Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Emergency

As the five o'clock alarm sounded on schedule the next morning, Harry briefly pondered very nasty hexes that could be placed on a magical alarm clock. Still, he thought, "no pain, no gain," and forced himself to go running with Dudley again. This time he did borrow a Walkman and a few CDs from his cousin. When they returned a couple of hours later, after their ten-kilometre run, Harry was in a surprisingly good mood - at least compared to how miserable he had felt at that same point the day before.

Harry and Dudley had resumed their chat about less-than-successful romantic encounters with girls over the past year.

"Well, I've got one real kiss to my credit," Harry revealed - although declining to mention that he had not initiated it. "With that Chinese girl I mentioned ... her name is Cho. It was under the mistletoe just before last Christmas. She's really pretty, and popular, and she's a year ahead of me ... in the house known best for being clever."

"And this was with your ex-girlfriend," responded Dudley, emphasizing the "ex."

"She is," Harry had to admit.

"Did you dump her, or did she dump you?" Dudley wondered, very interested in whether things worked any differently amongst wizards and witches.

"She dumped me," Harry confessed with a forced chuckle. "Quite publicly, too - and on ruddy Valentine's Day no less. The problem was one of my best friends was ... is ... also a girl, and Cho was jealous of that. I suppose she thought I was cheating, but I wasn't." Harry did not think to question if it would have been better, at least for him, if he had.

"Getting dumped on Valentine's day.... That's pretty cold," Dudley observed with a frown.

"That was our first and last date," Harry admitted with a grimace. "It was a disaster. She mostly wanted to talk about a former boyfriend, a bloke named Diggory. Trouble was he died.... Actually got killed, more like it.... By that Voldemort maniac who's after me. Poor Cedric was only there by accident, and Voldemort snuffed him straightaway so he could deal with me. I got away though...." Harry stopped his rambling story once he saw Dudley gawking at him with undisguised amazement.

"Killed? Right in front of you?" Dudley commented with a suddenly serious look on his face. "I used to think that maybe it would be fun being you ... what with being able to do all that hocus-pocus and all. But the more I find out how your kind lives, it sounds less and less fun...."

Harry's cousin had just gotten the smallest picture of how un-normal Harry's life truly was.

"Well, it's more me than my kind, but the bottom line is I can't help it," Harry replied, making an effort to remain calm. "That's my life."

"How'd you manage to get dumped on Valentine's Day?" Dudley asked, returning to the original topic. "I can't believe it was intended."

"It was probably my own fault.... I let Hermione - that's the friend - schedule a meeting that conflicted with part of the date. Cho wasn't happy because she thought that meant I wanted to be with Hermione rather than her.... Actually it was just a bloody interview with a reporter."

"You broke off a date to meet with a reporter?" Dudley went on, perplexed. "Didn't you want to be with your girlfriend?"

"Well, Hermione wanted me to do that, and I wasn't exactly having fun on the date anyway...," Harry responded slowly. "It just wasn't interesting enough."

"And the alternative was?" Dudley asked, still not believing that anyone would break off a perfectly good date with a perfectly good girlfriend for that reason.

"Actually, yes," Harry told him, getting his back up a little. "Just about anything Hermione decides to do is interesting...."

"Isn't that your real answer, then?" was Dudley's only half rhetorical question. Harry had no ready reply, so he said nothing.

Sure enough, Dudley filled the silence. "Well, what happened to me wasn't nearly as dramatic. We were at the cinema. This girl, Ellen was her name, she hung out at the gym some of the time. She let me take her out, but I never got as far as you. I tried to put my arm around her in the dark, but I missed...."

Harry relished the opportunity to critique his cousin's technique for once. "How could you miss trying to do that?"

"It was dark," Dudley protested. "I stretched my arm across the top of her chair, down the far side, and what do you know - I slipped my hand right into her soda. That startled me, and I knocked the soda over. It kinda landed right in her lap. She never let me touch her again after that...."

The telephone rang, and Dudley had to make ready to leave. He and some friends were going across town to watch a couple of amateur fighters that might eventually become his opponents.

Harry spent a rather dull, if relatively remunerative, afternoon and early evening doing odd jobs around the house. He mowed the front and back gardens, thinking about how Arthur Weasley would have loved to have a close encounter with a Muggle lawnmower - even though this one had a defective dead man's switch and was difficult to stop once it got going. He edged the front lawn (running the edger over his foot on several occasions, but fortunately only doing damage to his old trainers). He removed rubbish from the garage, all the while wondering how Dudley had acquired so many stuffed animals, and decapitated all of them. He was just finishing up when he heard Aunt Petunia let out a yelp from the kitchen.

Harry hurried in after her and found Ron's owl Pigwidgeon hurtling about the room bouncing off various cupboards and walls. If Pig had weighed more than a few ounces, he might have been a menace, but as it was he was merely a fluttering annoyance. Even a direct strike couldn't overturn a Aunt Petunia's canteen of cutlery. Taking advantage of his Seeker's instincts, Harry instantly swiped at Pig and grabbed him in mid-flight.

"Potter, will you kindly confine your owl encounters to your own room?" his aunt hissed in frustration. "Leave your own windows open if you must. All that freak stuff of yours probably wouldn't mind some rain anyway."

Harry agreed automatically, without thinking about what his aunt was saying (as an underage wizard, he could not perform the Impervius charm out of school). He just wanted to read Ron's post in the privacy of his own room. Even though Harry had been home less than two days, he already missed being surrounded by magical goings on at Hogwarts - certainly his relatives had never before given him any reason not to miss Hogwarts.

Removing the letter from Pig, he opened his bedroom window and tossed out the diminutive owl. Harry looked briefly at the dappled clouds that were moving in from the east. The sunset would be pretty this evening.... Unfortunately, the letter did not have much in it to lift his already testy mood:

Dear Harry:

Don't know how to say this really, but it turns out you're not on the picked all-Hogwarts Quidditch team. Dad says that you were ineligible because you had been banned, and now it is too late to change anything. I have to believe that Dumbledore could fix this if he really wanted to, though. Maybe he thinks being abroad is too dangerous, but you can do loads more stuff than the rest of us, so that really makes no sense either. I think you should talk to him yourself.

The Hogwarts Seeker is Cho Chang, if you can believe that. Ginny is the reserve. I think that made her lifetime. I have no idea who any of the rest of my teammates are, but I hardly care because Malfoy is not on the team.

Ron

Harry glowered, wadded up his friend's letter, and hurled it at the trash bin. "Damn Dumbledore," he muttered. "How can I not be on the Hogwarts team? Cho is nothing but eye candy next to me. Every time I've played her, I've caught the Snitch. And lately she seems to spend more time training in Chinese magic than for Quidditch."

He was ready to fire off another angry missive to the Headmaster, when it occurred to him that he had no way to send it. Hedwig had yet to return from delivering his first post, and Harry had heedlessly tossed Pig. Before he had to spend any time on it, however, this problem resolved itself. Hedwig soared through his window only moments later.

"Speak of the devil," Harry smirked, earning an owl-eyed glare.

She bore what looked like a response. "Let's see what you've got there, girl," Harry said more respectfully of the Hedwig's feelings as he deftly removed Dumbledore's reply from her extended leg. "The old man always uses sealing wax doesn't he?" remarked Harry as he prised the obsolescent, but nevertheless effective, seal off of the letter.

