talking some sense into me," he told her, although he looked at his best friend. She smiled and stepped over to give Ron a hug, which Harry could see he took gratefully, closing his eyes, holding her tightly for a several seconds before letting her go with a reluctant look. Ron was perhaps not being completely honest about how he felt about Hermione, Harry thought, but he was too good a person to want to get her by default...Ron steered her back toward Harry, smiling grimly at him.

"I can go, if you like. If there's other things you two want to say to each other..."

Harry looked at her; he felt they'd said everything, all that was necessary for now. She had accepted his apology and forgiven him. "No. We should go down for breakfast."

Ron frowned. "You're sure?"

Now Harry was perplexed. What more did Ron expect them to say? "Yeah, I'm sure. What's with you? Let's go." And Hermione opened the portrait for them all to scramble through, but Harry saw that Ron still looked bothered by something as they walked down the stairs to the Great Hall together, Harry holding one of Hermione's hands, and Ron the other.

* * * * *

After breakfast, Dumbledore asked Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny to come to his office. When they arrived in the round room with the portraits of the slumbering former headmasters and headmistresses, Harry was elated to see Sirius. His godfather gave him a crushing hug, then stepped back to look at him. He'd last seen him in person on the day of the ceilidh, but that seemed a long time ago now.

"You've grown up a lot this year, haven't you Harry?" he said quite seriously. Harry glanced toward Hermione and felt a warmth move up his face. Sirius laughed.

"I don't mean that...well, that's part of it, I suppose. Having a girlfriend." Harry glanced toward Dumbledore now, uncomfortable. He was still very glad that it was Aberforth and not his brother who had seen him and Hermione kissing outside the infirmary after Cho and Flitwick had woken up. Harry knew what Sirius meant; he had seen it himself, when he looked in his own eyes in the mirror. He still knew who he was when he closed his eyes, he could feel that entity that was Harry, his familiar, basically insecure but friendly self; but gazing out of his eyes now was a slightly haunted-looking Harry, a more serious Harry. He was also aware of losing most of the baby fat in his face, his cheekbones more pronounced and sharp now (which he thought made the shape of his face more like his mother's than his father's). He didn't look like the same person he'd been a year earlier, and he didn't feel like it either.

"Sirius has talked to your aunt and uncle about the funeral. It will be at St. Bede's in the Meadow Church, just outside Little Whinging, on Wednesday. The interment will be in the village cemetery just down the road."

"I offered my condolences to them," Sirius said to Harry. "They're very distraught..."

Harry's voice caught. "Do they know how he really died?" Harry didn't feel like mentioning the Congeniality Charm at this time.

"No. They think it was a suicide. They're blaming themselves...It's so sad, really. I never thought I could feel sorry for them, but all they could do practically the whole time I was there was to come up with yet another slight, something they'd said or done that might have driven him to it..."

Harry swallowed. So, he could tell them it was his fault, and they could hate him even more, or he could go on letting them think he'd killed himself and they'd done something to drive him to it. Neither was a particularly attractive choice.

"They wanted to know, Harry--are you planning to come to the funeral? They said they needed pallbearers...Actually, what they said was that if you come, you could make yourself useful for once and bring a couple of pallbearers, since they only have three...and you'd be one too, if you wanted."

Harry looked at Ron, who nodded. Then he looked at Sirius. "What about--"

He shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. I can't show my face. Too risky."

"Draco!" Ginny said suddenly. Harry turned to her.

"What?"

"Draco will do it. If I ask him, I'm sure he will. If it's all right for him to go, that is," she said uncertainly, looking at Dumbledore.

He smiled at her. "If Harry would like him to, then yes, Draco may go. In fact, you may all go; Harry will need his friends around him. Sirius has said that Remus Lupin has agreed to accompany you. I'll have a horseless carriage take you to Hogsmeade on Tuesday, and then you can go from Honeyduke's to Diagon Alley by floo. That will give you a day to shop for appropriate Muggle funeral clothes; you can stay over at the Leaky Cauldron before going to the funeral on Wednesday."

Harry frowned. "Floo? Then--why couldn't we have gone that way to the Ministry of Magic?"

Dumbledore looked unconcerned about this oddity. "We could have. If I didn't think we all needed the buffer of the time on the train...sometimes, Harry, wizards and Muggles alike are so concerned with getting places quickly that they forget about the pleasures of something like a long, leisurely train ride. It's not jarring and sudden; you have time to adjust from one place to another. That's why we use it to bring you students to school. Well, that and it would be a bit messy for so many young witches and wizards and their belongings to be flowing out of the fireplaces in Hogsmeade all day long on September first." He smiled, his eyes twinkling at them all.

"On Wednesday, I'll have Ministry cars take you from the Leaky Cauldron to the church for the service. Are you familiar with it, Harry?"

"St. Bede's? A little; we went there for Christmas and Easter when I was young. The rector was nice, if it's the same one...It's a bit old fashioned. They still use the 1928 Book of Common Prayer..." What he didn't say was that Dudley had sung in the boys' choir, even doing soprano solos when he was young, before his voice changed. Aunt Petunia had been so proud...it didn't bear thinking about.

"Ah, yes. Well. Sirius has to leave, and you have to ask Draco if he will accompany you to London and the funeral." He nodded to them, and that was all; it was their cue to go. They left the office (Sirius came with them in his dog form) and walked down to the entrance hall, all four of them patting the large black dog affectionately before he went bounding down the path to Hogsmeade. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy came in the hall, carrying his broomstick over his shoulder. He looked like he'd gone for a morning fly around the pitch after breakfast. Ginny greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He smiled at her and tried to give her a better-aimed kiss, but caught a look in Ron's eye and seemed to think better of it.

"Draco! I need to ask you--" she began.

"Hullo," he interrupted her, looking out the door and frowning. "Wasn't that the same dog we saw in Hogsmeade? On the day of the ceilidh?"

The four of them suddenly stood still, tongue-tied, staring back and forth at each other. Malfoy looked at each of them in turn. "What's the matter? Is that the password for making the four of you get the world's stupidest expressions on your faces? Oops--sorry Ginny, I meant three..."

She smiled and laughed, recovering. "No, no--it might have been the same dog. I think it's just a stray the house elves have been feeding. You know how it is once you've fed them once; they keep coming back for more..." He nodded, accepting this. Ginny took a breath then, and said quickly, "Draco, Harry's cousin's funeral is on Wednesday, so can you come along and be a pallbearer?"

He looked shocked. "What?"

Harry explained that three pallbearers were needed, and that they'd be going down to London first to shop for appropriate clothes, then going to Surrey the next day.

He shook his head, although he really did look reluctant. "Sorry, Potter. No."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, do the right thing for once," Ron started to say, before Malfoy cut him off.

"Easy for you to say, Weasley. You have money now. I don't have any way to actually pay for new clothes, thank you very much."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't going to let anyone pay for their own anyway, Malfoy. It's all on me. The rooms at the Cauldron, too." He turned to Ron, to shut him up, as his mouth had started to open. "And I'm not taking no on that, from anyone. I'm not going to make you come to a funeral and not cover the clothes and rooms you wouldn't have had to pay for if you hadn't come."

Ron closed his mouth again. Malfoy looked at him, then Harry, then at Ginny's pleading face, which really seemed to be the clincher. "Well, as I seem to be confronted with the opportunity to spend the night at an inn where Ginny will be sleeping..." he started to say mischievously putting his arm around her shoulder and moving in for another kiss. Ron quickly disabused him of the notion he'd clearly started to entertain.

"Oh, no you don't, Malfoy. You and I are sharing a room, and I'm keeping an eye on you. Or I could just put a binding spell on you, so you can't leave the room overnight. Don't get any ideas."

Harry tried not to laugh; he couldn't have imagined Ron wanting to spend the night in the same room with Malfoy before this, but with Ginny in another room in the same inn, Ron wasn't going to be taking any chances.

Malfoy sighed, but he also still had the mischievous smile. "It is just too easy to get you wound up, you know that Weasley? All right; I'll do it. Isn't often one gets to go on an unsupervised field trip..."

"Well, actually, Remus Lupin's supervising us," Harry told him.

Malfoy looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Oh, well, Lupin wasn't so bad. As teachers go, he certainly wasn't as bad as Lockhart. Or Quirrell. But--when's the next full moon?"

"The last one was a week ago, Malfoy. I thought you got an O.W.L. in astronomy?" Hermione said a little snidely. He made a face at her; he still wasn't quite over not getting more O.W.L.s than her or Harry, although he'd taken a couple of opportunities to point out to Ron that he'd gotten one more than him.

