Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 20 -Secrets Told And Untold

Following a weekend apart (in so many ways) from Hermione, Harry approached their scheduled training session on "the Monday after" with trepidation bordering upon dread. His alarm clock practically seemed to be leering as it jarred him out of a fitful sleep at five in the morning. Feeling extremely testy - almost twitchy - he promptly froze the offending timepiece. That only made matters worse. The resultant pitiful whining clocktock emitted by the icebound clock sounded almost exactly like he felt. Cringing at the offending sound, he reversed the spell and, for once, turned off the alarm in the recommended, Muggle-style fashion.

Dudley was not very communicative during their early morning run. Harry was neither surprised nor affronted. His cousin was in the process of "psyching himself up" (or so he said) for his own big bout. Even normally he was not the most talkative bloke. Creating that mental edge required for the business of pummeling somebody senseless was hardly calculated to make him any more garrulous.

The disagreeable course of their last conversation also figured, since Harry had ultimately threatened to hex him over what (for his cousin, anyway) were actually fairly intelligent comments about Hermione. Harry had not really cared to hear what Dudley had to say in the first place - and that Dudley had drawn a correct conclusion about something so personal, and something so troublesome, had only made matters that much worse.

"Who does that great lump think he is, trying to psychoanalyze me?" Harry muttered to nobody in particular. "He can't scope me out. Nobody can. Complicated is my middle name."

As a result, Harry ran in silence, pushing the volume on his Walkman ever further towards the max in the forlorn hope that the music would wash over and somehow ease his weary mind. Unfortunately, even that failed to lift his spirits very much. Some of the songs had now acquired specific associations for him - associations that now haunted him like ghosts (apologies to real ghosts). His already fragile emotional landscape had been demolished. After Friday's earthquake, and the weekend of aftershocks, some of the pieces no longer seemed to fit together very well.

* * * *

The door to the Auror candidates' dressing room creaked open.

"...so I'm sure that after all your brooding over the worst of all possible worlds, whatever actually happens will be a pleasant surprise...."

"Right Bill, that's the ticket," replied Harry, without much conviction.

"So just be yourself, okay," Bill counseled as he started to leave. "Pure, unadulterated Harry.... That's what made her your friend in the first place."

"Sure. Well, I'll give it a go.... Wish me luck," Harry replied.

"I would, if I thought you needed it. You don't." With that Bill was gone - and Harry was on his own, with nothing but his mental demons for company.

To be sure, Harry appreciated Bill's words of encouragement - but somehow the exhortation to "just be yourself" seemed utterly inadequate for the circumstances. His guardian had made sure to deliver him to the Auror candidates' dressing room with plenty of time to spare. But once inside, the nervous young wizard consciously dawdled whilst dressing and storing his things in his wardrobe.

The moment of truth was fast approaching, and Harry knew it. It was just ... everything seemed in slow motion, like trying to run through jelly. Sitting on the bench in the dressing area of the otherwise deserted locker room, head in hands, Harry felt like a condemned man. As it was wont to do, time perversely seemed to accelerate when Harry would have preferred it to slow down - or stop altogether. Soon, he could delay the inevitable no longer. Sighing, he told himself that it was just about time to commence his lesson and, just maybe, meet the one who haunted his thoughts. One thing for sure, he was certain to learn something today....

Almost as if he were sleep walking, Harry headed for the classroom. Today's subject, Memory Charms, was practically beside the point. If Hermione were there, Harry would have to talk to her about all that had happened. That was not likely to be a pleasant conversation, and the thought of having it dismayed him. There was a lump in his throat the size of Big Ben.

But far worse was the chance of her not being there at all.... That was the possibility that made Harry feel like he had a Dementor riding on each shoulder. Hermione's absence would be inconceivably awful; so much so that he didn't have any firm plan for what he would do. Her abandonment of training would signify a total breach - the effective end of their friendship. And all because of the stress he himself had put on it....

Harry was hesitant even to open the classroom door. He preferred another go with a dozen Death Eaters - alone, so nobody else could be hurt. At least when fighting Death Eaters, he would have a decent idea of what was good and what was evil.

As he approached the doors, he realised that they had windows in them. He had never noticed that before. They were extremely small with diamond-shaped patterns of reinforcing wire, but they were windows nevertheless. He swallowed, mustered such courage as he possessed at the moment, and forced himself to take a peek through the right-hand window.

Harry saw the head full of bushy brown hair that he would know anywhere. She was there! Despite her fight and his flight, she had still come - come to at least associate with him of her own free will. He let out a breath that had snuck up on him, unaware of its presence. Allowing himself to relax just a bit, only now did he appreciate how badly his knees were shaking.

Lucky to be able to stand, let alone walk, he stood watching her through the window for fifteen seconds or so. She had a dozen or so Muggle note cards with handwriting on them, which she was arranging and then rearranging. It was nothing out of the ordinary, and to others the scene would have been mundane. To him, it felt like watching the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

Suddenly, Hermione's shoulders stiffened and she stopped puttering with the note cards.

'She knows I'm here,' he immediately thought. 'She's got that link ... can't fool it.... Well, now I'm going to have to do something, but what?' Harry hesitated.

So did Hermione. She did not get up, or even turn around. Instead, she simply remained seated, her back slightly arched, with both of her palms face down on the desk in front of her. It was as if she were giving him time to adjust to the fact that she was there. Like him, she was waiting for something to happen - waiting for that bomb to drop. What was it going to be?

Harry resorted to Legilimency. 'Hermione, please don't hate me,' he pleaded wordlessly. 'I didn't mean to do it. And I wish I hadn't fled, but I did. I can't change what happened. I can only try to make up for it....' If it sounded a bit like begging, then he could stand to be half a man. Pride had its limits.

When Hermione abruptly sat bolt upright, Harry was sure she had understood his message. He received her reply. 'Harry, I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly.... If I didn't know you so well, I wouldn't have believed that you could conceivably think that any of this was your fault. I've been worried sick for the last three days, hoping against hope that you wouldn't hold what my parents did against me. Please, Harry, come in. I need ... to see you.'

"Oh, Hermione...."

He burst through the double doors just as she whirled around to face him. The two friends embraced; both shedding tears of relief. It seemed like all was forgiven, and for a brief moment there was no angst in his mind, no thoughts at all but for the wonderful feeling of warm physical contact. But it was not to be. After only a few seconds she stiffened and - with great effort - pulled away.

"It's just.... My dad...." she choked out. "I trust you, but I don't trust him."

"Right," Harry replied.

"It is true, you know."

"What?"

"You're the only one I trust right now."

"Thanks a lot."

Just as he had feared, his maddening quasi-relationship with her had taken yet another lurch towards the Platonic. While that might have been just corking for long-dead ancient Greek philosophers, it was not exactly the right cup of tea for an angst-ridden, not-quite-sixteen-year-old wizard. He had no doubt that Hermione would win any test of wills with her father, but the real loser, he was afraid, would be him. Limbo was better than nothing - but not by all that much.

He missed her regarding him with a strange look. His attention was elsewhere; he had caught a glimpse of her note cards. The names and details of various pieces of Muggle classical music were written on them in Hermione's regular, compact script. He only recognised a couple of the names, but they included that amazing Tchaikovsky piece she had played for him - what seemed like an age ago.

"What's that all about?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, it's nothing," she replied. "Just some reorganising that..."

Just then, the rather belated appearance of their instructors brought conversation to an end. Shacklebolt himself was teaching, since the subject was Memory Charms. Instructor Shacklebolt (Harry did not dare call him Shak, or even Kingsley, when he was teaching) was a fully trained Obliviator.

Harry and Hermione learnt how to cast simple Memory Charms - practicing on animals. Mostly their efforts concentrated on causing trained mice to forget their training. While her mice would sniff at the entrance to a maze not knowing what it was, his mice usually curled up in a fœtal position and refused to move at all.

"Harry, what did you do to that poor mouse?" Hermione inquired.

"Not all that much more than you," Harry replied, slightly annoyed with how his spell casting had turned out. "Yours looks pretty clueless to me."

"Clueless, I'll grant you," she conceded, "but yours looks so browned off that it wants to curl up and die."

"Well, I guess we just deal with our issues differently," he observed.

That was the extent of their practical training. They knew from their Aural Pensieves that they could not practice on each other or, indeed, on anyone. Shak laid down the law fairly early in the session:

"Memory Charms must be respected. They're not hard to do, but they are hard to do well. When cast by amateurs - and you are amateurs - Memory Charms are capable of doing great damage to both mind and magic...."

Both of them had the same thought. 'Lockhart,' they Legilimenced to one another simultaneously.

"...particularly if cast upon adolescents whose magic had yet to mature. I do not want to see either of you experimenting with these unsupervised on any sentient being. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

Neither of them was planning upon becoming an Obliviator, so the most important part of the lesson was prevention, not casting. They trained in how to recognise the telltale signs that someone had been Memory Charmed, and how to prevent themselves from being affected by such a charm. Defeating an adversary's attempt to cast a Memory Charm required many of the same skills as Occlumency. With all the Occlumency training Harry had been receiving of late, he excelled at this.

At lunch, he apologised once again to her for what he considered his most egregious sin on Friday night - eavesdropping upon the Grangers' family argument.

"Hermione, I want to.... I need to ... tell you that I really regret listening in on your fight with your parents. I got lost, and I wasn't thinking quite right, and....

Hermione replied, "Don't regret it Harry, I don't."

"But it was an invasion of your privacy," Harry protested.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione chided. "There was nothing to be invaded. After they staged that spectacle for your benefit, leaving you alone like that in that horrid dining room, they had no right to privacy."

"It was wrong of me.... I should have just left. That's what I ended up doing anyway. I just embarrassed myself more," Harry continued.

Hermione reassured him, "You had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry. I was the one who was mortified. I've never seen them be so rude - to anyone. I'm glad you heard it for yourself.... Otherwise I would have had to tell you about it, and that would've been much more difficult for me. If you hadn't heard it for yourself, I'm not sure you would've believed my telling it. I know I wouldn't, had I been in your shoes."