Mr. Potter:

I have received your letter, and I quite agree with most of your points. I hope, for Hedwig's sake, that my response is satisfactory. I intend to keep you as fully informed as possible this summer. Miss Granger and the others made this same point to me, in abundance, and she suggested a solution, which I hope to make available to you very soon. Just have a bit of patience.

I assure you that clearing Sirius' name is a high priority item - of greater urgency than even you desire. I need to discuss this matter, and others, with you personally. Please be at Arabella Figg's house this Thursday at 7 p.m. BST, and I will tell you more face to face.

The matter of additional training is something else I wish to discuss Thursday. Again, I will endeavor to meet your stated demand to the greatest extent possible.

Your broom will be returned to you, and you will be eligible to play Quidditch when you return to Hogwarts. You may be aware by now of an international Quidditch camp taking place this summer. While your exclusion from the Hogwarts team was initially an oversight, the need to renew your protection, as well as the urgency of the other matters, are such that I have declined to correct that error.

I will see you soon. Please stay calm until then.

Albus P.W.B Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock Wizengamot

Over the past couple of years, Harry had had enough contact with Dumbledore that he fully expected his meetings with the Headmaster to leave him every bit as perplexed as when he arrived (if not more so). This was the first time, however, that Dumbledore had so thoroughly befuddled him by letter. Most of Dumbledore's post seemed like good news, but since it was the Headmaster, there were always caveats attached and questions to be posed.

What was Hermione's solution to the communication issue, and how had she even known about the problem? Would he have to learn some complicated N.E.W.T.-level spell to use whatever it was that she had devised?

How could clearing Sirius' name possibly be more urgent to anybody else than to him? Sirius was his godfather, and given where Sirius had spent twelve years of his life, it was unlikely that Sirius had any other relatives who gave a damn about him.

So, he was going to get extra training. This was a relief, with that nasty prophecy hanging over him - dumped on him, Harry thought sardonically, almost immediately after he had lost the closest thing to a father that he had ever known. That was the old one-two....

Back to training. Would he be working with Lao Kung, or was there something or somebody else? If Dumbledore were really serious about training, and his letter sounded serious, how much time would he have to spend, and where?

And what did Dumbledore mean by that line about meeting Harry's "stated demand" only as much "as possible"? Harry realised that he had left himself at considerable disadvantage because he had dashed the previous letter off so quickly, he could not remember exactly what he had asked for.

When and how would he get his broom back? And the kicker - why was it that Dumbledore, for all his power, could not (or would not) craft a solution that could accommodate not only his mother's blood magic but also land him on the Hogwarts Quidditch team?

Thinking about these and similar questions thoroughly distracted Harry for the remainder of the evening. At dinner he almost missed his chair when he sat down, and he poured catsup into his glass of milk. When he left the table, he forgot to remove his napkin, and walked around with an impromptu apron hanging in front of him for five minutes. He started to load the dishes into the dryer rather than the dishwasher.

Finally Harry gave up and went upstairs to his room - intent upon doing homework - but even that was unsatisfactory. Too late he recalled that, until O.W.L. test results were in, there was no assigned summer homework because there were no assigned classes. The O.W.L.s determined what classes sixth-year Hogwarts students took. Very likely the O.W.L.s would determine what kind of future he would have.

Remembering his O.W.L.s brought Harry back to reality with stomach-lurching suddenness. To the extent he had ever given thought to having a career after Hogwarts (other than as a corpse or a ghost), it was as an Auror. But Dark wizard catchers were the elite - the James Bonds of the wizarding world - and the academic requirements were stiff. He knew he had failed History of Magic because he had fallen asleep during the exam. He would be lucky if he had even answered even a third of the test questions. He probably failed Divination and Astronomy as well. He needed an Outstanding in Potions to have the slightest chance at being an Auror - and Professor Snape never tired of telling Harry that he was a hopeless buffoon at brewing potions.

Well, there was always professional Quidditch, or failing that, maybe he could train security trolls.

But all those gloomy prospects were at least a couple years away. He feared a much more immediate consequence of coming a cropper on his O.W.L.s - the splitting up of the Trio. There was no way that Hermione was going to get anything less than spectacular marks. Doing poorly meant losing much of his contact with the person he relied upon the most.

It was harder to say about Ron, but Harry knew that if his own results were not up to scratch, he would no longer have very many of the same classes as at least one (and maybe both) of his best friends. If he ended up in different classes from his friends, Harry worried, how long would they remain his friends ... instead of each other's friends?

Harry frowned at that thought He could hardly blame them, he noted ruefully. It was especially dangerous to be his friend in the first place. His circumstances were not exactly made for the faint hearted.

Harry was tired yet restless. Broken shards of thoughts, most of them unpleasant, floated through his mind. Gradually he became aware of a soft tapping noise. His first glance was out the window, but it was already open and no owls were seeking entry into his room. Listening more intently, Harry could tell that the sound he heard originated from inside the house. Once he stepped into the hall, it was obvious that the noise was coming from Dudley's room. Harry went to the doorway. The door was open and Dudley was hunched over his computer, typing away as the images on the screen in front of him changed constantly.

"'Lo Dudley, what's that?" asked Harry tepidly.

"Internet," replied Dudley.

"What's that?" repeated Harry.

"I said, the Internet," said Dudley, more sharply this time.

"Sorry. I don't know what you're talking about," replied Harry.

"You don't know what the Internet is?" asked Dudley querulously. "Don't they teach you anything normal at that magician school of yours?"

"I'm a wizard, not a magician. We don't have any computers at Hogwarts, there's too much magic around for computers and lots of other electrical stuff to work properly. We don't have any electricity at all. We use magic instead," explained Harry.

"Wow, that's stranger than I ever imagined," said Dudley.

'Stranger than you bloody well could imagine,' Harry thought, but what he said was, "You actually take the time to imagine what MY school is like?" He was rather shocked that Dudley would even bother thinking about him or his school.

"Occasionally," said Dudley. "It sure must be weird to be you. Anyway, come here, I'll show you some things about the Internet. You can find out about practically anything you can think of on the Internet. Look at this."

Harry gasped as some very explicit pornography appeared on the screen. "You mean people actually do things like that?"

"I wish I could," sighed Dudley.

"But there's loads of other stuff too," his cousin hastily added. He explained to Harry how a search engine worked, how to navigate from link to link, and what URLs meant. He showed him his favorite boxing websites, and they did random searches concerning dissecting owl pellets, lyrics to rock and roll songs, and lurid claims concerning the American president.

Harry was a quick study and soon began gaining proficiency at using a Muggle computer. He could sense - almost feel - the power humming through the machine. Ron would be impressed. Hermione, he was certain, would not be. She, like Harry, had grown up in a Muggle home, but he was sure that her parents had not kept her ignorant of things such as computers. Nobody kept her ignorant of anything for long.

After almost an hour of mostly aimlessly surfing the 'Net, Harry began feeling drowsy. However, he knew from his extensive prior experience with nightmares that he did not want to go to sleep in his current state if he could possibly avoid it. After some indecisiveness, he decided to see if Lao Kung's concentration exercises might be of some use in calming his thoughts. He did several repetitions, and then nodded off. Something worked right because Harry did not have any memorable nightmares that night.

Harry was getting into somewhat of a routine. He went for another run with Dudley the next morning, and they were going to go to the gym around noon for another afternoon of their respective (but very different) workouts. Drying his hair after finishing his post-run shower, he was frankly rather bored. Muggle mirrors never made rude comments about ones appearance, and nobody else was about.