Tuesday seemed to come quickly. After breakfast, they five of them took small suitcases down to the entrance hall; Hermione had shown them a clever spell for transfiguring their rucksacks into the suitcases. "One can always have the right piece of luggage, if one only has a wand..."

"Don't gloat, Granger," Malfoy warned her, although he seemed pretty pleased with himself when the spell converted his canvas bag into a nice simple black leather suitcase to which he added his initials: DIM. Ron and Harry started to laugh when they saw that.

"Perfect initials, Malfoy. What's the I stand for?" Ron chuckled.

"The I stands for I don't want to tell you..."

"Do you know?" Ron tried to ask Ginny on the sly. She shook her head dumbly, but Harry wasn't sure if she was being truthful or not.

They were quiet on the way to the village, then at Honeyduke's, they met Lupin, and one by one, they walked into the fireplace and announced that they wanted to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hadn't used floo in a while; he'd forgotten about the dizzying array of gratings that would be whirling past him, glimpses of rooms throughout the wizarding world, until, just as he was starting to feel like he would lose his lunch, he tumbled out into the front room of the pub, tripping over his suitcase, and looking up into the kindly face of Tom the publican.

"Hello, Harry," he said calmly. Harry stood, brushing soot off the knees of his jeans. Hermione and Ginny were already standing at the foot of the stairs with their bags. Ron and Malfoy followed after, and then Lupin. Tom gave them their room keys and they all went up.

"How come you get a room to yourself, Potter?" Malfoy wanted to know as they went upstairs. Hermione and Ginny were sharing, like Malfoy and Ron. Lupin was also in a single room.

"Because I'm paying. Any other stupid questions?"

"Boys..." Lupin started to say.

"Sorry," Harry said to him. "Don't want to make you into a referee."

Lupin smiled at him. "Actually, it's like old times. We didn't even need Snape to be around to be picking on each other. I'd say something to Sirius, he'd say something to James..."

Malfoy stopped and stared at him. "Sirius? Sirius Black?"

They all froze. Lupin looked awful; Harry could tell he was mortified at having forgotten to watch what he said about Sirius.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to get rid of the quaver in his voice. "You knew he was in my dad's crowd, surely? Everyone knew that."

Malfoy nodded, but Harry thought he was perhaps remembering the way Sirius had suddenly appeared at the Three Broomsticks on the day of the ceilidh. Had he noticed that he was wearing the same clothes as Ian Lucas? Had he wondered about the black dog? Harry wondered whether he'd ever trust Malfoy enough to tell him the truth about Sirius. Life would certainly be easier if he could. Of course, it would help if he could get Sirius cleared...

They went to their rooms and left their bags; they'd all worn Muggle clothes to floo to the Cauldron, so all they had to do was meet in the bar again before going to Diagon Alley. While Harry went to Gringotts to exchange Galleons for pounds, Lupin and the others went to Florean Fortescue's for ice cream. He gritted his teeth during the ride down to his vault, then waited, trying not to tap his foot, while the Goblin at the window upstairs determined how much of a surcharge he would pay for the currency conversion. When he finally emerged from the bank, he had a large wad of twenty-pound notes and enough in Galleons to pay Tom for the expenses at the inn. They went back to the Cauldron, but just as they were getting ready to open the street-side door, Harry realized that Lupin was going to go out into Muggle London in robes. They waited while he took his robes back to his room, returning in rather shabby brown pants and a brown shirt.

"My guard uniform," he mumbled with some embarrassment. Harry didn't know what to say. He still thought it a crime that Lupin had to support himself the way he did. They emerged into a bright, summery London day, looking, Harry thought, exactly like the six of them had spent the previous year in a dungeon. Which, considering how much time the five of them had put in working on potions, wasn't that far off. Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Malfoy immediately picked up on this.

"What's the matter, Potter? Never been in the big city before?"

"I've been to London before, Malfoy. I'm just not sure, um, where we should go..."

Hermione took charge. "Right," she said, promptly hailing a taxi. A large black car rolled to a stop in front of them almost immediately. After they piled in, Hermione said firmly to the driver, "MacTavish's, please."

"Yes, miss," said the elderly driver, moving out into the traffic as though there were no other possible destination for a person in London. After about fifteen minutes, they pulled up in front of a large store with doormen dressed in highland regalia, even more elaborate than that Malfoy had worn to the ceilidh.

"Um, Hermione," Ron said nervously, "we're not supposed to wear kilts for this funeral, are we? Because I have a basic philosophical problem with going about in a skirt..."

She nudged him with her elbow. "Stop panicking, Ron. They're just for show, because the name of the place is Scottish. They sell your basic Muggle clothes, and they tailor men's suits very quickly. My dad gets all of his suits here. And they have lovely silk ties..."

Harry paid the driver and they went into the store. Harry didn't feel particularly comfortable here, but he didn't want to reveal in front of Malfoy that he'd never been in a Muggle establishment like this, with posh fixtures, and immaculate young men and women who looked like they'd stepped out of glossy magazine adverts trying to squirt them with cologne or inquire every three seconds whether they needed any assistance at all, any at all...He noticed that Lupin didn't look any more comfortable in this setting than he did.

Hermione went immediately to a bank of lifts and pressed the button to go up. When the doors opened, she and Harry and Lupin stepped on; Ron, Ginny and Malfoy just stood looking into the little room with mirrors and tartan wallpaper lining it. Their expressions were not just uncertain, but downright terrified. Even Malfoy wasn't ashamed to show how he felt about this. Hermione sighed with exasperation.

"Come on, you three! It's just a lift. Something that Muggles invented over a hundred years ago. Get on! Else we'll have to walk up five storeys."

Ginny put her foot into the lift experimentally, then crept in with her other foot, each step careful and tentative. Now Hermione was closing her eyes in exasperation; Harry could feel the heat of frustration emanating from her, like when she knew an answer in class and she was trying to restrain herself from screaming it out. Suddenly, the doors to the lift starting closing, and would have hit Ron if Harry hadn't quickly found the button for opening them again. Ron screamed and leaped backward; he'd been about to board the lift, but when the doors had threatened to make a Ron snack out of him...

"Hurry up, you two!" Hermione hissed at them. "That happens when the doors have been open a long time. If you'd just get on..."

So Ron and Malfoy did a kind of kamikaze approach to the lift and leapt into it, each uttering a small cry, knocking into the rest of them and making the car shift slightly in the shaft, which was making Harry nervous now, and he'd never felt that way about lifts before. With a little more eye-rolling, Hermione punched the button for the fifth floor and the doors rolled smoothly shut. When the lift started moving upward, Malfoy suddenly grabbed Harry's arm; Harry gave him an amused look and he removed his hand quickly. Harry noticed that he had beads of sweat on his forehead as he looked above the door at the numbers lighting up, one by one, as they passed the lower floors.

When the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open, Ron and Malfoy shouldered their way past the others, racing to get out. Ginny was actually laughing at the two of them as she strolled out with Hermione, suddenly an old veteran.

"I liked it!" she declared. "We should have those at school. I'm so tired of slogging up and down so many stairs...You'd think it wouldn't be too hard to create a spell to--"

"Sssshh!" Hermione said suddenly, putting her hand over Ginny's mouth. "Don't mention spells or anything like that!" she hissed. Ginny glared at Hermione, who removed her hand from her mouth. "Sorry about that, but you can't say things like that here..."

Lupin nodded. "One thing I'm here for is to keep you all out of any trouble of that sort. Revealing or even discussing your--abilities--would be a serious breach."

Ginny nodded at him, reluctantly admitting the truth of this. Harry realized that she and Ron and Malfoy had probably had very, very little exposure to the Muggle world; they just weren't used to concealing something that was so second-nature to them. Harry and Hermione hadn't even discovered they were magical until they received their Hogwarts letters (although, of course, there were the anomalous magical incidents from their childhoods). This was completely new for the others.

The rest of the shopping trip went fairly easily. The girls went off to look at appropriate funeral clothes for themselves while Lupin and the boys were fitted for suits and selected shirts and ties. Ron and Lupin also needed black oxfords. Malfoy was eyeing some expensive silk neckties, but Harry informed him they'd all be wearing plain black ties with their black suits.

When Malfoy was standing before a triple mirror in the suit he was getting, he squinted and stared at the mirror in an odd way, Harry thought. Finally, he stepped up to it and started rapping it with his knuckles. "Well? he said to his reflection. "What's wrong with you?"

