Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 23 - Darkness Descends

Harry awoke in darkness - soaked in sweat and thrashing wildly. The nightmare of the chess pieces had recurred ... after a fashion ... part of it, at least. It was hard to say, actually. Everything had been so much less distinct this time - occurring in a dense fog. But it had been so terrifying that Harry had awoken before Voldemort or the Death Eaters had even made their appearances.

After blinking and finding his bearings, all Harry could recall - but he could remember this quite clearly - was that after he and the others had been pinioned upon the original chessboard, as before, the board had come apart, splintering into more or less its constituent squares. The other squares, with Hermione and the rest still attached, spun off in the ether of his mind to who knows where. For an eerie moment Harry was alone in the dreamscape.

Then the really frightening part happened. Harry's square regenerated itself - expanding anew into its own complete chessboard. Maybe all the other squares had enlarged in the same fashion. It was unclear. In the dream Harry had lost sight of all the others.

But on Harry's own piece the chess pieces were suddenly a whole new cast of characters. The implied loss of his friends scared him out of his wits.

The nightmare made little sense, and even its very existence was puzzling. Despite distractions and numerous extenuating circumstances, Harry had faithfully attended to his Occlumency the night before. He checked his scar: nothing - no blood, no pain, not even prickling. That meant that this dream was a figment of his own imagination; not Voldemort's doing. Should he consider such self-generated nightmares to be a relief ... or a warning?

The dream had been too hazy, and its duration too fleeting, for Harry to identify all of the new pawns fated to become Death Eater fodder. Harry could recall a few - the Creeveys, the Dursleys and Lao Kung - but most vividly he remembered Eliza. She had become his new queen after Hermione's fragment of the chessboard had broken free and whirled away into nothingness. That imagery was unsettling on several levels. Eliza had replaced....

Eliza!!! Harry shook himself completely awake and groaned in misery. She was not there ... and had not been.... The only reason they were not together was because of his embarrassing response to her desire for him.

There was no way to sugarcoat what had happened. He had lost it ... jumped the gun ... false started ... prematurely whatever-the-word-was.... They all meant the same thing - that Harry had been utterly unable to act upon Eliza's unexpected and flabbergasting offer, closer to insistence, to make him a man on his sixteenth birthday. His breath went spare just thinking about what had happened, what should have happened, and what had ultimately not happened.

"Stupid, bloody wanker," Harry berated himself.

She had touched him ... there! And "touch" was a word that completely failed to do her actions justice.... Then, he had to go and make a sticky mess of things. He had accomplished nothing and ruined everything. If he only knew how, Harry would have Obliviated himself straightaway.

"Effing, good-for-nothing tosser."

For her part, Eliza had been understanding - remarkably so from Harry's standpoint. She had been almost too good to be true: erotic, aggressive, experienced, patient, persistent, and gentle all at the same time. She was all the things that a young, nervous, virginal male should have needed most.

"Pikey, over-eager git."

He did not deserve her. She tried to "bring him back to life," as she called it, partially undressing and stroking him. Eliza even tried to get Harry to fondle her in tandem ... to explore her ... there! She had tried so hard that she practically....

"Daft, pathetic prat."

And there was more. Eliza had declared herself willing to do anything Harry wanted. She had even asked him to name his fantasy. For some bizarre reason Harry could not fathom, she had mentioned the American president. Unfortunately, the more vigorously Eliza sought to claim his essence for herself, the less she succeeded. Harry's feelings became ever more disturbed and conflicted. He had tied himself into an emotional knot.

"ARRGH!!"

Harry's hands instinctively went to his forehead and kneaded his brow. How much of a fool had he been? How big a loser? He knew of no insult grand enough.

Strong and contradictory urges ripped through Harry as he contemplated Eliza's actions and his misadventures. One thing for certain, he no longer needed Dudley's grainy computer pornography to imagine what those parts of a woman actually looked like.

That very image - that very thought - emerged from his brain, rocketed down his spine, and piqued the belated interest of another part of Harry's body. A familiar sensation, so damnably absent before, travelled back up his spine, causing his eyes to fly open in shock. Looking down, he sighed resignedly.

"Dammit. Hard as a ruddy rock, it is. A lot of good that does me now."

Harry also began to appreciate how Cho must have made Ron feel in that photograph. At times, Eliza's ... bits-that-must-not-be-named ... had been mere inches from his face or groin....

"Shit! This should have been so easy!!"

In the end, however, his and her mental states had been light years apart; and still were.

When the moment of truth arrived, Harry had been unable to seize it. Everything had gone wrong - not with Eliza, but with him. She tried to retrieve the situation, but he had failed once again. It was physical, but it then it was not. He should have been able to perform, even after his initial accident, but somehow he could not.

Something mental ... emotional ... psycho-bloody-logical ... had left him flaccid. Harry's would-be amorous encounter had crashed full tilt into some huge, submerged mental block that he hardly knew was there. Something had not just been right with his feelings. Eliza's advances had unleashed a brooding presence from some back room of his psyche. This Boggart from his subconscious had left no doubt that all was somehow not the way that it was supposed to be.

Bad karma, Lao Kung would call it - or, more likely, evil feng shui.

It had been part nervousness, part fear, part confusion, and part a profound sense of unease. For some reason his inaugural encounter with carnal delights seemed not to be proceeding according to his cosmic destiny.

Finally, the burden of Harry's emotional and physical cross-purposes had become too much for him to bear. Just as Eliza was going beyond taking matters into her own (ahem) hands, he had started to spark and glow again. Not everywhere; just his most affected parts - or so Eliza had said. That phenomenon proved too much even for her to cope with, so she had reluctantly conceded sexual defeat. It was probably just as well. Harry certainly had no wish to attract another lightning bolt.

Harry knew he had hurt Eliza. He had besmirched her self-image as a desirable woman. What he had done simply did not happen. In real life, blokes never went around spurning sexually aroused females the way he had ... at least not sixteen-year-old virgin - and thus still virginal - blokes with hyperactive imaginations.

If he had been at all religious, Harry might have considered the priesthood right about now. There was more than a grain of truth in Eliza's catty remark that it was miraculous that the Potter line had persisted for so many generations.

Harry tried to explain that she was blameless - that all fault lay with him and none with her. But he had no illusions that she truly believed, or even understood, his rationalisations. Hell, he did not even understand himself (although he believed everything was wholly his fault). This was not the kind of thing Harry had any experience in discussing. Eliza had acquiesced, but even Harry, thick as he often was in such matters, could tell that she was only being polite and remained far from convinced.

The upshot of this erotic disaster was that they agreed to give one another some space. Harry could call Eliza sometime later during the week, once he had decided what he wanted to do. They would spend the weekend apart.

Harry's most immediate problem was that he had no idea what he really desired. He wanted desperately to see Eliza - to make things better ... maybe even to try again to do what he had fallen so miserably short of that evening. It had been so close to a dream come true. But all too quickly, it had become a nightmare personified.

Harry needed somebody - a father figure - to talk to. This gut-wrenching experience, and the questions it raised, were simply too much for his adolescent brain to manage. But Harry never knew his father.

Sirius was dead.

Bill was abroad....

Lupin probably was too.

Dumbledore? Been there, done that. Never again. It would simply become another item on the old trickster's agenda.

He looked around the darkened room. A neat stack in the far corner by the closet indicated that Tonks had been true to her word about delivering his presents. He remembered something Hermione had once explained in connection with their Useful Enchantments lesson - that "talismans sometimes can be substitutes for the real thing." It was worth a shot, he thought.

"Accio wands." The soft cloth containing what remained of his father's and Sirius' wands sailed to him. He unwrapped them and reverently laid them, side by side, on his pillow. With his own wand he cast a Silencing Charm over the room.

"Dad? Sirius?" he began haltingly, trying not to feel stupid for deciding to spill his soul to a couple of pieces of wood. "I've got a problem...."

"You see, I'm discovering ... well, sex. I'm ... I'm ... well, not very experienced.... Not very ... good.... It's just.... Well, to me sex is serious business.... Maybe I regard it too seriously, but that's just the way I am...."

"I thought I knew ... well, for a little while, anyway, who the one was going to be.... But all of a sudden ... there's ... there's someone new. She wants me ... that way. Physically, that is.... But if I become intimate, really intimate, with her then everything changes...."

"It didn't start out seriously enough for that. It just sort of ... happened. It was supposed to be a casual sort of fling ... something for the summer.... She's not at Hogwarts ... oh, but she is a witch.... But if I ... er ... have sex with her, then for me the fling is over, and something altogether more complicated is going to replace it."

"Sirius, I'll wager that you especially must think I'm a prat, but nobody's loved me for so long ... that I'm ... different. It's just the way I feel. I don't know if I'm capable of ... sex ... unless I at least think it's ... with someone I'd want for the rest of my life.... I thought I knew.... I'm feeling so weird right now; I'm freaking myself out...."

"But there are so many problems. Life expectancy, for one. Voldemort's after me ... I guess you both know why.... Even if I survive the summer, this g ... woman, has made it one hundred percent clear that she doesn't want the life I have to lead. I've thought about just running away with her.... But I can't do that ... I'm too Gryffindor. There's too much I have to do...."

"Damn this prophecy."

"Do I have a right to ask her if she'd give up her independence for me? I don't even know that I want her to, actually. I can't say that I'm in love with her the way I need to be ... because ... something happened when I tried.... I'm not even sure I know her well enough to talk with her about ... everything. I'm just so ... bloody bad ... with this sort of thing....."

"You both know the truth. That's why you're both ... wherever you are. Not many people love me, but those who do ... have this nasty habit of winding up dead. Dad ... ever since I found out what really happened to you and Mum, I've lived every moment of my life in the shadow of death. Sirius, that shadow's just become so heavy since you.... Can't ... bear...."

Harry had to stop for a good while. He could not keep from crying.

"I-I-I think that's why I can't.... I just can't ... endanger ... Hermione.... But this other lady ... her name's Eliza ... she knows about ... the shadow, and everything ... and she doesn't seem to care...."

"She wanted me ... that way ... last night. I failed. I don't know what to think. She was really insistent.... Is it her way of telling me she's ready to change her life to be with me? That she no longer cares about the risk?"

"It could be worse ... much worse.... I'm so afraid that she wants me but doesn't want to change her own life.... She called my life ... a 'gilded cage....' But what if ... if she's signing her own death warrant by becoming my ... my ... my lover, I guess, without being willing to accept the protection I have to."

"What do I do? When I'm with her, I feel happy and carefree like I've never been before. But ... but ... Hermione.... She makes me ... live, I guess. I wish she'd just let me love her.... I can't take both ... not that way, because that's just not me. I don't know where I'm going.... I feel like I'm on fire sometimes...."

He was about to break down again. As Harry leaned over to bury his head in his sheets, his foot bumped the pillow. The two wands rolled into one another. As had happened before, a few sparks emerged from what was left of Sirius' wand. There was a slight hissing noise.

Harry protectively scooped up the two wands. They left a burn mark on the pillow. He separated the wands and felt something light against his leg. There was a ribbon-like tendril of parchment. Excitedly, he picked it up. It read:

"The one who is true shall come for you."

"Thanks," Harry muttered as he rolled the scrap up gently and closed his fist around it. It was not very much, little more than a fortune cookie might offer, but it was from a reliable source, and it was a start.

His throat felt dry. "Aparecium lemonade chez Aunt Petunia." A two-litre carton of lemon drink appeared, and Harry never bothered with a glass. After guzzling fully half of it, he rose to put the remainder on his desk. He stumbled in the darkness after stubbing his toe on a stray giftwrapped present. The present had been on his bed when he had returned from the date with Eliza, but at that time he had been too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to deal with it.