Even more unexpected was her reaction when he apologised for making her so upset that she had declined to come to their last Occlumency session with Dumbledore. After upbraiding him somewhat - "Harry, you never have to say you're sorry to me. It's simply not necessary" - she insisted that she had been perfectly willing to come. She maintained that she had only stayed away because Dumbledore had suggested it.

"I would have come, Harry, had I been given the slightest indication that you wanted me to."

That surprised Harry. "But Dumbledore said you were upset...."

"Of course I was upset," Hermione responded. "I was convinced that you must hate me after what happened. My parents invited you to their house ... and then did that. You must have thought I set you up for an ambush...."

"I'd never think that, Hermione," Harry reassured her.

Now Hermione was confused. "Then why did Dumbledore tell me that you were in such a state that it was best I not come?"

Harry figured out where the blame belonged. "You know that the old man isn't exactly the most truthful person in the world. He likes to make you think he is, but he's not. If you're telling me that he warned you off, then I've got to assume that it's because he wanted me there alone. He knows damn well that he can't manipulate me as well when you're there. You see through him better," he grumbled.

"Just call me the abominable 'no' woman, then," Hermione agreed.

"Deal."

Harry weighed his options as this conversation unfolded. The Headmaster had told him that she had been hesitant, but had told her that he was. These kinds of casual lies were not conducive to his keeping the secrets Dumbledore wanted him not to tell her. He was on the verge of telling her about Sirius' Pensieve when a group of adult wizards sat down in the booth next to them, effectively ending any more serious conversation between them. It was almost time for them to resume the training session, anyway.

With relatively little practical training being possible with Memory Charms, the instructors used the afternoon portion of the lesson to complete the unfinished earlier session on Movement Charms, which had been truncated by their need to learn Apparition first. The retake provided a test of the mental staying power of material learnt through use of the aural Pensieve. The Pensieves were up to the task. The two trainees practiced outside, in an open field. Deftly dodging all manner of nasty hexes that Shak and the others threw their way, Harry and Hermione both passed with flying colours.

Harry really would have preferred a little more serious conversation with Hermione once the day's training ended, but he found Bill waiting for him.

"Harry, I got an owl whilst you were in training," Bill said. "Your ... solicitor, that Blackstone Howe, he needs to see you.... Says it's urgent."

Spending quality time with his lawyer was not exactly at the top of Harry's priority list. "Oh, bollocks! Can't it wait?"

Bill looked at Harry, noticing at once that Hermione was standing behind him, looking tense. He would have much preferred to allow those two more time to make up. But he had promised Howe, who had been both insistent and persuasive.

"Sorry, Harry; if I could put it off, I would," Bill answered. "He said it had to do with the Black Estate, and some other matters that he could only discuss with you...."

"You go on then," Hermione directed. She turned on her heel and left quickly.

Harry looked miserably after her as she left. "Thanks a lot, Bill," he growled.

Bill rolled his eyes and let out a mighty sigh. This little encounter had not gone at all as he had hoped. The guardian was exasperated, and the ward sullen, as they took a short Floo trip to Howe's office at his Magic Circle firm (he had never seen a cleaner fireplace, Harry noted). Shortly, Harry and Bill were greeting the pretty young witch who was the secretary for the magical side of Mr. Howe's practice.

Bill had impeccable timing - choosing that exact moment to make himself scarce. Mr. Howe's perky blonde secretary was quite taken with Harry, and made a big show of chatting him up.

"Oh! Harry Potter! I was hoping I'd meet you one day, ever since I found out you were Blackie's client...."

Harry breathed in her rather strong perfume, redolent of the orchids at Kew Gardens. "I'm delighted," choked out Harry, who was about as far from delighted as he could get. "And you are?"

The secretary flipped her curls out of her face. "Oh! How silly of me! I'm just so tongue-tied! I'm Isabella Wing, the magical receptionist for Mister Howe.... Could I have your autograph?"

Her coquetry embarrassed him to no end, even as he did his best to ignore it and be polite. He was almost relieved to sign the autograph - until she rolled up the piece of paper, unbuttoned her blouse one button and slipped the paper in between her two rather large.... All the while she was smiling at him - with this impish grin.

All he had to do was ask.

This attention made Harry very nervous. He looked down, but noticed she was wearing black heels sparkling with rhinestones. They were held on by intricate pattern of straps that tied together most of the way up her shapely calf. Her heels had the same effect on her legs as Hermione's had done on that disastrous evening - except he could see a lot more of Isabella's legs.

Isabella breathily explained that her boss was "Muggle-qualified," maintaining a dual practice for both wizard and Muggle clients. "The most magical office in the Circle," she joked. She let on that Mr. Howe had a completely different office for Muggles, on a different floor of the building. That office was not presently in use.

"Would you like to see it?" she asked, taking his hand. "It's frightfully posh."

"Umm.... Er...." Harry responded inarticulately as uneasily he allowed her to pull him to his feet.

"I'll give you the private tour," she purred, squeezing his hand. "You're a Quidditch star.... Not afraid of flying, are you?"

At that moment, Blackie Howe roared into the suite, his face florid and a sheaf of faxes in his hand. Bill trailed along behind. Isabella abruptly dropped Harry's hand and flounced away. Harry could hardly begin to describe his relief.

"Ah, there you are Harry!" his solicitor boomed as he held out his hand. "Dreadfully sorry I'm late. It's just been one crisis after another today...."

Harry stuck out his hand, and Blackie pumped it mightily, while leading him into his office. Harry gave his head a good shake to reorient himself. That had been a rather long five minutes.

The solicitor dove right in. "I see you've met Isabella. She's quite the fan of yours. Right this way. We've much to discuss."

Having thus been rescued, Harry soon found himself seated in Howe's teak panelled corner office - this one with an ACTUAL stunning view of Central London. At first he was anxious when Mr. Howe took Bill aside. He heard him say something about "attorney/client matters" and "confidentiality," but most of the hushed conversation was unintelligible.

"Hey!" Harry protested as Bill started to leave again.

"It's all right," Bill said calmingly. "I can't be here because he's going to be discussing hush-hush matters with you. He can only keep your secrets if I'm not present."

Harry was still on the needle - primarily worried that Isabella might come back. He only acceded to the arrangement when Mr. Howe explained that the confidentiality of their legal discussions could be compromised by the presence of any third person, even Harry's guardian. The portly attorney then stepped outside briefly to edify Bill.

Harry glanced around. Even the bloody armrests on his chair screamed "PLUSH!" The office had the usual certificates on the walls, and potted plants in ornate containers. There was the de rigueur collection of law books that he associated with lawyers' offices - Aunt Petunia had rather fancied watching BBC Four Cinema, where it seemed all lawyers had desks situated in front of imposing walls of books. Mr. Howe even belonged to his own order; something called the "Order of the Coif." Harry wondered what a coif was.

There was a massive cage holding four post owls. Various legally-related prints hung on the walls, prints which he supposed lawyers found humorous. There was a drawing entitled "The Lawsuit" consisting of a stubbornly unmoving cow with the "plaintiff" yanking the horns, the "defendant" pulling the tail, and a "barrister" sitting on some law books milking the cow for all she was worth. Another depicted a rumpled frantic-looking attorney with his wand out frantically accioing documents, a harried male assistant with the contents of a filing cabinet suspended in mid-air all around him. Behind them both a smug-looking secretary was lifting up the corner of the attorney's travelling cloak, hung from a coat rack, revealing the missing file in a chair.

All around Blackie's office were a hodge-podge of knick-knacks - presumably souvenirs from previous clients that he had represented. Harry recognised a miner's headlamp, a box of Wizbits^® cereal with its animated Hippogriff logo (Ron's favorite), and a miniature keystone of polished obsidian.

There were dozens of clear acrylic plastic blocks containing miniaturised legal documents. Uncle Vernon had a similar plastic block on his desk at Privet Drive, a memento of some transaction involving Grunnings, so these were not altogether foreign to Harry. Waiting for Mr. Howe to get through his faxes, he absent-mindedly picked up one of the blocks and began reading as best he could the document it contained ... something called "debentures" to finance some new venture of the Daily Prophet called "Faux News." Harry gave a start, but only for an instant, when the page obligingly turned itself after he had reached the end of it.

Mr. Howe finally finished with his latest round of distractions. "Harry, I did manage to inquire after the subpoena you received with various Ministry sources. I must tell you, I found out rather more than I expected...."

"That doesn't sound like the best of news," Harry gulped.

"Unfortunately, your instincts are spot on," the solicitor replied. "Not only is this thing legitimate, but there are more coming, I'm told. You can expect to be on the receiving end of two more subpoenæ in the coming few days."

"What!" Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. "Why are they doing this to me? I thought the Ministry was finally on my side."

"It is, Harry, believe me," Howe tried to reassure. "It's just procedure. There's nothing here that would surprise you if you thought about it. As you know, there's your testimony at the trial of Dolores Umbridge. Beyond that, you're being scheduled to appear two days later for what promises to be a rather pro forma presentation of your claim to the Black inheritance. I've mentioned that before, and I'm sure Albus has too."

"Oh, all right," Harry grudgingly acceded, "but what else?"

"Only the trial of the century, Harry," Howe revealed. "Two days after that, you're tipped to be the leadoff witness in the trial of the eleven Death Eaters that you helped captured at the Ministry. That's your show. You're the star. Nobody knows more about what happened there than you - especially since you set the whole thing off."

Mr. Howe let Harry digest the news of having to testify three times in less than a week. The solicitor stood up and scratched the underside of a large bud on one of his potted plants. It wriggled and then burst into bloom with a flash of golden light and a puff of golden dust. "Golden Anthurium - very magical," Mr. Howe commented. "The best ones have always come from Blackwalls."

Once Harry was duly dismayed and discomfited by his testimonial prospects, Mr. Howe presented him with his legal advice.

"What I'd recommend is that you engage one of my partners who is a barrister specialising in criminal wizard law. We have several, but I have to see who is not attached for trial on those dates. Between the two of us, we'll contact the Ministry and smooth your path as much as possible."

That seemed both reasonable and appropriate. Harry nodded his assent.