Harry walked over to him, standing very close. "Stop it, Malfoy! What's wrong with you ?"

Malfoy still peered with a perplexed look into the mirror. "Stupid thing isn't working...hasn't said a word about whether this looks all right..."

"Malfoy," he said more softly still. "Muggle mirrors don't talk. "

"They don't?" He still stared at the mirror, his eyes narrowed.

"No." Finally taking this for an answer, Malfoy walked away from the mirror, as though it had slighted him by not commenting. He probably has mirrors at home that feed his ego all the time, Harry thought.

The girls' clothes were ready to go, but the suits were still being hemmed and altered by the middle of the afternoon. (Malfoy wanted to know why he couldn't just use his wand for this back at the Leaky Cauldron; Harry nixed this idea.) They went up to the top floor (Ron and Malfoy weathering the lift better this time) to have a bite in the tea room there while they waited. They chose one of the tables on a roof terrace looking out over the neighborhood. On the streets below, the newly green trees fluttered in a warm breeze, and they could see children playing in a park with a tall iron fence around it. Nannies sat primly on benches, prams parked beside them, reading or chatting with each other. Office workers ate sandwiches on other benches and enjoyed the summer sunshine.

Harry listened to the others chatter around him with only half an ear; they were enjoying their outing, the unfamiliar setting, and he was glad he could do this for them. He, however, couldn't help being constantly aware of the reason why they were here. The next morning, they would rise and don their newly-purchased, somber clothes, and go to the church for Dudley's funeral...

Lupin caught his eye and nodded; he understood. It had been strange for Harry to see Lupin wearing a nicely-tailored suit; he'd only ever seen him in rather shabby robes, and now rather shabby Muggle clothes. He had seemed very different, somehow. More authoritative, although Harry had never disrespected him when he was his teacher in third year. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

After their tea, they went back downstairs to retrieve the altered suits. Ginny and Hermione picked up their outfits in another department, where they'd been keeping their packages for them. Harry felt he'd had enough of the Muggle world for a while; he'd be immersed in it tomorrow, and then for the rest of the summer...

But he couldn't imagine the summer. Trying to live in the same house with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon while they mourned Dudley, and he knew it was all his fault. He dreaded seeing them at the funeral. Perhaps it would help that he'd been asked to provide pallbearers and he'd done just that. Harry didn't think they'd expect him to speak. He sincerely hoped not. He had no idea how he'd survive such a thing...

After they put their purchases in their rooms, they occupied themselves in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron before dinner. Ron challenged Malfoy to wizard chess, while Ginny and Remus watched them. Harry sat next to Hermione, his hand draped across her shoulder. She grew tired and put her head on his shoulder, then yawned hugely.

"Oh, Hermione, don't do that, you'll make me--" he began, before a yawn overcame him as well. She laughed, then kissed him on the cheek.

"I think I'll go take a nap in my room before dinner." She stood to go upstairs, but he still held her hand, looking at her hopefully.

"Would you like some company?"

She glanced over at Lupin, their chaperone, saying to Harry, "I really do want to sleep..."

"So do I. As you've said before, it's nice sleeping in the same bed..."

She nodded. "All right--" she answered, and they walked up the stairs; Harry looked over his shoulder; Lupin met his eye, but he nodded at Harry. Harry's chest hitched with emotion, treasuring the trust he felt from his father's old friend. He went with Hermione up to the room she shared with Ginny, following her to the bed. She lay down on her side in her clothes, and he put his glasses on the table and curled up behind her as they'd done many times. Very quickly, she was breathing slowly and regularly, her cheek on her hand in a way that always reminded him of a small child sleeping. He drew her to him, his arm around her waist, closing his eyes and letting his cares slip away...

* * * * *

Harry felt someone watching him. He wasn't sure why or how he knew; he just did. His eyes flew open and he saw Ron sitting on Ginny's bed looking at the two of them. Except that he wasn't looking at Harry's face, so he didn't seem to be aware of the fact that his eyes were open. Harry remembered him watching Hermione sleep on the train.

"Ron," he said softly, not moving any other part of him.

"Ah!" Ron jumped, as startled as though a statue had spoken. Probably more startled, Harry thought, since the suits of armor and artwork and mirrors at Hogwarts addressed them all the time. Harry smiled as he remembered Malfoy trying to get the Muggle mirror to talk. "Harry--don't do that!"

"Sorry Ron; I wasn't trying to make you jump out of your skin..."

He rolled over onto his back, stretching, and then Hermione murmured something in her sleep and also rolled over, throwing her arm and one leg over Harry. Harry dared to glance back at Ron, looking at Hermione again; his heart was unmistakably on his face. Harry closed his eyes. Just the other day, Ron had been yelling at him for trying to push Hermione away. Harry wondered now how much that had cost him.

"Don't fall asleep again, Harry. It's time for dinner. Lupin got us a private dining room downstairs. Everyone else is waiting."

He woke Hermione and the three of them went down to dinner. Harry talked with the others, caught up with Lupin, told him quite a bit about the O.W.L.s, which gave the older man the chance to reminisce about his own fifth-year tests, then it was back to the bar for more wizard chess, Exploding Snap and wizard darts. The wizard darts were very frustrating to Harry, who'd never played before. The board looked at first like a regular dartboard in any pub; but the moment the dart (which spoke) was released, the board started changing and moving, so that it looked totally different by the time the small projectile reached it and embedded itself in the cork. Lupin was beating Harry mercilessly, but Ron gave Lupin a run for his money while Harry played Ginny at chess and Hermione and Malfoy laughed over their Snap burns.

Ginny was going to win; his pieces were beating a hasty retreat before her onslaught. In no time, it seemed, she was saying, "Checkmate," as Harry's remaining knight and bishop were criticizing him, saying, "We told you to move that pawn to protect the rook, which was protecting the king, but did you listen? No, you know what you're doing, you said..."

Ginny smiled shyly at him as they cleared up the pieces. When they'd finished putting it away, Malfoy had started playing darts with Lupin and Ron while Hermione watched, highly amused, and Harry fetched some butterbeers from the bar for him and Ginny. They sat sipping them slowly, watching the darts match. Suddenly Ginny spoke softly to him.

"Harry. I know he probably hasn't said anything to you, but--the Quidditch Cup. That meant a great deal to Draco. This has been so hard on him. You have no idea, the way he's been treated in Slytherin since the trial, and of course, his mother...It was such a wonderful thing to do. He has a hard time saying these things, but he really appreciated it."

Harry smiled at her. "It just came to me suddenly. The Snitch appearing when it did...I would have had to pretend I didn't see it and try to draw Cho away too, so Ravenclaw wouldn't win, and then hope that the next time it appeared, I'd get to it first. The moment I thought, Hey, if I catch it now, we'll tie Slytherin for the cup, I also thought, And that would be a bad thing why? So before I could spend much more time thinking about it, I just went for it..."

"Well, it was still a wonderful thing to do. You and Draco may wind up friends yet."

Harry looked at him, playing darts, laughing and joking with the others, sipping a butterbeer between his turns. Harry had never seen him like this, just socializing happily. "Yeah, well a greater wonder seems to be happening over there. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley getting along. A truly miraculous event."

Ginny sighed. "Now I just have five other brothers and my mum and dad to convince..." But then she smiled at Harry, and his chest felt strange; suddenly having her smile at him like that seemed so important and wonderful. He shook himself, looking over at Hermione, who was giving that throaty laugh he adored, which made her even more attractive than she already was...

Harry and Ginny gave in and joined the darts match. At last, they all went up the stairs rather later than they should have, laughing and rehashing the hilarious results of their trying to play this game for the first time (except for Lupin). Harry kissed Hermione lightly on the lips and watched her close the door to her and Ginny's room, then said goodnight to Ron, Malfoy and Lupin before retiring to his own room. He undressed and lay on the bed in his drawers, wondering how to conjure up a ceiling fan to dissipate the muggy heat from the room. He didn't even have a chance to take his glasses off, however, before his exhaustion and the oppressive heat caused him to fall asleep.

* * * * *

Harry awoke with a start. He was confused by the fact that the world was in focus, as it never was when he first awoke, until he realized that he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on. He wasn't sorry to wake up; he'd been having horrible nightmares, and he'd been trying to wake up for what felt like a long time. He drew his dressing gown around himself, tying the belt and taking his wand out of the pocket as he approached the door to his room. He took the locking charm off the door that he'd added as an extra precaution, then slowly turned the knob and pulled the door open a fraction of an inch, peering into the corridor to try to determine where the noise had come from.