Harry began absent-mindedly watching some Muggle across the street mow his lawn with a riding mower. He had never seen a riding mower before, as they were rare in England. He watched in a desultory fashion until the scene degenerated into something that could have come from straight from the pages of "The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle." The man, staring at something outside of Harry's field of vision, stopped watching where he was going, and ran the lawnmower headlong into a tree. The man fell off, but the driverless mower bounced off the tree and kept going, rolling through the next lawn, and then the next. But the man barely even got to his feet, he was so busy staring....

Just then the doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon, who was downstairs finishing a crumpet before heading off to his job as an executive at Grunnings (a leading manufacturer of various kinds of drills), grumbled, "I'll get it."

Harry heard a high pitched yelp that hardly sounded like Uncle Vernon at all, followed quickly by a sound that could have come from no one else.

"You!" roared Uncle Vernon.

"Yeah, me," retorted the unmistakable voice of Alastor Moody. "Yeh were expectin' Snow White and the Seven bloody Dwarves?" Needless to say, without further ado Harry headed downstairs. There in the foyer stood the aged Auror with his horribly mutilated face and wooden leg.

Moody was dressed in Muggle clothes - military combat fatigues. On his head was an oversized bowler hat jammed halfway over his face in a not-altogether-successful attempt to conceal his face. Peeking out beneath was brilliantly blue magical eye that could swivel 360° and see through the back of Moody's own skull if necessary. He also wore bright green calf-high snakeskin boots. From one hand hung a large, very full-looking pink carrier-bag with the words "Victoria's Secret" prominently emblazoned on both sides. It was Moody's nature that he ordinarily appeared annoyed, but right now he looked considerably more annoyed than usual.

"I was expecting that Bumblemore person to keep his end of the bargain and not send around people who look like freaks to check on the boy," roared Uncle Vernon to both Harry and Moody.

Harry could not help thinking that, for once, there was something to his uncle's complaint.

"Oh, Vernon, what are the neighbours going to say," pleaded Aunt Petunia, whose expression could not have been more distasteful if she had just discovered that she had trodden on particularly ripe dog droppings. "For heaven's sake, keep your voice down and don't attract still more attention to him."

The phone rang, and for a brief instant Harry thought that they were on the verge of finding out first hand exactly what the neighbours were going to say.

But unfortunately, particularly for BT, the nearest telephone was on a small end table just behind Moody - and Alastor Moody was not in the least bit familiar with Muggle telephones. BANG! Reacting instinctively, Moody shot a strong Reductor curse behind him, aiming successfully at the source of the noise, but also grazing his own buttock in the process. The telephone, the end table underneath it, and a generous portion of the nearby wall and floor disintegrated into a cloud of dust and a hail of debris.

At this turn of events, Harry's aunt and uncle started screaming. A burst pipe in the cellar was squirting a steady spray of water. Dudley, who had been lurking in the kitchen trying to avoid all contact with Moody, now came running forward to in a rather foolhardy attempt to protect his parents. He promptly took a header on the wet, debris-covered floor and fell three quarters of the way into the cellar before Moody ever had a chance to jinx him.

Vernon bellowed at Harry: "YOU WILL TELL THAT PROFESSOR OF YOURS TO SEND SOMEONE WHO CAN ACT NORMALLY TO CHECK ON YOU!!"

Moody's magical eye was whizzing around wildly as he tried to comprehend the Muggle chaos around him. He was crouched in a dueling position, his wand at the ready. His bowler hat lay forgotten in the hallway, slowly filling with water. Harry could see drops of blood beginning to emerge from the nasty looking gash in Moody's left buttock.

Afraid that the old man might hurl more curses that would only make matters worse, Harry waved at him frantically to get his attention and then motioned for him to come upstairs as quickly as possible. Once he got Moody moving in the right direction, Harry bolted in the direction of his room, the familiar thumping gait of Moody's artificial leg telling Harry that Moody was somewhere behind him.

"Slow down, boy, I can't move all that well with this bag of goodies," panted Moody. At first Harry thought that Moody had worked up a surprising sweat, but then he noticed that the ex-Auror was again wearing his hat - and had thoroughly doused himself in the process.

Moody gingerly set the bag down on Harry's bed. Then he threw down his bowler hat in disgust. "Cursed spawn of Hades!" swore Moody, feeling for the gash in his buttock. "Now people are goin' ta think I wasn't practicin' elementary wand safety."

In Harry's opinion, blasting a telephone and everything around it to bits was not exactly very safe either, but he kept these thoughts to himself. "What's in the bag?" Harry inquired with undisguised interest.

"Just a MARE package for yeh," replied Moody, his battered face breaking into a ghastly approximation of a smile.

Harry blinked uncomprehendingly. "A what?"

"Supposed ta be a joke, Potter," Moody growled, yeh don't know the Magical Association for Relief Everywhere, I figure...."

"But why do I need relief?" Harry continued at a loss.

"A bloody joke, I told yeh," Moody's irritated voice rose. "Actually, there are presents from Dumbledore, with my compliments." He pointed his wand into the bag and made the motion Harry associated with the ending of a spell. Almost instantly, a familiar handle protruded from the bag.

"My Firebolt!" exclaimed Harry, instantly grabbing his world-class racing broom. Harry had not seen his Firebolt since breaking into Professor Umbridge's office, and touching off the series of events that ultimately led him and his friends to the Ministry. Much earlier, Professor Umbridge had seized Harry's broom - when she banned him from playing Quidditch - all because Harry had severely thrashed Umbridge's favorite student, the insufferable Slytherin Draco Malfoy. Harry cradled his Firebolt to his chest with a dreamy expression on his face, until he remembered Dumbledore's letter. Harry went from dreamy to downcast in an instant. "Thanks a lot," he told Moody, "but it's not going to be of much use to me this summer, since Dumbledore isn't going to let me play on the Hogwarts team."

"Harry, yeh've got bigger fish ta fry this summer than a kids' Quidditch camp," growled Moody.

"Like what?" asked Harry suspiciously - but nevertheless hopeful that at last he was going to get some answers to some of his nagging questions.

Fortunately, hope springs eternal. "That's fer Dumbledore ta tell yeh," said Moody, with an expression suggesting that he was thoroughly enjoying keeping Harry in suspense. "All I'll say is that it looks like yeh'll be startin' on yer career as an Auror exceptionally early."

"I wish," sighed Harry, "but I had to meet tough marking requirements in my O.W.L.s first, and I'm afraid I didn't."

"Looks like yeh'll be startin' on yer career as an Auror exceptionally early," repeated Moody, his face displaying his perverse enjoyment as Harry's suspense grew ever more pronounced.

"That brings me ta my next item of business," continued Moody, pulling out a sheet of parchment with an official looking seal at the bottom. "Sign here." Not so much as bothering with his wand this time, Moody conjured up a quill with the wave of his free hand.

"What's this all about?" asked Harry, now even more suspicious than before.

"Official paperwork," replied Moody. "It's yer certification that, in exchange fer an exemption from the Decree fer the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, yeh won't misuse yer magical abilities over the summer in violation of general wizard law. Do yeh understand what that means?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean I'm no longer going to be prohibited from performing magic outside of school?"

"Exactly," said Moody, flashing his twisted grin. "If I were a perfessor, that would be five points ta Gryffindor."