Too agitated to fall back to sleep, Harry decided there was no time like the present to find out what was this mystery gift. It was flat, not too large, and fairly heavy for its bulk. He was astonished upon opening it - a Toshiba laptop bearing advert stickers that announced the presence of "Pentium Pro" and "Windows 95," whatever those were. Harry had seen his uncle use one of these little, flat computers for business, so he had a fair idea how to plug in the mouse and telephone cords. Uncle Vernon kept his in the home office he had set up in a corner of the master bedroom, a room he had always kept absolutely off limits to "freaks."

A handwritten note accompanied the computer:

Dear Harry:

Happy Birthday. We've never done much to celebrate your birthday before, so we weren't really sure how to start now. Obviously we can't get you anything associated with your condition, so we've done as well as we could.

Dudley told us you that you've enjoyed using his computer. That seemed like the best thing. Grunnings is upgrading its laptops, and employees have been allowed to purchase prior equipment at a good price. I took advantage, so here you are.

Dudley also said there's no electricity at your school. Hard to believe, but then what isn't about that place? There's a substantial battery on back order, but it hasn't arrived yet. Also, we've gotten you a year's worth of Internet access via remote, so you can go online whilst you're at school.

We'd hoped to give you this personally, but it's now almost midnight and we don't know when you will return.

Vernon & Petunia

Harry laughed out loud at the idea of him being the only person at Hogwarts with Internet access. His relatives were totally ignorant of the wizarding world and had no clue that Muggle electronic devices such as the Toshiba were rendered useless by the magical atmosphere surrounding his school. Still, for the first time in fifteen years, his relatives had at least tried to do something nice for his birthday. He felt a brief pang of regret that their gesture had been so completely unexpected that he had not even made time to accept their gift in person.

But that feeling did not last for long, given the Dursleys' history....

Harry was torn between wanting to thank his relatives - hardly practical in the wee hours of the morning - and being deeply suspicious of their motives. After all, this newfound generosity followed hard upon their learning that he was not an impecunious orphan as they had heretofore thought. Whilst he was not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth, the same did not hold true for the gift givers themselves.

He wasted a couple of hours trying unsuccessfully to sleep. It was windy outside, but not raining. After Occlumency techniques failed to relieve his insomnia, Harry lay back and mostly watched the lights play on the ceiling. Leafy branches swaying in the breeze passed back and forth in front of the sodium yellow streetlamps that kept the darkness at bay on Privet Drive. Hedwig was out there somewhere, hunting - and so was a member of the Order, watching. That was what his being under guard 24-7 was for everyone else: a lot of boring waiting.

His brain was abuzz with anxiety generated by all of his unfinished personal business. Sometimes his mind was on Eliza, and sometimes on Hermione. There was no doubt about it. He had sure bollixed up both of those relationships, had he not? He was relieved that Hermione had undoubtedly been asleep during his monologue with his father and grandfather, and thus had not felt those emotions of his.

At long last, Harry heard Dudley's alarm go off and, turning the usual tables, he rousted his large cousin out of bed for their morning run.

For almost the entire weekend, Harry sought refuge in the hardest physical and mental labour he could find. He arranged to see Lao Kung on both Saturday and Sunday - first at Gator's Gym and then in the great white workout bubble at Hogwarts. The amount of magical energy that Harry felt the need to work off was increasing.

His Chinese mentor dropped even the pretense of using boxing equipment. He simply conjured up bale after bale of hay and let Harry destroy them with his fists for however long he wanted. He was so persistent that Lao Kung had to teach him a charm for his gloves so that they did not disintegrate from overuse.

Harry pounded away methodically, shut off from the world behind the earplugs connected to his magical CD player. Harry never volunteered what he was listening to so raptly, and Lao Kung did not inquire. He must have played Hermione's entire CD a dozen times. Almost all of it was Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Brahms - heavy duty classical. But the last arrangement was so different from everything else that Harry even rechecked her handwritten index to find out what it was: "Billy Don't Be a Hero, M. Murray, arr. for classical violin by H. Granger." He was baffled, recognising nothing. He would have to ask Hermione about it sometime.

To improve Harry's agility, Lao Kung introduced him to two pieces of Muggle workout equipment: a set of suspended rings usually used by male gymnasts, and a balance beam ordinarily used by women. Lao Kung was astonishingly limber for his advancing years, and taught Harry how to perform aerial manœuvres on both. On Sunday, the Sefu had Harry practice dodging curses whilst perched on the beam or hanging from the rings. After the workouts, Harry had aches in muscles that he did not even know he had, and he had rips on both hands. Still, he felt good - at least compared to the alternative of thinking about his personal situation.

With his focussed approach, Harry also made good progress in both Chinese Legilimency and wandless magic. With Legilimency, he started trying to move about in the crowded metropolis that the Sefu's mind resembled. It was a difficult technique, and Lao Kung made sure that Harry took things exceedingly slowly.

"Hahli, you must not under any circumstances move beyond what your mind's eye first sees. You must maintain visual contact with that spot," Lao Kung cautioned.

"But I'm getting better at this, really," Harry protested.

"You are nowhere good enough to avoid becoming lost," the Sefu reminded Harry.

"But you said that the Four-Point Spell works with this magic," observed Harry.

"It does, but only to find a quested item within; not to leave, since that could be in any direction," Lao Kung corrected. "You must reread chapter three. Until you have mastered the art, which takes years, only I can assist you in leaving, as it is my mind."

"All right," Harry conceded grudgingly.

"You cannot get lost," the Sefu reminded. "In all likelihood that would prove irretrievable. Indeed, I am already pressing matters. In most such training there is a second master present as precaution."

"I've told you before," Harry bridled, "mind entry is private for me. I don't want to be studied - or worse - by Dumbledore, Snape, or even Hermione."

Lao King accepted Harry's reluctance with resignation. "Very well, but you must be extremely careful, Hahli. Becoming lost can kill you, or worse."

With elemental magic, Harry had now advanced well beyond sawdust. He had attained the ability to command each of the four elements to perform minor feats. With fire, he could make a small flame dance in the palm of his hand. He could conjure enough water to give himself a refreshing shower any time and any place he wanted. His command over wind allowed Harry to create dust devils as tall as he was. From the earth, Harry could coax grass to grow - fast enough to be noticeable to the unaided eye.

To an experienced elemental, these were mere parlour tricks, but for Harry - well, Lao Kung considered them considerable accomplishments. As always, any discussion of the rumoured Fifth Element remained off limits, as Lao Kung strictly deferred to Dumbledore. Harry doubted that his Sefu even believed that such an element existed. Dumbledore's views, as usual, were a mystery.

After each day's training session at Hogwarts, Harry performed a couple of hours flying under Hagrid's rather-less-than-watchful eye. Like Lao Kung, he did not intrude on Harry's musically maintained privacy. Disabled by his size from using a broom, the purported supervisor remained conveniently grounded. Hagrid was astonished by the capabilities of the boy's Valkyrie broom and highly complimentary of his new "Potter's Marauders" motorcycle jacket. The gigantic man was somewhat hurt that his praise drew little more than grunts from Harry. But Harry wanted physical exertion, not conversation.

Harry also exercised his mind. Now that he could access his course books, he actually started studying them seriously - surprising even himself. He dredged out Hermione's old unused gift of a homework planner, and actually set himself a schedule. She had always nagged him for procrastinating with his schoolwork, but now, for once in his life, he did not. The planner seemed happy about his new found habits as well, as it rewarded him with comments like, "Study like this. Your marks will be bliss."

Over the weekend, Harry completed a quite demanding Potions assignment - reading two chapters and writing well more than the minimum three parchment rolls on the principles of opposition and similarity in determining the composition of potions. He churned out almost five rolls before finishing what he had to say on that subject.

"I don't care whether the greasy git likes it or not, I think this is bloody good," Harry fumed to himself.

On Tuesday afternoon, whilst working on his Transfiguration assignment, the irony struck Harry to the quick. In large part, the reason he was finally doing what Hermione had always wanted him to do was the massive hole in his life caused by her absence.

That absence was more mental than physical - something that became painfully apparent during Harry's Sunday evening Occlumency/Legilimency session with Dumbledore. The lesson was unusually strained, and thus not particularly productive. The Headmaster was at his meddlesome worst when it came to the events of Harry's birthday.

"You know that I could not attend your party, as I do not wish to give the appearance of favoritism," Dumbledore reminded Harry.

"That's fine," he replied. "There were plenty of people there. You weren't missed."

"I do hope you had a good time," the Headmaster persisted.

"It was good," Harry answered unhelpfully.

Dumbledore did not know when to quit. "Hagrid and Tonks provided adequate security, I trust."

"They did the job they had to do," Harry said vaguely, thinking of Hagrid's prod in the back. "It was useful that they were there."

Still another question from the Headmaster, "Did you like your cake?"

"It was the best," Harry admitted. "Tell Dobby thanks for me when you see him."

"Oh, I shall," Dumbledore continued. "And were your presents satisfactory?"

"Tonks gave me the wands," Harry replied. "Thanks for those. They're ... remarkable. I wish you could have preserved Sirius', but Tonks said you had no choice. I'm going to have them combined into one wand - the backup wand you've been after me to get."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "A magnificent idea, Harry. Just the thing. I wish I had thought of that...."

"You've thought of plenty," Harry answered. "Now where were we?"

Dumbledore's vague warning to "watch yourselves, because we have become aware of an uptick in Death Eater activity of late," did not exactly help the atmosphere either.

Hermione was just the opposite. She assiduously avoided any mention of those events - at least any event that occurred after Harry's party.

Harry had halfway hoped that, as before, Hermione could help talk him through his present situation. Hermione was having none of it.

"You know Hermione ... I'm sorry I had to leave in such a hurry after the party," Harry told her. "I never got a chance to thank you properly for all your work on it. You did achieve total surprise...."

"You thanked me in your own way, Harry," she replied coolly. "There's no reason for you to be sorry. No reason at all."

"That doesn't mean that I'm not, though," Harry continued. "About what happened afterwards...."

"What happened afterwards was your own business, Harry," Hermione harrumphed. "You don't owe me any reports, and frankly I'd rather not discuss it."

For her part, Hermione was angry and upset - with him. After she had gone out on a limb emotionally, he had cut it right off, as quick as you please. She had never expected he could be so callous. He had "achieved total surprise" as well.

Given the way he had kissed her on that park bench, she had allowed herself to believe that, maybe just maybe, Harry might want her the way that she wanted him - thus, her offer of a "different" relationship. She had never done anything remotely like that before. She had forced poor Viktor to reaffirm three times that he was unattached before she merely consented to go to the Yule Ball with him. For Harry, she had done everything short of proclaiming her availability in blinking lights - if only he would break off with Eliza.

But what had Harry done after that? Not twenty-four hours later he had gone and had sex with the bloody tart for the first time, or so she thought. Her only comfort was that the act had evidently not gone very well. That was cold comfort indeed.

The nature of her emotional link to Harry was quite imprecise. What Hermione sensed came as if through a glass, darkly. Her facts were not quite straight, which prompted her to cut Harry's tentative conversation off with a waspish comment.

"Remember when you asked me if I had kissed her," Harry reminded. "I almost upset the furniture."

"At that point, it was a safe subject, Harry," Hermione responded. "You've travelled rather farther down the road now."

"Well that's ... er ... sort of the problem.... The road's gotten ... rather bumpy," Harry stammered.

"Then perhaps, rather than talking to me, you had best visit a urologist," Hermione snapped at him.

