Replay

Replay

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Chapter Ten

Disclosure

"How did you do? How did you do?" Tilda's voice rose on a screech. Harry looked at her, wincing due to her shrillness.

"Um, aren't you worried about your brother waking up?" he whispered.

She swallowed, thinking about Jack, wondering whether she actually wanted him to wake, come thundering up the stairs, find Harry in her bedroom and react. She thought it would serve Harry right, lying to her the way he had. And he was so shocked that I was stupid enough to think he might be an alien! This is the next best thing, isn't it?

Tilda changed her mind, though, when she realised that Jack would think them both mad if anyone mentioned the words "Ministry of Magic." It would be Dad and the little green men all over again. And then there would be trying to explain her former pupil sleeping in her bedroom, a boy wanted by the police not too long ago....

"No," she whispered angrily, relenting. "I do not want Jack waking up," she admitted.

"Then you mean yes, because you are worried about--"

"Stop correcting me!" she snapped at him. He bristled.

"You're not my teacher anymore," he said hotly. "And let me tell you, if there's one thing this last year has taught me it's that teachers are not infallible. Not even head teachers." He paused, looking down and away. "Perhaps especially not head teachers..."

It was very tempting to ask him what he was talking about, but instead she brandished the letter, saying, "I have some information here that you want, it seems. I'll tell you what--for every piece of information you give me, I'll give you something from this letter. No more lies." She glared at him still and he nodded grimly.

"Yeah, no more lies. I'm--I'm sorry about all that. The story about the spy school. But you have to understand--there are legal penalties in my world for telling Muggles about magic, or showing it to them--"

"All I know is that you made me feel like a right idiot for accusing you of being an alien, but you might as well be one! And there's that word 'Muggle' again. But it's not just a term for 'civilian,' is it?" she said angrily, pacing, slapping her leg with the parchment.

He shook his head. "No. It means a non-magical person. And it's used with other terms, too. One of my best friends is a Muggle-born witch..."

"Muggle-born? Do you mean--perhaps I should have you start at the top," she said more slowly, trying to get her breath; her anger had quite winded her. "You are a--"

"--wiz-ard," he said slowly and carefully, should she not understand him.

This made her feel even more irritable. "I may be gullible, but I'm not slow," she snapped, which seemed to have become her new way of speaking. "They're not the same thing. Being a trusting person--and I did trust you--doesn't make me mentally deficient. Although you clearly think I am, to feed me that spy-story." She struck herself on the brow. "God, I can't believe I didn't question all of that rubbish... school in Greenland... NASA..." She froze and turned to the wardrobe, where the Invisibility Cloak was. She took it down from the shelf and let it flow through her hands again. "What is this? And where did it come from, if not a top-secret NASA lab?"

"It's an Invisibility Cloak. It really did used to be my dad's. I didn't lie about that."

"But--but what is it?" she asked again, feeling frustrated and impatient.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember. "Damn, I learned this for the exam... I know this..." His head in his hands, he said, "It comes from a magical animal, hard to catch--"

She snorted. "I can imagine."

He continued to try to remember, knocking his knuckles against his skull. "It's--it's from--from--a Demiguise!" he finally said triumphantly. "I know I got that one right, too, on the Care of Magical Creatures exam."

She glanced down at the parchment and nodded. "Well, according to this you got an 'A' for Care of Magical Creatures. But that's only 'Acceptable.' Tsk," she chided him. "You didn't get an 'E' for 'Exceeds Expectations'..." She was evidently reading this from the parchment; he could only hope she knew about that mark because he had received an 'E' for something.

Harry bit his lip. "I wasn't sure I'd get that much, frankly, but it is a passing mark. Barely. At least I know I got one O.W.L."

"So," she said, staring at the parchment, "they're a bit like the GCSEs?"

He nodded. "Our version. And we had to get careers advice before the end of the year too, although I'm not sure what the point is, before you know how many O.W.L.s you have. If I don't get a good-enough mark in Potions..." He looked hopefully at her, as though she would just give more information away to him.

"Uh uh uh. This is a two-way street. I need more first. You know one of your marks."

He sighed. "Why don't I just start by telling you about how I first found out that I'm a wizard?" She hesitated, then nodded, and he started telling her about the letters that kept changing address, his uncle driving them across the country and then Hagrid coming to him in the hut on the rock; his first time in Diagon Alley, and buying his first wand.

"Wait a minute--this--Volde-what. You told me that he killed your parents..."

"Voldemort. Right, but I didn't tell you that he's a dark wizard."

"And--and you have his brother wand? What does that mean, exactly?"

Harry sighed. "Can't I get to that in a bit? I've told you quite a lot. Can you possibly tell me about another one of my marks?"

She glanced at the parchment. "For History of Magic you have a 'T.'"

