Harry Potter and the Old Believers

Chapter 07

Friday, July 14

Harry Potter was just finishing painting the window trim on the back of #6 Privet Drive. He was finished at last. All together, he thought he'd done a decent job of it, and in less time than he thought it would take, considering all the rain they'd had. The Fisks and Uncle Vernon were still at work, Dudley was out wasting money or worse, and Aunt Petunia was watching television. Despite the work, Harry felt free.

Just as Harry put the paint brush down for the last time, a deep voice called, "All finished, Mister Potter?"

Harry nearly fell from the ladder. When he managed to look around, he saw it was the man from the photographs Snape had shown Voldemort -- Dr. Pwy. He was larger than Harry had thought. In fact, he was larger than anyone Harry had ever seen, except Hagrid and Madam Maxine. He was also dressed like a Muggle, if all in denim and a dai cap. He looked rather like a Muggle American or maybe some eccentric Oxbridge college professor -- few people wore that much denim in the UK.

"If you are totally finished, Mister Potter, come on down. I need to talk with you. I am Doctor Titus Pwy -- Albus Dumbledore informed me that you would know who I am."

Harry came down the ladder, bringing his supplies with him. To his embarrassed surprise, Pwy shook his hand and then put the ladder away while Harry took care of the paint can and brush.

"From what Albus has told me, your guardians won't be thrilled to meet me."

'Meet them?' Harry thought as he cleaned the brush. "Err, no, I, I doubt it."

"When will your uncle be home?"

"About six."

"So, we have just over an hour." Pwy sat on the grass and leaned against the garden wall. Harry sat on the grass near him. "Mister Potter, you know most of the implications of what happened three weeks ago at the Riddle grave. Albus had hoped this moment wouldn't come for at least three more years, if ever, but it has. You need some fast, extensive training. I'm going to give it to you, unless you want to try and walk away. Do you?"

Harry looked up at the man, feeling very small and weak in comparison, even if they were both sitting. "To tell the truth, I'd like to walk away, but I can't. I won't."

"I understand, Mister Potter."

"You can call me Harry."

"Thank you, Harry. The next question is where that training will take place. May I assume you wouldn't mind going to the Weasleys' or to Lupin's for a few days, while I get things organized?"

"I'd like either." 'Any place is better than here,' he thought. 'Of course the Weasleys would mean Ginny and Ron.'

"Well, I can't promise either, but we'll try. The other question I have is, would you want Ron Weasley, Virginia Weasley, or Hermione Granger to train with you?"

"Just one?"

Titus gave a slight laugh. "No, any or all of them."

"All, if they want to come," Harry answered eagerly.

"Now, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said flatly.

"Sleeping well? No bad dreams?"

Harry sighed. "Some."

"The obvious ones, I take it?"

Harry's intense green eyes searched Titus' deep blue ones. "Do you know everything that happened at the Third Task?" he finally asked.

"I know what you told Albus."

Harry felt compelled to speak. "Then you know why I feel. . .like I should have just taken the damn Cup!"

"Because once you both landed, Cedric's life was of no value to Voldemort, and there was nothing you could have done to save him, and nothing he could have done to save himself, at that point. Correct?"

"Yes." Harry almost snapped the word.

"Was there any way you could have persuaded Cedric to take the Cup without a tie?"

That puzzled Harry. "Why would I want that?"

The big man shrugged. "Without you, Voldemort may have used Cedric's blood. He wouldn't be as strong; you would have had greater protection and he might have placed Cedric under the Imperius curse. Could you have persuaded him to have taken it?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Had you known the Cup was a port-key, had you even suspected that it was a trap of any sort, would you have taken the Cup by yourself?"

"If it was a choice between me and anybody, yes. Otherwise, no."

"Did you deserve to win the Cup?"

Harry was shocked. "No! Cedric deserved it; maybe Krum would have won it if Crouch hadn't hexed him. Maybe even Fleur deserved it more than me. No, I didn't deserve to win."

"Then I know you are guiltless, Harry Potter. Feel as angry or as sad as you wish, but do not feel guilty." He smiled. "I bet you even gave the winnings to a worthy cause, or at least thought about it."