That remark left Harry feeling stupid (the word was not in his vocabulary) as well as annoyed at the snide tone of Hermione's rebuff. His subsequent consultation of a dictionary did not improve Harry's humour any.

Things worsened when training recommenced the following week. There was an unearthly calmness between them, almost the sleep of the dead. Harry felt an utter lack of spontaneity between himself and Hermione. It was not that she was still angry or disagreeable. She made no more caustic comments. Rather, she just no longer reacted to him at all. She stayed entirely focussed upon the tasks at hand during training and was even more hardworking than ever. With him, she simply stopped initiating conversations - and when it was absolutely necessary to talk to Harry, Hermione steered resolutely away from anything extracurricular.

She started bringing large books with her to class: Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine (Muggle) and Medicinal Potions and Charms: A Holistic Approach to Healing (wizard).

"Er ... Hermione.... I'd be more than happy to carry those for you," Harry offered. "They look even heavier than Hogwarts: A History."

"I'm quite capable of managing, Harry," Hermione clipped. "I know full well how to bewitch them to be feather light."

Instead of sitting with Harry during lunch and breaks, as she had before, Hermione retreated to a corner table and read.

She shrugged off Harry's enquiries with the explanation that her research fellowship required extra studying. He knew he was getting the truth, but felt just as certain that it was not quite the whole truth. This was hardly the first time that he had seen her use a large book as a barrier against unwanted intrusion, but it was the first time Harry could remember being on the receiving end of that tactic.

It was not so bad on Monday, since that was the second session on nonverbal spell casting. Not being quite sure what to talk about was easier to endure when one was not supposed to be speaking at all. Besides, that session was not very interesting. Mostly it was repetition, albeit silent, of spells he knew well enough to cast in his sleep. Both Harry and Hermione had obviously been practising after their less-than-stellar performances during the first session. In this instance familiarity bred boredom.

Tuesday's class on the uses of small magical creatures should have been different. The creatures that they worked with - færies, Puffskeins, Crups, Nifflers, Demiguises, and Kneazles, even an immature phoenix - produced numerous hilarious or endearing moments. But none of them, not even Kneazles that resembled her pet Crookshanks, coaxed a smile or a chuckle from Hermione. What should have been one of their most enjoyable sessions was tinged throughout by gloom.

Toward the end of that session, feeling particularly out of sorts, Harry even resorted to a few snide remarks of his own. Desperate for anything that might inveigle some sort of emotion from his almost robotic friend; he called her an "ice queen." This tactic also failed miserably. Hermione told Harry matter-of-factly to stop, and that if he persisted, she would go elsewhere.

Harry immediately apologised. Things remained calm, too calm - deadly calm.

The only interaction between the two of them that could be called even remotely personal occurred at the very end of the Tuesday session. Hermione told Harry that she "had something for him." She retrieved three items from her wardrobe: a small box, a middling box, and a large roll of parchment.

The parchment contained the results of the Creeveys' inventory of the various birthday presents intended for Harry that had been redirected to either Mrs. Figgs' house or to Hogwarts. Harry glanced through the imposing list, but when he raised his head to thank Hermione, she had already left.

Harry sighed as he shoved the list into an outside pocket of the dun-coloured training robes he used with the magical creatures. Nothing seemed to be working out the way he had planned, or hoped.

He took Hermione's list to his own wardrobe on the men's side of the trainees' dressing quarters. If he had been feeling less morose, the outpouring of recognition and largesse from his fellow witches and wizards would have been quite gratifying. There was enough Gryffindor clothing to outfit the entire House several times over. There was enough Quidditch gear to equip a team. There were enough sweets and other delectables to swell Harry to Dudley's size.

He had also received a wide variety of gadgets, including another Quick-Quotes Quill donated by the staff of the Daily Prophet. Then there were more serious gifts - several Dark Detectors, a small library of instructional books, even a couple of wands. Finally, he had been sent a number of malicious gifts: several poisoned items, a couple of highly explosive Erumpent horns, and most creatively, a bushy-haired Lolita doll that concealed a dangerously effective Severing Charm.

Harry passed on that. He already felt more than sufficiently emasculated by his own emotions.

From the rest, he chose a particularly nice Foe-Glass, a high-end Sneakoscope (to replace the cheap model Ron had gotten that never seemed to work correctly), and a couple of the more intriguing books for his own use. As for the rest, he agreed that Hermione could select whatever she thought the D.A. could use productively. He would donate the remainder to some charity, maybe even to S.P.E.W. Perhaps that would help her attitude, although he rather doubted it. She would probably think (with reason) that he was trying to bribe her.

She knew him too well - yet she hardly knew him at all.

The two boxes Hermione had given him were gifts from known givers that had been mislaid during the insanity of the owls. Cho Chang had sent him an elaborate "chop" that had served as a family signet - an oddly familiar looking Chinese rune. The short accompanying note explained about the gift's Tianhuang stone composition. The magical translucent yellow-orange carved device looked enough like frozen honey that Harry touched it to his tongue. When he recited "Vermilius," as instructed by Cho's note, just the right amount of vermilion ochre appeared. It was a very nice gift (vermilion being the colour of Chinese royalty), but completely impractical, since it bore Cho's, not his, symbol. He had never understood Cho and supposed he never would.

The other gift was from Charlie Weasley. Charlie's dragon camp produced various products from the leavings of the great, magical beasts, including Dragon Ambergris. When crystallised, the ambergris was as clear as glass, only much harder. Dragon Ambergris was more resistant to deformation than any other magical substance, second only to diamonds in hardness - or so said the promotional brochure (offering other dragon products for sale) Charlie had included. Charlie sent a selection of lenses ground from the Ambergris, and also some unfinished blanks. The lenses could be assembled into ultra-high-resolution spyglasses; they could amplify wandless magic; and they made superior spectacles. Two of the thinner blanks were for Harry to take to a magical optometrist.

Harry called Eliza on Monday night, and to his relief she was still willing to see him - but not in private. They agreed to a date at Kew Gardens Wednesday evening. What might or might not happen after that was left deliberately vague. With one relationship on tenterhooks, and another on rapidly failing life support, Harry thought sarcastically, 'If Teen Witches Weekly only knew the truth, I'd be the laughing stock of the wizard world, and then relegated to the back pages for the rest of my life.'

He saw Lao Kung again in the gym on Wednesday morning. After Harry had laboured single-mindedly for half an hour upon his Occlumency techniques, Lao Kung finally interrupted him. "Hahli, what is clouding your mind? It is not healthy to work as hard as this, particularly for one as young as you."

Harry stopped and looked at his elderly Chinese teacher. "When things go badly for me, I try to find something else I can do that works better."

Lao Kung looked back pensively, "No matter how hard the wind blows, it cannot move the mountain, Hahli."

A crease of annoyance crossed Harry's brow. Lao Kung could be maddeningly indirect. "Stop speaking with shadows on your tongue," he sighed, throwing a metaphor of his own back at the Sefu. "I can't deal with that right now. If you want to tell me something, tell me."

"But Hahli," Lao Kung replied, "I think it is you who has something that you need to tell me."

The dam burst. "All right, dammit, but it's not pretty. I feel like I'm on a bloody wheel, connected to practically everything - the Order, the Ministry, Hogwarts, Gringotts, Voldemort - you name it. But I'm being broken on that wheel.... All the spokes are pulling in opposite directions. I'm being pulled apart. There's nothing left for me anymore...."

In a fevered fifteen-minute monologue, Harry's fears and frustrations came pouring out. He bitterly decried everybody who was trying to use him - the Ministry, for morale; the Order, to fight Voldemort; Dumbledore, to keep money from the Death Eaters; the goblins, to cement control over Gringotts; giants and others, to seek equality with wizards; girls like Lavender, as a trophy. Harry damned the Death Eaters, the inheritances, and even the training he was receiving, for making it impossible for him ever to have a normal life. He bewailed that his mere caring about anyone placed that person in mortal danger.

As he was at last winding down, Harry even cursed his personal life, "I'm screwed there like everywhere else. I can't have a decent relationship with an ordinary girl because I can't ever be ordinary enough.... But the most extraordinary girl I've ever met doesn't want me because I'm too damned extraordinary - too rich and famous. Either way, I can't bloody win."

"Sometimes I think I should just chuck everything and go back to being a Muggle," Harry continued. "I could just disappear that way ... fade into the background and never use magic again."

Lao Kung's features hardened. What had been a generally sympathetic frown transformed into a near angry glare. "Hahli, you are far too great a wizard to do that," Lao Kung chided. "Are you not a Gryffindor."

"Yeah, I know.... I know. I've done the whole sword bit and all," he admitted without admitting anything.

"Such symbols are important," the old Sefu observed, his voice sharpening. "That is why they originally became symbolic. You are not a Muggle, Hahli. You are less Muggle than almost anyone I have ever taught."

"I'm afraid you're right," Harry conceded. "I could never just chuck it ... not really.... Much as I might say I want to.... I owe too much to too many. There are so many bloody obligations.... My head is ready to explode sometimes."

"You need to set limits, Hahli," the Sefu counseled. "There is only so much that you can give ... or that you should be asked to give."

"It's not that easy," Harry complained. "It's like Hrr ... somebody ... once said, I have this ruddy 'saving people thing.' I just can't help it. If there's something that needs doing, it always seems to come down to me to do it. Why can't I just be ordinary for once ... let somebody else save everything, instead?"

Lao Kung's tone softened again, "Because a synonym of 'ordinary' is 'mediocre' - and that could never describe you. Remember though ... it is not a contradiction to want to save everyone. But not personally.... You also need to save yourself."

"There's not much worth saving right now," Harry said glumly. "My own life is so messed up, that the only way I can forget about it is to bury myself in more training and more learning.... Might as well make a virtue of necessity...."

"You sell yourself very short, that is all I can say," the man chided. "Things have a way of changing radically - for the better or for the worse - in a very short time."

"Sometimes I wonder how things can get much worse," Harry moped. "Sometimes I wonder if nothing at all would be better than the grief I'm causing now. But I'm too much of a coward to find out."

"No," Lao Kung disagreed, instantly furious, "that would be the true coward's way out. It always is. You have too much courage to find that a plausible option."

The Sefu listened until Harry talked himself out. Virtually the only matters Harry consciously withheld from Lao Kung were the prophecy and the sexual aspect of his current problem with Eliza.

When Harry was done, Lao Kung commented, "When I was growing up, I was neither outstandingly wealthy, clever, magical, nor athletic. It took me half a lifetime to find what I excelled at. You say you wish to be ordinary. It is much overrated, I assure you. You would not like it. Nor did I. For years I wished I was anything but ordinary - in what way did not matter."

"Nobody was expecting you to save the bloody world," Harry replied heatedly. "Otherwise you might have felt different."

Lao Kung smiled. "Let me tell you the parable of the hai xing, Hahli," he offered. "In parts of China hai xing are a most common sea creature, and live in the rocks close to shore. A boy lived near Po Hai - what you might know as the Gulf of Chihli. He loved watching the hai xing and other sea creatures in the waters near his home."

"One day, however, the moon and sun were aligned, and together produced a very low spring tide. When the boy went to the shore at dawn, he found hai xing marooned by the thousands above the tide, slowly succumbing to the sun and the air. Hurriedly, the boy began collecting them and throwing them into the sea, beyond the breaking waves."

"The boy did this for some time, until he heard someone calling his name. It was the head of his village. Somewhat embarrassed, as he was covered in ooze, the boy respectfully approached the older man. As he got closer, the man called out, 'Good morning! What are you doing?'"

"The boy paused, looked up and replied, 'throwing the hai xing back into the sea.'"