An eye stared back at him.

But he knew whose eye it was. He opened the door wide enough for her to enter, and Hermione crept into his room. He closed the door again and she turned to him. "Did I wake you up, Harry?" she whispered. "I just thought--it was nice to take that nap earlier. If you wanted, I could just, you know, sleep here tonight..."

Harry stood with his back to the door, while she stepped toward him. He shook his head, remembering the dreams, not wanting to remember, trying to get the damn things out of his head...

"No, Harry? Oh. Well, all right, then. If you want to be alone, you should be alone..."

He swallowed and looked at her. "No. That wasn't what I meant. I mean--stay. But I don't just want to sleep."

She looked up at him, understanding now, sliding her arms up around his neck. He tipped her head back and bent over her, running his tongue along her bottom lip, shaking as she opened her lips and he felt her tongue meet his, as her fingers twined in his hair and he moved his hands to the belt of her dressing gown.

Somehow, he felt desperate, as though they didn't have much time, as though it were terribly important not to dawdle. He took care of removing the clothing from both of them, his hands moving quickly, surprising her, he could tell. While she glided languidly to the bed, he moved swiftly to his table, to put his glasses and amulet there. It seemed like he waited years for her to reach the bed. Once she was there, he continued to feel the strange urgency as he explored her, tried to make her feel that there wasn't a square inch of her skin untouched by his mouth and hands. Time and again, he heard gasps of surprise from her; but she seemed to think they were good surprises, and when she drew him to her, into her, and he finally felt that surge of electricity igniting all of his nerve endings, and heard her say his name over and over in a cried whisper, he saw the dreams again on the inside of his eyelids, and knew that even this hadn't been a solution. He had never felt like this with her before, like he was beating back death. The dreams would not be denied; they demanded his notice...

He stood on the flat roof of a nondescript brick building, Dudley beside him, smiling and talking, but the words made no sense to Harry. He was watching Dudley's mouth move, and he heard words, but the two didn't merge into a meaningful whole.

Harry looked around him; there was a fog obscuring the landscape around the building. Harry could not see any other buildings, or the ground at the bottom of the building they were on. He looked down the side of the building; the brick walls disappeared into the fog, but Harry didn't get the impression that this meant they were very high up. The building didn't seem to be more than four storeys.

He looked at Dudley again, who was still talking at him unconcernedly. Harry wanted to say to him, 'Why are we on the roof? Let's go downstairs; I don't like it up here...'

But when Harry looked around, there was no door, nothing to indicate how they'd gotten to the roof. Harry saw a mob of white rats running along the ledge around the building a storey below the roof. There were hundreds, white fur and pink eyes and tails blurring, so that it was hard to tell where one of the animals began and another one left off. Then he saw it; the silver and brown amidst the pink and white. He lay on his stomach to reach down and catch it (he shouldn't have been able to reach it, but somehow he could), plucking it from the mass of moving white rodents, and then there it was; it was writhing in his hand, a silver paw sprouting incongruously from its small furry brown arm, the naked pink tail waving as though it could pick up things with it, like the prehensile tail of a monkey. He looked up at Dudley; it was as though Dudley could not see what he was doing, he went on talking, still out of sync, looking like a badly dubbed Japanese movie.

Harry tried to throw the rat off the roof in his fury, but as it left his grasp it was moving incredibly slowly, and Harry watched it change. In mid-air it metamorphosized into a large snake, its four limbs disappearing, its body lengthening and turning green, the pupils of its eyes becoming vertical, like a cat's. Then the snake, floating in the air next to the building (while Dudley continued his strange speech) continued to grow. Now it had limbs again, scaly green ones, now its head was changing shape, now it had sprouted wings and was using the wings to fly back and forth above Harry's and Dudley's heads. Harry watched the dragon with trepidation. Now the dragon was the one moving its mouth, but, unlike Dudley's words, what the dragon was saying was intelligible to Harry.

'You can trust me,' it drawled.

Harry stared at it, thinking, No. I can't.

'You can trust me,' it said to Dudley now. Still moving his lips ceaselessly, Dudley nodded and stepped up on the lip running around the roof of the building. Harry tried to stop him, but even though he was only five feet away, his movements seemed to be slower than slow; watching himself move was like watching the movements he'd seen when he had blocked the pain of the Cruciatus Curse in the forest. He could feel his feet moving, his legs pumping, he could see his hands reaching out for Dudley, but he could also see Dudley nodding calmly at the dragon and jumping from the ledge. Harry flailed and windmilled, trying to reach him. But by the time he arrived at the spot from which Dudley had jumped, his cousin was descending toward the fog. Harry, helpless, stared down at the fog shrouding the building, and then Dudley went through and could be seen no more...

The dream was the same every time. He looked down at her. For now, time seemed to be moving along in the usual manner again. She was gazing up at him, her hands wrapped around his upper arms, her legs still binding him to her, a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip, her forehead, her neck and chest. She looked concerned, and he tried to reassure her, but he wasn't sure who was going to reassure him. He leaned down and kissed her neck, moving his mouth down, making her arch her back and smile at him. Distract her, arouse her again, do anything but fall asleep again...If I sleep I might dream...

Mustn't dream.

No more dreaming.

None.

But he fell into an exhausted heap next to her, staring up at the streetlights bouncing off the ceiling. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, having no idea of the horror he'd just seen, and he felt her breath upon his neck, her skin pressed against his, as he committed himself to never, ever sleeping again, and promptly broke his promise to himself in ten minutes, his eyes feeling welded shut and refusing to open...

* * * * *

He woke in the night, furious with himself that he'd let himself break his new vow of no-sleep already. He looked down at her. She lay beside him, her body shining and promising, and he lowered his lips to hers, coaxing her into consciousness, hoping she would help him stay awake again. He moved his mouth down to her neck, then her chest; he stroked his hands down her body until she could deny his movements no more, and her eyes flew open suddenly before being squeezed shut again, while she breathed, "Oh, Harry..."

There were worse ways to stay awake, he thought, as she came to life in his arms. When she whispered that she was feeling sticky and sweaty, he suggested they take a shower together; he hoped it would be harder to fall asleep, harder to have the dreams again. She smiled and pulled his mouth down to hers, to show she approved of the idea.

In the small shower in the bathroom adjoining his room, they soaped and explored each other some more, but Harry was feeling desperate again, feeling like it was dreadfully important that this work, that this make the dreams go away. The water beat against him, washing only his skin clean, leaving his soul still with a film that could not be removed.

He carried her back to the bed, her legs around his waist, trying to achieve forgetfulness and oblivion again...

When he was lying beside her once more, staring at the ceiling, struggling to keep his eyes open, listening to her even breathing, he finally gave in and closed his eyes, but when the images appeared on the insides of his eyelids they were different this time...

He was standing with Hermione in the garden at Godric's Hollow. He looked down at himself and Hermione; they were naked, but for some reason they were not trying to cover themselves. His mother was at the door of the cottage, holding a black-haired, green-eyed baby, pleading with Voldemort, falling on her knees, begging. Harry hadn't thought she could see him, but then she turned to him and said, 'I'm sorry Harry. I wanted to be there for you. I really did. We never meant for you do grow up without us...'

He looked back at her through his tears. 'Then,' he said, 'do something about it!'

Suddenly, Snape was there behind her, coaching her, speaking softly to her. 'You don't have to mean it,' he said to her. 'Just say it. Do what you must. Save yourself, and Harry...'

She appeared not to have heard him, but she looked up at the menacing figure before her in the dark, hooded cloak, opening her mouth in a scream. 'Yes! Yes!' she cried through her tears. 'I will give him to you! I will raise him to be your servant! Please don't hurt him...'

Suddenly, the dark figure was gone, his mother and Snape was gone, the baby was gone. Harry turned to Hermione, still standing beside him, as lacking in clothes as he was.

But the girl wasn't Hermione.

'Ginny...' he breathed as he took her body in his arms, and she put her arms around him and brought his mouth to hers, then drew him down to the ground and pulled him on top of her.

'It will be all right...the scar is gone now...' she murmured between her kisses, her mouth on his chest, his arms, his neck, his face, and finally his forehead, where he could feel that the skin was now smooth and uninterrupted, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him to her...

But he blinked, and when next he looked, she too was gone, and he was lying prone on a skeleton. The bones collapsed beneath him, his face was next to the skull, and he rose up, screaming. He turned back to the cottage, but it was gone; he saw instead ruins, the ruins of the castle at Hogwarts. He had no doubt that's what it was. It looked as though it had been abandoned for a thousand years...He opened his mouth in a horrified cry:

'Mum! Mum! MUM!'