"Well. . .they were worthy, I don't know about their cause."

Pwy heard, for the first time, a hint of amusement in the boy's voice. He was starting to sound natural. "Really? May I know what it is? I swear, I'll keep it a secret."

Harry usually had a good feel for who could be trusted. Only the fake 'Mad-Eye Moody' had ever really fooled him. Harry decided Pwy could probably be trusted. "I gave it to Fred and George Weasley. They're twins, two years older than Ron and me."

He looked at Harry. "They already have a cause?"

"They want to open a joke shop. I thought. . .we could use a few laughs."

Pwy stopped and stared at Harry, who started to blush. Suddenly, Pwy laughed for nearly two minutes, joined by Harry.

"Who are you?" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice demanded, breaking in on the laughter.

"I am Doctor Titus Pwy." He stood, looming over the small Muggle woman. "You are Petunia Evans Dursley."

Her eyes went wide. "You're one of them! Get out of here before I call the. . . ." Aunt Petunia was cut off. She stood there, in mid-sentence, as if petrified.

Titus stood and picked the frozen Petunia up, setting her just inside the back door. "Come on, Harry. You might as well pack. I do need a word with your uncle."

"How did you do that?"

"I'm sure you know 'Petrificus Totalus.' Against someone like her, I don't even need to say it or use a wand. Let's go get you packed."

"I expect there'll be a letter about my mis-use of magic," Harry said simply. "I get blamed for any stray spells."

"If so, I'll take care of it."

Titus insisted on examining Harry's clothes, much to Harry's embarrassment (since only his trainers and underwear fit properly). Titus merely magically refitted all Harry's clothes. Harry, figuring either he was already in trouble or he wasn't, said nothing.

Sure enough, around 5:20, an owl came from the Ministry, reprimanding Harry. Less than five minutes later, an investigator showed up at the front door to see what all the magic was about.

Harry sighed and opened the door. "What's going on here! What do you think you're doing, young man!" the investigator demanded.

"What incompetent boob are you?" Titus growled, gently moving Harry out of the doorway. He loomed over the tall but slightly-built wizard.

"Percy!" Harry managed to exclaimed before being lifted aside.

"You know this boy, Harry?"

"I am Percy Weasley, temporarily attached to the Misuse of Magic Department," Percy said with great dignity. 'Boy' indeed!

"And I am Titus Pwy, agent for the Council of Druids and the International Confederation of Wizards. I did all magic here. Take this notice back with you, and begone!"

Percy had not been in Gryffindor for nothing. "You have no authority to order me around!"

"Boy, I have the authority to kill you if I need to." Percy blinked at that, because there was no doubt that this huge wizard, no, warlock, meant what he'd just said.

"So is this another of Ron and Ginny's brothers?" he asked, turning to Harry.

"One of them. Ron has five older brothers."

Pwy turned on Percy, who managed to hold his ground. "Potter needs to be taught some things, and I'm here to do it. If your minister wants me to tell him why, inform him I'll be at your parents' sometime after Six fifteen tonight. Anyone else, I'll show the point of my wand. Now, take this notice back and expunge Mister Potter's record. NOW!"

Percy took another look at Harry, who looked unafraid of the man. Percy shrugged and walked down the street to disapparate. They had barely made it up the stairs when Harry heard the Dursley's car pull in a little early.

Vernon Dursley was more than a little surprised to see a six and a half foot, 306 pound man standing next to the cupboard under the stairs.

"In," the man growled at him, jerking his thumb towards the living room.

"Who are you, what do you. . . . You're one of them!"

The huge man pulled his wand out and pointed it at Dursley's heart. "I am. And I have a much nastier temper than the others you've dealt with. Now, go in and sit down, or I'll turn you into a newt and lock you in Harry's cupboard." Harry rolled his eyes, wondering how Pwy knew that movie.

Dursley swallowed nervously as he sat, but still asked, "Where's my wife and son?"

Pwy summonsed the still-petrified Petunia. Dursley started to get up, swearing.