"Good. Now, these appearances are serious events. The Death Eater trial, in particular, will draw massive media attention as it approaches. You need to be thoroughly prepared. Otherwise, our opponents could cut you to ribbons on the stand. You should expect to set aside a full day of preparation for each hearing - preferably the day before your appearance, so everything will be fresh in your mind."

Harry gulped. Given the timing, that meant that he would be sacrificing a full week of training. "Do you think all that's really necessary?"

"I do," the solicitor replied gravely. "This is adult business. It's not a Hogwarts Quidditch match. The stakes are very high, and you can rest assured that our adversaries will leave no stone unturned. You must prepare."

Spending a week meeting with lawyers and testifying had never been high on Harry's list of favorite things to do on holiday. But if that was what putting Umbridge and the eleven Death Eaters in Azkaban required, he would do it. He was much more ambivalent about the Black Estate, but the alternative - Malfoy - meant that he had no choice but to move forward. He was not about to be embarrassed in public.

For all these reasons, Harry assented.

"Also, under no circumstances are you to meet directly with the Ministry Prosecution Service. They do not represent you. We do. Any conversation with the Ministry prosecutors is not protected by the most ancient and secret of privileges - that between an attorney and his client - and the other side can force you to divulge what you said. To preserve confidentiality, we'll handle all contact with the Ministry, and we'll serve as your go-betweens as much as is necessary."

In short, Mr. Howe was determined that, if any woodshedding needed doing, he and his partners would handle it. Every aspect of Harry's preparation would be with counsel he had engaged. That way, all preparation would by protected by attorney-client privilege.

Mr. Howe had other matters that needed to be finalized. With a stroke of Harry's pen, Mr. Howe informed him that the James Potter Memorial Hogwarts Quidditch Trust was now in existence.

Mr. Howe then had Isabella show Bill in. She smiled her come-hither smile at Harry as she did. A couple more signatures, by Harry as settlor and by Bill as the settlor's guardian, authorised the trust to acquire the necessary brooms. In addition, all arrangements concerning the Creeveys were completed, and the last loose ends of the Cadbury deal tied down.

Far more important - at least if measured by the number of Galleons involved - were the papers concerning the Black Estate. Mr. Howe pushed the stack across his desk to his client, who avoided taking them.

"These papers were provided to me by a goblin by the name of Bladvak," the attorney said with a slight shudder. Bladvak had made clear that he had little use for solicitors. Bill gave Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze to confirm that this had been his doing.

"Goblin Bladvak indicated that you wished to have an audit performed. Once you sign these papers you will be a formal claimant to the Black Estate. The existence of a second claimant creates a dispute. In turn, the presence of a dispute gives Gringotts the right, as the trustee institution for the Estate, to initiate a comprehensive audit of the Black Estate's books and records."

Harry thought he followed what Mr. Howe meant. "Oh, all right," he said. "Bill said that Bladvak would be the right investigator to uncover anything dodgy, and if that's the way to get it done, let's do it."

He went through a number of the papers, skimming over them before signing. At the fourth document he balked. "I don't like this one," Harry complained. "It reads like I'm allowing Gringotts to take my money if there's ever a problem between me and the Estate. Once I sign, it doesn't seem that there's much I would be able to do about it."

Mr. Howe took a quick look. "You're a quick study," he commented. "That's a pretty accurate description. This is one of the standard documents that Gringotts requires of any claimant to one of the banks' fiduciary estates. It is a special form of confession of judgment. What it means is that, if Bladvak's investigators ever found anything crooked in dealings between your personal accounts and those of the Black Estate, the bank would be pre-authorised to make the estate whole using your personal funds - all without the need for additional legal proceedings."

"But why do I need to sign this?" Harry protested. "I haven't had a bloody thing to do with the Black Estate.... I-I didn't even know it existed until a few weeks ago," he added nostalgically.

"That's precisely why you should sign," reassured Mr. Howe. "Even if you were so inclined, you simply haven't had a chance to do anything that could cause you any concern.... For you, this is essentially a free shot. Unlike the other claimant," the solicitor emphasized the word other; "you could sign a whole stack of these without anything ever coming of it. Remember who your friends are - you want the goblins to conduct this investigation. Anything dodgy they unearth will be entirely to your benefit. You just have to sign to achieve the necessary status of claimant."

"But what if the goblins are wrong?" Harry asked.

"In matters like this, the goblins are never wrong - not in two hundred years, at least that we know of. That's one of the reasons they're in charge of Gringotts," Mr. Howe answered.

While Mr. Howe's arguments did not entirely convince him, Harry remembered the power of his goblin Manmak to erase debts. Thus, he signed the document quickly with unspoken reservations. The remaining documents did not seem to have any nasty surprises in them.

Harry then had some directions for Mr. Howe. "Assuming I do inherit all this rot from Sirius, I want you to make plans to break it up."

"Break it up?" echoed Mr. Howe in the sort of skeptical tone only a solicitor speaking to a lay person could muster.

"Yes," replied Harry grimly, ignoring Mr. Howe's suddenly supercilious attitude. "You work for me, and what I want is for all of the land to be sold off in small parcels. Then I want you to figure out ways that I can give the money away to good causes - elf rights, getting rid of Muggle landmines, that sort of thing.... By the time I'm done, I don't want there to be any more Black Estate."

"I'm sorry, that's impossible," Mr. Howe said, shaking his head. "The money - the bank accounts... That could be done, yes... But the land itself is entailed."

"I don't care what it is," snapped Harry. "I don't want there to be anything recognisable as 'Black' property once I'm done."

"The Wizengamot still recognises the Law of Entails, Harry," the solicitor explained. "That's why you get everything to the exclusion of any other blood heir. But the flip side of primogeniture is that you cannot alienate or convey the land yourself."

"Primowhatsis?"

Harry still did not get the concept, so Mr. Howe conducted a fifteen-minute tutorial about rights in real estate in wizarding England.

"...Basically, the fee taile ensures that great wizard estates pass from generation to generation in perpetuity. There's ordinarily a rule against such things, but this an exception...."

"...There are a fair number of these about. Roger Davies, the current Quidditch captain of my own House, Ravenclaw, is such an heir. You know about Master Malfoy...."

"...Female inheritance of an entail is prohibited. Avalon Danvers of your class, for example...."

Harry had trouble believing that fact. "That little mouse is an heiress?" he interjected. "She's so quiet."

"Not exactly." Mr. Howe continued. "Her sex precludes an inheritance. She would come with a sizeable dowry ... if you're interested," the solicitor added, dryly.

"Go on."

"...Under Wizard Law, an entailed estate cannot even be encumbered with a mortgage - much less alienated piecemeal as you proposed...."

"...Although the Muggles abolished the fee taile over a century ago, it still holds sway among us. It is very effective at keeping the great wizarding estates whole, even when the beneficiary is a wastrel...."

Harry's eyes were starting to glaze over.

"...Only the first born inherited an entailed estate, unless the previous holder did what Orion Black had done...."

"...He created an unusual inheritance requirement, called a 'fee taile special.' The special requirement premised first-born inheritance rights upon the satisfaction of a condition precedent, in that case obtaining majority without becoming a criminal or a Death Eater."

A flicker of interest appeared in Harry's eyes. "Could I do that?" he asked.

"I suppose so, yes," Mr. Howe replied, "but I don't recommend it. A special can be quite unpredictable.... I doubt old Orion would have wanted what we're discussing right now, for example. Also such testamentary direction depends in large measure upon the good faith of the succeeding generation. Good faith can be an exceedingly rare commodity when so many Galleons are at stake."

Harry was quite frustrated, but something deep inside had told him Howe was right. Nothing could be as simple as the clean break from the Black family's infamous past that he had envisioned. With noticeable ill grace he thus accepted Mr. Howe's explanation. His final instructions to his lawyer were, "If this goes through, I'll want to revisit this. I won't care how much it costs, but I'll want you to find some way to get around it."

Upon returning to the Dursleys, Harry received confirmation that Mr. Howe knew what he was talking about. A Ministry owl was waiting for him with another thirty-day notice subpoena to testify in the matter of the Black estate. A second owl bore a letter from Ron.

Dear Harry:

How are things going? I've heard that Mum's upset with you, and it's probably at least partly my fault. I'm sorry about that, and I'll try to figure out how to sort things out. You might want to talk to Hermione though, since she's cleverer than I am. Unfortunately Mum's attitude means it's B'day presents by owl for you from Ginny and me this year (as always, it seems).

Things here are generally brilliant. I had a bit of a scare when Cho's time of the month didn't happen, but the test was negative, so we're fine.

Great Quidditch news! First, Hogwarts took the combined Scandinavian team 270-10 in the first round of playoffs. Cho caught the Snitch, but the way I was keeping we probably would have won anyway. I've enclosed a photo from shortly after the game. We play some Spanish school on the 29^th. I can't begin to pronounce its whole name, but it's got 'Mágico Futuro' in it somewheres.

The other Q news is that Dad and Bagman pulled it off. There's going to be a World Tour of European versus Asian Quidditch all-stars to promote international magical cooperation, or something like that. Don't know the details, but I have it on good authority that one of the games will be at Hogwarts sometime next spring. We'll have great seats again, you can be sure of that. Bet Dumbledore's going to have to enlarge the stands.

I'll write again after we win our next game, and Happy Birthday.

Ron

Harry was more than a bit peeved at Ron - understatement of the year - but he tried to be as diplomatic and reasonable as possible in his return letter, whilst still getting his points across.

Dear Ron:

Your Mum sent me a Howler. It arrived when just as I was having dinner with Hermione's family. Predictably, things are now more bollixed than ever. Your Mum thinks I put you up to resigning as Prefect. Fancy that. I'm sure Professor McGonagall could set your Mum straight. I do hope you'll sort things out, though.

Congratulations on leading Hogwarts to victory.

Harry

After finishing the letter to Ron, and adding a separate, more effusive note of congratulations to Ginny, Harry remembered what else Ron had mentioned. From the discarded envelope, he fished out the picture Ron had enclosed. It made Harry's jaw drop, his hands sweat, and his eyes nearly jump out of their sockets....