"The old man appeared puzzled. 'I suppose I should have asked, why are you throwing hai xing into the ocean?'"

"The boy replied, 'the sun is up and the tide is still out. If I don't return them to the sea, the hai xing will die.'"

"The village leader scoffed, 'Can't you see, young man, there many, many li of shoreline, and hai xing all along as far as the eye can see. There is only one of you. You cannot possibly make a difference!'"

"The boy listened politely. Then he shrugged. He bent down, picked up another hai xing and cast it into the sea, as far as he could throw it. Turning back to the old man, he said, 'It made a difference for that one.'"

Lao Kung paused, indicating that the story was over. Harry looked at him. "And the point is...."

"Hahli, it is very well to concern yourself with saving the world," the Sefu explained with an enigmatic smile. "But such great tasks can become overwhelming. When that happens, you must remember that you always make a difference to those you can touch personally. Never stop trying to make that difference."

Harry felt a little less burdened by his troubles as he left the gym, even though objectively nothing had changed. He quietly resolved to try to make a difference in the lives of those he cared about the most - starting that afternoon when he met Eliza.

Their date at the Royal Botanical Gardens had a strong sense of déjà vu, and not just because they had visited the place only two weeks earlier. Their entire encounter had the distinct flavor of starting over - of a second first date. Neither of them knew quite what to expect from the other.

Harry arrived with essentially no expectations. He was too embarrassed by what had happened to hope for anything. He was grateful when Eliza allowed him to hold her hand. He was ecstatic when she let him put his arm around her. Things that had been taken for granted no longer were, and each baby step seemed to propel them both along a path of emotional recovery.

Or so it seemed.

Harry and Eliza were strolling hand in hand along a shaded path lined with stately oak trees that could have been planted by Queen Victoria herself, or even earlier. The Sun had just gone down, and a glorious sunset was just beginning to surrender its brilliant colours to the gathering dusk. It was idyllic until Harry staggered and clutched at his forehead with his free hand.

"What is it, Harry?" Eliza asked urgently.

"Voldemort...," Harry croaked out. "He's rather pleased with something. I can feel his ... emotions."

"Oh my God, can I do anything?" Eliza gasped. She had been witness to this sort of attack the first time she met Harry, and her actions at that time had brought about his introduction to classical music.

"Let ... me ... sit ... on ... this ... bench," Harry groaned. Eliza guided Harry to a wrought iron and wood bench, and sat next to him, nervously rubbing his back.

Harry performed Occlumency, and within five minutes he had closed off his mind. "That's better," he sighed and looked at Eliza. "I've been learning how to stop this kind of thing," he remarked. "It's part of my training. Also, he wasn't after me, he was just happy. Still, I don't like that fact. His happiness is almost always bad for me. Maybe we ought to go...."

Suddenly the ordinarily inconspicuous ring that Harry wore on the index finger of his left hand lit up brightly red and began to hum softly.

"Wha...? Oh bloody Hell! Oh, damn! She's in trouble...!" Harry exclaimed. He anxiously took two steps in one direction, then two steps in the other, ending up exactly where he had started. He was talking - no arguing - with himself. "I've ... I have to go.... No, I can't. What if they come for you...? But I'd never forgive myself...." He was babbling.

"Harry, what on Earth is going on?" Eliza asked, alarmed.

"She could be dying this instant.... Blimey, what can I do? Auror distress call...." Harry gibbered on. He flicked his wand out of its invisible wrist holster.

"Take a deep breath, Harry, and speak in complete sentences," Eliza said gravely. "Who is in trouble, and what is that ring?"

Harry did as he was told. "This is an Auror partner's ring. It connects me to my partner ... that would be Hermione. When it glows red like this, it's a critical distress signal. She's never activated it before. Something horrible is threatening her, and I have to respond. But I can't leave you here. What if Death Eaters come for you...?" Harry's speech sped up again and became less coherent. "Can't leave you. Have to go.... Where...? I've got it.... Let's Apparate back to your flat."

"I'm sorry," Eliza confessed, "I can't Apparate any more - not farther than I can see at any rate. I haven't Apparated that far in years, I'm out of practice, and I'd just make things worse by splinching myself or something. I'm not the powerhouse you are, that's why I ride my bike and take the Tube."

Increasingly frantic, Harry seized on the last thing Eliza said, "The Tube stop then, can you Apparate as far as the Tube stop? I'll ask Dung to escort you from there.... That's it...."

"What's it?" Eliza asked, feeling Harry's panic. "What's going on...?"

Harry never got to answer that question. He heard the staccato popping of at least a half dozen wizards Apparating around them. "Oh, Merlin, they've come for us too...!"

Eliza screamed, and Harry surged into action. As fast as the blink of an eye he fired two powerful Severing Charms in opposite directions, bringing two of the stately oaks crashing down parallel to each other, with him and Eliza sheltered between their massive, now horizontal trunks. Harry heard the shouts of the still arriving wizards as the great trees came down. Without stopping, Harry performed an Excavating Charm. Pushing Eliza into the six-foot deep hole he created, Harry jumped in after her. Harry immediately used the dirt he had removed from the pit to create a breastwork between the tree trunks, which he further fortified with a couple more spells.

Harry pointed his wand skyward. "Auror Assisto!" he cried. A brilliant fountain of red streaks representing the universal Auror officer assist signal arced into the heavens. They flew straight up and then criss-crossed, marking his location. Harry undid his belt.

"What in blazes are you doing now?" Eliza gasped. Her entire left side was filthy with ground-in black dirt, and being shoved into a foul hole without warning had not left her in the most charitable mood towards Harry.

Harry fired off several wild spells, including a torrent of Greek fire, but it did not sound like he had hit anything. "...Trying to save your life," Harry panted. From a compartment on the backside of his belt, Harry removed ... nothing.

Harry stretched the Portable Hole until it was over three feet across. He shot out a spell that conjured barbed wire, and quickly sent the wire slashing through the air in circles overhead. Harry placed the Portable Hole on the earthen side of the pit they were standing in. "Get in," Harry commanded, "and give me your wand. There are Death Eaters about, thicker than fleas on a troll."

Too stunned by the abrupt turn of events to do anything but obey, Eliza surrendered her wand and climbed in. He shrank the Portable Hole down to less than an inch. He whispered to her through the small air hole. "Stay here until I come for you. If I don't come for you, that means they've killed me. In that case, stay hidden for as long as you can stand it, and pray that they've left."

Harry was more convinced than ever that he had to get to Hermione. These were serious attacks. But first, there was the small matter of saving himself - and Eliza. In short order, Harry Transfigured a branch full of oak leaves into shiny mirrors, levitated them into position overhead and set them to spinning. Harry concentrated on maintaining his strongest Reductor Curse, which flared skyward.

"Okay, you can do this," Harry reassured himself.

Howling out "Puff the Magic Dragon!" he used Eliza's wand to cut his Reductor twenty-five ways, just as he had learnt in the lesson on fighting when outnumbered. The multiple curses reflected off the mirrors and blasted through the gathering gloom into the terrain surrounding Harry's little makeshift fortress.

The effect was awful. Each shaft of Harry's multiply cut spell struck with a thunderous roar. The very earth shook, sending loose dirt cascading down upon Harry as he crouched in the bottom of the pit he had created. The noise and bright light reminded Harry of the grand finale of the Muggle fireworks display he had recently witnessed with Eliza - the huge white flashes and booming reports resonating chaotically - only this was serious, deadly serious.

Harry determinedly kept up his spell casting for over a minute, until he noticed two things: first, there was no return fire; and second, another Auror assist signal appeared in the sky.

Harry stopped. He had to get out of here, and he was wasting time. Hermione could be dying as he sat in this damn hole, making rubble bounce all around him. Everything looked like black velvet and sounded deathly silent compared to the bombardment he had been conducting. "Sound off or I'll carry on!" Harry yelled, moving his wand back into the ready position. "I swear, I'll kill you all."

"Potter, cease fire fer Merlin's sake," a familiar voice rasped. "We're friendlies."

"Mad-Eye?" Harry called out.

"In the flesh - what little I've left," Moody growled.

"Wait a second," Harry ordered warily. "How did you injure yourself when you were last in my relatives' house?"

"Damn you Potter, I'll get yeh fer that," Moody spat.

Harry was unyielding. "Go on," he replied.

"I grazed myself in my own bloody arse with a Reductor," Moody answered with noticeable lack of good grace. "...something about a ruddy telephone." In the darkness Harry could hear others laughing.

"I believe you," Harry called out. "Show yourselves.... What's going on?"

"Advance; nighttime; friendly!" Moody shouted out. Almost immediately Harry saw the lighted tips of nine wands, being held high overhead by nine robed figures walking slowly towards him. A tenth, less steady, light soon followed.

The wandlight illuminated a surreal scene. The graded gravel path between towering oak trees had all but ceased to exist. The trees were shattered wrecks - their splintered, smoking trunks and pulverised crowns leaning at crazy angles.

Massive craters rent the earth, and piles of dirt were strewn randomly about. The dirt was rapidly becoming mud, as water gurgled from the arboretum's shredded irrigation system. In the distance sirens wailed. Astonished, and more than a little frightened at what he had done, Harry dropped back into the pit.

"Oh, bloody Hell," Moody muttered. "This looks like Verdun during the Great War, except...."

"Except what?" another voice spoke up.

"Except there aren't any bodies," Moody replied. "I don't think Potter killed any of us with that display."

"Well, it's ruddy sure not fer want 'o tryin'," growled a voice that Harry would have recognised as Mundungus Fletcher's, had he been listening.

Harry was exhausted, but fixated on what he had to do. He stood in the dark at the bottom of the increasingly muddy pit, breathing heavily, his wand held loosely and a stitch the size of a Hippogriff in his side. Moody and the Aurors were shouting instructions to one another, but Harry did not care.

He screamed into the darkness, "Get in here, dammit!" I don't have the time to...!"

Moody's annoyed growl cut him off, "Potter! If yeh wouldn't mind, we can't very well get ta yeh with these damnable basilisk venom-covered punji stakes in the way. Only yeh can get rid of them."

"Sorry," Harry called out sheepishly. He ended a variety of defensive spells he had cast over his redoubt, and cleaved an entryway in the earthen breastwork. "Oh blast," Harry thought to himself. Eliza was still in her hastily arranged hiding place.

Harry illuminated his wand and called to Eliza, "Don't worry. Everything's safe.... It's all right. It was my mistake. They weren't Death Eaters after all ... only Aurors. I'm coming to get you out!"

Running his fingers frantically across the crumbling loam walls of the pit, Harry located the Portable Hole. "I'm very sorry about this.... I overreacted again...." He ripped the hole wide to reveal Eliza; her eyes shining but otherwise covered head-to-toe with a crust of sticky, musty black filth. The loam in the botanical gardens was so rich and dark that if Harry had not been aware that Eliza had been wearing a green and white striped blouse and light blue short pants, he would not have been able to tell by looking at her.

Eliza shielded her eyes from Harry's wand light. "A mistake? A BLOODY MISTAKE!!? I ... I ... I was convinced you were going to die ... and maybe me too!"

With that verbal explosion, the last vestiges of Eliza's composure fled.

Eliza hurled herself at Harry, grabbed him about the midsection and shoved him into the dirt. Harry was too surprised to resist. Seemingly exhausted by that single violent motion, Eliza lay on top of Harry, her back heaving, sobbing hysterically. Over and over she mumbled through the tears "thought you would die ... thought you would die ... thought you would die...."