"Sit down or I'll petrify you, too! She's fine; she can even hear what we're saying. Your son is still out vandalizing the neighborhood. Perhaps you'll be getting another call from the police. Or, considering that fact that your treatment of Harry his first thirteen years here constituted abuse under both British and British magical law to such an extent that you and your wife are both facing prison, perhaps you'd better worry about the police visiting you as well. Of course, there is also the fact that you and your friends have cheated the company stockholders of almost half the profits over at least the last twelve years by cooking the books -- your share over the last four years was what, some thirty-nine thousand pounds? Another long stretch in jail." Dursley was seated now, and starting to sweat.

"Now, on to why I'm here. There are some evil wizards out looking for Harry's family -- if they find you, they'll kill you, Dursley, and your son. They'd use your wife for bait, hoping he'd care enough for the woman that fed him table scraps like a dog to come rescue her." Harry started to redden.

"Well, I can't help you if the British police come after you for embezzlement, or if they arrest your son. Harry's living with you has protected both you and him from the Dark wizards. He'll come back for at least two weeks for the next two summers, if you treat him well. That will extend the magical protection, unless you don't want it. But, you would need to treat him. . . ."

"Get him out of here! Leave us alone!"

Pwy sat down heavily on the sofa and stared for a moment. "Are you certain you want to give up. . . ." Despite the stories he'd heard from Albus and Arabella Figg, he hadn't expected this reaction.

"Get him out! We want nothing to do with you!"

Pwy shrugged, a surprised look on his face. "Fine. You will have the protection for about a year to perhaps a year and a half, before it totally wears off, as long as your wife lives at this location. You were sent three boxes of effects for Harry just after he arrived. Where are they?"

"In the attic, near the chimney. Damn things; wouldn't open for us and kept popping back every time we tried to throw them out!"

"They weren't yours, where they?" Pwy snapped, his patience nearing its end. "Harry, get your trunk and those boxes and bring them here. If you have anything else, please make certain it's boxed or bagged. Send your owl to the Weasleys'. Go on."

Harry had been stunned. This was a dream come true. At Pwy's order, he ran up the stairs. Since they had just finished packing when Percy arrived, it only took Harry a few minutes to bring his own things down, although it took him about fifteen minutes to haul the three boxes down from the attic.

Pwy placed small silver disks on each item, then turned to Dursley. "You are a foolish, greedy man. Here." Pwy tossed something onto the coffee table. "Three thousand pounds. That's more than you spent on Harry in nearly fourteen years, even adding compound interest. Harry owes you nothing, understand?" He turned to Harry. "Anything you want to say, Harry?"

"No, sir. I just want to leave. Forever."

Pwy gave the Dursleys a truly evil grin. "A parting thought, my dear Muggles. There is no such thing as a truly Muggle-born witch or wizard. Both your wife's great great grandfather, a Thomas Evans, and his wife Rose, were fully Magical. Three of their five children who survived childhood had very weak powers, including your wife's great grandfather, who therefore decided to live as a Muggle. No doubt there were other Magical ancestors in your wife's paternal family; there had to be at least one on her mother's side as well, probably more. If your son marries anyone with a dormant magical past, especially on her father's side, any children will have at least a one in three chance of having powers. Think about having witches for grandchildren, and then remember that Harry will be their hero."

Pwy handed Harry a disk, and then touched his wand to it. Harry and his possessions disappeared. Pwy released Petunia and disappeared as well.

Harry reappeared just outside the small gate leading up to the Burrow. Pwy apparated next to him a few seconds later.

"Good trip, Harry?"

"Better than floo powder, sir, but I really don't like port keys anymore."

Titus winced a little inside, although his face didn't show it. "Understandable. But since you might not be going back, and since you had these extra boxes anyway, it was the best way to travel."

Pwy looked at the teen. Decades of teaching helped him sum up what the major problem likely was. "Questions, Harry?"

Harry thought a few seconds, trying to decide what to ask first. "Do you know where I might be staying in the summers from now on? Are they really in danger, now that I don't live with them? I won't be going back, right?"

Pwy looked down at Harry, who was still looking rather confused. "You probably won't be going back, ever. You, and possibly your friends, will likely be staying either with me, or with my people." He sighed. "As for the Dursleys, hopefully by next summer Voldemort won't be worried about finding your Muggle relations. It was their choice to refuse your protection; we just have to hope they won't suffer for it. If they do, remember it was their choice for forego protection."