Ron and Cho were once again on the same broom - his bloody Firebolt. Ron was in a normal rider's position, although perched a bit farther back than usual. Cho was sitting on the front of the broomstick, but backwards, towards Ron. She was facing the camera. Her feet were resting on Ron's thighs, which pointed her knees towards the zenith.

The cosmic force of gravity being what it was, and Quidditch robes being quite susceptible to it, Cho was showing a great deal of leg. To Harry it seemed like an almost impossibly great deal. Ron had the greatest deal of all. Unless she were using some sort of special charm (and Harry quite doubted any such thing) Ron must have been having a spectacular view.

Harry suspected the worst ... or the best ... or ... oh bother!

Most of the time Ron looked happy but somewhat bewildered, but every so often Cho would wriggle her hips, and gravity would pool her robes a bit more. When she did this, Ron's expression changed to utterly besotted - and Harry almost dropped the photo.

Cho's actions (and, Harry admitted, her legs) were provocative enough, but her face was her most striking feature. Instead of looking at Ron, she looked straight at the camera and tossed her hair back flirtatiously. At times some trick of the light made her eyes, otherwise dark brown, look bluish. Her expression betrayed - no, celebrated was more like it - full appreciation of exactly the effect she was having on Ron, and on anyone seeing the photograph. Cho was, in a word, beyond hot.

Plainly, the crying girl of last February had somehow undergone an extreme personality makeover. Harry had heard that she had started with special weekend classes in Chinese magic shortly after their own breakup. The classes - or something - had certainly done wonders (if that was the word) for her self-image....

Harry could not recall ever seeing a more erotic wizard photograph (not that he had ever had much opportunity). He had sensations that he had not associated with Cho since before Valentine's Day.... For the first time he could remember, he actually felt jealous of Ron's love life. Ron had always had family ... but now he had this, too. Without the chains of fame and fortune, it seemed that so much was possible. It must be like a færie tale....

After a few minutes, he shook himself out of his photographically induced trance. Come to think of it, he wondered how much his own expression had differed from Ron's. Finally, just to be rid of the picture, he slipped it and the letter that accompanied it into the growing pile of papers on the side of his desk.

* * * *

The next day's training focused on magical means of locating yourself and others. This included finding those who wanted to be found, finding those who did not, and also techniques for avoiding being found. The spells were ingenious and varied. They ranged from variants of the Four-Point Spell Harry had learnt in his Fourth Year, to an Audibilising Charm ("Audibilius") that magnified the heartbeats and breathing of anyone hiding under an Invisibility Cloak within a radius set by the spell's caster.

To Harry's surprise, the magical technology that went into the Marauders' Map was quite well known to the Aurors. There was no indication they knew about the Map, of course, but his trainers described very similar maps of the Ministry. Hermione had no such illusions. She said she had always doubted that any magic the Marauders could have taught themselves at Hogwarts was particularly novel. The raw material - especially enchanted Paneruditius Parchment - was even for sale at Dervish & Banges.

While the lesson was not comprehensive enough to teach them how to make their own enchanted maps, Harry and Hermione did learn how to recognise them, to read them, and to determine what location an unidentified map portrayed.

Auror partner rings were also useful as location devices. A benefit of this lesson was to teach the pair full use of their rings. Any Auror could locate his or her partner by performing the Four-Point Spell with a wand placed through the available partner ring. The wand pointed unerringly in the direction of the other partner ring, and the colour of the wandpoint approximated the distance at which the other ring was located. Auror partner rings normally looked like ordinary plain gold rings (some Aurors enchanted them to look more stylish), but they glowed light blue when activated by a partner's locating spell. They could also glow red - as a distress signal - when the other partner was in danger and signalling for an Auror assist.

Location was precisely the sort of extremely technical art in which Hermione far surpassed Harry. Before they broke for lunch, Betsy Greengrass, one of the instructors, stood up and gave a short speech.

"Now listen up. When you return from your break, you will find the Situation Room charmed to resemble a tropical jungle - with all that entails, from mosquitoes to man-eating plaints. You will enter from opposite sides. Your mission is to locate each other and rendezvous. You will have to do that whilst avoiding a number of adversaries who will also be searching for you. Remember, some locational spells can be tracked by enemies, but others cannot."

Harry sat alone in the Auror candidates' locker room pondering the upcoming task. He was half changed for lunch. The door creaked open and Shak, who was not one of Harry's instructors for the day, slipped in. He had an envelope in his hand.

"Wh, What is it?" asked Harry.

"Special instructions for you," replied Shak. "Special secret instructions," he emphasized.

"What about?" questioned Harry.

"I'm not altogether sure," grunted Shak in response. "All I know is that a special training class for you alone has been set up for Friday morning. Evidently, someone quite senior has decided that you won't be having all of your birthday free after all."

"How secret?" asked Harry, more archly this time.

"For your eyes only. I've been instructed to tell you specifically not to inform the Granger girl about this," responded Shak.

"Why?" Harry demanded heatedly.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you all I know, Harry. I'm sorry," Shak apologised. "Suffice it to say that whatever you are to be taught must be viewed as neither necessary nor beneficial to her training, and is also considered too dangerous." Shak gave Harry a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. "Don't fret now, Potter, you'll learn more on Friday."

With that, Shak handed Harry the envelope and exited - leaving the boy with an odd mixture of fear, indignation, and worry flooding through his mind. What on Earth could be too dangerous for Hermione? He frowned. Even though he did it routinely, he was always uncomfortable keeping secrets from her. He liked even less being told to keep secrets from her by people who knew neither of them one iota as well as they understood each other.

Although he implicitly trusted and admired Shak, he was growing ever more suspicious of Dumbledore and his obscurely mixed motives. Harry was especially angry with the Headmaster concerning the matter of his parents' final resting places. Nevertheless, because it was Shak who gave him the orders, he decided to make an effort to obey unless and until presented with a good reason not to.

Frustrated, he rammed the envelope into his wallet unopened, stuffed the wallet back into his jeans, and tossed the lot unceremoniously into his wardrobe. He slammed the wardrobe door shut. It bounced back open. Even more annoyed than before, Harry charmed the door shut and closed the lock hasp.

He was also apprehensive about the afternoon session in the Situation Room. When he saw it, he gave a big sigh of relief. Harry was afraid that the damage he had done might be irreparable, but everything was back to normal. Hermione made some remark that went over his head about "quick claims settlement" when "origin and cause can't be disputed." She did not seem well disposed towards insurance companies.

Harry was not at all surprised that Hermione performed much better during the practical side of the location training than he did. Location demanded finesse rather than power, and she could out-finesse him any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Not to mention, he was disturbed and distracted from Shak's message. Not only did she locate him every time she was tasked to find him, she always seemed to locate Harry first, or at least make it ridiculously easy for him to locate her, when it was his turn to perform.

The only aspect at which he excelled was avoiding unfriendly attempts at locating him. His method, however, was unconventional and most definitely not part of the course curriculum. He used a combination of Legilimency and offensive magic to find the paths of locating spells and to return incapacitating hexes back along those paths. It was ingenious, and effective. He noticed his instructors taking notes about what he had done.

During a break, Harry had a brief chat with Hermione. However, the talk did not concern any of the cosmic issues between them. As to that, his abstract resolve always seemed to melt away when near her.

"Er ... Hermione, how have you been getting along?" Harry asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

"About as well as can be expected," she replied, not meeting his either.

"I just wanted to know ... how you ... how you ... were ... getting along with our ... our reading ahead project." Harry deflated. He had not been able to force out the real question so now he was off on a meaningless tangent.

Hermione looked a little deflated as well. "I've been ... carrying on. It's not all that difficult, really."

"Well, I'm afraid I've been too ... too busy to work any extra reading in lately," Harry half lied. He had been busy, but that had not been the reason he was not taking full advantage of the Aural Pensieve.

Hermione was not sure she believed him. The feelings over the link were contradictory. "I find that it helps me sleep at night," she said.

"Oh," Harry responded. "You've been having trouble sleeping?"

"A little bit."

"I ... I could give you some of my Dreamless Sleep Potion," Harry offered.

Hermione looked at him. "No, with the other potions I still have to take, I don't think that would be a good idea ... using potions prescribed for others. Polycharmacy, you know. Besides, I've got my own."

"Oh. Why'd they give it to you?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. It was not like Hermione to request that kind of potion.

"Tonks was afraid I'd wake up in the middle of the night and do my father harm," Hermione replied truthfully. "And you?"

"The usual," Harry confessed. "They're afraid I'll set myself off and blow up the neighbourhood or something."

"You do have a unique way of dealing with stress," Hermione commented dryly.

Harry did not pursue the topic any further. He would just end up telling her some other lie. He did not even bother deluding himself into thinking that she believed him. After the disastrous denouement of their dinner, he had to admit that he would not have believed himself either.

While Harry was kicking himself for being so transparently mendacious towards his best friend, Hermione ignored the whole thing. 'He's hiding something, and I know it,' she thought, 'but it's too early yet. When he's ready to talk, he'll let me know.' Right now, the best she could hope for was company.

Thus, she prattled on about various topics and finally recommended that he "get back in the habit" by reviewing the chapter on security.

"While the first half of it was useless because it had to do with police work, much of the rest was valuable - and I found the discussion of the Fidelius Charm and its evolution over the years was especially fascinating," Hermione recounted.

She continued, "That spell was extremely complicated, therefore the lesson did not even attempt to teach it. Fidelius is beyond the ken of even most Aurors."

That comment caused a level of pride to rise within Harry. Although they had chosen the wrong person, his father and mother were talented and clever enough to pull off this highly advanced bit of magic.

"Neither of us will be able to do it, of course...," Hermione continued. "Not for a long time, if ever. Nevertheless, I think that understanding the theory behind the spell will help you understand your parents' betrayal and their fate."

"Now that's a cheerful topic," Harry caustically commented.

"I'm sorry Harry, but I thought you would be interested," she sniffed. "If you don't want to, I'll surely...."

"No, Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry backtracked. Although she was unaware, Harry was even more interested in such things now, after his experience with Sirius' Pensieve. "You're just trying to help. I'm sure it's a good idea. I'm just ... a little sensitive right now."