Harry grimaced. "That means 'Terrible.' I think. The twins--Fred and George--tried to tell me that it stands for 'Troll.'" He grinned at her expression; he hadn't got around yet to explaining that there really were such things as trolls and that he and Ron had knocked one out in their first year in order to save Hermione. "It's not a pass, at any rate. I'm not really surprised. I sort of--fell asleep and didn't finish that one."

She raised her eyebrow. "Sort of fell asleep?"

He started to say something several times, but when noise finally came out of his mouth he merely said, "It's--it's a long story."

"Hmph. I reckon we'll get to that eventually, as well. So, you didn't pass History of Magic, you barely passed Care of Magical Creatures--"

"They had some things wrong on the exam!" he said hotly. "I drew a perfectly good picture of a basilisk, and I know about that. I killed one when I was twelve. The ruddy Ministry wizards who made the test had this stupid cartoon of one..."

She dropped her jaw. "Wh--what?" was all she could muster. "A--what?"

"A Basilisk," he said calmly, rather enjoying her look of confusion.

Tilda looked sceptical now. "Oh, come on. You expect me to believe there really are--"

"Basilisks and phoenixes and dragons, yeah, I do. I know you've probably never heard of a Demiguise, but surely you've heard of those."

"Well, yes, in myths and fairy tales." Her voice was shaking and her eyes were very wide.

Harry looked longingly at the bed. "Do you mind if I get off the floor?"

Tilda raised one eyebrow; his tone of voice was getting rather cheeky. She nodded silently and he stood, extricating himself from the sleeping bag, sighing when he sat on the mattress. She felt the twinge of guilt again for making him sleep on the floor, even though she was angry about the lies. But I probably would have done the same thing in his position, she thought. I have done the same thing, basically. How many times did we move to a new town, and how many times was I asked whether Dad was the Jim Harrison who saw aliens and lie between my teeth and say he wasn't?

She sat in the chair near the wardrobe, crossing her legs and shaking her foot impatiently. "Comfortable now?" she asked, trying to sound a little snide. He nodded.

"Yeah, thanks." She grimaced; he had to go and start behaving politely again. It was proving more difficult than she anticipated to stay angry at him. For one thing, she was having a hard time hiding her fascination with all of the information he was freely giving her now. She'd also let slip a laugh or two when he'd been describing his uncle's behaviour toward the many letters that had come to him when he was eleven. (He laughed first.)

"All right--tell me why and how you killed a Basilisk. And about phoenixes and dragons."

"Fine. But for three magical creatures I get three exam results, all right?"

She nodded. "That's fair."

And so, by the time the sun had completely risen, he'd given her the short version of what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, including enough information about Fawkes to cover phoenixes, and he'd told her about Norbert and the Hungarian Horntail he faced during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. By this time he knew he had her thoroughly on his side. As he described flying around the dragon, trying to draw it off so he could swoop down into the nest and take the golden egg, Tilda was gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles, the colour drained from her face.

In the silence that followed she just stared at him until he had the presence of mind to ask, "Um, can I find out about some other exam results?"

She looked startled, as though he'd woken her from a trance. "Erm, right, right...." She picked up the parchment, which she had dropped to the floor. "Let's see... Hm. I'm afraid it's another 'P' in Herbology, like in Astronomy."

He made a face. "I told you, I didn't really finish Astronomy, either. I was distracted by my head-of-house being ambushed!" he said, remembering poor Professor McGonagall taking four stunners to the chest. "I'm not really surprised about Herbology, but I did try on that one." He shrugged. "I'm afraid a lot of plants just look the same to me, no matter how many times I draw pictures of them or repot them or whatever. Green stalks. Leaves. Muddy roots. If one plant has big leaves and another has small ones and the leaves are shaped differently I stand a chance of telling them apart. Otherwise... Well, I also know a Mandrake when I see one, but that's something you have to learn that's common sense, else you could uproot one and die from hearing its scream."

She made a face. "That's just a--" She stopped herself. He was shaking his head; it looked like it was hard for him not to smirk. "That's not a myth, is it?" she sighed.

"No. At least, not when it comes to real Mandrakes. Wizards try to keep Muggles away from them, since they don't all believe they're dangerous. You'd be surprised what we keep away from Muggles for their own protection. Ron's dad--Mr Weasley--his job is to keep people from misusing Muggle artefacts. The trouble is--he once enchanted a car to fly," Harry said in a stage whisper, followed by a grin. "And by flying the car to school, Ron and I managed to get him in a load of trouble and nearly got ourselves expelled..."

She sniffed. "It sounds like that's a regular activity of yours, nearly getting expelled. One of these days it will happen, and then where will you be?"