Harry thought about that, and decided to leave that problem alone for the time being. "Sir, what are in the boxes?"

"I'm afraid, Harry, that will have to wait until I talk with a stubborn idiot even greater than your uncle."

Harry saw that Pwy was looking over his shoulder, so Harry turned to face the same direction. Minister Fudge was practically stomping down the path, much as Dudley had when they were small and Dudley was angry.

"Who do you think you are, sir!"

"Mister Fudge! Use that little mind of yours and tell me my name!"

Fudge looked, and then paled. "Impossible!"

"Unlikely, but not impossible. I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten me." Titus turned to Harry. "Fudge was in the same year as Tom Riddle, although a Hufflepuff, and so spent two years in my classes. I believe you ran into Voldemort under his real name?"

"Yes, sir. I've met both Riddle and Voldemort."

"Now wait a minute!"

Pwy rounded back on Fudge. "Is your Aunt Livia still alive?"

"What? Uh, well, yes. Why?"

"Out of respect for her, since she was the one member of your family with brains and guts, I'll simply remind you of the facts of life. The Council of Druids overrides any local ministry on issues of security when they feel the Old Believers are in danger. Whether you like it or not, Voldemort was reanimated last month. Unless you're in the pay of Lucius Malfoy or one of Voldemort's other minions, you'd best start preparing for His slow build-up of terror."

"I won't believe it! Not about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or Lucius! I don't care who you are or claim you are!"

"Fine. I shall report your support for Voldemort to the Council and to the International Confederation. Your name will go into the 'possible supporter' category. Malfoy is already in the 'certain' category. If you go to 'probable' you lose your job. The lists will be on your desk on Monday. If you sign off on them, so they can be watched, fine. If you don't, we won't be able to stop Voldemort before he gets started. Innocent people will die, and it will be partially your fault. It will also mean that anyone on the 'certain' list will be killed outside of Britain rather than placed under house arrest; anyone on 'probable' will be arrested. And, under the authority I have, if I see anyone making a move I don't like, even if you're standing next to them, they're dead. Do you understand?"

Fudge nodded his head. He was too frightened and angry to speak. Harry was amazed; he'd never seen a wizard with this much personal authority in his actions, except perhaps Dumbledore.

"Don't think you can stand in my way. Voldemort can kill innocents out of anger if he wants, but he can't move on with his plans until he kills Dumbledore, Harry, and now myself. Therefore, I will be at Hogwarts. Cause any trouble, and those lists, with your name added, will be released to the international press. Understand?"

Fudge was half-way between anger and hysterical tears. "Give me more evidence! Not just your belief in Harry! Give me proof, and I'll sign off on the lists. Not before."

Pwy thought a moment. "Harry, will you trust me?"

"If it will help, yes, sir." Titus was impressed by the young man's courage, for it was apparent that it was courage that allowed him to say yes.

Titus took his wand out and touched Harry's temples, whispering a spell. He turned to Fudge. "He can only tell the truth for ten to twelve minutes . Shall we ask, or would you demand truth serum?"

"No, I remember that spell. Wish others could do it." Fudge sighed and took out his watch and then set his wand to record. "Harry, briefly tell me what happened after you and Diggory touched the Cup."

Harry did. Part of his mind was detached during all this, however. He could hear his statement and the questions, but it was more like he was listening to it rather than participating.

"Some quick questions, Harry," Pwy asked suddenly. "Who was your parents' secret keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Is he still alive?"

"Yes."

"Is he an animagus?"

"Yes, a rat called Wormtail."

"And is that the same Wormtail that killed Cedric Diggory and then took your blood and sacrificed his hand?"

"Yes."

"That's probably time," a shaken Fudge said. "I'm glad Pettigrew's mother died a few weeks ago. I'd hate to see her suffer on top of everything else."

"I understand, Minister."