"You and me both," Hermione agreed. She saw Tonks rounding a corner and made her excuses. At least they were talking, if still rather guardedly.

Bill took Harry home that evening. When he asked after Hermione, he was visibly disappointed at Harry's terse "at least she doesn't hate me."

'Give it time,' Bill silently reminded himself over and over, 'just give it time.'

Bill suggested that they go flying at Hogwarts again the following day. Harry agreed, less reluctantly this time. This pleased the redhead, albeit not as much as he had previously been disappointed. At least there was some sign of Harry's increasing resilience. Despite everything, his ward appeared to be healing once again. When they got back to Privet Drive, Bill pulled a small irregularly shaped parcel out of his robes and handed it to Harry.

"Here. I ran some errands for you today. You'll be needing what's in here," Bill instructed.

"Doesn't seem like very much," Harry responded as he examined the small, light, and irregularly shaped parcel

"Don't be fooled, Harry," Bill replied. "It's got both Shrinking and Feather-Light charms on it. It's far more substantial than you might suppose. Don't go opening it in front of the Muggles. Leave the charms on until you are safely in your room."

Harry did as he was told. The parcel turned out to be his complete Sixth-Year course books, except.... Right on top of the pile was a rather well thumbed copy of Making Magic: An Introduction to Sexuality for Young Wizards and Witches, by Shere Kinsey. He leafed through it quickly, mostly looking at the pictures. Even though they left nothing to the imagination, they were somehow ... clinical. In terms of raw eroticism, all of them together did not approach the one photograph of Cho and Ron (mostly Cho) that he had seen earlier.

There would be plenty of time to study this particular book later. As for the rest of the lot, Bill had purchased them by owl post to save everyone the hassle of another heavily guarded trip to Diagon Alley. Getting his books had been one of those minor worrisome details floating somewhere in the back of Harry's mind. For once, ignoring a problem had apparently solved it. Now that he had his books, he knew that he had best get on with his summer course studies. As a N.E.W.T.-level student, he now had much more assigned summer reading. As Harry Potter, he had a lot less available time than most of his classmates in which to do it.

As it was, Bill's delivery turned out to be phenomenally good timing. Harry was at loose ends for the evening. Things with Hermione were still maddeningly unsettled. Eliza was out shopping, so there was no companionship to be had from that quarter. Dudley was sparring into the evening at Gator's Gym, and Harry's aunt and uncle were ignoring him as usual.

With nothing else to do, he spent the evening reading his Charms and Transfiguration assignments. He could hear Ron's and Hermione's voices in his head. "Cracking good, Harry! I'm proud of you! You're really turning it around, aren't you?" Hermione would have said. Ron, on the other hand, would have simply muttered one word under his breath. "Prat." Harry thought they might both be right.

Just before bed, he was changing into his pyjamas when he spotted the envelope Shak had given him earlier that day protruding from his wallet. He nonchalantly ripped the envelope open and began reading. His insouciance vanished instantly.

He had been assigned Lesson 128.

His eyes could no longer focus; he was blinking so rapidly. To avoid incipient feelings of nausea, he breathed deeply and concentrated on his mantra. Occlumency techniques had more than one beneficial use. All the while, Harry stared at the note announcing his Friday training assignment with unease approaching terror. Why? Why in Merlin's name could anyone think he needed to know this?

Lesson 128: "How to Kill Without Being Unforgiveable"

Without being unforgiveable? Bloody fracking Hell. Even the Muggles understood. What part of "thou shalt not" did wizardkind not understand? When Harry had killed those Death Eaters in the Ashrak cavern, he had never felt greater remorse.

There was only one reason this lesson could have been added to his training - the prophecy must be a lot closer than he had been led to believe. Like it or not, the Aurors were expecting him to learn how to kill people, and Voldemort was at the top of that list. Harry put his head in his hands and grabbed at his hair.

Suddenly, his training took on an entirely new level of seriousness.

Harry was certain that this lesson could not possibly have been assigned without the knowledge and approval of both Dumbledore and Mad-Eye. Speculating as to their motives led him past the day-to-day realities of his training and brought his focus to why he was being trained in the first place. He was fated at some point in the not-too-distant future to engage Voldemort himself in mortal combat - and maybe even to die in the process - if necessary to take Voldemort with him. That prophesised eventuality only reinforced Harry's awareness of his painfully short life expectancy.

It took considerable Occlumency before Harry could go to sleep this night.

He slept spasmodically and woke up groggy. Part of his Charms reading had been about the construction of simple wards. For practice he had warded off his alarm clock. This proved to be a colossal mistake, as he overslept and woke up to the even less pleasant sound of his cousin yelling at him to get his "rear in gear" if he wanted to go running. He did, and tumbled out of bed whilst grabbing for whatever clothing first came into his grasp. Dudley was wolfing down his training breakfast when Harry thundered down the stairs.

They were well into their run before his cousin noticed that he was wearing his Quidditch T-shirt with the moving broom riders. It was too late to turn back, so Harry had to ignore some very quizzical looks shot his way by other early morning joggers - until he realised he could simply Transfigure the image into something else. He chose the phrase "I'm with stupid." Fortunately, Dudley was oblivious.

After the run, it was a quick shower, a change into more appropriate clothing, and then the pair was off to Gator's Gym. Dudley was training fanatically now, with both morning and evening sessions - avoiding only midday in the un-air-conditioned gym. Harry asked him about the new, two-a-day regimen.

"Well, it's like this...," Dudley began. "I've never been much in school. I'm not flunking out, mind you, but I'll never make the A list and get into any worthwhile university. Smeltings is accustomed to better."

"So Aunt Petunia and Uncle Ver..."

"My Mum?" Dudley answered quickly. "A little, but I think she's realistic. My Dad says that I can go to work for him at Grunnings after school, but I don't really want to do that. This is my main chance. I'm hoping I can make a go of it in the fight game and maybe earn some serious money for a few years."

"I think I know how you feel," Harry sympathised.

"The Hell you do!" Dudley replied hotly. "You and that fr... wizard school of yours! Making things appear out of thin air and all. You'll learn enough fancy hocus pocus that you'll be set for life once you get out.... I don't have magic; only my fists."

Harry thought about hurling some remark about his own problems with Dark wizards, but thought better of it. "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I mean that you sound just like one of my best mates at school. He believes that pro sport is his ticket out too."

"Oh," grunted Dudley. He said little else.

At the gym, Lao Kung pronounced himself pleased with Harry's Occlumency progress and introduced him to a branch of Chinese Legilimency, in which the trick was to visualise oneself actually travelling through the target's mind. There being no other good option, Lao Kung allowed his student to practice on himself. The sensation of being inside Lao Kung's mind was strange and unsettling. Harry felt like he was on a crowded sidewalk in some large Asian city - Hong Kong, perhaps - and was fighting his way through endless crowds of Chinese pedestrians.

When he described this sensation to Lao Kung, the old wizard congratulated Harry on his progress. He had mastered the art of entry on the first try, a better first performance than most initiates had been able to muster. Every mind felt different, Lao Kung instructed. He had Harry shut his eyes and take several deep, calming breaths. The master, with permission, then briefly entered Harry's mind in the same fashion as Harry had done. Harry could not consciously detect anything at all. Soon Lao Kung returned.

"Well, what does my mind look like?" Harry asked, eager to know what the Sefu had sensed.

"It is ... different, Hahli," Lao Kung began, sounding uncharacteristically evasive. "I'm still not used to Western outlooks on life, I suppose."

"Surely, it had to look like something," Harry pressed. "Were there lots of people charging about, like I felt in yours?"

"Yes, Hahli ... and ... no."

"Well what then?"

"Not all knowledge is a good thing, Hahli."

"Come on, I really want to know."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

Lao King closed his eyes and breathed deeply, just as Harry had done before. When Lao Kung opened his eyes, Harry saw some sort strange emotion there - sadness, perhaps? Indecision? Confusion? "Very well," Lao Kung said slowly. "I do not know how much Muggle history you know...."

"A little," Harry responded. "Probably not as much as I should, because history hasn't exactly been my strong suit."

"Are you familiar with what most Muggles call the 'First World War'?" Lao Kung asked.

"Some."

"What do you know of it?" Lao Kung asked.

"Er.... Trenches. Poison gas. The Red Baron. Whole armies charging headlong into machine gun fire. Lots of people getting killed for no good reason.... Why?"

"Do you know what 'no man's land' is?"

"Yeah...." Harry answered, starting to get impatient with the old man's seemingly tangential questioning. "From old movies, I reckon it's the area between the opposing trench lines. In battle, one army would have to cross it to attack the other."

"I'm afraid, Hahli," Lao Kung continued, "that more than anything else, your mind resembles a no man's land just after the last shots of such a battle have been fired."

Harry stared into the old man's eyes and saw great pain inside. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Hahli, I am Sefu. I do not joke with my students, I try to train them." Lao Kung stopped, collected his thoughts, and continued.

"You life must have been far harder than I thought," Lao Kung remarked. "And it still is. Much soil is recently churned. It is not good to have such desolation inside. With considerably more training, Hahli, perhaps you will be able to enter your own mind, and I hope improve its ... its ecology."

But that time was not now. Lao Kung cautioned Harry to be very circumspect with this type of Legilimency, as he was only the barest of novices. Under no circumstances was he to try using any of the Legilimency techniques he was learning to interact with or otherwise engage Voldemort. Any such attempt to enter Voldemort's consciousness would undoubtedly be too terrifying for any but a master to control, Lao Kung warned. It would probably resemble a trip into Hell - with the traveler being utterly destroyed.

The master explained that Chinese Legilimency was altogether different than Harry's link to Voldemort. That link only channelled conscious thoughts, not consciousness itself.

Lao Kung taught, "It can be extremely dangerous to try to seek out another's essential consciousness - that thing called the ego, or the soul, depending on one's religiosity - inside that other person's mind. It should not be attempted, especially alone."

"Okay," replied Harry, "but I got back all right."