Increasingly frantic on one level at the further delay, Harry had no idea what else to do. He had been incredibly cruel ... an insensitive git. He had no business expecting Eliza to be able to handle this sort of experience, so he wrapped his arms around his crying girlfriend and held her - tightly but silently. The more the realisation of what had happened sank in, Harry felt almost as shell-shocked from the entire episode as she was.

But there could be no rest for the weary. Harry's Auror ring was still glowing insistently. He gently asked Eliza, "Can you stand?"

"I ... I ... I think so," she replied uncertainly. Harry helped her to her feet. Then he backed up a couple of steps, still holding both her hands.

"Let's have a look at you," he said. Regarding Eliza's trembling figure up and down, he told her, "I'm going to clean you up." Harry quickly Scourgified her and was returning her wand when Moody stumped into view - his face streaked with dirt and looking all the more ravaged in the unflattering wandlight.

Eliza jumped again into Harry's arms, terrified of the unfamiliar advancing figure.

"All right, Potter, let's go. I've got ta bring yeh in. There's too much evil happenin' tonight," Moody ordered.

"Not so fast," Harry growled back. "First, some of your lot is going to see to it that this lady makes it home safely. Then the rest of you are going to take me to Hermione." He held up his Auror ring so Moody could see it.

"Negative on both counts," the aged Auror responded. Moody drew himself up as straight as he could and thought hard about what could possibly convince the reluctant and willful young wizard in front of him to yield. Moody's orders included authorisation to use force, but after what he had just seen, Moody felt less than assured that force was a viable option - even with six Aurors and two Hit Wizards at his command. It was either persuasion, or spending the night out-of-doors with Harry.

Using his best command voice, Moody addressed Harry. "My orders are ta bring the both of yeh in, and that's what I'm gonna do. There's Death Eater activity tonight - a lot, but we don't yet know the full extent of it. Yer lady friend there probably isn't safe, and in any event we can't afford ta take chances. As for Hermione Granger, she's been attacked, but that's not yer fight. Kingsley took two squads with him ta sort that out just before I left ta come here. Yeh know Kingsley's top notch. Whatever's ta be done is already done. His orders were the same as mine. The fastest way for yeh ta see her is ta come with me."

"Bloody Hell, it's not my fight!" Harry protested. "I'm the only reason she was attacked - and there's nothing going on here - except a big job for the Obliviators. Wherever you're taking me, I'm pretty sure E ... this woman ... doesn't want to be seen with me."

Harry was only half right, if that. The air crackled with another series of Apparition pops, and curses started to fly.

"Crikey," Moody howled. "We've been followed." He barked some orders to his unit, and a great deal of sound and fury ensued. Curses coursed through the air. Moody pulled a smashed-in bowler hat from an inside pocket in his robes. "Grab hold," he ordered.

"Hell no," Harry spat. "I'm not running from Death Eaters."

"Dammit Potter, this isn't yer fight either," Moody roared. "There are six active-duty Aurors, two Hit Wizards, and Mundungus ta handle this. Yeh're not only endangering yerself, yer endangering Miss whoever here - and every minute yeh're not where yeh're supposed ta be, yeh're tying down our forces trying ta protect you and everyone else in England. Now grab this portkey or I swear I'll stun yeh."

Eliza tugged on Harry's arm. "Please do it, Harry. I'll go."

Harry took a deep breath and allowed Eliza to pull his hand to the hat. The last thing he remembered before the familiar jerk behind his navel was the same ear splitting crack that he had heard whilst reliving Sirius' memory - a powerful Killing Curse crashing into the trunk of a large tree.

Harry staggered but remained upright as he landed hard at the darkened Hogsmeade train station. There were several wizards standing guard, and Moody barked more orders to them. Harry recognised one of them, Sturgis Podmore. Harry thus assumed all of the guards were members of the Order. Harry remembered that he had not seen Podmore since his own great escape (to see Eliza for the first time) at the poor man's expense nearly a month ago. A shiver went down Harry's spine as he considered how much grief his escapade must have cost Podmore.... Still the man had come.

Then Harry whipped his head around. Pangs of regret were not responsible for all the shivers down his spine. There was a Dementor at Hogsmeade station. Harry flicked out his wand. "Don't anybody move," Harry hissed. "Dementor at 5 o'clock." Harry used the directional language he had taught in his locating class. "I'll take it on three...."

"Stow it, Potter," Moody whispered back. "That one's on our side. Whilst Voldemort's got over 500 of 'em," (Eliza flinched at the name and squeezed Harry's hand harder) "but thirteen stayed loyal ta the Ministry. That one's known as 905, it's posted out here because it can sense its own kind from farther away than any of us could.... Over there.... Get in now."

Moody directed Harry to one of a number of the Hogwarts Thestral-powered carriages waiting in readiness to ferry new arrivals to the school. Harry was certain that the Thestral between the shafts was the same one that Neville had ridden to the Ministry. He started to stroke it when Moody testily ordered them both inside, and climbed in after them.

"What were you doing just then?" Eliza asked Harry. "There was nothing there.... Eek!"

Eliza let out a yelp as the carriage jerked forward and rumbled off at tremendous speed, almost immediately taking to the air. She looked terrified.

"There is something there," Harry said softly, "a Thestral. You just can't see it because...."

Eliza pressed two fingers to Harry's lips, stilling them. "Oh you poor dear.... You don't have to tell me, Harry, I had to learn that for my N.E.W.T.s." She nuzzled into his side, trying to hide the tears she was crying for Harry, for the horrible things he must have seen.

Harry stared disconsolately into the darkness, wondering if he had done the right thing. If anything had happened to Hermione, he would never forgive himself....

Moody felt uncomfortable disturbing the couple's brief quiet interlude. From the reports he was receiving from troops in the field, the battle-scarred Auror feared that this was going to be a long, awful night - especially for Harry.

To prevent Harry from brooding, Moody spoke. "I suppose we'll have ta teach yeh how ta communicate with those ruddy Dementors.... Awful things, really, but at least a few are on our side."

Harry looked up at Moody, "What are Dementors, anyway?"

"Don't rightly know," Moody replied, relieved that Harry was at least responding. He kept talking. "From what I've been told, they're the product of malignant magic, Dark wishes, and death - lots of death. Are yeh sure yeh really want ta know?"

"Go on," said Harry grimly.

"If lots of people die in about the same time and place - dozens of wizards or hundreds of Muggles - and they were all thinking terrible, awful thoughts when they died.... Well, the joinin' of their deaths, the simultaneous release of so many tortured souls bearing Dark thoughts.... They come tagether, and the result's a Dementor. That's why they feed the way they do. They're desperate ta extinguish themselves. Unfortunately, there's more of 'em now than ever before. This century's created a lot of 'em...."

"Battlefields?" Harry mentioned.

"Too right," Moody replied. "Almost all of 'em are created by warfare down through history from Arbela and Agincourt to Goblin Wars and Gallipoli - occasionally aeroplane crashes and other disasters. 905 there originated with the Titanic sinkin'."

Harry thought aloud, "A man.... A skilled Legilimens recently told me that my mind resembled a battlefield.... I wonder.... If I kill him, and I die too...? At the Ministry, Dumbledore said that there were things worse than death...."

"NO, HARRY, DON'T EVEN THINK THAT!!" Eliza screamed.

"Harry, I don't think fer a minute that...."

The carriage jolted as it returned to earth and skidded to a stop.

Moody sighed because he had no answer to Harry's unstated but obvious question. "Alright, let's move," he grunted. "Welcome ta Hogwarts Castle."

Supporting Eliza, who could scarcely stand, Harry moved through the corridors as fast as his legs could carry them both. The Castle was mostly deserted, but every now and then, he would see or hear someone else in the corridors - almost always running, or at least trotting. Harry did not pay much attention. For once he let Moody lead. Eventually they stopped. "I suppose yeh know where yeh are," the older man grunted again.

Harry knew this place well. His last experience with it had been rather terrifying, so he was hesitant. "The Room of Requirement," he said.

"The very same, Potter," Moody replied wearily whilst walking back and forth. "Now in yeh go - both of yeh." Mad-Eye flung the newly appeared door open and prodded them both inside.

It was chaos - or it would have been but for the grey-haired, silver-bearded wizard at the heart of it all, sitting at a huge rounded wooden desk in the center of the room. All around were the buzz of conversation, the beeps and flashes of communications devices, the squawks of owls, and the constant motion of witches and wizards rushing about. Harry barely had time to take in the scene before Moody roared loudly behind him, "Potter's here."

Everyone in the room stopped what he, she, or it was doing and stared at Harry. Eliza clutched his arm tightly, as if he were her life preserver. A number of people acknowledged him, but only briefly before they quickly returned to what they were doing. Discarded scraps of parchment littered the floor, and Ministry-type paper airplanes went whizzing through the air.

Whilst Harry held back, Moody pounced. "Dammit, Dumbledore," he spat. "We were ambushed out there. Probably followed, too. The Deaters've been a step ahead of us all night, and it's cost us dearly. Yeh've got ta stop the Ministry's stallin' on a new headquarters. The wards here are simply too bloody strong ta work around...."

Harry, too, only had eyes for that same person, and that person soon made eye contact with him.... Dumbledore waved Moody off and bade his most noteworthy student approach. He conjured a chintz chair and his massive, messy desk changed shape readily so that Harry could sit closer to him. As Harry approached, the Headmaster spoke, "Minerva, the young lady must be mortified, can you take her some place private, make her clean and comfortable, and explain the situation to her? I need to speak to Harry."

Professor McGonagall, Harry's Head of House, approached from his left. She smiled wearily at Eliza and held out a hand. The professor's hair was in its customary bun, but part of it had come askew and tendrils framed the right side of her face.

"This way dear," she spoke gently to the skittish Eliza, "the worst is over. You're safe at Hogwarts. Let's get you squared away...."

Whilst she tried to smile, Professor McGonagall's smile could not reach her eyes. The Deputy Headmistress was plainly under a great deal of pressure, and it showed. Everyone was.

"Eliza, please go with her," Harry requested. "Everything will be all right, I'm sure," he reassured her more confidently than he felt. "I'll make sure to see you soon."

His girlfriend reluctantly left his side. He followed the two witches with his eyes as they walked away and noted through which of the doors they passed as they vanished from sight. He turned to face Dumbledore.

Without so much as a greeting, Harry addressed his Headmaster. "What's going on? Where's Hermione?" he asked.

"I have just confirmed," Dumbledore gestured towards a hand mirror, "that Miss Granger is safe and in transit. She was attacked at her father's dental surgery by a number of Death Eaters. Somehow they penetrated or brought down the wards. The two Grangers - and Miss Tonks - fought the Death Eaters off, although not without considerable property damage. I am of the belief that the Death Eaters did not anticipate that either Miss Granger or Miss Tonks would be present."

Upon learning that Hermione was safe, Harry slumped forward in his chair. He buried his hands in his face, softly repeating, "Thank you, thank you, thank you...."

The burst of magic at Kew Gardens had taken more out of him than Harry had appreciated, and a freight train of exhaustion was roaring over him. He could feel aches and pains all over his body now that the adrenaline was running out. It also dawned on him that he was filthy. He had Scourgified Eliza, but not himself. Haphazardly, Harry started cleaning himself wandlessly, as he asked weakly, "What else?"

"Attacks all over England, I am afraid," Dumbledore replied weakly. "The first occurred in Surrey, not far from where you were. You must have grown closer to your relatives this summer. The attack was directed against your cousin's gymnasium...."

"SHIT!!!" Harry cried out. All around, people stopped briefly and looked, but then hurried on with their business. He put his head back in his hands. "Damn!" Harry muttered more quietly to himself. "He's dead then - do my relatives...?"