Fudge sighed. He had hoped so much that Dumbledore had been wrong; part of him still thought it possible that Harry was wrong. But with the Old Believers backing Harry's story as well as Dumbledore, it was politically impossible not to act. "I'll sign off on the lists. We'll still need more evidence to try them and to formally free Black, but I'll lower Black's wanted status."

Pwy placed a powerful hand on Fudge's shoulder, and the Minister seemed to gain strength from the contact. "If you really accept that He's back and these people are working for Him, then there's no reason to force your hand. There must be supporters in the Ministry other than Macnair. Work on finding out who you can trust and who you can't, no use tipping our hand before that. And put the Auror budget back up where it belongs."

"I suppose." He sighed again. "I'll need a new personal assistant; Nacnair's nephew can't be trusted at the moment."

"How about Percy Weasley?" a now-recovered Harry asked. "He's been torn between supporting you and supporting, well. . . ."

Fudge gave Harry a wan smile. "Ah, poor 'Weatherby.' Good idea. I need to talk with Arthur anyway, and if Percy's here, I'll talk with him, too." Fudge staggered away towards the Burrow, recovering from the shocks he'd just gone through.

"Are you alright, Doctor Pwy?" Harry asked when Fudge was out of earshot. The man suddenly looked very tired.

"That went better than I expected. I would have hated to think he was a traitor as well as barely competent. But even though I look like I'm under thirty, and physically and mentally I still have the reflexes and strength of someone that age, I am a hundred and twenty three, Harry. Dealing with idiots doesn't get easier over time." He frowned. "Weatherby?"

"Crouch called Percy that by accident once. I understand it's a joke at the Ministry as well as here."

"Ah. Well, Harry, let's get your things up to the house. Then, we will all talk."

It was a rather subdued group of Weasleys that ate dinner that night. Percy was especially quiet -- he was happy about his promotion, but he and his family had been feuding since the Third Task. The fact that he had been wrong did not make it easy to apologize. Harry was just hungry. He came down from a quick shower and sat between Dr. Pwy and Ginny. Ron and Ginny were still confused about what to make of Harry's feelings for Ginny. The twins were a bit too over-awed by Pwy's presence to try any jokes at the table.

After dinner, the twins were sent to clean up while Percy got ready to leave to visit his girlfriend Penny and her family for the weekend. The Weasley parents, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Dr. Pwy, went into the sitting room.

"You're really the Doctor Pwy that taught my father?" Mr. Weasley finally blurted out, after they had sat for a few minutes. Arthur remembered the stories his relatives had told about their teachers, especially Pwy and Dumbledore.

"Your father, an aunt, several uncles, a number of cousins, a great uncle, your grandfather, and that's just on your father's side. Yes, I am Titus Pwy. I expect I'll have to say that often over the next few months or even years."

Titus got more serious. "Albus had hoped that Voldemort would never be able to regain his physical form. He also hoped, if Voldemort did regain his body, it would be after Harry graduated and before Albus himself got too elderly to be an effective part of the struggle. Well, he got part of his wish."

Titus turned towards Harry. "Albus didn't know I was still. . .youthful. You were his best hope to defeat Voldemort, which you did, although not in any final sense."

"Only because my Mum gave her life for me. . . ."

"Not then Harry." Pwy said gently. "Listen to me! I mean last month."

"Cedric's dead!" Tears threatened in Harry's eyes, and he curled slightly into the couch, as if to hide. Ginny, sitting next to Harry on the small sofa, took hold of Harry's left hand. They quickly, if unconsciously, hid their hands between the two cushions.

"Yes, he is dead, and that's a tragedy. I do not deny that, Harry. But that tragedy does not negate the fact that you threw off Voldemort's Imperious curse, and then dueled and beat him."

"That was the images that came out of his wand!"

"And why were they called out? Because YOU BEAT VOLDEMORT! YOUR MAGIC WAS STRONGER!" Harry scrunched down in his seat even more, and Ginny held his hand even more firmly. Harry hung on to it, drawing strength. "Now, as I was saying, we have the best chance to beat Voldemort in a one-on-one battle. Voldemort needs to kill you and Dumbledore by himself to establish his power over his followers and expand it. Right now, I'd most likely wind up fighting a firefight against him and his Death Eaters, rather than a duel, and in a firefight, anything can happen."