"You were not searching, only observing," Lao Kung pointed out. "Further, I accepted you in. It is another thing entirely to enter a mind uninvited. Such a search can be exhausting. Without help or invitation, the searcher can very easily get hopelessly lost and become trapped."

This was powerful magic at a very deep level. It had to be respected. Harry was barely scratching the surface. In time - with much work - he might just become an adept. He did not expect to be entering anybody's mind, let alone uninvited, any time soon.

"When.... When Voldemort possessed me at the Ministry, was that the same thing?" Harry asked. If ever something were personal, mind possession was it.

"No, Hahli," Lao Kung replied. "Possession is an altogether different form of Legilimency - an invasion, not a reconnaissance."

"What was it, then?" Harry asked again. He felt he was learning quite a bit.

"First, what he did was not Chinese magic, so I do not pretend to understand it fully. But from what I do know, possession is a supreme exercise of the will to impose control over someone else's entire higher faculties of thought."

"Is that something I will have to learn?" Harry pressed on.

"Certainly not from me," Lao Kung retorted, "and I doubt from anyone. Truthfully, such power is probably within your magical capability, Hahli, but it is far beyond your training. It is also illegal. Possessory Legilimency is a Dark Art. Even to offer training in such things carries criminal penalties. You cannot hope to fight Voldemort that way. You would risk becoming him."

"Why are we having this discussion, then?" Harry asked.

"In large part because you requested it," Lao Kung responded. "But there is more than just that. Much of the training I have been providing - and I believe all of the Occlumency training you receive at Hog-wa-tze, is in defence against Voldemort's demonstrated ability to penetrate your mind, including the power of possession. It is best that you know what you have to fight."

Lao Kung believed that Dumbledore's rather martial view of the mental arts of magic was too limiting. Thus, he had decided that Harry should be exposed to gentler, more therapeutic, forms of Chinese Legilimency. The intent was to direct him beyond merely defeating (or eventually effectuating) the egotistical control of one mind over another. He was starting the young wizard on an entirely different road - what some called the Noble Eight-Fold Path - focused upon contemplation, location, and understanding of consciousness as a whole, rather than mere strands of conscious thought. He stressed wisdom, ethical conduct, mental development ... and more.

Lao Kung distinguished between consciousness and that which was conscious. Unfortunately, these Buddhist-grounded concepts did not translate well into English, thus Harry was never sure that he understood - or even knew what he was supposed to understand. Beyond consciousness, Lao Kung told Harry, this new road led to the possibility of the merger of individual egos, and finally to the ultimate dissolution of the ego in a mental state Lao Kung referred to as Nirvana.

It was all a little strange and unsettling to Harry. But Lao Kung's brand of magic sounded far more peaceful than the training he was receiving. Especially with being assigned the deadly curses in Lesson 128, he was receptive to anything that could bring a little peace to his life. Therefore he consented to further sessions in Chinese Legilimency. Lao Kung gave Harry a book that seemed very ancient indeed. It was in English - but only barely. The mediæval English text was accompanied by totally incomprehensible Chinese language footnotes. Lao Kung asked him to read the first chapter and return in a week.

As Harry was leaving, Lao Kung mentioned that someone was coming by to chat about Hong Kong and its magic later that afternoon.

"Oh, Hahli, you should know that I have been contacted by the one."

"Which one?"

"The one of which you spoke ... Heh-mai-o-ni. I will be seeing her later today to answer her questions. I wish to make sure that is still your wish."

"Yeah, sure," Harry replied, trying to sound far more casual than he felt. "Just one thing."

"That is?" Lao Kung asked.

"No personal stuff ... about me, that is. I need to be able to speak for myself on that."

"Very well."

On one level, Harry was not at all surprised to learn that Hermione would be meeting Lao Kung. She had asked. He had agreed, and her nature was always to follow through on whatever she wanted to do. On another level, he was very nervous, since he had had some fairly serious chats with Lao Kung about his feelings for her. Whilst the Sefu was reliable, she could be a very resourceful questioner in pursuit of anything she really wanted to learn. Harry had not mentioned these reservations, since there was nothing he could say that did not in some way threaten to make the problem worse.

Harry met Dudley just before noon, and together they took the bus back to Privet Drive. Harry had about an hour of free time before he was to meet Bill for a Portkey to Hogwarts and a flying session. Only the two cousins would be at home, since Uncle Vernon was at work and Aunt Petunia out shopping. 'What is it,' Harry wondered, 'about women and shopping, anyway?'

As they made for the side door (the front door was reserved for guests and Uncle Vernon) Harry was hoping to pump Dudley for some useful physical training pointers. Suddenly his cousin lumbered to a stop.

"Oh, bugger...," he said with a start. "I just remembered. I have a meeting at Town Hall in half an hour with a bloody guidance counsellor."

"Why would you need a guidance counsellor?" asked Harry curiously.

"I sat for my General Certificates in May," Dudley said nervously. "I'm due for my results, I figure."

With that Dudley ran off in the general direction of the bus stop for town.

Watching him go, Harry shrugged. He resigned to spending more time by himself. Unlocking the door, he began thinking that he should get cracking on his N.E.W.T.-level Potions summer reading. He smirked. Snape was probably livid that he had achieved an Outstanding O.W.L. in Potions.... That greasy git.... Thanks to Sirius' memory he knew more about Snape than he cared to....

Harry opened the door, and was dumbfounded to find himself eye-to-eye with the very same - Professor Snape - who was standing in the hallway just inside the door with his wand outstretched.

"Legilimens!" Snape cried out, before Harry had any time to react or to summon some sort of mental resistance.

Harry's knees buckled as the onrushing spell collided violently with his mind, its magical tendrils rummaging through his psyche. Snape's angry features filled Harry's field of vision, and everything else seemed to vanish except the Slytherin's fathomless black eyes. Harry felt images being ripped from his brain. Sirius sprinting towards Harry's parents' burning house.... Hagrid in tears carrying baby Harry.... His dead father's leg on fire in the front doorway .... Sirius kneeling beside his mother's corpse and closing her vacant eyes for the last time.... His godfather stumbling whilst belatedly moving her body out of further harm's way....

Urgently, Harry struggled to grasp the Occlumency techniques he had been taught. 'Wall off the attack.' He found this surprisingly easy to do, as Snape's mental assault seemed narrowly focused on his experience with Sirius' memories. 'Once the attack is contained, use mental concentration to drive the attacker out.'

Harry concentrated; totally oblivious to his body's involuntary thrashing in his relatives' front hallway. There was a crackling sound, as Harry saw the image of Sirius preparing to execute Snape ('I wish,' he thought). A snapping noise followed, and finally a loud BANG accompanied by a brilliant flash of bluish white light.

Harry briefly lost consciousness. He was breathing heavily when he reawoke. An oddly familiar moaning sound snapped his brain to attention. With effort, he glanced around. The ordinarily immaculate wallpaper in the Dursleys' front hallway was scorched and hanging in tatters. Light flooded in from behind. Harry rolled over and saw the front door lying in the lawn. He heard the moan again, whipped his head around, and squinted down the hallway. All of the furniture was overturned and the wall pictures had been dislodged. The door to Harry's old prison in the cupboard under the stairs was splintered, and there was a large dent in the plasterboard just above and behind that door.

Harry pulled himself to his feet. At first, he thought he was going to lose his balance and fall, but for all his swaying he remained upright. He noticed that the living room windows were all smashed, and the room itself was in disarray. He heard the moan again. Creeping into the Dursleys' kitchen, he saw Snape lying in a heap against the cabinetry. Snape's body had struck the cupboards with considerable force. The door behind him was cracked in several places, and the drawer above had been jarred loose. Cutlery was scattered all over the floor.

Harry gazed down at Snape's prostrate form through narrowed eyes. He now knew that this man had been there when.... A flick of his wand and Snape was tightly bound with barbed wire. "Enervate," Harry said.

Snape's eyes slowly opened. He struggled for a moment against the wire, but Harry had learnt his magic well. His struggles only caused the wire to tighten and cut more deeply. Soon Snape focused exclusively on Harry. "I'm not here for my health, Potter. Now release me," the older man commanded imperiously.

Harry scarcely thought that Snape was in any position to be issuing orders - especially after ambushing him in his own house. "Not so bloody fast," he panted, suddenly being acutely aware of how weak he still felt. "You break into my house and attack me without warning. I think you've got some explaining to do first."

"I'm not telling you anything I don't care to," spat Snape. "What are you going to do? Kill me? Torture me?" He looked down at the barbed wire encasing his body. "Cut me to bits? You know what I do for the Order, and I assure you that I've been through much worse than anything you're capable of. Excuse me if I'm not impressed. Now let me loose."

Harry thought about how he could make that barbed wire glow red hot - probably without a wand. He growled, "You were a Death Eater and present for the deaths of my parents. I saw everything through Sirius' eyes. He would have killed you then and there except...."

Snape's demeanour changed ever so subtly, and his previously frozen features softened just a bit as he looked at Harry's glowing wandtip, "Surely you don't believe that I had a hand...."

Harry cut him off. "You now owe a wizard's debt to a werewolf," he declared. "I would have believed exactly what Sirius did, except Professor Lupin explained to me what Sirius hadn't seen...."

Snape took Harry's implied statement of narrowly averted murderous intent in stride. Threats did not impress him. "And what might that have been?" he spat, knowing what the answer had to be, but wanting to force the boy to admit it.

As much as he would have liked, Harry could not deny the Potions Master his due. The hateful tone slipped from Harry's voice as he answered, "Even ... even though you ... you hated them, you risked your life to try to save theirs.... At least you tried; I can't fault you for that."

"You're wrong, Potter."

Harry wheeled, his ire returning instantaneously. "What?"

"I didn't hate them.... I hated him."

"Professor Lupin told me about that as well," Harry admitted, lowering his wandtip a bit.

"I see.... Well, it's ancient history. Now let me go." Snape demanded again.

Harry was at a loss. As much as part of him would like to tear Snape into mincemeat and feed him to Mrs. Figg's Kneazles, he knew such revenge fantasies were out of the question. Not knowing what else to do, Harry vanished the restraints he had conjured around the Potions Master - but he kept his wand trained resolutely on Snape's chest.