He opened his eyes. He'd been asleep for a while, having the same dream over and over, but only now did he cry out. The bright light of morning invaded the room. He felt his heart racing in his chest. Hermione was asleep beside him, having no idea what mental torture he was going through. She had pulled a sheet up over both of them at some point in the night; they were still both unclothed. Suddenly, Harry heard a voice crying, "Alohomora !" and the bang of the door hitting the wall as the spell flung it open violently. Harry realized he'd neglected to put the locking charm back on the door, so that it would be impervious to Alohomora. They must have heard him screaming, or Ginny had seen Hermione's empty bed and started worrying.

He saw the appalled faces of Ron, Draco and Ginny staring at them. Harry didn't know what to say; he was lying in bed with Hermione, neither of them wearing anything, and he'd been screaming. What had he been screaming? He couldn't remember. He looked at Ginny and tried to remember. She was there, but she hadn't been wearing anything either...

He tried to wipe this thought from his brain, swallowing and looking back at their shocked faces. He couldn't speak. Evidently, neither could they.

Beside him, Hermione stretched and started to sit up. Harry saw Ron's and Malfoy's eyes go wide, he turned and saw that she was no longer adequately covered by the sheet. He pushed her down again, pulling the sheet further up. She opened her eyes now, looking up at him sleepily.

"Hey, Harry, what's the big idea...?" Then she saw the others standing at the foot of the bed and promptly screamed.

Malfoy smirked.

"Good morning to you, too, Granger. Thanks for the news flash..."

Hermione pulled the sheet up over her head, unwilling to look at any of them after that. Harry was pleased to see that Ginny was livid; she pointed at the door. "Out!" she commanded, and Draco Malfoy immediately took in the frightening look on her face and obeyed without question. Now she was seeing his true colors, Harry thought. Harry looked at Ron, who was still wide-eyed.

"Ron? Could you--excuse us?"

He nodded dumbly, and Harry wasn't sure whether he'd actually blinked in the last five minutes. Perhaps he was afraid he'd miss another little show, thought Harry. Ron turned to go, still looking at the outline of Hermione under the sheet, taking far too much time for Harry's taste. Harry turned to try to talk to Hermione, when he realized that Ginny remained. Harry looked back at her; the sheet was around his waist, and he suddenly felt far more exposed than any of the times he'd gone about on the school grounds without a shirt. Ginny didn't seem to be quite conscious of the way she was gazing at him.

"Ginny?" He startled her. She widened her eyes and practically ran for the door, closing it loudly behind her. Now that the door was closed again, he looked down at Hermione. She had rolled over to lie on her stomach, and he could see that her face was quite red. "Oh my god," she was saying into the pillow. "Malfoy is never going to let me forget that, is he? I'm going to be hearing about rack of lamb from him for the next two years..."

Which was just what Harry needed to jerk him out of his stupor. He laughed suddenly, and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She frowned at him. "Oh, it's funny, is it, that I just flashed Malfoy and Ginny and--" she swallowed "--Ron," she finished softly.

Well, Harry thought, Ron didn't exactly look like he minded... But he didn't dare say it. She dressed and left the room, and he went into the bathroom and took another shower, trying to forget his nightmares. Today will be enough of a nightmare, he thought. He leaned against the wall while the water ran into the drain. He'd thought he could distract himself with her last night, but it hadn't worked. His brain had simply not cooperated. He hoped the others would not tell Lupin. He wondered whether Lupin knew anyway. Maybe he didn't care.

He put on his new suit and went down to the bar. Tom pointed down the corridor to the private dining room where they'd had dinner the night before. The others were there already, eating a quiet breakfast. Hermione had pulled her lengthened curls into a tight, uncompromising-looking French twist, her face looking very thin and exposed without the tangle of curls surrounding it as usual. She looked down at her plate, not daring to meet anyone's gaze, even Harry's. Harry saw Ginny looking at her in a distinctly unfriendly way. Oh great, thought Harry. We're off to a really great start today...

Malfoy, to his credit, was gazing longingly at Ginny, as though Hermione didn't exist. He sure had a hole to climb out of, Harry thought. But Ron...Ron couldn't take his eyes from Hermione. Which was odd, because she could not have chosen a sterner ensemble for the funeral. Her charcoal-grey suit was high-necked and the skirt fell to mid-calf. The color wasn't good for her, Harry thought; her normally lightly-tanned skin looked sallow, and she had dark circles under her eyes (from him waking her up in the night, he knew).

Ginny had pulled only some of her hair back, gathered with a barrette at her crown; most of it still cascaded onto her shoulders. Her pale skin looked translucent; Harry noticed a very pale blue vein near her hairline, found it hard to not look at it. She had a simple dress of the same charcoal-grey color as Hermione, but it was a far better choice for her. Suddenly he realized that she was looking back at him, frowning, and he looked down at his plate again. Good grief, he thought. It was going to be nearly impossible to have a conversation with any of them ever again...

When Lupin spoke, it was like a thunderclap. "The Ministry car will be here soon. We should get ready." His new suit hung perfectly on his slight frame, making Harry think of an accountant, sitting quietly in an office, adding columns of figures, except that he was hairier than most people probably wanted their accountants to be...

The Ministry car accommodated the six of them with ease, being far bigger inside than outside. The driver knew where to go, and the car slipped in between cars and trucks, moving in spaces that wouldn't have fit a bicycle, or, sometimes, a very thin stray cat. Harry stopped looking out the window; it was making him feel dizzy and ill. He looked at Hermione; she tried to smile at him, but the corners of her mouth didn't quite turn up enough for it to be a smile. He found himself turning to Malfoy then, and to his surprise, he found a look of sympathy there that was unexpected and without baggage.

When they arrived, the only person at the church was the vicar. Apparently the parish had fallen on hard times and could no longer afford a rector. To Harry's surprise, it was a quite young man who looked like he couldn't have been much older than Percy. How odd for this person to be in a position of authority. Mostly, he reminded Harry of Stan Shunpike, the conductor on the Knight Bus. He even had some acne, as though he were not quite done adolescence. He had sandy hair and hazel eyes, and thinking of this, Harry suddenly wished he'd brought Sandy with him instead of leaving her in Neville's care. He could have used someone else to talk to. He couldn't very well tell Hermione about his dreams, nor Ginny, Ron, Malfoy, Lupin...

They waited in an uncertain, irregular cluster by the lane, waiting for the hearse and the Dursleys. The vicar was named Mr. Babcock, and he tried to make small talk with Harry.

"So," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "Dudley was your cousin."

"Yes."

A long pause. He's terrible at this, Harry thought. "I don't think I've ever seen you at services."

"I've been at boarding school the last five years."

"Ah." Pause. Foot tapping. Staring at the sky. "You like your school?"

"Yes."

"Mmm....Do you do sports?"

"I'm the captain of the Dueling Club."

"Ah. Fencing. Yes. I quite liked 'The Three Musketeers.' I've seen many a Shakespeare production ruined by poor fencing. Yes..."

Harry knew he'd think this was what he meant; he couldn't correct him, of course. It gave the nervous young man something to babble about. He eventually exhausted his store of fencing references, however, and trailed off into silence once more.

They were finally saved when the hearse starting making its way down the lane from the village, followed by two long, dark cars. After the hearse stopped, Harry, Ron and Malfoy moved to the rear of the vehicle, waiting for their instructions. The first car behind the hearse stopped, but it was the car behind it which opened its doors, and Dudley's old friends emerged, the boys who, with Dudley, had chased Harry in the schoolyard when he was young. They looked odd; Harry realized he hadn't seen them in five years. He knew they recognized him and registered the surprise in their faces at the changes in his appearance. They nodded at each other. They were on the same team today.

A far too cheerful young woman in a black skirted suit stepped out of the passenger side of the hearse and walked to the back to brief the pallbearers. They would carry the coffin into the church now using the handles, but after, they would hoist it onto their shoulders and walk down the lane to the cemetery, about an eighth of a mile. Did they all feel up to it? she wanted to know. The six of them all looked warily at each other, wizards and Muggles (although the Muggles didn't know they were confronted by wizards) and nodded, nobody wanting to show trepidation at the task ahead.

Ron leaned in to say to Harry, "She's the undertaker?" in a low voice. Harry shrugged.