Harry signed his name straight away. As he drew back the quill after finishing his signature, the document glowed slightly blue. Moody did not make any move, so neither did Harry. The blue light quickly concentrated itself, consolidated, and shrank into a bright point of light, which then flew straight into the boy's chest. The light then dissipated after Harry himself glowed slightly blue for a brief moment.

"What was that?" Harry asked Moody.

"Yeh just entered inta a bindin' magical contract," replied Moody. "Yer first of many, no doubt. Everything of legal significance, from a business deal ta a marriage, is sealed with light in our world. That's how magical obligations show themselves ta the persons bein' obligated."

Harry recalled his encounter with the Goblet of Fire during his fourth year. "So when the Goblet of Fire drew out our names for the Triwizard Tournament, the flames sealed the deal..."

"I suppose that's right," muttered Moody, "but remember I wasn't there...."

"Oh, right," gasped Harry, remembering how Moody had been captured by a Death Eater, Bartemius Crouch, Jr., and kept stunned in a trunk for almost all of that school year. The only reason that the Death Eater had bothered keeping Moody alive was to cut off bits of his hair to make Polyjuice Potion. Polyjuice Potion was a powerful tool of concealment, and it had allowed Crouch to masquerade as Moody, teach Defence Against the Dark Arts for almost an entire year, and ultimately send Harry to Voldemort - the triggering event that led to Cedric's death and ultimately to Voldemort's return.

Harry really did not want to think about that again. Breaking from his reverie, he declared, "Anyway, just wait until I tell my relatives." He grinned evilly in anticipation.

"Remember what yeh just signed," cautioned Moody. "I don't want yeh givin' in ta temptation and Transfiguring 'em inta dung beetles or anything. If that happened, yeh'd be prosecuted as an adult. Next item...."

Harry broke in. "The next item has to be that we sort out the mess downstairs. My relatives are furious, and they have a right to be. You blew up their telephone and a good portion of the hall."

"Aye, that I did," admitted Moody, looking rather self-conscious. Harry trotted back downstairs to where his aunt and uncle had just finished extracting Dudley from the yawning hole in the floor. There was water everywhere, with bits of plaster and splinters of floorboard strewn about. The Dursleys' ordinarily immaculate hardwood floors were ruined. The three of them looked at him furiously.

Uncle Vernon was the first to speak after Harry returned. Unsurprisingly, he was still beside himself. "I've had just about enough of you and your freaky friends...."

Harry cut him off. Motioning to the three of them with his wand, he pointed towards the kitchen. "Just move out of the way and I'll mend everything."

"But you can't...."

"I can now," said Harry. "Just you watch." He pointed his wand at the hole in the floor. "Reparo." The bits of floorboard and pipe started moving about and reconstructing themselves. "Dessicatus." Harry's Drought Charm vanished the water. After a couple of more Reparos, the hole in the wall was gone and the end table had reassembled itself. Harry turned to his relatives, who were staring at him wide-eyed from the relative safety of the kitchen. "Can you come in here, please? I'd like to tidy you up as well."

His uncle and aunt hesitated, but Dudley stepped forward. "All right," he said. "I'll trust you - but not him."

Harry followed his cousin's eyes to the foot of the stairs, where Moody was now standing. He was eyeing Harry with obvious approval.

"Carry on," said Moody, chuckling. "It looks like yeh've got this well under control."

Harry pointed his wand at Dudley, who winced but stood his ground. "Scourgify." Almost instantly, all of the muck, water and assorted filth that had been covering Dudley from head to toe disappeared. After seeing that their son was completely unharmed, his aunt and uncle reluctantly allowed Harry to do the same to them as well - or at least they failed to object when he did so. After that, he performed the same charms on areas of the hall and kitchen floors where the Dursleys had tracked, or dripped, dirt. Finally, Harry turned to his relatives.

"I'm not so sure that I can mend the phone like I did all the non-electrical stuff. I've been told that magic has bad effects on at least some electronics. Do you have another one like it?" he asked.

"Y-y-yes," Aunt Petunia stammered. Plainly all the magic that Harry was able to do had come as quite a shock to her. "In the master bedroom, but it's pastel blue rather than pink like the one down here was."

Harry looked questioningly towards Moody, who nodded. He quickly made his way upstairs to his relatives' bedroom (where he was normally not allowed) and located the telephone. He carefully removed the jack from the wall socket and carefully examined the telephone. When he had obtained a full mental picture of its circuitry, he aimed his wand - "Duplicus." A white mist briefly covered the phone and then disappeared. Where there had once been one telephone, there were now two identical ones. Harry connected one back into the socket in the bedroom and carried the other downstairs, where he placed it on the end table and hooked it up. Picking up the receiver, Harry heard a dial tone. Success. Whatever problems magic could cause to Muggle devices, his had not caused them here.

Harry turned to Moody. "I'm not sure of the spell to use that would turn it pink."

"Easy," said Moody. "Just think of the colour yeh want and say encolouro, with a bit of a twist ta the right and a spiral."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I get it confused with Engorgio.... Encolouro," he said, and performed the proper wand movement. The phone turned hot pink.

"Is that the colour you want?" Harry asked his aunt, whilst keeping his wand trained on the phone.

"No, that's too bright," replied his aunt, whose pale hands were on her even paler cheeks whilst she stared in disbelief.

Harry twisted his wand slightly, and the phone became more of a pastel pink. "Just say when."

"Th ... there," said his aunt haltingly. "Just like new ... except the cord is supposed to be white, not pink."

"Oops," grinned Harry. "I knew that. Should have disconnected the cord before doing that spell." Harry removed the cord from both the phone and the wall socket and performed the colour-changing spell again. 'I must remember to tell this to Ron,' Harry thought, recalling an incident when he had just met his best friend. 'In case he ever wants to try turning something yellow again.'

Harry then turned and addressed his relatives. "See, magic can be dead useful. Now can you please leave Mr. Moody and me alone whilst we finish what we have to do?" Not waiting for an audible answer from his thunderstruck relatives, Harry and Moody turned and went back up the stairs to his room.

"Nice boots," remarked Harry, his eyes resting on the most garish aspect of Moody's rather unconventional outfit.

"Basilisk skin," Moody replied. "Virtually indestructible by magic or anything else.... Anyway, next item: Dumbledore wants yeh ta read the first eight chapters of this book by next Monday," instructed Moody, pulling out a large, thoroughly Muggle book entitled "Electricity: Principles and Applications."

"Why does Dumbledore want me to learn about Muggle electricity?" Harry was thoroughly confused now.

"Yeh can ask him yerself this Thursday," replied Moody enigmatically. "It's his assignment, not mine. I wouldn't read it myself, but there's a theory that our ability ta perform magic works similarly ta the electrical impulses that drive the ordinary Muggle nervous system - 'cept we're blessed with charmed quarks or something like that. Dumbledore's a believer in that theory."

"Well I was wishing only last night that I had school assignments to read, and now I do," grinned Harry.

"Be careful what yeh wish fer, yeh just might get it, Harry," grunted Moody, with a wink. "And now fer the pièce de résistance...." Moody pulled out a flat piece of what looked like electronic equipment. It was about three centimetres thick, by 30 centimetres wide, by a little less than half a metre tall. He placed it on Harry's desk. It had an electrical cord and plug hanging from it, which Moody picked up and examined quizzically.

"Let me," said Harry, ducking under his desk to find a wall socket. Even though he could barely see anything in the shadows, Harry inserted the cable plug on the first try. "What does this thing do?"