"Explain why you are here," Harry ordered. "Why you attacked me...."

Snape struggled to his feet, and leaned heavily on the Dursleys' cracked countertop. "If you must know, this is just about the last place I would ever want to be," he began. "I am here because the Headmaster required confirmation - precise confirmation - of your description of the night of your parents' deaths. Unfortunately, I have to vouch to him that everything you told him was the truth."

Harry gasped, and his eyes narrowed, "So this was Dumbledore's doing."

"None other," growled Snape. "Your talent for insinuating yourself where you don't belong is as strong as ever. I had this mission assigned to me, but I chose the method by which it was accomplished. Perverse curiosity I suppose. Your counterattack skills have become excellent, Potter, but you still need work on your initial defence...."

"You attacked me without warning in my own house!" Harry interrupted. "You've got some nerve to criticize what I...."

"Hah! You think a Death Eater would give you any warning?" snarled Snape in return. "I let you off easy, considering you were playing with other persons' memories to start with."

"They were my godfather's memories - and his Pensieve now belongs to me," Harry protested.

"Quite right," sneered Snape. "I am positive that Dumbledore thoroughly regrets ever asking your godfather and me to cease our hostilities by Pensieving our less-than-fond memories of one another. You've now succeeded in intruding upon those thoughts from both sides. I'm sure you will find the filthy canine's exploits more ... amusing.... After all, at least he enjoyed most of them."

"I could care less what you think," spat Harry, "after what you did to me today...."

"I'm sure I'll be hearing about that for the next two years, at least," Snape growled. "Particularly since you managed to hoodwink the O.W.L. examiners. I expect the entire school will be treated to plenty of humorous descriptions of their Potions Master being made sport of." Ignoring Harry's wand, Snape turned and made ready to leave.

The younger man finally lowered his wand. Snape obviously was not finding it threatening in any event. "Why in bloody Hell do you think I'd do that?" he asked.

Snape turned back to face Harry, his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flaring. "Because that's what your father and ... Mister Black ... would have done. That's what they did to me for years. And you've always been the Second Coming of your father."

"I AM NOT MY FATHER!!" Harry yelled. "I haven't told a soul about your blasted memory, and I don't care to see any more of Sirius' memories about you either."

"How touching," sneered Snape. "Spare me the melancholy melodrama. Excuse me if I don't believe that young Potter has all of a sudden become ... noble...."

"Nobility's got nothing to do with it," replied Harry in a much quieter tone of voice. "Actually, I'm ashamed of it all. I wish I'd never seen it."

"Being Harry Potter means never having to say you're sorry. You know that, don't you?" responded Snape, with somewhat raised eyebrows.

"Look, Sna... Professor...," Harry said as a rather half-hearted attempt at further anger failed utterly. "I don't like you, and you don't like me. But I do love my Dad ... and Sirius.... I'm not happy having bad memories of them. They acted like gits towards you - not very much different than you always act towards me, actually. So, yeah, in a way I am sorry. I'm sorry I saw my Dad being less than perfect ... a lot less than perfect. That's not how I want to remember him.... Nobody else is going to remember him that way either, if I can help it. I've never even told Ron or Hermione about what I saw, and I don't plan to."

In the midst of the Dursleys' half-ruined kitchen, Snape looked thoughtful. He said nothing for a moment. Finally he spoke, "I don't know if you intend that as an apology or not, but it's the closest thing to one that I've ever heard from a Potter, so I will accept it. You're showing a level of maturity that I didn't expect, and haven't seen before. I would like to see more of that, particularly in class. Now, I really must be going." Snape turned towards the rear door of the house.

"Not so fast," Harry called out.

"What is it now, Potter?" Snape snapped. "My mission here has been accomplished."

"You've got to help clean up this mess," Harry replied. "I didn't cause it by myself, you know."

"Actually you did," replied Snape, "but ... you were provoked," he conceded. He took out his wand, waved it twice around over his head. "A priori!" he bellowed. Everything started coming back together again, and within thirty seconds the Dursley home looked like nothing had ever happened.

Snape surveyed the scene. Then he turned to Harry, who could not help but look admiringly at the magical demonstration. "Satisfactory?" Snape snorted, but with less hostility and condescension than usual. "It may be silly wand waving, but it is a useful spell nonetheless. Oh, and you needn't worry about the neighbours. I set a powerful Muggle-Repelling Charm when I arrived. I'll remove it when I leave."

The Potions Master strode quickly out the back door, his robes flapping behind him. As he was leaving, he turned to Harry. "You do have your mother's eyes."

Harry gaped. By the time he had recovered enough to charge after the bastard who had once dated his mother, Snape had already passed through the wards and Apparated away.

Harry went to his room and sat on his bed, trying to sort through what had just happened. When it all started, he had been angry enough with Snape to have a go at killing him, or at least to give the Cruciatus Curse another try. In the end, instead of harming the man - which he felt well within his rights to do, considering that Snape had just ambushed him - Harry had more or less apologised to the greasy-haired git.

Even more oddly, he felt better after having done so. It was as if one of the many weights loading down Harry's conscience had been removed. He realised that it no longer even seemed all that important who was right and who was wrong. The relief he felt was not derived from righteousness, but rather from transcendence. Maybe Lao Kung was right....

Truthfully, he felt far more anger towards Dumbledore, for having tasked Snape with his mission, than he did with the man himself for performing it in just about the most obnoxious way possible. First Dumbledore had never told him about his mother's condition. Then the Headmaster refused to tell him where she was buried, or even why he kept that information secret. Then he demanded that he conceal everything about his parents from Hermione.

Only a couple of days after that, Harry had been told to conceal something else - Lesson 128 - from her as well.

The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that Dumbledore had to be behind the Lesson 128 assignment. Nobody else knew that about his fate to kill or be killed. He decided that he had had quite enough of the Headmaster's double, and triple, games. Dispatching Snape to seize what he had already willingly provided was the last straw. Harry had been a good boy, done as instructed, and voluntarily told Dumbledore everything he could about Sirius' memory. He had been straight with the Headmaster. His best efforts had not been enough. Dumbledore still sent Snape....

Bill found Harry brooding when he arrived to take him flying. Harry told him about Snape, but not about the background or the apology. Bill offered to intercede with the Headmaster, but Harry doubted that that Bill talking to Dumbledore would solve anything - not anymore. Harry did think he was up for a good fly, though. He was even determined to try Sirius' motorbike again.

Harry arrived at Hogwarts to find the GKN on the Quidditch pitch, already fuelled up and ready to fly. Bill encouraged him to test the bike's limits, both on the ground and in the air. His guardian put him through his paces methodically - so much so that it seemed eerily like a test. This time Bill was quite capable of keeping up with Harry in the air. The redhead had brought along a Firebolt of his own, purchased on his new and improved Gringotts salary.

There was mercifully little ground time. Harry just flew, and flew, and flew. He tried out the GKN in all of its configurations, even with the sidecar. Bill occasionally shouted instructions or encouragement, but mostly he just watched. Finally, after almost three hours, his guardian signalled that it was time to land.

Harry flawlessly brought the bike to a halt near Hagrid's hut. "Whew!" he exclaimed, mopping his brow after taking off his very steamy helmet. "Now that was a good workout. This weekend, again, I reckon?"

Bill was facing the other way, getting the GKN ready for its Concealment Charm. "I don't know, Harry," he responded. "I'm not sure there's much more I can show you. You're a natural at flying. You don't need...."

"But I need to fly," Harry broke in. "You're not about to take it away, are you? It's rightfully mine, after all.... You just said that I was a natural. It's not like I'm not ready."

"I think we need a second opinion then," replied Bill. "What do you say?"

Harry was confused. He had no idea what his guardian was on about with this business about a second opinion. He was not particularly in the mood for another surprise. Cautiously, he responded, "Well.... All right - as long as it's not Snape or Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Bill casually replied as he walked the GKN to its customary place by the woodpile. He took out his wand. Harry assumed that Bill was going to perform the usual Concealment Charm, but instead he said "Alohomora."

The shutters to Hagrid's hut opened, and to Harry's astonishment and delight, he found the half-giant grinning back at him. They had been out of contact with one another since Harry had flashed Hagrid a furtive thumbs up months ago upon completion of his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L. examination. Umbridge had tried to sack him the very next day.

"How yeh doin' 'Arry?" Hagrid asked with a big smile on his face.

Harry was ready to dive through the open window into Hagrid's gigantic arms, but Hagrid hurried to the door instead. Hagrid took Harry into a bone-crushing hug just outside the cabin. "When did you get back...? Where have you been?" The questions tumbled out of Harry's mouth, even as he found it difficult to breathe.

"Got back yes'erday," Hagrid rumbled. "Where I've been, tha's secret." Yer th' reason for me bein' back.... In a way, anyhow."

Harry had all but forgotten that Bill was there, when the redhead piped up, "So, Hagrid, what's your opinion of Harry's flying?"

Harry looked at Bill. "You knew?" he mouthed.

Bill nodded, but Hagrid spoke first, "He owled me as soon as he was named yer guardian, but I couldn' get back 'afore now."

"Well?" said Bill, archly.

"Oh yeah, right...." Hagrid paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "Ruddy near perfect, I'd say. Sirius woulda' been right proud."

"That's good enough for me," Bill said decisively. He flipped the keys to the GKN to Harry. "Here. Happy birthday - if anybody deserves one, it's you." Both Bill and Hagrid beamed at Harry.

"You mean...?" Harry gasped, hardly daring to believe it was real.

"Yup," said Hagrid, vigorously nodding his massive head. "Reckon it's yers now. Course, yeh can' take it off grounds fer another year. Bill and me.... We figgered tha' th' time's right, an' Sirius woulda wanted it tha' way."

It was a bittersweet moment for Harry, since the bike was his only because of the death of his godfather. However, at long last he was working through his grief and anger. For the first time, standing there with Bill and Hagrid, he was able to face the stark fact of Sirius' death without surrendering to rage or sadness. "I suppose you're right," was all he said.