"I suppose so. But I don't know that you should call her that. It might be mortician. Or funeral director. Or post-life planner, I don't know what they go by these days."

Ron smirked. "Hang in there, Harry. After all, you didn't have such a bad night, now did you?"

Harry looked away from him. Ron thought the night had been all about pleasure; he had no idea of the horrific images he'd been trying to exorcise from his mind...

The six of them grasped the handles of the coffin, carrying it carefully down the flagstone path and in a side door to the sanctuary, then placed it on a table draped in black fabric which sat in front of the communion rail. An elderly woman Harry thought he recognized carried a spray of flowers into the sanctuary from the flower-arranging room between the parish house and the rectory--which he supposed might be called the vicarage now. She laid the spray across the closed coffin. The pallbearers sat then and waited for the rest of the congregation to arrive. Ron was to his right, Draco Malfoy to Ron's right. Hermione came into the church and sat on Harry's left, and Ginny say to her left. Harry looked up at the dark rafters, the grey stone, the stained glass, remembering this place, remembering how much he had looked forward to Christmas and Easter every year because it was the closest he came to feeling like a normal person. When he was a child and they came here at the holidays, all of the children participated in the Easter Egg hunt, all of them received a gift at Christmas, even if it was just a small package of sweets. There was no discrimination, no thought of excluding him. Dudley always claimed Harry's Christmas package of sweets as well as his own, but Harry usually was able to nick a piece of candy from it before giving it up.

The memory of running down the middle aisle of the church, ducking into a pew box, trying to stop the swinging door from moving (they were quite high, more than thirty inches) so Dudley wouldn't know where he was....He would move the kneelers out of the way, the numerous cushions decorated on top by needlepoint covers executed by the army of little old ladies that used to populate the church; with these out of the way, he could hide his small, bony frame under the pew and wait for Dudley to give up. He was never clear on how he did it, but somehow, Dudley always managed to find him. And wrestle the candy away.

His throat grew tight as he remembered this. Yes, he thought. Remember those things, all the times growing up that I felt like I was just running, running, running from him all the time, bullied constantly...don't think about last summer, about the letters we'd exchanged, about being friends...remember the bad times...

He thought that it was a little odd that at these times, Dudley chasing Harry for the Christmas and Easter sweets, Harry never seemed to do any accidental magic. Perhaps it just didn't mean enough to him, and he knew Dudley wasn't trying to hurt him, he just really wanted the sweets...There were even times when he remembered rather enjoying the cat-and-mouse game, seeing what kind of ridiculous positions he could get Dudley into, luring him into places he never would have dreamed of going...He even managed to fit himself in between some of the large, square wooden organ pipes. Then when Dudley found him, Dudley got stuck between the pipes while Harry slipped out easily, then went to the organ console, pressing his foot down on one of the far left pedals, making a noise like a hundred foghorns emanate from the huge thirty-two-foot pipe Dudley was pressed against. Dudley did a duet with the pipe, his scream summoning the entire vestry, who had been meeting in the front of the sanctuary. Harry had gotten in a great deal of trouble for that, everyone from the rector to the organist to his aunt and uncle were extremely irate, and Dudley's Easter suit had been ruined.

He couldn't stop the tears then, even in the midst of what should be bad memories, memories that should make him think Good riddance, I'm better off, we're all better off, the world is better off. But instead, he found himself thinking rather fondly of the amusement he'd been afforded the first time he saw Dudley in his Smeltings uniform, the sight of Dudley with the pig's tail, the inflated tongue after he'd pounced on the twins' toffee.

Dudley as he'd been before the Congeniality Charm deserved many things, Harry thought, but death just for being my cousin wasn't one of them. A handkerchief was suddenly thrust at him; he looked at Hermione, who had taken it out of her pocket and was giving it to him now. He nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. She indicated that he should keep it, so he stuffed it in his pocket, giving her hand a small squeeze. Somehow he would get through this.

The organist arrived and started playing something slow and mournful; the church started to fill up, and when Harry heard a familiar voice, he turned and saw his aunt and uncle, looking very pale and strained, and as though they hadn't slept since hearing of Dudley's supposed suicide. Harry wanted to get up and tell them that it wasn't their fault, that they hadn't driven him to kill himself, but he couldn't. His legs wouldn't move. After he heard Aunt Petunia raging at his mum, in the Pensieve, knowing that she hated his mother because she wouldn't use magic to save their mother...He just couldn't do it. He turned to the front again without meeting her eye, afraid that she would see his guilt, his culpability.

A number of Smeltings students had come; the church became a sea of teenagers, many of them sobbing girls. He struggled to maintain his composure again in the face of their tears. It was worse than the urge to yawn around other yawners. He wondered whether Dudley's popularity had come because of the Congeniality Charm or before that. He hadn't expected this, the number of people who would be in the little stone church, the number of lives that had been touched by this. Harry wondered for the first time who had found him, whether any of the other students had looked up and seen his body falling past their windows, the things that must have gone through their minds...

The service started, hushing the morbid thoughts rolling through Harry's head. The organ's drone ceased and the vicar stood, holding his prayer book, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke the familiar words.

"I am the resurrection and the life..."

Harry remembered the book he'd read in the library, about the first Lord Voldemort who'd tried to resurrect his son, and failed. He remembered Dumbledore saying that there wasn't a spell to bring someone back to life.

"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out...."

He tried to follow along in the prayer book, then realized that the vicar was using The Order for the Burial of the Dead, not At the Burial of a Child. He wondered whether his aunt and uncle had noticed the mistake.

"...let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live...."

How long I have to live...that shouldn't have been in there, Harry thought. Dudley was only fifteen, not quite sixteen. He was still a child. Then he thought, am I still a child? He remembered the strange feeling of being included with the adults in the conference in Madam Pomfrey's office, considering what was best for Neville...

...let me know mine end...

The vicar finished that psalm, then an olive-skinned boy stood and went to the front and read another, then a blond girl read the Twenty-Third Psalm...They had tears in their voices as they read, and Harry's throat felt almost blocked, so hard was he trying not to cry.

"...Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me....Thou shalt prepare a table before me in the presence of them that trouble me..." .

The valley of the shadow of death.

I will fear no evil.

He clenched his jaw, thinking of the times he'd come close to death. Had Dudley been afraid? Would he? Of course, he couldn't be controlled by Imperius, he knew how to fight it. Had it really made Dudley commit suicide? Or had it simply removed his inhibitions, like Hermione?

The crying blonde girl sat down. The organist was playing again, and the vicar announced the number of the hymn. The congregation stood, a very noisy affair, and sang their shaky off-pitch way through Now the laborer's task is o'er. Harry's throat wouldn't produce a note; he noted the name of the tune: Requiescat. Harry mentally added, In pacem.

Rest in peace.

Hermione had to tug at his jacket to get him to sit down again; he'd let his mind wander. He was vaguely aware then of the vicar reading a long passage from I Corinthians. He jerked his head up; the vicar had gotten his attention.

"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body..."

Sown in corruption, raised in incorruption...perhaps that was why Marvolo hadn't been able to raise his son from the dead...he was sown in corruption and raised in corruption...

"...then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law."

The law. What law? Harry thought. The law that allows Fudge to practically pardon Lucius Malfoy? The wizarding laws that will probably never punish anyone for Dudley's murder?

"...remember thy servant Dudley Dursley, O Lord, according to the favour which thou bearest unto thy people, and grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he may go from strength to strength, in the life of perfect service..."

Harry stared up at the carved wooden screen hiding the organ console, willing Dudley to emerge from behind it, laughing and with a chocolate-smeared face. This had to be a nightmare, he kept telling himself, this couldn't have happened...

"...The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both now and evermore. Amen."

The organ started playing again. Harry's eyes had been closed at the amen, now they flew open, hearing the music. He looked at Hermione. She nodded.

"Suogon," he whispered. She squeezed his hand. A young boy, around ten years of age, had stood in the choir loft, alone. His pink face was freshly scrubbed, his light-brown hair curled innocently over his head, his blue eyes were pure as cornflowers. He lifted his flute-like voice above the organ's accompaniment, the sound bouncing off the rafters and stone and plaster, the old lullaby's Welsh words rolling around Harry's brain with a comforting familiarity...

Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon
Breichiau mam sy'n dyn am danat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron
Ni cha dim amharu'th gyntun
Ni wna undyn â thi gam
Huna'n dawel, anwyl blentyn
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.

Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon
Tithau'n gwenu'n ol dan huno
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?