Harry sighed. "That's what I was afraid of and that's why I lied to you. Now that I'm telling this, if anyone found out, they'd probably break my wand and kick me out for good," he said dully, pulling a long, pale wooden stick from his jeans and holding it tenderly. "I nearly lost it last summer. It's a good thing Dumbledore stepped in...."

"Dumbledore? Your headmaster?"

He grimaced. "Sorry, but him I don't want to discuss. Even though he helped me avoid being expelled, I'm--I'm a little put-out about him right now." He looked at his wand again. "I thought I was over it, but--that'll take time. When you've trusted someone completely and learn that there were really important things he kept from you--"

She looked at him levelly. "I think I know what you mean."

He shook his head. "No, you don't. I didn't keep from you that you're in a prophecy about Voldemort. A prophecy that says one of you will kill the other. A prophecy that says that you can't both continue to live at the same time...."

She saw a tear trickle down his cheek and hoped he didn't notice her looking when he angrily wiped it away. "I didn't keep from you that it's your fault that your parents are dead, that they're dead because Voldemort was trying to kill you, because of this prophecy. And because of me, Sirius went to prison for over ten years, and it was because of me that he died, and because of me that Cedric also died, and--and--"

She wasn't sure what he was babbling about except for the part about feeling responsible for his parents' deaths. She hadn't meant to break him, but the cumulative effect of telling her his secrets seemed to have made some inner defence of his crack and collapse. The next thing she knew she'd gone to sit on the bed and she was cradling his head in her lap while he went on again about it being his fault that people were Petrified and something called a Buckbeak being on trial and whatever a Cruciatus was, something about a graveyard and being tied to a tombstone while a grisly ritual was performed....

And every so often she whispered to him, "It's not your fault," as he continued the litany of people he felt responsible for hurting or deaths for which he felt he could be blamed. When he finally stopped speaking through his tears, there were only tears left, and he hugged her legs and wept for the losses and betrayals, while she told him again and again that it wasn't his fault, until he finally quieted and sighed softly, her hand rubbing his back in soothing circles like the mother he might have had if she hadn't been murdered.

"It's not your fault," she said again, her heart in her throat, her voice thick from her own tears.

"I know," he finally whispered. "It's his fault," he said, a hard edge to his voice she hadn't heard before. He sat up, making her lap feel cold after his head being there for so long. She looked at the young-old face, distressed that he'd gone through so much in his short life. Half my age and he's lived ten times as much as me, she thought. And yet she wouldn't have traded places with him for anything, magic or no magic.

"I know what I have to do," he said resolutely, his voice sounding deeper and more mature now. She looked at him quizzically, her question a silent one. He nodded in acknowledgement of it and then turned to the still-open window, as though his enemy might appear any second on the other side of it. He took a deep breath through his nose; it seemed that he'd just made a very important decision.

"I need to take the fight to him. I'm going to kill him."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ginny threw another butterbeer cork at the kitchen door, sighing when it veered off and bounced onto the floor, like the others, making no contact. Imperturbable Charm. She sank her chin onto her hands again, elbows on her knees, as she sat on the stairs and waited for the Order meeting to end. This summer was even worse than the last, for she was usually waiting all by herself this time around. The twins were included in meetings now, thanks to their innovative and extremely useful product line, and Hermione and Ron didn't see the point to hanging about on the stairs waiting. They reckoned they could pump the twins for information later. Or at least that was their excuse. She knew that they were really taking advantage of the adults being occupied to go off to the drawing room (which was finally really clean) and snog. Or snog, have a row, make up and snog again, which seemed to be their usual pattern. Ginny was beginning to miss the days when all they did was have rows. It was a lot less lonely for her.

Plus she hated that their relationship sometimes forced her to think of the two of them kissing. The idea made her want to gag, remembering how Michael had kissed, which was her least favourite thing about being his girlfriend. She was also not keen on actually thinking about anyone, especially her best friend, kissing her brother.

She sighed, watching Crookshanks bat the corks about. Sometimes Sirius had sat out of Order meetings during the previous summer, keeping Ginny, Ron, Hermione and the twins company. He said he could find out what had been discussed later and seemed to like the being considered young, rather than a responsible adult. He was also very interested in the twins' ideas for their future shop. She couldn't stop a sigh escaping her again, wishing he could sit with them again on the stairs, waiting; wishing he'd never gone to the Ministry....

She hadn't even realised that the thought of Sirius had made her cry until the cork Crookshanks was playing with bounced toward the door and made a subtle little knocking sound instead of flying away again. They've taken the spell off. She swallowed and wiped the tears from her face, giving a great sniff, standing expectantly, waiting for the door to open. When it suddenly did, Crookshanks was so startled that he leapt onto the stairs and started bolting upward, nearly knocking Ginny over. Her eldest brother stood in the pool of light spilling from the kitchen, his hand on the knob, grinning.

"Are you the only one? Are the others still in bed, or did they finally decide that they can wait to find out what's going on?"