Pwy gave an even bigger sigh. "Anyway, Harry, you need some special training. Dumbledore didn't want to give it to you at Hogwarts before this, because that would have smacked of favoritism at a time when no one believed we were still at war. He couldn't give it to you during the previous summers, because it wouldn't help you much to know the theory when you couldn't practice it. I can take you -- and Ron and Ginny and Hermione -- to a safe place to teach you. I will do so for six weeks this summer, and I hope for at least this winter and next summer as well. I have your godfather's, and Dumbledore's, permission. I hope to win your permission," he said, looking at Arthur and Molly, "and your interest," he finished, looking at Ron and then Ginny. Ginny and Harry seemed to realize they were holding hands, and let go, blushing, although they were still sitting much closer than they needed to on the sofa as Harry slowly uncurled.

"Why Ron and Ginny?" Molly asked.

"They're likely to be near Harry, no matter what happens."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "When would they leave?" Molly asked.

"I'll be talking with the Grangers tomorrow morning. We would go shopping in Diagon Alley for some things Monday morning. We'd leave Monday evening."

Molly thought a moment. "Where are they going?"

"I'm the only person who knows the exact location, although Ms Granger will no doubt come close to figuring it out while we're there. It's safe, I assure you, just as Dumbledore already has."

"Ron, do you want to go?" Arthur asked his son.

"Yes, sir," Ron said simply.

"Fine. Show Doctor Pwy to Bill's room, and show him the lay-out of the house," Molly ordered.

Ron looked at his parents oddly, but complied.

"Come on," Pwy told him. "Let's look at your wand, broom, and other equipment." They stood and left the room.

"Harry. . . ." Arthur started, but then he seemed not to be able to find anything else to say.

"Ginny, do you want to go?" Molly asked softly.

"I do, Mum, very much," Ginny answered, her eyes lowered.

"Let's go show the Doctor your equipment, too, then," Molly told her daughter, standing up. She sheparded Ginny out of the room and shut the door.

"Harry," Arthur started again, "I've known you some four years now, haven't I?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, very nervously.

"Now, I won't say you haven't caused us some trouble: the incidents with the car; losing your wand at the World Cup; going into the Forbidden Forest and wandering about Hogwarts after hours; things like that. Trouble seems to follow you, which certainly isn't usually your fault. Especially when Fred leaves candies about. On the other hand, you've been a better friend to Ron than any of the other friends his brothers have brought home. And, of course, above all, you saved Ginny. We. . .cared for you before then, but that brought us even closer, I think."

Harry just looked at Arthur, looking worried.

"Ginny's always liked you. I take it you return her feelings?"

"Yes, sir," he managed to say softly.

"Be careful, Harry. She cares for you a great deal. No offense, but you don't have. . .experience, even at seeing good relationships. Take things slow. Alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Arthur stood up. "Cheer up, Harry."

Harry started to follow Mr. Weasley out, and found Ginny standing at the bottom of the stairs. Arthur looked at her, then at Harry. "I'll be sitting with your mother in the kitchen, if you need anything Ginny."

"Thanks, Dad."

Harry stepped back into the sitting room, took a deep breath, and simply held his hand out to Ginny. Ginny looked around, and saw no one was watching. She walked through the threshold, and took Harry's hand. She tried to kick the door shut, and then looked up into Harry's eyes. Both were breathing very hard.

Harry looked tired; extremely tired. He was both a little more muscular and a little thinner than Ginny remembered from just two weeks before. From his letter describing the end of the Tournament, Ginny had an idea of how emotionally distressed Harry must be. From clues she'd picked up over the years, she could guess how horrible the time spent with the Dursley's must have been. Ginny wondered how Harry managed to cope with it; why he wasn't in a deep depression, if not worse. He was distressed, and had never reached out for help to anyone -- until this moment. Ginny took his other hand, and they kept looking at each other.

Harry swallowed, and leaned forward and awkwardly embraced Ginny. Ginny moved into the hug, pleased but slightly surprised. "I'm . . . home," Harry whispered. He said it as if he were surprised, pleased, and questioning all at the same time.