"According ta Headmaster Dumbledore, this remarkable device will provide yeh and him with direct, and almost instantaneous, two-way communication," said Moody, frowning slightly. "If it works, yeh'll be able ta contact Dumbledore faster than me."

"What do you mean, 'if it works?'" questioned Harry.

"I mean that this thing is a combination of Muggle and wizard technology that's never been tried before, as far as I know," said Moody. "There are a lot of wizards, me among 'em, who are uncomfortable mixin' the two."

Harry smiled as he had a flash of insight. "This is Hermione's idea, isn't it?"

"That's right," Moody confirmed.

"Show me then," demanded Harry. How is it supposed to work?"

"Dumbledore left these written instructions," said Moody. "Yeh're probably as good as myself at followin' 'em, particularly the Muggle portions. Me, I learn mostly by doin' rather than by readin'."

The instructions were not all that difficult (at least for the Muggle-raised Harry). The innovative Muggle aspect of the device was a security feature - a state-of-the-art identification scanner that recorded the blood vessel pattern in the retina of Harry's right eye and was then locked so that this identifying information could not be altered. The scanner was what plugged into the wall socket beneath his desk.

The scanner was connected to a writing surface and had an accompanying charmed quill. The writing area was surrounded by what looked like a rectangle made of thick wire, about as tall as the quill and with dimensions of a letter-sized piece of parchment.

"Pick up the quill," Moody instructed, without explication.

Curious, Harry did. Another flash of bluish light passed from the quill, to Harry, and then back again. He looked at Moody quizzically.

"If yer thinking what I think yer thinking, yer right," Moody replied to Harry's eyes. "It's a variant of the same spell used ta seal contracts - sort of a recognition contract if yeh will. Quite common in this sort of thing.... The quill now recognises yeh, and yeh only."

"What do I do next?" Harry asked, with growing enthusiasm.

"The next part's new - an experimental charm that Dumbledore created at the Granger girl's suggestion. The words are "Emparcho Dumbledorus," and the wand movement is thus...." Moody made a motion with his wand that quite resembled writing the letter "D" with a quill, and repeated it a couple of times until Harry could duplicate it.

"This charm will cause any regular piece of paper ta be Transfigured inta charmed parchment," Moody explained. "This device will not operate with anything other than properly charmed parchment. There's a very precise sequence that yeh have ta follow. First, insert the parchment like this...." Moody removed the wire rectangle and laid the parchment flat on the surface. It expanded automatically to fill the entire space.

"Now, yeh can write ta Dumbledore anything yeh want, but yeh have ta use the charmed quill. Otherwise it shuts down. Ta start any letter yeh have to begin with 'Dear Headmaster Dumbledore' at the top. Once yeh're done, yeh replace the rectangle. Yeh can't write any more after doin' that. Then yeh put yer right eye where the Muggle scanner can see it. If the eye scan isn't recognised, yer letter will immediately go blank, like it was erased, and a few seconds later it will vanish. Yeh have ta wait an hour before yeh can try again. So make sure ta use yer right eye. Assuming the eye scan is successful," at this Moody eyed the Muggle scanner skeptically, "yer letter will glow white, disappear, but this time with the text still visible ta yeh. It'll reappear essentially instantly in a similar device that Dumbledore's keepin' in his office."

"Can I try it?" Harry asked hopefully.

"In a bit yeh can, but let me finish my spiel ... don't want ta ferget anything." Moody looked over the instructions. "Yeah, this thing also comes with a handy green light, up here. When it's lit that means yeh've got something from Dumbledore. Also, because yeh're in constant danger, there's a few more security features. Yeh know he's usin' Inferi now...."

Harry blanched. Hermione had told him a little about these disgusting zombies whilst they were revising for Defence Against the Dark Arts last spring. "No, as a matter of fact I didn't," he answered truthfully, but curtly. "Just what I needed to make my day."

Best yeh know the truth, I always say," Moody replied evenly. "Anyway, if fer any reason yeh're bein' pressured ta send something yeh don't want ta just use yer left eye. That will disable the thing. If yeh're in even worse trouble than that - and yeh need to get the Hell out - all yeh need ta do is misspell 'Dumbledore' as 'Dumbeldore.' Do that, and not only is the thing disabled, but it's got a built-in Portkey in it. It's set for Hagrid's hut on the Hogwarts grounds, so yeh'll end up in a secure location."

Moody paused, and Harry repeated his earlier request, "Can I try it out, now?"

Harry could see Moody's magical eye whizzing one last time over the instructions, and then over the device as well. "Yeh, go ahead," he grunted. He gave Harry the instructions. Harry read them over thoroughly. He did not recognise the handwriting.

Harry tested the communicator with a one-sentence message to Dumbledore, "Dear Headmaster Dumbledore: Can I let Ron borrow my broom for the Quidditch camp?" After less than a minute, the green light came on and a reply appeared in Dumbledore's looping script, "Dear Harry: Yes, of course. That is most generous of you."

Moody then collected the instructions. "Have yeh memorised 'em, Potter?" he asked.

"I think so," responded Harry.

"Well, give 'em another good look, because yeh won't be keepin' 'em," replied Moody. "This is highly classified information. Yeh're going ta have more direct access ta Dumbledore than most members of the Order, includin' me."

After one final intense session studying the instructions, Harry handed them to Moody. The ex-Auror gave his wand a flick, and the piece of parchment burst into furious flame. It was entirely consumed in little more than the blink of an eye.

Harry was impressed, "What spell was that?" he asked appreciatively. "Doesn't behave like "Incendio."

"That's because it isn't," Moody replied. "The spoken spell is 'Enflagrate.' It produces a much more intense fire. Yeh see it left very little in the way of ashes."

Harry waited for whatever might come next. Moody stood for a moment in somewhat awkward silence.

"Well, it's time for me ta go," he said finally, offering a handshake to Harry, which the boy immediately took. "Remember ta be at Arabella Figg's at seven this Thursday evening."

With a loud crack, Moody disapparated - but not for long. Almost instantaneously, there was a second crack and Moody reappeared, holding the side of his head with his hand.

"Bloody anti-Apparition wards," Moody muttered. Harry showed him downstairs and, brushing past his relatives, out the back door. The two wizards crossed the wards, which caused Harry a tingling sensation when passing through. Harry escorted Moody to a place where he could Apparate in private and without obstruction. None of his relatives made the slightest move to intervene. None of them wanted anything to do with the combat scarred - and utterly unpredictable - Auror.

Buoyed by Moody's visit, Harry came back in the house, intent on accompanying Dudley to the gym once again, if his cousin had not left already, that is. Then and there, his furious relatives confronted Harry. Even Uncle Vernon was still present, although that meant he was late for work, something Harry had never known to happen before.

"Well?" growled Uncle Vernon.

"Well, what?" replied Harry, innocently.

"Is he ... you know ... that one-legged menace, gone?" Uncle Vernon growled once more.

"Yes." said Harry, trying to maintain a low-key stance.

"Thank God! YOU WILL TELL THAT HEADMASTER OF YOURS THAT ... THAT ... MOODY ... IS NEVER TO SET FOOT ON OUR PROPERTY AGAIN!!" Uncle Vernon was positively screaming now, his face turning a blotchy shade of purple. "NOT ONLY IS HE A MENACE, BUT HE COULD NOT LOOK NORMAL OR ACT NORMALLY IF HE TRIED!!"