She grimaced. "The second thing." Then she realised that she hadn't seen Bill since she'd returned to London from school. "And anyway--how are you? It's been ages! I didn't realise you'd come to this meeting!" She skipped down the stairs and he enfolded her in a hug, kissing her on the cheek.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been busy. I was the first one here this morning, actually. Sun wasn't even up yet. And after this I have to go again. Duty calls."

"Yes, it does, Mr. Weasley. Let us not forget that," a familiar voice said; the owner of the voice stepped into the light and Ginny swallowed.

"Hello, Professor Snape," she said, as though she hadn't a care in the world. It was her usual demeanour around him, carefully cultivated for four years; she felt that he was rather like a dog who could smell fear, or like a shark detecting blood in the water. Thus far feigning a bit of confidence (but not too much--she thought Hermione went overboard) during Potions lessons had served to help her stay out of his way. She wasn't the best Potions student in her year by a long way, but he didn't purposefully mark her down and embarrass her or tell everyone that she was the worst, either. (This lot fell to poor, quivering Colin Creevey, who looked during every Potions lesson as though he was going to wet himself out of fear. A couple of times, in first and second year, he actually did.)

It was strange to encounter him again outside of the Potions Dungeon. She had thought it strange last summer and it was no less strange this year. She knew he was doing perhaps the most dangerous work of all, but she also wondered whether he was able to because he wasn't really on their side. What if he was able to get away with closing his mind to You-Know-Who because he wasn't really doing that? What if her entire family was in danger because of him? And everyone else in the Order as well?

She tried to force her mouth into a smile. She'd thought briefly of reminding Harry that Snape was in the Order, when they'd decided to fly off to the Ministry, but a sudden doubt had touched her and she'd decided that she didn't want the failure of their mission to be on her shoulders if it turned out that Snape really couldn't be trusted. She noticed that none of the others had brought up Snape, either, or at least Harry, Ron and Hermione hadn't brought him up. Neville and Luna didn't even know about the Order at the time....

Snape nodded to her very formally, his face impassive. "Good morning, Miss Weasley. I am afraid your brother and I must be leaving."

She pressed herself to the stairwell wall to get out of their way. "Yes, Bill said," she muttered. As he passed he looked in her eyes again, making her shiver. Is he reading my mind? she wondered. Does he know that I didn't trust him enough to mention his name to Harry before we flew off to the Ministry? She thought of Sirius again. Perhaps he'd still be alive if I'd thought to say something about Snape. Perhaps it's all my fault that he's dead....

The thought made her stomach clench, but she didn't have the opportunity to spiral downward into abject grief again before the twins emerged from the doorway and accosted her. "Oi, Ginny! You can come in now. Meeting's over. Want some butterbeer?" George asked cheerfully.

She shrugged and surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye again. "Yes, thanks." She followed them into the kitchen, hoping that talking to the twins could take her mind off Sirius. Her mother was putting a hot mug of tea down before her father, seated at the long table. He gave her a warm smile and held out his hand, pulling her into a one-armed hug and kissing her on the cheek; she didn't even need to bend down for him to do this, as she hadn't grown any taller in the previous year.

"There, now, it wasn't so bad waiting to get into the kitchen, now was it?" he asked cheerfully, sipping his tea. Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes; her father was either quite clueless or pretending to be, she could never work out which it was. She wasn't wanting merely to enter the kitchen, she wanted to be in on the meeting itself. Ginny hadn't particularly wanted to be in the kitchen at all, not being a bit hungry, but now that she was, she took the butterbeer Fred handed to her and sat down beside him.

In a moment, her mother was upon them. "Just what do you two think you're doing, giving Ginny butterbeer for breakfast?"

"Sorry," Fred said with unusual deference. "Since you already gave us our breakfasts, I forgot she hadn't had any."

Ginny looked sheepishly at her mother and allowed a plate of eggs and bacon to be pushed on her, although she couldn't bear the thought of eating. After her mother moved to the sink, her back to her daughter, Ginny continued to surreptitiously drink the butterbeer and merely pushed the eggs around her plate, while Fred and George made short work of her bacon.

She watched her parents carefully; when he'd finished his tea her father rose and joined her mother at the sink, helping with the washing up, chatting about inconsequential things at work. Ginny continued to watch them, then lowered the bottle from her lips slightly and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "So, what did you find out?"

Fred grimaced. He took a swig of butterbeer himself, then shrugged. "Sorry, Gin. Can't tell. Top secret."

She nearly slammed her bottle down on the table, but stopped herself in time. "What do you mean 'can't'?"

George flipped a bottle cap and caught it, flipped and caught. "It's not like when we were eavesdropping on meetings, Ginny. We're part of the Order now," he said with what she would think of as comic dignity were it not for the fact that he really did seem serious about not telling her what had happened.