The young woman from the funeral home signaled to the pallbearers, and the six of them stood, marching neatly toward the casket. They hoisted it onto their shoulders; Harry was on the right, at the front. Malfoy was behind him, Ron behind Malfoy. Dudley's friends were on the other side. Harry walked out of the church slowly, the heavy box cutting into his shoulder, the faces of the congregation imprinting themselves on his mind as the boy continued to sing the lullaby...

Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura ar y ddor
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y mor
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.

Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon
Tithau'n gwenu'n ol dan huno
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?

The aisle of the small church seemed to be miles long. Harry felt the texture of the rounded stones through the thin soles of his shoes; he tried to make as little noise as possible, so he could clearly hear the English words which the boy sang now...

Sleep, my baby, on my bosom,
Warm and cozy, it will prove,
Round thee mother's arms are folding,
In her heart a mother's love.
There shall no one come to harm thee,
Naught shall ever break thy rest;
Sleep, my darling babe, in quiet,
Sleep on mother's gentle breast.

Sleep serenely, baby, slumber,
Lovely baby, gently sleep;
Tell me wherefore art thou smiling,
Smiling sweetly in thy sleep?
Do the angels smile in heaven
When thy happy smile they see?
Dost thou on them smile while slumb'ring
On my bosom peacefully.

Harry could hear the organ continuing as they walked down the path to the lane, the six of them with their burden on their shoulders, the congregation following behind, led by the vicar and his aunt and uncle, he knew, although he could not turn to look. He had the perfect excuse for not looking at them. He was glad of that.

The lane was filled with the funeral procession. Harry wanted the walk to the grave to go on forever; he never wanted to reach that ominous pit, that final destination for this burden...

At the grave, they lowered the casket from their shoulders onto the boards that were lain across the open grave. The vicar took up a position next to it, while Harry and the other pallbearers backed off from the grave. Harry stood next to Hermione; she reached out and took his hand in hers. He saw that she'd been crying, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Man, that is born of a woman," Mr. Babcock read, "hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay....In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour...?"

Who indeed? thought Harry, thinking of the previous night, with Hermione. He had expected too much of her, he realized now. He shouldn't have expected her to be able to take away all of the guilt and self-recrimination he now suffered. There was no secret potion to remove it, no spell, no wave of a wand would do the trick...

Heavy pieces of webbing were passed under the coffin by somber, black-suited men from the funeral home. While they held the webbing, the young woman gestured for Ron and Harry and Malfoy to remove the supporting pieces of wood, and Dudley was lowered into the ground while the vicar finished speaking. Then she led him to his aunt and uncle; he tried not to look at their strained faces; Vernon stooped to the mound of earth that had been thrown up by the gravediggers, he took a fistful of soil and threw it half-heartedly onto the coffin. Aunt Petunia did the same, tears flowing down her face, then Harry stooped mechanically to scoop up some earth, shower the coffin with the dark soil. He watched it leave his hand, but some of it still stuck to his palm...

"...Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother Dudley, departed..."

Our brother, thought Harry.

"...and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

The vicar muttered something which induced the congregation to answer again, but Harry missed it, his mind wandering. Then he heard the words of the Kyrie being intoned, first by the vicar, then the people...Finally, he joined in on the Lord's Prayer, the familiar words not passing his lips for five years, some of the words giving him a great deal of trouble...

"And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil..."

Lead us not into temptation.

Deliver us from evil.

Evil. What did most of the people here know about evil? Harry wondered. He had seen evil. He had dueled with evil...

"...We give thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those thy servants, who, having finished their course in faith, do now rest from their labours..."

Harry was annoyed. That's what I need to do, he thought. Be annoyed. Be upset with the prayers this man who probably didn't even know Dudley is standing there mindlessly reciting. From what labors was Dudley resting? He hadn't been able to live long enough to have labors...Harry listened to him for a few more minutes, using this new tactic to survive, to keep from breaking down utterly, from falling to his knees and confessing before his aunt and uncle and a host of Muggles that Dudley had died because he was under the Imperius Curse, that it was because he was someone who had come to mean something to him and a dark wizard had used him...

"Amen."

The final word at last. The vicar quietly walked away from the grave, leading the Dursleys and Harry, and Hermione and the others followed after, then the rest of the congregation slowly trickled away from the grave, while the gravediggers materialized seemingly from nowhere, and began to move the mound of earth into the long, rectangular hole. Harry could hear the earth hitting the wood, thump! thump! He couldn't resist turning back to look. He stood still, letting the others flow past him, until he alone stood at the gate to the graveyard, watching the gravediggers work, doing their job, oblivious. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large black dog up on a hill, standing near a small stone. He walked toward it, gladder to see that black dog than he thought was possible.

When he reached the dog, it didn't change into a man, but Harry recognized him all the same. He patted him on the head, then sat down on the grass, ignoring the stains he would get on his new suit. Then he saw the grave marker.

JAMES GODRIC POTTER

1960-1981

LILY EVANS POTTER

1960-1981

Beloved parents and friends

RIP

Harry's voice caught. He turned, and suddenly, Sirius was sitting beside him, his hands clasped around his knees like Harry.

"They're here? " he asked. "There were here the whole time I was growing up, and I never knew?"

Sirius nodded. "Your aunt took care of it. There wasn't actually a service. Remus told me about it last year. I'd never seen it either. Well, you know why. Remus doesn't know who paid for the stone. Somehow, I don't think it was your aunt. Look at the carving; that wasn't done with a chisel. Too clean. That was done with a wand, with magic."

Harry remembered Snape in the garden of the cottage at Godric's Hollow, his mother's body in his arms. It could have been Dumbledore, Harry supposed, but then again, it would be like Snape to do it. Even more like him not to tell anyone.

"I mean," he stammered, "I used to come running in here, into the graveyard, on the way home from school every day, when Dudley and his friends were chasing me. They were superstitious about coming in, so I knew I'd be safe. Somehow, I always felt safe here..."

Sirius put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "So maybe you did sense they were here after all, Harry. I'm sorry that this is the best I can do as far as being here for you today. I'm sorry for so much. I wish we could have done something to prevent this..."

Harry thought of the unread letter again and shook his head. "Don't, Sirius. It's not your fault."

His godfather looked at him levelly. "It's not your fault either, Harry. Please remember that."

Harry looked up at him and nodded, not able to lie verbally to him. It would be an uphill battle, but he knew that he had to try, if only for his mental health. Wormtail wanted to paralyze him, he knew, anyway he knew how. He'd participated in putting Lucius Malfoy away, and still they thought they had the upper hand...

"I have to tell you something else, Harry." Harry looked at him expectantly. "Avery and Nott were found--dead. The Dark Mark was over them. It seems that Malfoy had no trouble giving them up for two reasons. They hadn't actually committed the murders he said they did, and they'd already been killed themselves for botching the Three Broomsticks, plus getting caught so easily."

I did that, Harry thought. Moody and I caught them. And now they're dead. Even if they were Death Eaters, they didn't really hurt anyone that we know of...

"People are clamoring for Fudge to reinstate Malfoy's suspended sentences, but he hasn't done it," Sirius went on. "So whoever killed the Clearwaters, and Mrs. Flint and her friend, is still out there. Plus--"

"There's more?"

Sirius heaved a great sigh. "I'm afraid those jurors were right to be afraid. But they weren't afraid enough. They did the right thing, but two of them have already paid for it. One's dead. One's in St. Mungo's, the burn ward. You don't want to know. And two others have received threats. It doesn't look good, Harry. No one will want to be on a jury at a Death Eater trial at this rate. And the Daily Prophet is covering other Death Eater activities now. If anything, their audacity is worse than when Fudge was trying to hush it all up. They seem to have become publicity-mad. Now, I'm the last person to want to say that Fudge knows what he's doing, but maybe--maybe he had the right idea after all. The wizarding world knows the danger now, but the Death Eaters also are able to throw their weight around now. Some appalling things have been happening...I won't bother you with it now, Harry, but--things are sure to get worse before they get better. Remus and Mundungus Fletcher and I will be very busy this summer, I think, and Severus as well."

Harry looked at him, appalled. "Summer! How can I face Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all summer..."

Sirius shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to, Harry. It's the only safe place for you. Now more than ever. In fact, you should go back to the house now. For the wake. They'll be wondering where you are. I can walk with you, if you like."