"Yes," Ginny replied, "you're home." She hugged back, and felt Harry's tension start to melt as she lightly rubbed his shoulders and neck. The Dursleys were where Harry had to live, but if Harry had a home, it was here or Hogwarts. "You're safe, you're cared for, you're . . . loved," she whispered. "We all care for you, Harry, and . . . I love you. You're safe, Harry; I promise, you'll always be safe with me."

Harry hugged Ginny more tightly and started to cry; softly but steadily. They were tears of relief; the stress of the previous three weeks, from the tensions even before the Third Task to Cedric's death and the duel, to then living with the Dursleys, all finally finding an outlet. Harry had been forced to have his guard up for as long as he could remember, even against himself. Being held by Ginny, he suddenly felt all his defenses collapse, but to his surprise he still felt safe in her arms.

Ginny Weasley was no fool. She had a good idea why Harry was crying; she also knew that he not only would try not to cry in front of anyone else, he never had as far as anyone knew. She remembered that morning, when Ron had allowed her to question him about several events, he had told her how Harry had nearly cried in their mother's arms, but that he had managed to restrain himself. "Harry will never cry or anything like that," Ron had said. Ron had been angry, and finally exploded. "He can't ever let himself go. Those bastards that torture him every summer trained him never to let himself show real feelings. The only strong emotion I've ever really seen him show is anger, Ginny. That's what allows Snape and Malfoy to get to him, because he can't express anything else. Harry thinks he likes you -- don't deny you read that letter -- well, when Harry is able to show some real feeling for someone other than anger on the outside, then I'll believe he's ready for a girlfriend. If he can't show it, he'll hurt you as well as hurt himself."

Harry and Ginny had swayed a little in their embrace, so it was Ginny who saw the door open. George and Ron stepped in, and both nearly said something. Then they realized that Harry wasn't just hugging their baby sister, he was crying quietly in her arms. They backed out without saying anything, this time shutting the door tightly.

"What's that all about?" George whispered, shocked. A crying Harry was stranger to his eyes than a laughing Snape would be.

Ron sighed. "I think it's a good thing, but I'd better tell you and Fred together. Good thing Percy's spending the weekend in town."

"Sorry, Ginny," Harry said, pulling back nearly a minute later.

Ginny was glad that she had a handkerchief. "Here. Don't be sorry. Harry, am I at least your friend?"

Harry stopped making some revolting sounds in her handkerchief. "Yes, Gin." He paused and said, "Hopefully more."

"I hope so, too. But in either case, never feel like you have to hide your feelings from me. I know, living with those relatives of yours, why you grew up not being able to show anything they might think meant weakness. And I understand why you can't show it to your friends at school, not even Ron. But you can show me, Harry. I'll know it's not weakness. I couldn't . . . like someone who could never show emotions. How could I really know how they felt towards me?"

"Thanks. I guess I needed to do that, after . . . Cedric. The Dursleys, well. . . ."

"I know. I've heard. No, please keep that. I don't know if I could ever use it again even after it's washed," Ginny teased.

Harry grinned. "I'm glad you . . . like me, because I really do like you, Ginny."

"I'm glad, too. Now, throw that in the laundry upstairs, wash your face, and find Ron. I think we all deserve some hot chocolate."

Harry squeezed her hand, and did as he was told.

He peeked into Ron's room, seeing it was still encrusted with vibrant orange Chudley Cannon posters. Ron was sitting on his bed, waiting for him, looking serious. "You okay, Harry?" he asked as Harry came in and shut the door.

"Sure, why . . . you saw, didn't you?" Harry, in a panic, turned and ran into the door, since he forgot he'd shut it. "Shit," he muttered, holding his nose, which he'd banged into the door.

Ron jumped off the bed. "Harry, calm down! Just tell me, are you okay?"

"Except for my nose, I guess." He eyed Ron warily.

"Harry, don't be an idiot. George and I. . .noticed you and Ginny. I hope you won't be mad, but I showed Fred and George your letters this afternoon. They know what you went through; they understand what you went through, and they won't tease you about tonight." Ron paused. "Of course, next time we see you hugging her, all bets are off."