"You're joking," she said quietly, watching her parents out of the corner of her eye. "After letting me see all of your products before anyone else? I was the first one to try the vomiting sweet..." She was finding it very difficult not to scowl. And why couldn't Ron and Hermione come up for air for once? She could use some back-up.

Fred shook his head, taking a large gulp of butterbeer. "Can't do it, Ginny. Sorry."

You don't sound bloody sorry, she thought grumpily. She thought of Snape going off with Bill to work for the Order. What if Bill was going to his death? Or what if Snape was really a spy but Voldemort knew that? This thought alarmed her; it honestly hadn't occurred to her before. Perhaps he could be trusted but his cover was blown...

"Fred! George!" she whispered. "I just thought of something; are we absolutely certain that You-Know-Who believes Snape is loyal to him again?"

She almost wished she hadn't asked as soon as she saw their faces. Fred stood and dragged her to her feet, making her drop her butterbeer and spill it all over the table. George quickly pulled out his wand and cleared it up. As they were leaving the kitchen--Ginny being dragged by both Fred and George now--their father called over his shoulder, "What've you got planned today? Going to the shop soon, boys?"

"Yeah!" George yelled when they were already on the stairs. "See you later!"

"Fred!" she hissed at him, struggling to free her arm from his strong grip and stumbling on the stairs as he continued to pull her along. "Bloody hell, are you trying to rip my arm out of its socket?"

But he didn't stop until they were outside the drawing room. "I put the Imperturbable Charm on the door myself, Ginny so how do you know about Snape?" Fred demanded, still not releasing her arm.

"Let me go!" she cried, stamping on his foot; he cried out and let go of her at last, doubling over in pain.

"Ginny," George hissed at her. "Seriously--how did you know? Bill's the one who reported that at the meeting, and he got it from Dumbledore, who wouldn't tell Bill where he'd heard it."

She looked grimly at them both; Fred was standing up again, wincing. "I took a shot in the dark. When Snape and Bill were leaving I was thinking about Snape perhaps still being on You-Know-Who's side, and he gave me this look, like he could tell what--"

"He probably could," Fred confirmed, nodding. "Wish I knew about that in first year..."

"But he didn't look like he had something to hide. He looked like--oh, I don't know. Like he was tired of trying to prove himself. And then I thought, when we were down in the kitchen, what if he really is loyal to Dumbledore, but You-Know-Who knows that? What if he's just pretending to have taken him back as a Death Eater? Don't you remember what Harry said he said?"

George narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Ginny sighed in exasperation. "Harry told Rita Skeeter everything. The Quibbler article. Harry described You-Know-Who talking about the Death Eaters. He said one had left him forever. He said that one would die. Doesn't that sound like Snape to you?"

Fred shrugged. "Yeah, but we found out in our very first Order meeting--which I can tell you about, a little--that Snape convinced him he hadn't left him forever, that he was back, that he was sorry for covering up his loyalty, years ago. He said he convinced You-Know-Who that having a loyal Death Eater at Hogwarts was a really useful thing."

"But are we certain that he convinced him of that or is there a chance that You-Know-Who knows he was lying?"

George shook his head. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? Hard to say."

Fred snorted. "You know, mate, at this rate we might as well have told her all about the meeting. She guessed anyway."

"Good point. All right--new policy," George said in an officious voice. "No point in not telling Ginny about meetings, since she's too clever by far and will just guess anyway." He grinned at her, but it didn't make her feel any better.

"Anyway," Fred said, putting his arm around her thin shoulder, "I do know Snape is loyal to Dumbledore. I mean, you know what he did when you went to the Ministry, don't you?" Ginny blinked, feeling stupid, shaking her head. "He's the one sent Dumbledore and the other members of the Order after you. That's why they showed up."

She bit her lip. That's why Sirius died, she thought. She knew this was ungracious, but she missed Sirius so dreadfully since returning to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Of course, if they hadn't come to the Ministry, the six of us would probably be dead...

"Snape saved your life, Gin," Fred said, raising his eyebrows at her.

She sighed and slumped against the drawing room door. "You're probably right. But if You-Know-Who is just pretending to trust him, who's going to save Snape's life?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tilda's breath caught as she looked at Harry's profile; he was staring bleakly out of the open window. He thinks he has to kill or be killed, she thought, her heart in her throat. She couldn't even begin to comprehend feeling that way at sixteen, as though the entire world depended upon you for its salvation. In Harry's case, it did. And yes, a few minutes ago he'd been a blubbering mess on her lap, like any child who'd experienced great loss. But now... she had the distinct impression that he was done with tears. His eyes looked quite hard and he was even a bit frightening. She felt it necessary to back up a few inches, give him space.