"Actually, no, Mister Potter," Dumbledore answered with just the glimmer of a smile. "Your cousin Dudley escaped with merely a broken left wrist and a few burns, I am told. Even though the surprise was complete, there were only a couple of fatalities - among the Muggles...."

"Oh, Merlin, no!" Harry cut Dumbledore off. "Lao Kung is dead!" Harry was on the verge of tears.

"Once again, no," Dumbledore hastened to add. "At least not yet, although his condition is extremely grave. Kung Meng-tse was a hero tonight. He single-handedly fought off at least ten Death Eaters whilst ensuring that almost all of the Muggles in the gymnasium were able to escape. He not only alerted us to the attacks, but also conveyed important intelligence - which I believe to be correct - that most of the attackers were trained in Chinese magic. Unfortunately, he was overcome less than a minute before relief arrived, and was buried in flaming rubble. He was retrieved alive, but unconscious."

"Is he in St. Mungo's then?" Harry asked. "Can I go see him?"

"Sadly no, on both counts," Dumbledore sighed. "He is en route to the Chinese facility he specified should treat him in the event that such a thing occurred, and St. Mungo's was another target of an attack - a large attack involving Dementors. The Ministry is in charge of that scene, so I am of course unable to tell you what happened, except that there were a number of fatalities and other victims who were kissed."

Harry's head sank further into his hands. "Go on," he mumbled.

Dumbledore did. "The Burrow was attacked...."

Harry's entire body stiffened and his head shot up. "Did anyone ... die?" Harry asked hesitantly, not really wanting to know the answer.

"No," replied Dumbledore quickly. "We believe that attack was merely a diversion. The Weasley homestead is heavily guarded, as the Death Eaters must know. The attackers left after a brief siege - nothing more."

"The Quidditch camp!" Harry exclaimed. "Both Ron and Ginny...."

"Locked down tight," Dumbledore reassured. "Nobody enters or leaves there tonight. I have been in contact with the Danes, and there has been no observable Death Eater activity. That is understandable. It has never been Voldemort's modus operandi to conduct attacks beyond the British Isles."

"What else?" Harry asked.

"Percy Weasley was attacked, but survived, at his flat near Diagon Alley," Dumbledore replied. "He is also in transit to Hogwarts."

So there had been two attacks on the Weasleys. To Harry, that added up in a macabre sort of way, since two of the Weasley children had accompanied him to the Ministry. "Anything else?" Harry asked.

"The Dark Mark has been reported in the sky over both Liverpool and Somerset, but the nature of those attacks is unknown. Some Muggles reported unauthorised use of fireworks. There was a more serious attack in Exeter, however. It involves the Lovegoods." Dumbledore's face turned extremely grave.

Harry said nothing, waiting for the Headmaster to continue.

"As you know, Xenophilius Lovegood has been a frequent and rather harsh critic of the Ministry. His relationship with the authorities was rather strained as a result. For that reason, Mister Lovegood was suspicious of the offer that was made to place his family under constant guard. He refused that offer, and I'm afraid that his refusal probably cost him his life tonight...."

"Oh no," Harry gasped, "That means Luna is an orphan."

"If she survives ... Harry," Dumbledore said, using the boy's given name - which he almost never did with students. "Unfortunately that is by no means certain." He stood and placed a hand on the boy's sleeve. "The Lovegoods were ambushed in the Exeter print shop where they publish the Quibbler. Mister Lovegood died to save his daughter's life. Nevertheless, Miss Lovegood is very gravely injured, and Madam Pomfrey is tending to her as we speak."

Harry started to stand, but Dumbledore tightened his grip. "I know that you wish to see her, but she is in no condition to be seen at this moment. I shall notify you when...."

Two things happened at once. Another of Dumbledore's communication devices flashed, and he made to answer it. A split second later Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice announced, "The Grangers are here."

Dumbledore released Harry's sleeve just as the boy decided to pull away. Harry jerked backwards, banging his knee violently on the bottom of Dumbledore's desktop. The desktop rose just enough for all of Dumbledore's communications equipment (except the mirror he was holding) to slide onto the floor. Harry was spun around by the impact. Too exhausted for his reflexes to recover, he landed face first on the floor. Several nearby witches and wizards let out shouts and made to help him up.

Thus Harry's face was burning with embarrassment as he first laid eyes upon Hermione from his kneeling position. Her long brown hair was as wild as he had ever seen it. She had a badly plastered gash on her right cheek and her left eyebrow was practically singed away. She was wearing Muggle clothing - a white T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan "what part of [some impenetrable mathematical equation Harry could not begin to comprehend] don't you understand?" and nondescript blue jeans. The right knee of her jeans was torn away and the rest of her lower pants leg hung in tatters. Her exposed shin was covered in scrapes, bruises, and numerous small cuts.

Hermione was urgently scanning the crowd when she saw Harry rise to his feet. He hobbled towards her as fast as he could, bumping people out of his way with perfunctory "sorries" and "excuse mes." As he reached her, Harry saw Hermione readying to launch herself at him. He choked out, "Oh Hermione, what on Earth happened?"

"Oh, Harry, it was horrib.... Urp...."

He glanced up to see Hermione suspended in midair from her father's muscular right arm, which had roughly caught her around the waist and drawn her up short. Edwin Granger's face was covered with soot and sweat, and his eyes burnt malevolently.

"YOU'RE WHAT BLOODY HAPPENED, THAT'S WHAT!" Dr. Granger bellowed. "NOT ONLY ISN'T MY DAUGHTER SAFE IN THIS CRAZY PLACE, BUT NOW NONE OF US ARE!!!"

Dr. Granger hefted Hermione out of the way and wildly took a swing at Harry with his left fist. He missed Harry, but connected with the side of Kingsley Shacklebolt's face instead.

Hermione screamed.

"What the...?" Shak shouted as he dropped to his knees.

"GODDAMN YOU!!!" Dr. Granger ranted as he lunged again towards Harry. The room was rapidly devolving into an uproar.

The female Dr. Granger screamed.

"Stupefy." Mad-Eye Moody's voice rang out and Dr. Granger fell in his tracks, unceremoniously dropping Hermione.

A brilliant flash of light left everyone blinking. "ENOUGH!" boomed out Albus Dumbledore's magically amplified voice. Everyone stood stock-still. "Quietus." Everyone (except Dr. Granger who lay there unconscious) turned to the Headmaster for instructions.

"It has been a very long evening for all of us, and I fear it may be longer still," Dumbledore began. "Mundungus, please take Mister Potter to an anteroom and see that he becomes presentable. Tonks, if you would be so good as to do the same with Miss Granger. I believe that I need to speak to the elder Grangers myself."

Tonks started to lead Hermione away. Harry started after her, only to feel Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder. "Not now," he said, giving him what looked like a wink. "I fear that there is a bit of...."

"Harry! Are you all right?" It was Eliza. She had heard the commotion, and even Professor McGonagall had not been able to persuade her to stay in her room.

"I'm fine," Harry replied. "Just a minor spot of bother, but it's over now."

"Harry, is that...? Is that her?" Hermione asked. She had stopped short, and her eyes were boring into his.

Harry, uncomfortable with Hermione's mother so close, said nothing aloud, but Legilimenced, 'Yes.'

Hermione squared her shoulders and stepped smartly over to her blonde-haired rival. Belatedly, Harry scuttled after her. Draco Malfoy had learnt the hard way that the headstrong witch was no pacifist in her personal behaviour, and Harry meant to ensure that there would be no more Granger-initiated fisticuffs this evening. He need not have bothered.

Hermione strode up to Eliza, extended her hand, and addressed her. "Eliza Marie Brookings, I presume?"

Eliza's jaw dropped. So did Harry's as he stopped dead in his tracks. Tonks, who had also been chasing Hermione, ran headlong into him, and for the second time in what had become a very long fifteen minutes, Harry found himself planted head down on the old, nondescript carpet.

Eliza brought one hand to her mouth in surprise. "How...? How do you know me?"

Hermione smiled knowingly, and almost but not quite maliciously, as she pondered her answer to this question. She withdrew her hand, which Eliza, in her shock, had failed to grasp.

"Oh, it wasn't that difficult, really. You introduced yourself to me when we went over my transcript on the day of my Umbridge testimony. I assume you did the same with Harry, since he also testified. Then, only a couple of days later, Harry asked me to keep his confidences whilst he met with some mystery person about information concerning the Black inheritance that was being withheld from him."

Hermione shot a withering look at Dumbledore, and continued. "Harry returned with all this information about the Black Estate, and asked me to help him investigate. Miss Bookworm Granger naturally agreed. The first place I checked, of course, was the records of the Black Estate litigation. That was rubbish because everything is under seal - except that the transcript cover pages bore the name of the transcriptionist - and lo and behold the court reporter was the same Eliza Marie Brookings who had filled in at the Umbridge hearing."

"I later confirmed with Harry that the mystery person he went to meet was female and lives in Muggle London. I rang up information and learnt that there is an unlisted Muggle telephone number for 'Eliza Marie Brookings' in London. Between appointments with professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, I've been at Hogwarts fairly often this summer. I dropped in a bit early one afternoon and spent an hour or so at the library looking through old - but not too old - Hogwarts annuals. I found your picture. Eight ball in the side pocket, so to speak."

Hermione seized Tonks by the arm and marched off. Harry mouthed "I'm sorry," to a stunned Eliza. The blonde woman was almost in tears as she fled back to the room where Professor McGonagall had initially been trying to calm her down. The professor scowled at Hermione's backside and rushed after Eliza.

Harry started to follow his girlfriend, but Professor McGonagall sternly waved him away with a few rapid flips of her hand. He turned after Hermione, but Tonks likewise put up a furious stop sign. Reluctantly, he stood down. Dismayed, defeated, and exhausted, he slumped into a nearby vacant chair, where Mundungus soon caught up to him. Dung escorted Harry to his own temporary quarters.

Dumbledore was standing at the door, waiting for them. He motioned to Mundungus to enter the room, but pulled Harry aside. Dumbledore radiated a feeling of profound melancholy as he told Harry:

"I was about to tell you before the latest interruption.... I now have confirmation from the Aurors at St. Mungo's. It is as I had feared. The Death Eater attacks all seem directed at you or your friends. Among the casualties at St. Mungo's are both of Mister Longbottom's parents. I knew them, and it had always been my hope that research into the Cruciatus Curse would one day bring about a cure. They are now dead. It was no accident. All of the other casualties of the hospital attack were kissed instead."

"So you think this is all about me?" Harry hissed angrily and kicked at the wall. "I'm not only death to my friends; I'm death to my friends' families now?"

"Harry, the Death Eaters are making it obvious that this is about you. The Longbottoms' corpses were ... mutilated.... Marks in the shapes of ... lightn... your scar ... had been carved or burnt into their foreheads.

Dumbledore put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "There can be no doubt that Voldemort is trying to destroy you mentally ... emotionally. He has taken this tack only because he is afraid he cannot destroy you physically - you must remember that."

Harry took a step backwards, and his own hand went to his forehead. His breaths were coming fast and shallow. He felt like an unseen force was choking him. "THEN WHY DON'T YOU BLOODY WELL TAKE ME TO HIM RIGHT NOW?!" he demanded in a voice midway between a howl and a scream. "Right now ... before I get anybody else killed."

"You are not strong enough. You need more training," Dumbledore replied curtly but quietly. "Whilst we are progressing with you as fast as is wizardly possible, I do not think I can work you any harder without risking your mental state."

"And what do you think my bloody mental state is right now?" Harry groaned. "Is Eliza next? She's not exactly a secret anymore - if she ever was. Have I sentenced her to death too by deciding to date her ... by merely being seen with her?" Harry slumped down against the wall, and once again buried his face in his hands.