"Are you. . .angry?"

"No . . . can't say I really want to see it, though." He sighed. "Better you than some other bloke, I guess. You were right about Seamus and Dean; I'd have to kill either of them if either of them got their hands on Ginny let alone if both tried with her what they said about. . . . Never mind, I don't want those images. At least I know you won't deliberately hurt her or use her. Try and spare me the details, okay?"

"So, you going to tell Hermione how you feel?"

Ron turned bright red.

Harry decided to change the subject. "Ginny suggested we come down for hot chocolate." He also remembered there were three boxes from his parents to open.

Dr. Pwy levitated the three boxes, each one a little less than half the size of a school trunk, up to Ron's room. Ginny, Ron, and Harry followed him, carrying their cocoa. The boxes were very beat-up, no doubt from the Dursleys trying to dispose of them.

"Touch your wand to the center lock and simply say your name, Harry," Pwy instructed.

Harry picked a box at random and did just that. It unlocked immediately. There was a top tray, filled with papers. "What are these?" Harry wondered. "They look like legal documents."

"Let's see, if you don't mind?" Pwy asked.

"No, go ahead."

Pwy sorted through the documents for about five minutes. "Well, this is a copy of your parents will, with a court order attached. Since your godfather was barred from taking custody, and your aunt and uncle disliked the magical world, a trust was established for you. That vault you've been taking a few score galleons from each year was your parents' cash reserve; no money has been added to it since your parents' death. As you may or may not know, Gringotts was put together just over seven hundred years ago, combining a number of older wizard banks. Goblins run it, and take a nice chunk of money in wages and bonuses, but wizards own it. There are fifty thousand shares. No single wizard may own more than twenty-five shares. No institution may own more than fifty. Granted, a few wealthy families have found ways around those limits, but not many. Your friends the Malfoys, for example, have a family trust that owns twenty-four shares. Lucius owns six more. The Potter Family trust owns eighteen shares -- the difference is there are some two dozen Malfoys who currently have a claim on their trust, and you are the last member of your extended family to have a claim. In addition, you own three personal shares. You control nine more. Six belonged to Sirius Black. Three belong to Remus Lupin -- as a werewolf, he's not allowed to control shares. Your father and Sirius were his trustees."

"Can I give them the money?" Harry broke in.

"Once you turn seventeen you can, assuming Sirius is pardoned by then. You can only use the money in the ready cash vault until you're seventeen. Of course, from what I understand from Professor Dumbledore, that's well over a hundred thousand galleons. May I suggest you transfer no more than a thousand galleons to Lupin up front? I can show you how to do that Monday morning. I doubt if he'd take more than that until you're seventeen anyway."

"All right."

"The rest of these are copies of deeds. You, or actually the trust, own a fair amount of property. We should put these in your vault, even though the trust officers should have the originals."

"Alright." Harry lifted the tray out. There were envelopes and albums of photos.

"We'll have lots of time to looks through those over the summer, Harry," Pwy told him.

The second box's tray held various financial records. Harry moved those to the bottom of the first box. The bottom of the box had letters. Harry set those aside to read later as well, transferring the photos to the second box.

The third box's tray had his parents' personal affects: their wands and wedding rings; his father's wallet; and three small jewel cases filled with his mother's jewelry. The rest of the box had more photos.

"We should put the jewelry in the vault, too, Harry." Harry just nodded.

Pwy, then Ron, clasped Harry on the shoulder and left him alone. When Ginny started to do the same, Harry stopped her. She sat as Harry opened and looked through the jewelry cases.

"I hate to say it, but I never noticed. Do you have pierced ears, Ginny?"

Ginny lifted her long tresses away from her ears, revealing the small, tarnished silver balls in her ears. Harry smiled, fished around in the boxes, and then put his hand out. Ginny hesitated, but then held out her hand. Harry dropped six pairs of ear rings in her hand. Three pair were simple gold studs, but there were also a pair of tiny emerald earrings, a pair of small pearls, and a pair of odd-looking blue metal ones.

"Are you sure, Harry?"

"I'm sure. Unless you want me to ask your mother?"

"That might be best. Let's put all this away, first."