"Erm," she began awkwardly, "do you want to use the loo first?" It seemed a terribly mundane thing to ask, and yet welcome for all its ordinariness.

He blinked and turned to her as though surprised that she was there. "Oh, right. It's--" He glanced at the clock. "Blimey. Already seven-thirty. No wonder it feels like my bladder's going to explode..."

She forced a laugh and stood, crossing her arms nervously, for want of anything else to do with them. She wasn't sure why, but he made her very, very uneasy now. There was absolutely nothing childlike about him anymore, it seemed. She wasn't prepared for that; she'd been sheltering a boy in her home, a child. Now it seemed she'd actually been sheltering a man and she didn't know how she felt about that. She'd always been at her ease around children; it was adults who unsettled her. After she'd first realised this it was easy to choose teaching children as her profession.

"Let me check on Jack first," she said. "Can you hold it for another minute?"

He grimaced. "Maybe."

She tore her eyes away from his face and left the room, aware of her stomach doing flips inside of her. What had changed? Absolutely nothing. And yet--absolutely everything.

She crept carefully down the stairs, but when she was only halfway down she had a clear view of the living room and could see that the couch was empty. She sped up, practically running into the room, finding no trace of her brother anywhere about. Then she noticed the hastily-scrawled note amongst some rubbish on the coffee table.

Til--

Got to go. The loo is fixed and I also took care of the dripping tap in the kitchen. Don't know why you don't learn some plumbing but I guess you wouldn't need your little brother anymore if you did. Happy birthday. I know you like having this time to yourself. Going up to Newcastle for a bit, got a job promised to me. I'll ring you up when I get there.

--Jack

Usually the way her brother just picked up and moved from place to place with no notice irked her no end; this time it was a godsend and she couldn't help the whoop that escaped her as she ran up the stairs again, waving the note like a flag.

Harry was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking puzzled. "Jack's moved on already, Harry!" She grinned at him and he grinned back, which relieved her greatly; after the confess-and-cry-fest she'd wondered whether she'd ever see him smile again.

She understood now. She understood why he was so different when he was growing up, why he was mystified about his own abilities. And she understood why he didn't trust her immediately and ask for shelter instead of lurking in her house. She understood so much...

But as she watched the bathroom door close, she also felt unaccountably exposed; she'd talked to him about so many things since she'd found him in her living room, things she would not normally tell a man; somehow it had seemed so safe to tell him, to tell a boy. But now she wondered whether he could really be considered a boy. He had a man's burden, certainly. It was so confusing....

After they'd eaten breakfast he helped her clean up, as he had done before her brother had come to stay. They stood side-by-side as usual, washing and drying the dishes, and she got a lump in her throat as she considered for the first time the gentle domesticity of this activity. Harry didn't seem to mind it at all; his face looked very peaceful as he wiped each item. When they were nearly finished, though, his face looked lit up with hope.

And a plan.

"Tilda," he said, turning to her with a heartbreaking smile, "do you think we could--"

"No!" she said immediately, not knowing what he was going to say but feeling this was the safest answer.

His face fell. "Oh. I was just going to say, according to the message Dumbledore sent me, I'm safe when I'm with you or in your house, because of a protection spell he used--"

"Wait, back up," she said, closing her eyes, feeling a headache starting. "Dumbledon--"

"Dumbledore," he said, laughing.

"Your headmaster," she said instead, still not caring for being corrected, "put a spell on me? And my house?" Her voice rose as she spoke.

Harry nodded, not the least bit put-out. "Yeah. For my protection. Oh, by the way, he knows I'm here. He thinks this is the safest place for me right now. That may change, but that's why I didn't leave when your family came--well, that and you still had my Cloak. But if I really had to leave it I would have. I do have other magical things back on Privet Drive. Which is what I was going to ask--do you think you could come with me to get the rest of my stuff? We could both wear the Cloak. It's really big."

At the look on her face, he hastily said, "N-not that you're really big--"

She crossed her arms and drew her mouth into a line. "I don't know--"

"Well, I'd like to have my own clothes again, for a start. Not that the stuff you bought me isn't great. You know how it is. And technically, I have summer homework to do. I'm supposed to be reading, writing a few essays.... And now that I know how I did on my O.W.L.s--" He stopped. "Oh, wait. You never did tell me the rest of my results."

She relented and pulled the parchment from her jeans pocket, where she'd put it after she'd dressed. He looked like he was trying very hard not to snatch it from her grasp and unfolded it with shaking hands. As his eyes scanned down the page his face became happier and happier and she couldn't resist feeling happy for him as well.