Harry nodded, and Sirius became a dog again. They walked down to the gate to the graveyard, then along the lane, going back to Privet Drive. Harry liked walking along with Sirius in his dog form; there was no pressure for conversation, just the two of them keeping each other company, a simple togetherness. But Harry didn't think; when he went through the front door of the house and into the front hall, Sirius was still with him. He could hear the other mourners milling around in the living room and dining room. Hermione came to him, giving him a brief, gentle hug and handing him a cup of some kind of fruit punch. Lupin, Ron and Ginny looked at him morosely, but Draco Malfoy...

"It's that dog again!" he said with surprise. Harry looked down at Sirius.

"Um--" he stalled trying to think quickly. The four of them looked back and forth at each other nervously. Malfoy looked from one face to another, clearing waiting for someone to enlighten him. His face was getting angrier and angrier as he saw that no one was going to do this.

"Oh, fine!" he finally sneered bitterly. "I save your sorry arses," he pointed at Ron, Harry and Hermione, "get my own dad put in prison, I'm here at your cousin's funeral as a pallbearer, but you still don't think you can trust me. Fine! And people think Slytherins hold grudges..." He started to turn away toward the door (although where he thought he might go in Little Whinging was unclear). Ginny reached for his hand, pulling him back.

"It's not that..." Harry started to say, when Sirius-the-dog bounded up the stairs. "Hey!" he exclaimed, sprinting up the stairs after him. He heard the others following him.

The large black dog had entered his room and leapt on his bed, lying down comfortably as though he lived there, looking at Harry pointedly. Tell him, the look in his dark expressive eyes seemed to say. Harry sat down on the bed next to him, sighing wearily and idly petting the dog. Ron and Hermione stood uncertainly near his desk, and Ginny and Malfoy stood in the doorway, Malfoy having been dragged upstairs with her.

"Everybody in," Harry said. "Close the door." After they did this, Harry nodded at his desk chair. "Have a seat, Malfoy. It's kind of a long story..."

So he finally told him, with help from the others. The Fidelius Charm, Peter the traitor, the truth about the street of Muggles who were killed, Peter being Wormtail, Sirius and his dad and Peter all learning to become Animagi to accompany Remus Lupin when he was in his wolf form, what happened in the Shrieking Shack at the end of their third year, even how he and Hermione had helped Sirius escape from Flitwick's office...

Malfoy looked round at them all, as they each leapt in at different points, filling in bits of the story (Hermione was very proud of Crookshanks, and her narration made this clear). When they were done, Harry would have liked to capture the expression of utter amazement on Malfoy's face with a Muggle camera, so it would have been a still picture, no movement, a moment of frozen shock.

Suddenly, Sirius changed, and Malfoy stood up, knocking Harry's desk chair over. He was even paler than usual, virtually no difference between his skin and the white shirt he wore with his black suit. Sirius also stood and stepped toward Malfoy, his hand extended. Harry stood and smiled with perhaps too much pleasure at seeing Malfoy's reaction.

"Draco Malfoy," he said, "meet Sirius Black."

Sirius smiled his most charming smile and shook Malfoy's hand. "Nice to finally officially meet you, Draco."

Malfoy nodded dumbly; it appeared that even after hearing the whole saga, and knowing that the dog on the bed was Sirius Black, illegal Animagus and erstwhile denizen of Azkaban, he still didn't quite believe it. He started to sit down again, but Sirius kept hold of his hand until Ginny could scramble to right the chair he'd knocked over, then he let him sit.

"So you mean," he choked, finally regaining the power of speech, "that Wormtail is actually your stupid pet rat," he said, pointing at Ron, "and that he was the one who killed that street of Muggles and betrayed Potter's parents..."

"Were you paying any attention at all, Malfoy?" Ron wanted to know, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, Weasley, but when you hear something which seems to be so obviously a fairy tale, and it turns out..."

"That it isn't?" Ginny smiled.

Malfoy swallowed and looked at Sirius again. "Yeah," he said softly.

Harry laughed, then thought, Thank you, Malfoy. I didn't think I'd laugh today. Or ever again, for that matter... "I wish," he said, "you could see your face, Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy grimaced. "I'm not here for your entertainment, Potter. I'm only here because Ginny asked me to...But it certainly has been informative."

Suddenly, there was a knock at Harry's bedroom door which made everyone jump, and Sirius abruptly changed back into a dog. They breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the voice that followed the knock.

"Harry? Are you in there?" Ginny was closest to the door, so she opened it to admit Remus Lupin. He closed the door behind himself and was clearly surprised to see the five teenagers clustered in the small room. Then he was startled to see the large black dog on the bed . Sirius changed into his human form and Lupin cried out, "What the hell are you doing! He's here!" indicating Draco Malfoy.

"He knows now, Remus," Sirius told him. Lupin gave a sigh of relief and looked at Malfoy.

"I suppose that's for the best...Actually I've got something to tell you too," he said to Malfoy, "but I hadn't had the chance before. It's about where you'll be this summer."

Malfoy jerked his head up. Harry had forgotten about Malfoy's problem. Well, he certainly couldn't stay with Sirius or Lupin or even Snape, if they were going to be busy working against the Death Eaters. Maybe Dumbledore would just let him stay at the school.

"The headmaster contacted your old nanny, and she's happy to have you stay with her for the summer."

"My nanny? I haven't seen her since I was four years old."

"Nevertheless, Dumbledore said she's heard about what you did and would be proud for you to stay with her. That suit you?" Malfoy nodded, obviously surprised. Lupin turned to Harry. "Now, you, Harry...You'll be picked up at the train by your uncle and stay here for a few days, but then...they want to get away. Portugal or something. They don't want to hang about here all summer thinking about Dudley. You understand?."

Harry nodded. "And I take it I'm not going to Portugal?"

Lupin shook his head. "Of course not, Harry. Do you know what a security nightmare that would be for those of us trying to keep you safe?"

"So. I'm to stay here by myself?"

"No. Your aunt and uncle have already made arrangements for you to stay with your old babysitter, Mrs. Figg. They also say that someone named Dick has come round asking whether you want a summer job when you get back..."

Harry was torn between groaning about Mrs. Figg and being quite pleased about Dick. Well, if he was out working much of the day, he'd only have to deal with old Mrs. Figg in the evenings...that wouldn't be too bad. "That's all right, I suppose," he said. "I was hoping I could work for Dick. I was going to call him when I got back."

Lupin clapped his hands together. "Right! So that's you two sorted out. See? Not so hard. We should all go back downstairs. In about an hour, a Ministry car is coming to take us back to the Leaky Cauldron so we can collect our things and return to Hogsmeade by floo. There's a pretty blonde girl down there who was looking for you, Harry. Said her name was Julia..."

Harry swallowed. Dudley's girlfriend. He never knew how he got through the rest of the wake, watching his aunt and uncle as the guests commiserated with them, listening while Julia told him how just the day before he died, she and Dudley had been making plans to see each other for the summer...

He was quite glad when the Ministry car arrived. He wanted nothing more than to be back at Hogwarts, even though it would only be for a few more days. There wasn't much of the term left now; just the Dueling Club Exhibition and the leaving feast. And then the long train ride back to London...

Before they left the doorway of number four, Privet Drive, Malfoy stopped Harry and said quietly to him, "Thanks for finally telling me, Potter. About--what is the other name you were using? Snuffles? And--for the Quidditch Cup," he threw in quickly, then turned away from Harry and walked toward the car. Harry stood in the doorway, speechless. Well, wonder of wonders, he thought. Two thank yous from Draco Malfoy.

It had been a year of miracles indeed.

* * * * *

Author's notes:
1. The London store called "MacTavish's" is purely fictional, and not meant to represent any establishment actually bearing that name anywhere in the real world, although the astute reader may notice a slight resemblance between this establishment and one in Montreal called "Ogilvy's".
2. The 1928 Book of Common Prayer of the Anglican Communion is available through multiple sources online. Although I am not a member of a church of the Anglican Communion, I opted to use it here, with apologies to John Irving for the inspiration (A Prayer for Owen Meany).
3. If there is a St. Bede's in the Meadow Church anywhere in the world, please forgive my use of the name here; as far as I know I made it up.
4. Suo Gan is a traditional Welsh tune, which was the melody played by the music box Hermione gave to Harry for Christmas. It first appeared in print circa 1800 and was also used to great effect in the film Empire of the Sun. The English version I have used here is by the folk scholar Robert Bryan. The Welsh is traditional. You may read more about it here.
5. I've seen other fanfic authors use "Godric" for James's middle name, but as far as I know this fic was the first one to do so, since the posting dates for those other fics are all well after this one was posted. I neither took this from another author nor mind other authors deciding to use this for James's middle name after reading it here.