"He'll come if I need him," retorted Harry, who was trying with less than total success to avoid getting angry himself. He could not deny that Uncle Vernon did have a valid point. "Besides you should know by now that magical damage like he caused is easily reparable."

"I DON'T CARE. THIS IS OUR PROPERTY AND ....!!"

"Now hush Vernon, calm down," Aunt Petunia cut in. Harry was more than a little surprised. Whilst his aunt often undertook to defuse his volatile uncle, she had never done so where he was concerned.

Addressing Harry, she chided, "Now Harry, we are being stretched to the limits of our tolerance by these repeated visits by ... by your kind. I think that the least you could do is to ensure that your visitors know how to look minimally normal."

"You're right actually," admitted Harry, looking down at shoes. As much as Harry had enjoyed Moody's visit, Harry had could not deny that old Auror was as out of place on Privet Drive as a werewolf at a kennel club. "I now have a way to communicate quickly with Headmaster Dumbledore, and I'll write to him and ask that he send someone who at least looks like a Mug ... er, like a normal person. That reminds me. There are now magical things in my room that you shouldn't bother because I don't know what they might do if anybody other than me touches them." Harry grinned slightly at the thought.

Uncle Vernon looked at Harry oddly. "Do I understand that you are now allowed to perform magic tricks all the time ... here ... in my house?"

"Yes," replied Harry, eyeing his uncle warily. "But I signed a contract not to abuse those powers around Mug ... er, normal people, so you needn't worry that I'm going to turn you into fruit bats or anything like that."

"Actually, I'm more interested in finding out what you can do to earn your keep, after fifteen years of being a burden upon us," Uncle Vernon said with his eyes gleaming. "For example, could you put a spell on my car so that it would never run out of petrol?"

Harry felt somewhat alarmed now. Nobody had bothered to explain to him what he could or could not do in terms of helpful, non-destructive magic. What if the Dursleys wanted him to ensure that they would win the EuroMillions? "I really don't know," said Harry truthfully. "There may well be such a spell, but I don't know it. That would probably be a matter for Advanced Muggle Studies, which I haven't had.... And I know it's against Wizard Law to enchant anything that is regularly used by Mug ... err, non-magic people," Harry hastily added.

"Well, what are you allowed to do?" spat Uncle Vernon, looking disappointed. "What good is your magic under ordinary situations?"

"I'm not sure, I can tidy things up, as you saw, but I know I can't do lasting enchantments, or do any magic that would be observed by people other than you three. That would be a Muggle Vicinage violation. I can't conjure things out of thin air very well.... But I suppose I could use magic to do some of the chores around the house that Aunt Petunia ordinarily does, like cleaning and cooking, if that's what you want," said Harry hopefully. "But you'd have to bear with me. I've never done this sort of thing for real - that is, outside of a classroom setting - before."

Dudley finally spoke. "Look, Dad, you have to go to work and I have to go to the gym. Could we continue this tonight?"

Uncle Vernon looked at his wristwatch and gasped at how late he was. "Too right," he said, "we'll continue this later. In the meantime, boy, you need to give serious thought to what you can do to contribute around here, given all the impositions you and your kind are creating."

Harry relievedly looked at Dudley. He dashed off a note to Headmaster Dumbledore not to send Moody around again, but rather somebody who knew how to look and dress like a Muggle. Very shortly, the two boys were on their way to Gator's Gym.

Harry had another exhausting but rewarding workout at the gym, alternating between physical training that resembled boxing and his mental concentration training with Lao Kung. Lao Kung was pleased to learn that Harry would soon be meeting with Dumbledore.

"Hahli, can I ask a small favor of you, then?" the elderly wizard requested.

"Sure," Harry agreed, happy to be of help.

"Would you please ask Chairman Dumbadoh to contact me regarding matters concerning my homeland?" Lao Kung asked.

"OK," Harry replied. "Nothing wrong, I hope."

"Maybe yes, maybe no," answered the older man enigmatically. "But in any event, it involves matters with which you need not concern yourself."

That was the end of that. Lao Kung put Harry to work.

After some fifteen minutes of repeating "Alohomora," Harry was able to concentrate sufficiently well that he could generate both heat and cold (enough to chill a small glass of water) with his right hand. Additionally, Lao Kung thought (although Harry could not tell), that Harry had actually produced a little heat with his left hand - enough to singe the sawdust, if not to produce any observable smoke.

When he returned to Privet Drive with Dudley, Harry was met at the door by Aunt Petunia and greeted as coldly as if he were in a flashback to the previous year.

"You've received a letter in the post," his Aunt said through very thin lips. "Our post."

"Is that so?" he responded weakly, at a loss over who could possibly be writing to him by Muggle means. Dudley, observing his mother's temper, quietly made his way upstairs and out of sight.

"The postman was interested - again," said Aunt Petunia. Harry did not need any reminding as to what "again" meant. The last time he had received any correspondence from one of "his kind" through the Muggle post, Molly Weasley had covered almost the entire envelope with stamps, to the great amusement of the postman.

"He said that he had never seen 'these stamps'" - Aunt Petunia jabbed her bony finger at an envelope on the kitchen table - "used on any letter. The postman said those stamps had been demonetised over thirty years ago, and that he should have charged me postage due. He didn't though, considering the amount of postage that was affixed.... He seemed to think that some of the stamps might be quite valuable, and asked me who would be so daft as to use them on an ordinary letter."

"Who is it from, then," asked Harry, who had not followed half of his aunt's droning discussion of postal matters.

"There's no return address," Aunt Petunia huffed. "It says 'Personal and Confidential' on the front, so I didn't dare open it. Lord knows what might have happened. I didn't want to be jinxed or anything else that your kind might do to anyone who might be snooping in private post."

Harry picked up the letter and studied it. It looked ordinary enough. There were a number of small bi-coloured stamps, some with the profile of a bald man, and some with the profile of a woman, neither of whom Harry recognised. The letter appeared nowhere as unusual as the letter Molly Weasley had sent over a year earlier. The handwriting looked something like Hermione's, except far less neat. The letter was postmarked from Heathrow Airport station in London. Still at a loss, Harry ripped open the envelope (careful not to damage the stamps, if they were in fact valuable), and began to read....

After only a couple of sentences, he could not carry on. The impact hit Harry as solidly as if Dudley had landed his best uppercut to Harry's solar plexus. All of a sudden he felt as if all the air had gone out of the room.

As he struggled to maintain his composure, he began to feel a little light-headed. Conscious that he was having trouble breathing, he stopped reading and grasped the edge of the table for support. If he heard his aunt asking what was wrong, it failed to register. He brought the letter back up to eye level and reread the opening lines again, half hoping that they would prove to be figment of his imagination and would disappear upon a second reading. Of course, that did not happen.

Harry panicked; that is the only way to describe it. Abruptly, he bolted for the staircase and, taking the stairs two at a time, ran for the privacy of his room. Gasping for breath, he slammed the door shut, and sealed it with "Colloportus."

Throwing himself down on his bed, he lay there, his mind utterly blank - or utterly overwhelmed, the effect being the same - for several minutes. He was oblivious to the sounds of his aunt and cousin, joined shortly by his uncle, pounding at the magically locked door. Finally, when Hedwig screeched loudly at the increasing noise, Harry snapped out of his paralysis and yelled, "GO AWAY!! It's nothing that concerns you anyway. I'll be out when I'm ready to come out." His mind still reeling, he began to read the letter, carefully this time.