"Eight! I got eight O.W.L.s!" he crowed. "It would only be five, but apparently they give separate marks for the written and practical tests on Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts." He made a sceptical noise. "I should have known Snape would see to it we only get a combined mark for Potions. Makes it harder to get an 'Outstanding'--which I did!" he cried, throwing his arms around her. She returned the hug awkwardly, patting his back heartily, feeling very happy for him and yet--

When he released her he didn't seem to have noticed her discomfort. "I knew I could do that stuff if he wasn't hanging over me, distracting me and making me bollix it up!" He beamed happily at the parchment again. "Eight! I wonder how the others did," he added. "I'll bet Hermione got at least twelve. I think she could have got thirteen, since she's taking an extra class. I can't see her not getting a pass in anything."

Tilda laughed. "Not from what you've told me about her, no. I'm glad you're happy. Eight is good, then? I have no way of knowing...."

His face fell again. "And I wonder how Ron did. I mean, we usually perform about the same, but he was really down after taking some of his exams. As it was, I only got 'Acceptable' for Care of Magical Creatures and on the written exams for Charms and Transfiguration. The only other 'Outstanding' I got besides Potions was on the practical exam for Defence Against the Dark Arts, although I did get 'Exceeds Expectations' for the written one, and for the practical exams for Transfiguration and Charms. I hope Ron got into N.E.W.T.-level Potions. Otherwise...."

"What?"

"Well, otherwise he won't be able to apply for Auror training... You need a N.E.W.T. in Potions for that, and--"

"No, I meant what's bloody N.E.W.T.-level Potions? How many poor salamanders are you planning to slaughter in the next two years, anyway?" She wasn't really an animal rights activist but did contribute money to a group intent on preventing testing of cosmetics on animals. It seemed a frivolous reason to torture poor little rabbits and mice.

Harry burst out laughing, then saw the look on her face and tried to stifle it. "Oh, erm, you're serious. You don't understand--N.E.W.T. stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. Taken near the end of seventh year."

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oooooh," she said, "like A-levels."

He nodded. "Right. Only there's no uni for us after Hogwarts. I reckon Auror training is a bit like uni, though. You learn spells and stuff other witches and wizards don't, and it takes three years. Very difficult, of course. And getting in is half the battle."

She frowned. "And an Auror is--?"

"Oh, well--" He snorted. "Well, it's a bit like a spy. Being a sort of agent for the wizarding government. Hunting down dark wizards and all that."

She laughed this time. "Are you actually telling me that you will be going to spy school after all?"

He joined her in laughing. "Yeah, I reckon I will be, if I get enough N.E.W.T.s. Maybe that's why I thought of telling you that story before. Well, that and I'd been watching a lot of films about astronauts and NASA while you were out..."

She tried to pretend to look stern. "Now, who told you that you could watch my television?" She couldn't maintain the façade, however, and laughed again, hitting him on the arm. "So, were you serious?"

"About what?" he said, putting the last dry plate away.

"About going to your house to get your things. Actual magical things. Can I ask first--what sort of things?"

He shrugged. "Well, I reckon it depends on what survived the attack." He gave a deep sigh. "God, I hope my broom's all right--"

"Broom?"

"Yeah. I could have sworn I mentioned playing for my house team."

"Erm," she said slowly, "are you telling me that you play football on broomsticks?" She stared at him in disbelief. "How do you manage that, considering that you're supposed to kick the ball along the ground? Or do you fly very low? I should think the brooms would be very dangerous and injure people. Do your refs throw out a lot of players? Have you ever got a red card?"

He stared, not quite knowing where to begin. He settled for, "It's kind of complicated, but it's not football on broomsticks. Another game entirely, really."

She nodded. "Well, if it's not completely destroyed, I'd like to help you get your broomstick back. And--and--"

"--my spellbooks, parchment, quills, plus the ink that changes colour that I bought when I hadn't even started first year--and, let's see..." He leaned against the counter, frowning. "There's my Sneak-O-Scope, Hedwig's cage, the Marauder's Map..."

He looked up; Tilda seemed quite lost. He tried to smile reassuringly at her. "It'll be fine. Perhaps we should make more than one trip for it all, though. I don't think the pair of us would fit under the Cloak if we were trying to carrying it all in my trunk."

Tilda nodded in agreement. "Why don't we take some backpacks I have, to stuff things in that aren't fragile..."

"Oh, fragile! That's right; my Potions supplies need to come also, and my scales, my cauldron..."

She snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand. "You actually use a cauldron? Isn't that a bit of a cliché?"

She was sorry she'd done this when he looked so hurt. "What else are you going to use to make a Potion? At least I still have the same one I started with; my friend Neville has melted so many I think even he's lost count of which one he's on now. Must be at least twenty, and that's if he's only melted an average of four a year since first year; it has to be more..."

Tilda bristled. "That's not very nice to say."

Harry hurried to repair the impression she had of his opinion of Neville. "It's just that Neville's always had a hard time in Potions. The moment Snape walks into the dungeon, he's quaking in his boots. Which means that if he does get into N.E.W.T.-level Potions, the poor bloke has two more years of Snape to get through."