"'Arry, this is an early birthday present because I'm off to France tonight. I'm sorry I won't be here for your actual big day. I'll be gone for at least a week - longer if things go well. I hope to have a wedding date, and also some advice for you, when I get back. The Order will be filling in for me whilst I'm gone. I have to go and pack. I'll leave you with Hagrid to catch up. He can supervise your Portkey home."

Hagrid invited Harry inside. Neither of them noticed Bill making his way towards the staff entrance for Hogwarts Castle, rather than to any of the usual off-grounds Disapparition points.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the customary fare of horrible rock cakes was gone, replaced with much more palatable offerings. Hagrid was cooking quiches, which were really quite good. He confessed that Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, the most prestigious magical academy in France, had been teaching him some better recipes. Hagrid and Madame Maxime ("Olympe" to Hagrid) were both half-giants, and from the way Hagrid spoke of her, it was clear that they were becoming more than just good friends.

The second thing Harry noticed was that Hagrid's hut was unusually quiet. Fang was missing. When he asked after the all-bark-and-no-bite wolfhound, Hagrid's face fell. "'E never came 'round after bein' hexed by th' bloody Ministry 'it wizards," he explained. "Lingered a bit, 'e did, but was gone nary a week after yeh took the Ministry down a few pegs. Jess after you all left, actually. I'd still like t' wring tha' bloody Umbridge's neck."

Harry told Hagrid about the torture quills and how he was set to testify against Umbridge in a few weeks' time. He said he hoped the ex-High Inquisitor would have a long stay in Azkaban. Hagrid - who had actually done time there - said he could not wish that on anyone except a Death Eater.

Harry also asked after Grawp, Hagrid's younger half brother - the full giant who nevertheless was on the small side. Given the havoc that Grawp had created in the Forbidden Forest, Harry was not really surprised when Hagrid said he had taken him away on his mission and found him some other, more appropriate, place to live.

"Well, yeh know," began Hagrid. "Grawpy couldn' stay inna forest f'ever. Even I realised tha' after a while. Sooner 'r later th' Centaurs woulda got 'im. So's I took 'im wi' me on me mission."

"Where did you go?" asked Harry.

"Can' tell yeh 'bout the mission," chided Hagrid. "Dumbledore's business. But I'd heard 'bout a race o' smaller sized giants what lived in Spitsbergen - way up near th' North Pole. So's on me way, we stopped off, an' sure 'nuff, they were there. They 'adn' 'ad many giant-type visitors in ages, bein' stuck way out in the middle 'o nowhere like they was, so's they was only too happy to take Grawp in, seein' as how 'e was practically th' bigges' one there."

"But is Grawp happy?" asked Harry. "He really missed you the last time I saw him, you know."

I'ma 'unnert percent sure 'e is," replied Hagrid. "Yeh see, 'e'll be able t' find 'isself a mate there. Them giant girls was all 'angin' 'round even afore I left. It's best fer all concerned. 'E was on the verge 'o bein' of th' age where 'e'd a gone inta ruttin' iff'n 'e didn' 'ave a mate. In rut, things coulda gotten dangerous wi' 'im still in th' forest 'round Hogwarts. 'E didn' have much o' a choice, but...."

"But what?" Harry prompted.

"I don' know iff'n I should tell you this 'Arry," said Hagrid with an apologetic look in his eye. After hesitating for a few seconds, he continued, "But seein' as how 'e's gone an' all, I guess it can' 'urt. Well..., from me talks with Grawpy, I think that 'e more or less fancied 'Ermione. Tha' wasn' right, an' I wouldn' 'ave wanted anything t' 'appen t' 'er."

"I see," said Harry slowly. Hagrid's last observation had stopped him cold. Harry's stomach turned a bit as he tried to contemplate how that might have worked. Harry was unable to think of anything that would not have involved serious physical harm to his best friend. "You did the right thing, Hagrid."

"That' wha' I think, or I woudn' a done it," Hagrid replied. "I figure if Grawpy 'ad done summat t' 'Ermione, yeh'da tried t' kill 'im, an' giants is awfully 'ard t' kill - even harder than t' try t' stun 'em."

"Why do you think that, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "Ron would have tried too."

"Yeh, but yeh have feelin's fer her, 'Arry, I'm sure 'o it," Hagrid grunted nervously. "Yeh may not know it yerself yet, but one day, an' one day soon, I reckon yeh will figure tha' out."

Harry refused to rise to that bait - which was likely Dumbledore's bait. He said evenly, "So how long are you back for? I hope you'll be teaching us again this year."

"'Spect so," Hagrid replied. "'Specially with yeh getting' th' 'ighes' marks in th' whole school in me subject. But I truthfully don' know. The Order decides wha' I do, an' when I do it. Right now I'm only back 'cause 'o yeh."

That was the second time Hagrid had made such a comment. It puzzled Harry because he hadn't said anything much to, or even thought much about, Hagrid in several months - since he had first learnt of Grawp. "How so?" Harry asked blankly.

"It's what yeh did," said Hagrid, looking misty-eyed. "Never 'eard 'o nuthin' like it in me lifetime. Yeh decided t' stand up fer equality fer everyone, even giants. Dumbledore owled me once tha' happened. Sent me a copy o' yer signed statement t' give t' th' Gurg. Don' know 'ow much good it done though... So few o' us left ya know. Wha' with us killin' each other off like we do. An' not many o' us can read anyhow - least not English."

Hagrid paused, gave Harry a half-smile, and continued, "Anyhow, Dumbledore reckons tha' equality is th' one thing tha'... Voldemort ... never can promise giants. 'E's prob'ly right - usually is. Got some unexpected 'elp too... Th' local goblins came ta me, offrin' ta 'elp. I gave 'em the copy o' th' treaty. They've got ties ta th' giants, yeh know, datin' back to alliances in wars against wizards. Maybe it'll do some good."

It was on that uncertain note that Harry Portkeyed back to Privet Drive. Just before he left, he and Hagrid embraced again. He was uncertain when he would next see Hagrid, but he felt uplifted by the huge man's huge gratitude. Even if the amendment to the Goblin Treaty had failed to break the ice with Hermione as he had hoped, it had been the right thing to do for a lot of other reasons that he could not have even begun to imagine when he decided to do it.

That evening's date with Eliza was pleasurable, but in an unsettled sort of way. The two never went out, but enjoyed a home-cooked Muggle meal in Eliza's flat. Harry helped prepare the meal and was rightly proud of his dearly bought prowess in the kitchen. Eliza had a new stereo sound system with such large components that Harry wondered how she had ever hefted them down the hallway. It produced wonderful sound.

And not just sound. Eliza's new system also had a VCR player, and the two of them watched a rented movie - Bridges of Madison County, a romance flick from the year before. The passionate subject matter prompted considerable snogging, but the kissing had a nervous edge to it. The movie told of a love affair that only lasted but a few days, after which the lovers never saw each other again. This disturbed him and (he thought) Eliza too, because they had an unspoken understanding that their own relationship was temporary - and would end when he went back to school.

That was not the only source of nervousness - at least for Harry. The love affair in the movie was torridly sexual, and that was a subject around which he was treading very cautiously. He was on completely unfamiliar territory. Every time they snogged, he went a little further with his advances, and every time Eliza let him. Somehow, in a way he did not exactly follow, several items of her clothing found their way to the floor. During the ensuing grappling, he lost his balance a bit and one of his hands found its way to somewhere it had no business being. But before he could remove it, she covered his hand with her own - and then trapped it with her legs. She made some exotic, trilling sounds after that. Truth be told ... it was one trap he did not bother trying to escape.

Harry left Eliza's flat that night with the unnerving feeling that he was holding himself back more than she was restraining him. He was not at all sure how to phrase the big question, and not entirely sure that he even wanted to ask it. Harry knew he would be disappointed if the answer were "no," and he was afraid of what he would happen if the answer were "yes." At any rate, the question did not get asked that night.

It was time to read Bill's book.

* * * *

Harry received the expected third owl borne subpoena, and he hastened to tell Hermione about it the next morning as they waited for their potions and poisons lesson to begin. That was not all he wanted to discuss with her. After his encounter with Snape, Harry concluded that Dumbledore was being less than candid with him. He wanted her views and guidance on the subjects that Dumbledore had wanted him to keep hidden from her. He felt that she was more trustworthy than Dumbledore, and resolved to disobey the Headmaster.

"Hermione, I need to talk to you," whispered Harry.

"Talk then," she replied in an unnervingly curt tone of voice.

Two separate, but Harry-related, circumstances led her to be rather short with him so early in the morning.

Item One: Yesterday, he had done something - she was not sure what - that had left her unconscious, or so she believed. His emotions that afternoon had become so unpleasant that she felt the need for a lie-in. The next thing she knew, it was two hours later. Hermione did not take mid-afternoon naps.

Item Two: The evening hours had not been easy either. Her inability to shut off her link to his emotions whilst he snogged Eliza was most of the reason why. Those emotions both aroused and shamed Hermione. They made it impossible for her to sleep, but dealing with them brought only temporary release - and left her feeling sullied and unfulfilled at the same time.

"Not here," Harry hissed. "There's some like ... secret things I need to tell you."

"You're getting married and moving to America?" Hermione responded sarcastically.

Harry was a little taken aback by his friend's distant attitude, but having made up his mind, he plunged ahead. "I'm sorry that you're mad at me, but this is serious."

"How serious?" replied Hermione, her interest now piqued.

"Serious enough that I'm disobeying direct orders from Dumbledore just by telling you," he replied, dropping his voice to a whisper once again.

"Perhaps you shouldn't then," she snipped.

"I have to," he pleaded.

Hermione frowned. She had long suspected that the Headmaster was having Harry keep secrets from her, and she did not like it one little bit. At times she thought Dumbledore did this to keep the two of them apart. Thus his desire to confide in her could be a big deal. Hermione pondered the matter.

Soon her calculating mind hit upon the best scheme under the circumstances. Her idea could keep their minders away long enough for Harry to tell her what was on her mind - and it might have other, more fulfilling, benefits....

- 61 -

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch20 secrets told and untold.doc 03/29/05