It was indeed from Hermione.

From the Desk of Hermione J. Granger

33 Cadogan Place

London, Knightsbridge SW3

0207 418 6957

Dear Harry:

Please help me. You're my only hope. By the time you read this I will be in Hong Kong with my parents on a supposed two-week vacation. They don't want to let me go back to Hogwarts, Harry. They especially don't want me ever to see you again. I can't contact anyone in the wizarding world, and the only Muggle address I know for a wizard is yours. HELP!!

I stupidly left one of the Daily Prophets lying about, and my parents read it. It had one of those endless stories the Prophet has been running lately, about you being "The Chosen One," how brave all of us were in the Ministry, and how narrowly we escaped death at the hands of the Death Eaters. My parents guessed that I was one of the "five students" who accompanied you, Harry, and they started asking questions.

I couldn't lie to them, so I told them what I know. They learned that I had been a moment from death by the Killing Curse when you tackled that Death Eater. They found out I was cursed unconscious and bedridden for almost a week. Then they started asking about other close scrapes we have been through together. I ended up telling them about things that I had kept secret from them before, like the Philosopher's Stone, the Basilisk, the Dementors, and saving Sirius and Buckbeak. They still think Sirius is a dangerous escaped murderer!

They started questioning the wisdom of our friendship, Harry, and I am afraid I got a little short with them. We had a big row, and now they have taken my wand and they say I cannot go back to Hogwarts. They think that if I go back, you will get me killed somehow. I shall not obey them. I cannot. If I have to, I shall run away from home and hide out in Sirius' cave for a few months until I turn seventeen and can legally make my own decisions.

I am a witch, Harry!! I belong in your world, our world, and I cannot bear the thought of never seeing Hogwarts again. Help me. Please. Tell Dumbledore. Oh, I wish I had been less obnoxious to him the last time we spoke. Tell anyone and everyone who you think might be able to change my parents' minds.

Hermione

Harry's immediate decision was that he could not - and would not - let this happen to Hermione.

More than anyone he had ever met, even Sirius (whom Harry had known only two years), Hermione had always been there when he had needed her help, and her guidance. She was the cleverest, and most sensible, person he knew (at least other than Dumbledore and possibly Professor McGonagall). If the prophecy condemned him to kill Voldemort, or to be killed by him, without Hermione's help Harry felt he was as good as dead.

Harry also felt responsible. Once again it was his sole fault. Hermione's parents were keeping her away from Hogwarts because they thought that knowing him was hazardous to Hermione's health. Worst of all, Harry knew that Hermione's parents were right. Dead right. Harry was death. First he meant death to his parents. Then he meant death to his godfather. And now, in all likelihood, he meant death to his friends.

So Harry sat on his bed, a thousand thoughts rocketing through his brain, all colliding with each other. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his unruly hair and tried to decide whether or not his initial instinct was the correct one. Maybe, for once, he should corral his "saving people thing."

Would it be better (for her anyway) never to see Hermione again? At least that way she would be safe and alive. But the same was also true for Ron - and now for Ginny, Neville, Luna - anybody who got caught up in the singular destiny that awaited him. Why should it be Hermione who had to run away? Why not him instead?

His mind continued to spin with conflicting thoughts. At one moment he was inches from his open window, Firebolt in hand, ready to flee into the night to who knows where. But Harry did not go. Flight was not the way of Gryffindors.

In the final analysis, what pulled him back were the affirmations that his friends made on the night of the rescue mission to the Ministry. Harry had given all of them the option - indeed he had demanded it of some - of leaving him to his fate and returning to Hogwarts safely. None of them had done so, least of all Hermione.

She had insisted on accompanying him to whatever his fate might be, even though from the beginning she had been the most vociferous of all in pointing out the absurdity of his plans. 'She knew,' Harry thought, but that had not stopped her from willingly following him into what she predicted would be a dangerous trap.

Snapping out of it, Harry decided that, since Hermione had never abandoned him, he would be damned if he would abandon her. He seized the enchanted quill and wrote a note to Headmaster Dumbledore:

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:

I need your help with a very important problem. Forget about my previous letter. The things I demanded in it were silly, and by comparison they mean nothing.

I need you to make sure that Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts. Her parents have discovered that she was at the Ministry with me, and also know about several other times that I nearly got her killed. They have taken her wand and have forbidden her to come back to Hogwarts. They have ordered her never to see me again, but she wrote to me anyway.

She and her parents are in a place called Hong Kong, and will be there for at least two weeks. They may have left England forever, for all I know.

Hermione is a great witch. She is a far better witch than I am a wizard. She has begged me to get your help in returning. She says that she will run away from home before giving up magic, and if she does, I am going to help her any way I can. There is no way that I can successfully complete you-know-what without her.

Harry

As soon as he had finished his plea to Dumbledore, and activated the device, Harry penned out a second, shorter letter to Ron:

Dear Ron:

I just found out that Hermione's parents have forbidden her from coming back to Hogwarts. They think she is in too much danger being friends with me. They are probably right, but still I will not let them do to her something she does not want. They have taken her to a place called Hong Kong, which I think is a long way from here. I have already written to Dumbledore. Can you talk to your father and see if he has any international connexions at the Ministry that could be useful in rescuing Hermione?

Let me know what you find out. I will be making my own preparations.

Harry

PS: You will find my Firebolt with this letter. You can use it during the Quidditch camp. It is of no use to me until I return to Hogwarts.

As soon as Harry had watched Hedwig vanish from sight carrying his letter and his broom to Ron, he unsealed the doorway and went to face his relatives. He hoped for their help as well.

He was sorely disappointed.

Since the Dursleys were altogether more interested in what magic Harry could perform for them, it was all he could do to keep from getting into a shouting match. Their main point of reference was what the Dementors had almost done to Dudley. Thus, Harry's aunt and uncle both vociferously agreed with Hermione's parents.

"...So I need to do something - I'm not sure what yet - to get her back."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Uncle Vernon commanded. "They're absolutely right about those death beaters and dementoids. I'll never forget what almost happened to Dudley."

"But this is different," Harry argued futilely. "She is a witch. She knows magic. They can't stop her...."

"Oh yes they can," Aunt Petunia contradicted. "You, we couldn't stop - as much as we tried. We're not your parents. We don't have that claim to you. They're her parents. It's their decision how to bring her up."

"It's her decision too," Harry insisted. "It's much more important than I could ever tell you."

"Bloody Hell it is," Uncle Vernon loudly disagreed. "Nothing is more important than parental rights. If I thought for one second that Dudley...."

To avoid an all-out row Harry broke off the useless conversation and retreated to his room.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and Dudley tentatively stuck his head in. "Come in," Harry grunted. "What do you want?"

Dudley took a more conciliatory stance. "I'm not sure what I can do, but I want you to know that I agree with you."

Harry was verging on despondency. "That and a threepenny bit might get me a cuppa," he sighed.

Dudley ignored the comment. "Perhaps ... but in my book, if you've got someone who's that good enough of a friend ... to risk dying for you, and all ... more than once ... that's somebody who's too bloody good a friend to lose without putting up a fight. You know, that may be the only way that I do envy you."

Harry just sat slumped over for a long moment after that. Then he stiffened his shoulders. Another several seconds passed. Harry looked up, and saw his cousin eyeing him in return. "Come to think of it, there is one thing that you might be able to do...."