"Snape?"

"The Potions Master. Oh, god, I didn't tell you about Snape yet..."

So she was subjected to a blow-by-blow description of every vile thing Snape had ever done or said as a teacher, as far as Harry knew. She stared at him in disbelief as the catalogue of offences went on and on.

"And he hasn't been sacked yet?" she asked in disbelief. Harry shook his head.

"Not a chance. He's also in the Order. Used to be a Death Eater, too, but he turned spy before Voldemort tried to kill me. Dumbledore seems to trust him. Anyway, I wasn't trying to insult Neville. I think he's the best! I'd have him on my side in a fight any day," he added. "He was brilliant at the Ministry, and he--" Harry seemed to be choking on the words; "he took the Cruciatus Curse like--like his parents probably had done--"

Suddenly he looked as emotional as when he was talking about blaming himself for his godfather's death; he pulled out a chair and sat at the table, running his hands through his hair. "See, Neville was the other possible person to fulfil the prophecy," he said quietly. "He has the same birthday I do--that we do. And his parents were in the Order of the Phoenix, like mine, and had defied Voldemort three times--"

"The Order of the Phoenix?" she asked, also pulling out a chair to sit. "Is that what you meant by 'the Order'?"

"Yeah. Sorry I didn't explain that. Dumbledore's gang, sort of. A group for fighting dark wizards, but not under Ministry control."

She looked puzzled. "Like vigilantes?"

"No!" he said quickly. "But--well, maybe not always worrying about the law so much," he conceded, thinking about Mundungus and his shady cauldron deals. "Or people who are usually on the wrong side of the law, but not dark wizards exactly. Some petty criminals, for instance, plus some Aurors--Neville's parents were Aurors--and just ordinary people like my mum and dad and now Ron's mum and dad, plus his oldest brother--trying to do the right thing and fight dark wizards however they can."

She nodded and put her hand on his. "Of course your parents did the right thing, Harry."

He nodded. "That's why I told you they were agents who'd been betrayed. That's basically what happened. One of my parents' closest friends, Peter Pettigrew, who was also in the Order, told Voldemort where to find them, and when he came to try to kill me, he killed them instead. And when he tried to kill me after that--he couldn't."

He tried to explain to her Dumbledore's theory for why this happened, and oddly enough, she nodded sagely and said it made sense. He wasn't so sure himself, but he went along with her on this.

"Anyway, Neville's parents were tortured by some Death Eaters--"

"Who? You said Snape was--was one of those."

"He was, before he came back to our side. Dark wizards. Voldemort's people. They tortured Neville's parents because they thought the Longbottoms knew where their master had gone. And probably also because Neville was the other one who could have been in the prophecy. The torture... it went on too long." He sighed. "They live in St Mungo's now. That's the wizarding hospital."

She seemed interested in that, so then he had to explain St Mungo's to her, and the ward where the Longbottoms lived. That led to telling her about the encounter with Gilderoy Lockhart at St Mungo's, which soon had her laughing rather hard.

Oddly enough, Harry didn't feel like laughing. "Actually, I thought the poor bloke was pretty pathetic. He has no idea what's going on. Probably won't for a while, if ever."

"But didn't you tell me that he tried to put a memory charm on you? And your friend Ron? He would have left the pair of you, plus your friend's sister, down in those tunnels, good as dead. It's just as well he's the one who lost his memory. I'd rather he was in hospital and you alive than the other way round," she added, squeezing his hand.

But when he looked at her--it was too intense. She blinked and looked away, withdrew her hand from his.

"So--we were going to get your stuff. Shouldn't we get started?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You know, it'll be good to get outside again, even if I still have to wear the Cloak. At least I'll have some company." He grinned at her.

Oh good Lord, she thought. Why on earth did I agree to go with him?

She nodded, sporting a vacuous smile meant to hide her feelings. I shouldn't be having feelings, she reminded herself, looking at Harry's eyes again. She thought of the things he'd gone through. Now, if Tom had one ounce of the integrity Harry had.... No, Tom still wouldn't measure up. She turned toward the kitchen door, closing her eyes, trying to tame her unruly thoughts.

I'm now comparing every man in my life to a sixteen-year-old boy. How pathetic is that?

It was, however, an incredibly brave and selfless sixteen-year-old boy. It was Harry. And it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to remember that he was sixteen. But I must, she reminded herself. Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen... she thought repeatedly. Don't forget!

"Well, go get your Cloak and I'll round up some bags," she said, not looking at him. He ran up the stairs while she collapsed on the couch, rubbing her temples with her fingers as she thought of sneaking over to Privet Drive with him, huddled close together under the Invisibility Cloak....

The headache she'd been expecting earlier had arrived with a vengeance.

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