"I rather think not," Dumbledore explained as he bent over the distraught young man. "Whilst Miss Granger could have exercised a bit more discretion, unless there is a traitor in our midst at this moment, I believe Miss Brookings remains safe. She lives in the Muggle community, and Death Eaters are too contemptuous of Muggles to bother with Muggle means of identification. As long as nobody who frequents her flat" - Dumbledore looked sternly at Harry - "uses unusual magic, I think that she remains safe from Death Eaters."

Dumbledore continued, "There has never been the slightest hint of Death Eater interest in Miss Brookings. Upon reflection, I believe that the attack upon the Grangers had its origins in my rather shortsighted agreement to install wards at their home and offices. With the benefit of hindsight, it is probable that the magical signature of the wards themselves was what led the Death Eaters to the Granger surgery."

"All right," Harry sighed. "I don't know what more I can do - now. I reckon that even breaking up with her at this point wouldn't help."

"Your understanding of Death Eaters is improving," Dumbledore replied. "Unfortunately you are right. Do you think that the young lady would accept our protection? I do not want you pushing away anyone else who cares about you."

Harry cringed. "Not on your life. She would leave me first. And if your theory about what happened to Hermione is true, then the presence of such a guard would only attract unwanted attention."

Dumbledore stared at the ceiling. "True enough, Harry. True enough. You may go. You look as poorly as you undoubtedly feel." The old man started to turn away.

"Oh, Headmaster?" Harry called out.

Dumbledore turned. Harry's lower jaw was quivering.

"You.... You said this was all about ... about me. What do Somerset and Liverpool have to do with me?"

"Harry, there is no need for you to know everything. Knowledge does not always help...." Dumbledore said in a pleading voice.

Harry said nothing. He just looked at the Headmaster resolutely, his eyes momentarily blazing with a current of new anger. There was the hint of a glow around the boy.

Dumbledore's shoulders drooped. "Oh very well, Harry. Yes, they do. I have received confirmation. Are you sure that you want to know?"

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Do you remember Jennifer Fontaine and Jonathan Swanage?"

Harry shook his head negatively.

Dumbledore continued, "They are ... were small children. They posted letters to you; you replied; and the letters were later featured in a wizard parenting magazine.... The same marks were...." The Headmaster stopped, unwilling or unable to go on.

Harry's face went pale and soon changed from beige to greenish grey. "I think I'm going to be sick...." He staggered through the door and promptly threw up all over Mundungus Fletcher's shoes.

"I'm ruddy pleased t' see ya too." Mundungus remarked.

"'Lo Dung," Harry choked out, still retching. "Sorry 'bout that."

"No problem. Just ya remember tha' somebody mi' return th' favor someday," Mundungus said in a friendly fashion.

Harry stood up. "Damn, I need to wash," he remarked. He eyed Mundungus, whose presence (and Harry's modesty) was the only thing standing between Harry and a nice elemental magic shower.

Dung gave new meaning to the term "disheveled." His ginger hair was even more of a mess than Harry's - particularly since at Kew Gardens he had been near the impact points of some of Harry's Reductor Curses. Dung smelled of stale tobacco. At least he did not seem to have been drinking.

Dung contemplated Harry for a second. "Albus says I should keep ya comp'ny. Seems 'e wants us both out 'o th' way 'n not underfoot." Then Harry found Dung giving him a leer and a wink, "...Been watchin' ya. She sure looks like a damn fine Hippogriff on the flat. Have ya tried 'er on th' jumps yet?"

Harry was a bit slow on the uptake and at first failed to grasp that Dung was talking about Eliza. "NO!" he shouted indignantly when he figured out what Dung had just asked. "It's none of your bloody business who I'm with or why."

"Ya're wrong 'bout tha', ya know," said Dung, fumbling in the pockets of his torn and dirty robes. "Yar business is th' Order's business... Ya've got tha' unicorn in th' 'eadlights routine down, m' boy. Every bird ya could want is flockin'.... Been pullin' security details f' ya all summer, 'cludin' 'afnia. Seen ya get sugar from three dif'rent birds, an' that's just on me own watch."

"Dammit, Dung, this is hardly the time...," snorted Harry. "I bloody well know I'm being watched constantly, but do you have to keep a bleeding tally."

Dung shrugged. "Mostly borin' work. Gots nuffink else t' do." He pulled out a pipe and made to light it.

Harry winced and wrinkled his nose. "Do you mind? That's a rather nasty and common habit."

"Don' knock common, 'arry," replied Dung, putting away the pipe. "Most of me better moments 'ave come bein' common."

"I don't know about that," said Harry. "I've had my share of detentions with Filch at Hogwarts. My friend Ron's not the only one who's cleaned every trophy in the Trophy Room Muggle style. I know you haven't always been common. You were Head Boy in 1941. What happened?"

"Don' wanna talk 'bout tha' - I was dux in a dif'rent lifetime," muttered Dung. But the older man did not stop talking. "Tha' was wartime... Worse'n now 'cause th' Muggles were warring too. For tha' reason, th' Seventh Years... me year... we were allowed t' commute t' school... 'Spose t' keep th' 'family safe,'" Dung spat out the last two words as if they were epithets. Harry said nothing. After an awkward pause, Dung continued.

"Th' ides o' N'vember... Left me family - Mum, Dad, 'n two little sisters - 'ad ta work late as 'ead Boy checking th' wards, what with Grindelwald on th' loose an' all. I jus' ga' back when it all started.... Nuffink I could bloody do.... Foun' 'em dead ... wha' was leff.... Th' 'ole lot of 'em. Blown an' burnt ta' bits...." Dung broke down and began sobbing.

After almost a minute, Dung seemed to be pulling himself back together. Harry said as gently as he could, "So you're like me then? You lost your whole family to Grindelwald...."

Dung cut Harry off fiercely, "Screw Grindelwald! Twas th' bloody 'uns!! An' was' worse, th' bloody squib let 'em get away wi' it! Foun' tha' out aft'wards.... They knew! ...An' still let it 'appen. Goddamn Muggles an' squibs! Never said why - only tha' twas an 'nigma."

"Anyway, I couldn' 'andle nuffink after tha'. Dropped out o' school. Couldn' abide either wizards or Muggles. Learnt t' support m'self by thiev'ry. Would 'o been dead or in Azkaban by now, if Dumbledore 'adn't come 'n got me.... Been workin' for th' Order since Voldy started risin' th' firs' time. So's I turnt out common.... Big deal. Common, but dead useful too, iff'n I don' say so m'self. Great man, Dumbledore...."

Once again Harry found himself both embarrassed and confused. "Er ... Dung, I really need to take that shower."

"Wha'ever ya want then, lad," Dung blubbered. "Ya 'member where ya is, don'cha."

"Er.... Right!" Harry turned around and spotted a nice walk-in shower. "Dung, if you don't mind, could I have some privacy?"

"Oh, right." Dung shuffled for the door. "I'll be jus' outside."

Harry showered himself clean and set to work fully Scourgifying his clothes. He had his pants back on and his wand trained on his shirt when a door that Harry was sure had not been there a few minutes ago creaked open.

"Well, hellooooo there," a voice called out silkily. A gorgeous blonde - a dead ringer for the young bride in Les Liaisons Dangereuses - entered Harry's room.

"Well ... er ... Hi. Who are you, and why are you here?" Harry struggled to form coherent words as he tried to flick out his wand inconspicuously whilst also fumbling with his shirt. This day had been too weird already for him to take anything at face value.

Harry was right to be suspicious. "Look whose been working out...." the beautiful woman said. "Oh no, Harry's no little boy anymore ... young, but not a child...." Harry stared at her, not quite sure what to do. She had wonderful eyes..., full pouty lips..., and a nose like a ... pig snout!

"Tonks, cut it out!" Harry protested. "This is no time to try being funny! People are dying out there.... Because of me."

In short order Tonks was her usual punked out self. "Wotcher, Harry," she chirped. Then she frowned. "Nobody's dying because of you, Harry. It's all because of Voldemort - because Voldemort's afraid that he won't be able to beat you even up."

She continued. "Anyway, put on your shirt - or leave it off for all I care. I've got someone who badly needs to talk to you."

Harry yanked his shirt on over his head with a start. "What?" he said. "You mean ... Hermione?"

"Yes, Hermione." Tonks said seriously. "Didn't Dumbledore remind you this is the Room of Requirement? Oh ... and really nice look, Harry."

Harry glanced down and saw that he'd put his shirt on backwards - which was certainly an accomplishment, since the shirt had a collar.

Harry had just gotten himself straightened out when Hermione tentatively stuck her head through the doorway.

"Harry? Can I come in?" she said in a rather high pitched squeak.

"Of course, Hermione," Harry replied. "Why do you even ask that question when there are so many more important ones?"

"Well, when you consider that my father tried to assault you in public not very long ago, I thought it was at least courteous to ask," she sniffed. She took three steps across the room, and practically collapsed into Harry's arms. "It was horrible.... For a moment I was afraid I was going to die.... Then we drove them off. They really weren't very good - magically that is.... Daddy shot two of them. Killed one outright, and injured the other."

"I think they were really surprised at running into me. I put some of our training to good use.... Then ... just as help was arriving.... I had forced them into the hallway.... I hit one of the remaining Death Eaters with Expelliarmus, but just as I did ... a lift door opened, and the Death Eater sort of stumbled backwards into it. He - I think it was a he, anyway - must have thought he was being captured, because he blew himself up...."

"Oh, Merlin it was awful...." Hermione was crying now. "The Death Eater immolated himself somehow.... And six innocent people burnt to death in that lift. I ... I ... can still smell the charred flesh.... Oh blast, I think I'm going to be sick again...."

"GLUURH...."

Hermione threw up on Harry's shoes - or at least she would have if she had anything left to regurgitate.

"They're carving lightning bolts in the foreheads of their victims, tonight," Harry said flatly.

"How could even Death Eaters be so cru...? UUURRRP." Hermione dry heaved again.

Harry looked frantically around. In a corner was a small table with a pitcher of ice water, several glasses and fine linen napkins. Harry thought it passing strange, as that was where the shower had been not long ago. He laid Hermione on the sofa - there had been nothing but chairs previously - and sopped her forehead with a napkin containing ice water. When Hermione felt well enough, he sat her up and gave her some water to drink.

"You know the Death Eaters are trying to break your spirit, Harry," Hermione declared.

"To hell with my spirit," Harry growled. "I was a bloody failure tonight.... Not being able to respond to your distress call."

"If I've said it once, I've told you a million times not to feel guilty," Hermione responded. "I'm not at all upset about that. Bringing you here straightaway was the right thing to do, just like it was for me - if my father hadn't gone crazy, that is...."

"I went spare when I saw it," Harry continued. "Couldn't think straight.... Some fine trainee I am...."

"You were no more frantic than I was when I saw your distress call," Hermione replied. "How did you escape?"

"Didn't have to.... Not immediately, anyway," Harry answered. "False alarm. I was a bloody prat. I thought Moody and the rest were Death Eaters...."

"Don't kick yourself, Harry," Hermione offered. "Moody's obviously just fine. When I was rescued, I was ready to make Shak take me to you. When he told me that Moody had charge of a crew sent to rescue you, I had accepted there was nothing constructive I could offer. I'd just get in the way."

"You're probably right," Harry conceded. "I just bollixed things worse by thinking I could save you, and then going off half cocked."

"Well, I wasn't exactly punctual myself," Hermione admitted. "I went spare even worse after help arrived. I thought ... everything was over, but then I couldn't find Daddy. It was terrible.... I thought some hidden Death Eater had ambushed him. The lifts were out, so I ran back up six flights of stairs screaming for him all the while."