"Okay, so what do you want?" Dudley asked.

"I need to use your computer - a lot." Harry replied.

"Why?" asked Dudley, now puzzled

"I need to find out everything that I can about this Hong Kong," Harry replied grimly. "And I need to do it now."

"It's yours," said Dudley. "I'll sleep on the davenport tonight."

"You've turned out to be a better friend than I deserve, Dudley," said Harry.

"Don't tell that to me," Dudley responded as he left to gather his things. "I wish I had a friend like that - a real good friend."

Harry got no sleep that night. The wee hours passed in what felt like an electronically induced daze. Both Dudley's computer and his printer got a workout. Harry learned where Hong Kong was, how it was governed (ironically by Great Britain, but only another year). He learned what airlines flew to Hong Kong, when, and at what price. He learned about hotels, tourist attractions, and shipping. He learned about the currency, the colony's relationship with the People's Republic of China, and whatever he could find about the apparently flourishing criminal element (Harry did not know what kind of help he might need if he essentially had to kidnap Hermione from her parents). He printed out a lengthy overview of the Hong Kong economy that he was too tired to read online. Harry also printed out a primer on the Cantonese Chinese dialect that was spoken by most Hong Kong residents, even though he did not have the slightest idea how to go about learning a foreign language.

Harry knew very little about Hermione's parents except that they were dentists, but this information proved quite useful enough. Harry discovered that the Commonwealth Dental Association's annual conference was currently taking place in Hong Kong, at a hotel called the Kowloon Shangri-La. Since Harry rather suspected that Hermione's parents had decided to mix business with pleasure, that would be as good a place to start as any.

Harry thus searched the UK for dentists by the name of Granger. There were only two - a distinguished orthodontic surgeon by the name of Edwin O. Granger, who was chairman of something called the NHS Dental Formulary Board; and a rather prolific research dentist named Eva LaFayette-Granger, who had quite a few scientific publications to her name. Both were apparently from London. At 3:30 a.m., Harry gave a silent whoop and pumped his fist in the air when he discovered that Dr. LaFayette-Granger was a featured speaker at the CDA conference.

When Dudley poked his head in at five o'clock the next morning, Harry was still glued tenaciously to the computer screen, this time pursuing a mostly fruitless search for information about magical aspects of Hong Kong. The Internet being a Muggle invention, it was notably deficient in any accurate discussion of real magical communities - although there was more than enough bogus magical information to be found.

Dudley stopped in only to get his running clothes. He was surprised that Harry not only wanted to go for a run, but also wanted to go to the gym, despite his total lack of sleep.

Harry glanced at the charmed quill as he left. Headmaster Dumbledore had not yet responded.

The run helped revive Harry after he had been staring at a computer screen all night long - but that was secondary. The real reason Harry wanted to go with Dudley was to see if Lao Kung knew anything about Hong Kong - particularly magical Hong Kong.

"Lao Kung, before we begin, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about China and Hong Kong." Harry started.

"Of course, Hahli," smiled Lao Kung enigmatically. "I will be happy to tell you everything I know."

"Are there wizards in China, and more specifically in Hong Kong?" asked Harry.

"There are many," answered Lao Kung. "China has more people than all of Europe and North America combined. We have a long and proud magical tradition. So I have no reason to believe that we Chinese are any less magical, on average, than westerners."

"Are there many Dark wizards in China and Hong Kong?" continued Harry.

"That is a difficult question to answer," sighed Lao Kung, "and this is the reason why. Magic was encouraged under the Emperors, but the republican regime that came to power after the 1911 revolution was influenced by western rationalism, so it barely tolerated wizardry. The communists who achieved power in 1949 were extreme Marxist materialists, so they banned all magic and persecuted wizards, particularly whilst Mao Tse-dong was alive. But even today all forms of magic are illegal. Because of the prohibitions and persecutions, almost all Chinese wizards must practice Dark Magic to some degree. It is hard to say where light magic ends and Dark Magic begins in China because all magic is illegal."

Lao Kung went on, "Hong Kong, unlike the Peoples' Republic, has quite little governmental regulation of anything. Thus it has become a haven for Chinese wizards of all stripes - and unfortunately for Dark wizards as well, because they can operate more freely. Many Dark Chinese wizards have infiltrated the Hong Kong underworld, the triads. So, regrettably, the answer to your question is that there are very many Dark Chinese wizards, and that such wizards are particularly active in Hong Kong."

"However," continued Lao Kung, "there is now some reason for hope. The People's Republic is now reconsidering its position on magic, probably in anticipation of taking control of Hong Kong in July, 1997 after the last of the Unequal Treaties expires. There is much talk in official circles of China joining the International Confederation of Wizards and adopting many of the magical standards of the West. Most Chinese wizards favor anything that will end the persecution and prohibitions, but many of the darkest Chinese wizards, who profit from the current state of affairs, are violently opposed."

Harry did not know whether to be excited or apprehensive about what he learned. He frowned as he digested what Lao Kung had told him. If there was magic in Hong Kong, maybe he had acted too hastily in giving up his broom to Ron. "Do Chinese wizards use brooms for travel?" Harry asked.

"Yes," replied Lao Kung, "although mostly the younger, more westernised elements. Traditional Chinese methods of magical travel, however, favored magic carpets of the sort the British Ministry has prohibited, or else magical chariots and smaller breeds of dragons."

Lao Kung then changed the subject - but only slightly. "Now Hahli," he said, "I must pass along a message of my own. Shortly before you arrived this morning I received an urgent message from Chairman Dumbadoh. He told me that, if you were to ask me questions about China or Hong Kong, I was to tell you not to do anything rash and to let him handle the problem. In particular, he said to tell you that under no circumstances are you either to attempt to go to Hong Kong or try to remove your friend from her own parents' custody. Dumbadoh says that this situation is not unknown and that there are established procedures to terminate parental custody of Muggle-born students, particularly gifted ones, in extreme cases. But if you act on your own, you would be taking illegal action. The effects on yourself, the person you wish to rescue, and on the ability of Hog-wa-tze to recruit Muggle-born students would be disastrous."

"I can tell - both by your questions and by the emotions that I sense in you," Lao Kung said gravely, "that you have precisely such a course in mind. Please do not do this Hahli. Chairman Dumbadoh assures me that he will solve this problem. Anything you do that is unauthorised would only make it worse."

Harry heaved a great sigh. He knew, deep inside, that Dumbledore and Lao Kung were absolutely correct - at least up to a point. This was far too delicate a situation for him to resolve. There were some things that Harry's reckless bravery and brilliant improvisation just could not fix, and that were best left to grown-ups.

He had just lost Sirius because he had acted rashly.

Harry felt that could not afford to lose Hermione as well. It was ... complicated. Just the prospect left him weak in the knees. That was something that was truly too horrible for him to contemplate.

Dumbledore and Lao Kung were right. Interference in matters that were properly between Hermione and her parents was exactly what could bring about the worst possible result. Harry therefore set aside his half-formed plans to tap his Gringotts account, convert his funds to Muggle money, and set off on a solo rescue mission to the ends of the earth.

'But only for the time being,' he thought. 'If nothing has changed by a week before term starts, come hell or high water, I'm going to rescue Hermione,' Harry silently vowed to himself.

"I will do as you and Dumbledore wish," Harry grudgingly agreed, "but only if I see positive results by the end of the summer holidays."

- 44 -

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch3 unexpected emergency.doc 08/11/03