"Obviously, he turned out all right, sort of," Harry commented. At this moment he was not exactly the world's biggest fan of Hermione's father.

"Obviously," Hermione repeated, catching Harry's drift. "I found him back in his office wielding a fire extinguisher and single-handedly battling a fire that was consuming the records room. A Death Eater spell must have started it, but it smouldered for quite some time before becoming a conflagration. Organising those dental records was what I'd been doing the entire summer. They're all gone now ... burnt to ashes."

Harry was aghast, but even that shocker paled in comparison to what Hermione had to say next.

"They're leaving, Harry," she shrieked. "My parents have decided to emigrate to Australia - immediately - at least, as soon as they can sell the house."

Harry was almost ready to burst through the front door and hunt down Dumbledore when Hermione assured him, "Oh, no it's not like that ... not like that at all. I said they were moving to the Land of Oz - not me. They're ... they're not taking me with them...."

Harry had trouble comprehending that. "You mean ... they're going to leave you here ... by yourself? During this war?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean, Harry," she confirmed. "They asked, but I refused to go with them.... Then they gave up. They know there's nothing they can do to stop me from being a witch.... That's what I am. I'm staying at Hogwarts."

"That's a relief," Harry commented. "But who will look after you?"

"They're assuming you will," Hermione replied acidly. "No doubt you can tell.... They blame you for all of this. They wish I'd never met you. Because of you, they don't feel safe anywhere in England anymore."

"Oh." There was very little Harry could say in response to that.

Only after Hermione had conveyed all of her news did Harry think for a moment and ask her the most pressing question of his own. "Hermione, why did you do that to ... to Eliza?"

"Do what?" she responded coyly.

"You know what...?" Harry started; then he caught onto what she was doing. "Hermione! Don't play games with me! You know bloody well what you did, exposing her in public like that! That was mean and uncalled for."

Hermione shrunk back a bit. So did Harry - but not very much. It had been quite some time since he had raised his voice in anger towards her. After biting her lip for several seconds Hermione broke the awkward silence.

"All right Harry," she said defiantly, "let me try to put you in this picture. First, she asked me. In case you haven't noticed, I've been under a bit of strain tonight, so I was probably rather brusque, but basically I answered her question."

"Second, the both of you need to stop living in your fantasy world. You may want to think that nobody knew about your secretive relationship. You're deluding yourselves! If I could figure this out, don't you think that Dumbledore - and others in the Order - know everything I do, and more?"

"Third, she needed to be brought up short. She has a choice to make. Either she accepts you and everything about you, or she needs to give you up. It's degrading to you both for her to be your back street girl like this! And for you to be her back door man! If she can't be with you openly, she's going to break your heart, and I'm afraid that's going to be sooner rather than later. I don't want to see you hurt Harry...."

Harry thought about all of this. He thought about Dung's tally. In every instance Hermione might be right on an intellectual level. But on a personal level she was wrong - what was worse, she was loud wrong....

Harry started to seethe. After all, only recently Hermione had yet again turned him aside romantically. After toying with his heart, it was none of her bloody business how he conducted his relationship with Eliza, even if she did not think much of it as a friend. Harry bluntly told Hermione to please keep her thoughts on this subject to herself:

"You might be right, but that's not the point, Hermione," Harry told her. "It's like with you and Viktor. Neither Ron nor I thought much of that, but at least I respected your decision. I need to be able to make my own choices, and if necessary make my own mistakes - so SOD OFF!"

Hermione looked for a moment like she was going to burst into tears again, but she stopped herself. She bit her lip so hard that Harry was surprised it was not bloodied. Then she nodded a silent assent to Harry's demand, got up and left without another word.

Harry slumped on the sofa, head back in his hands, and pulled at his own hair. The pain helped reassure him that at least he had not died and gone to Hell. His life was a wreck. People all over England were dying simply because they knew him, or because their children knew him.

He felt helpless and worthless.

He regretted yelling at Hermione like that.... But maybe it would be best if he could drive her away somehow.... Maybe she should go to Australia.... At least there she would be safe....

No she would not be safe.... She would never be safe.... Not now. Nor did he really think he could drive her away.... He had been down that road before, and it was a dead end. That die had been cast long ago. Hermione's parents were right about one thing. He would look after her. He had to. For all intents and purposes, she was being orphaned too ... because of him.

Things had calmed down considerably when Harry reentered the main room. There had been no new incidents, and as more information became available, it was evident to both the Order and the Auror Corps that the Death Eaters had suffered tremendous losses in the attacks. Five had been killed at Kew Gardens; three at the Granger dental surgery; seven more at St. Mungo's - as well as eleven Dementors being dispatched by powerful Patronuses. And so it went.

Dumbledore thought it was safe for Eliza to return home, and remain under discreet guard until she arrived at work the next morning. She took Harry to the room she had been using, and kissed him passionately before she departed. He promised to come see her when he could, but he did not know when that would be, given all that had happened. As Harry reemerged feeling somewhat less depressed, he ran into Fred, George - and Percy - Weasley

Percy hung back, but to his everlasting chagrin, the Twins gleefully recounted the story of their brother's narrow escape from death at the hands of four Death Eaters.

"The perfect prefect here never told us that he has this little love nest over the Magical Menagerie...," Fred began.

"He should be in the Menagerie," George added. "Fortunately little Penelope was working late when the Deaters paid a visit."

"No protective wards," Fred commented. "Tut, tut, tut.... Thought a Head Boy would know better."

"He's always been the Pin-Head Boy," George confirmed.

Percy looked like he was about to explode. "If you two weren't my brothers and hadn't rescued me tonight...," he threatened.

"We hardly rescued you," Fred corrected.

"Pulled you out of deep shit, true," George cut in, "but no rescue, really."

Fred turned from Percy back to Harry, "You see, our prat of a brother here was taken by surprise, and hit with a Disarming Spell...."

"But the lovebirds have this lovely third-storey picture window in the back of their flat," George added. "Right next to their king-sized bed...."

"With satin sheets," Fred pointed out. "Don't you forget the satin sheets...."

"Too much information," Harry protested.

"...I never would have survived without those sheets," Percy likewise objected.

"That's only because you were caught in your skivvies and tried to cover up," George replied.

"According to eyewitness accounts," Fred smiled maliciously, "Percy here was blasted through the window clad only in his boxers and clutching a pink satin sheet. From the third storey rear he fell through three window awnings on the way down until the sheet fouled in the last one."

"It ripped clean in half," George confirmed. "Percy's pink flag was still waving in the breeze when we arrived on O-Fish Alley."

"So you were Percy's official rescuers?" Harry asked. He was becoming amused in spite of himself.

"No, no, no," Fred corrected, "that's the name of the wee street behind the Magical Menagerie - O-Fish Alley."

"Go ahead, get on with it.... Tell him the best part," George prodded

"Can't you let it go, for once?" Percy snapped.

"After how you treated Mum and Dad, I rather think not," Fred snapped back. "You're lucky we rescued you at all."

"Well, what happened?" Harry asked. This was going to be rich - he could tell.

"Anyway, Percy landed in a cartload of fresh dragon dung that had been parked, awaiting unloading, at the Menagerie." George revealed.

With that, Fred tapped his mutinous older brother on both shoulders with his wand as George intoned, "By the power we vest in ourselves, our dear brother is hereby dubbed, and shall henceforth be known by the title, of the 'Great Dragon Dung Diver.'"

Whilst George was rendering his proclamation, Fred informed Harry, "Smells bloody awful, dragon dung does. But as Percy's a right accomplished brown-noser; I doubt he even noticed. Seriously, though, fresh dragon dung is powerfully magical - not to mention being a relatively soft landing. It was just about the best thing that the Great Diver here could have landed in. It protected him from what must have been torrent of spells from the Deaters...."

"We arrived whilst that was happening," Fred added. "Got two of them. Our first kills as members of the Order."

Moody and Dung were making arrangements for two squads of Aurors to escort Harry home. Two Obliviators instructed Harry on the cover stories that he needed to know for both Gator's gym (a gas explosion) and Kew Gardens (a backhoe had detonated a long-forgotten ammunition dump from the Second World War). Harry did a doubletake when he saw Neville Longbottom's grandmother, who was wearing summer-weight green robes and carrying her usual red handbag. Harry moved around for a better look and soon saw Neville as well.

Either Neville said something, or his expression gave him away, because the elderly witch immediately turned and gave Harry a meaningful looking over. She prodded Neville, and said a few words to him that Harry could not catch. Neville strode over to Harry as fast as he could comfortably go.

Neville spoke first. "Harry ... I guess you know...."

"I know," Harry affirmed, "I am so sorry. I'll apologise to your Gran if you want, since this is mostly my fault.... Getting you involved in the Department of Mysteries business and all that...."

"No, Harry," Neville said firmly. "That's not what I - or my Gran - want at all. The time for apologies is over."

Harry started to say something, but he thought better of it, seeing the look in Neville's eye.

Neville declared, "Harry, I loved my parents - more than anything - even though I can't remember them ever saying a coherent word to me. V-V-V-Voldemort's forces took their minds away from me when I was a baby, and now that I've become a ... a man, they've killed them. I know what you've got to do, Harry. I'm not stupid. When it's time for you to go, I want to go with you. It should be my job as well.... I'd do it regardless, but Gran approves."

Harry looked at the matriarch of Neville's old Lancastrian wizard family. She had a face that left no doubt that there was little she had yet to encounter in her long life. Beyond that, she still appeared more than ready for anything life had left to throw at her. She looked Harry straight back in the eye - and nodded.

Harry clapped Neville on the back. "You're in," Harry said grimly. "I hope you understand what you're up against."

"After tonight, I do," Neville replied.

"Here's something you probably do want to know," Harry told Neville. "Ron and Ginny are safe - Dumbledore told me."

"Thank you, Harry," Neville replied with his first smile of what had been a long, horrible evening for him as well. "You have no idea how relieved I am to know that."

"I think I do," Harry answered.

It was finally time for Harry to go home. A dozen Aurors and members of the Order escorted him back to Privet Drive, and then settled in to provide an extra guard for the night.

He was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. He had been attacked. Other people were dead - with lightning bolts mockingly carved in their foreheads. Eliza had been outed, by his best friend. He had screamed at that friend, after her own father had almost been killed because of him ... and after she had told him that, for all intents and purposes, her refusal of her father's final demand to leave him had left her essentially without parents herself.

Harry frankly did not know what else could possibly go wrong.

He performed Occlumency - it was difficult, since that reminded him of Lao Kung. Harry realised that he did not even know if his Sefu were dead or alive. Dedicating his efforts to the Chinese sorcerer's memory, Harry was finally able to clear his mind enough to risk sleeping. Setting his Aural Pensieve for his next lesson, Harry soon fell into slumber, exhaustion winning out over misery.

"Mister Potter.... Harry! Wake up...." Somebody was shaking him, too.

Harry mumbled, "Oh go away Dudders. It can't be time to get up yet. It's not even light...."

"Harry, it is Albus, and we have some news for you. I am afraid it is not good...."

Harry's eyes snapped wide-awake. Before him, he saw not only the white maned visage of the Headmaster, but also the sad golden-yellowish eyes of Remus Lupin, and the identical - and identically blotchy - faces of Fred and George Weasley. Harry sat bolt upright. "What's going on now?" he asked urgently.

Lupin put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and told him to lie back down.

"It concerns your guardian, Bill Weasley," Dumbledore said gravely. "He is dead."

69

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch23 darkness descends.doc 07/11/04