Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

Chapter 11: Necessary Madness

"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried when you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for the want of a teller but for the want of an understanding ear" -Stephen King

***

Despite the rekindling of the Common Room fire by some unseen House Elf, Harry's awakening was quite a bit like being dashed in the face with a bucket of ice water. There was a warm weight across his arm and part of his chest, yet the chill of startle and panic set straight through into his bones. He could see the sky, just barely touched with the first hints of dawn out the tower windows across from the fireplace, and he could hear stirrings above, in both the boys and girls dorms.

He needed to get to Dumbledore right away, tell him about the dream, see what he could make of it. He hoped the old Headmaster wouldn't be angry because Harry had delayed the few hours before dawn. He *had* promised to tell him immediately upon having a dream, but it had been the dead of night and he'd been caught up in Hermione's companionship.

Hermione!

She was still sound asleep, as he saw as he shifted to look down. Her hair was wilder than ever, springing up and twisting about every which way like an untended garden. From that angle he could see only her smooth cheek, library pale, and the soft lie of her closed lashes. But she looked peaceful, her sleep uninterrupted by disturbing images. He was loathe to wake her, as he knew she would feel the same smothering weariness he was now suffering after the short few hours of rest, but he really needed to go. And if anyone discovered them like this they would probably jump to the wrong--

"Harry, what are you doing down there?"

Damn.

"Ginny stood at the foot of the girls stairs, silhouetted against the pale dawn glow. He couldn't see her face, but that halo of russet was unmistakable, as was the strain in her voice as she gazed upon them.

"Um, we fell asleep by the fire." Harry shifted more determinedly this time, sliding out from beneath Hermione. She mumbled, protesting the loss of a warm pillow, but then settled back in to the cushion Harry had been resting on and went back to sleep. "What are you doing up?" He asked, hoping to shift her attention away from him."

"You scheduled Quidditch practice, remember?" She sounded uncharacteristically sharp.

"Quidditch? Oh, right. I remember." Harry scrubbed at his face, his mind still sluggish. "Look, Ginny, I have to go for a bit."

"Obviously, you look a fright."

Harry grimaced. He had no experience dealing with Ginny in any other mood than star-struck or cheerfully shy, and he didn't think now was the time to learn to cope with her temper.

"Probably, yes." He looked straight at her and forged on bravely. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't see her face. He'd thought maybe she was over that childhood crush, but perhaps she had just gotten better at hiding it. She certainly didn't sound pleased to find him sleeping with Hermione. Hmm, that sounded wrong even in his own head. "But I really have to go ... talk to Dumbledore." Her hands dropped from her hips and she straightened.

"Everything alright?"

"Harry paused in the act of forming the lie, oddly reluctant to do that to Ginny. It was difficult to say no to a Weasley, let alone lie outright to one. "Um, not really." He looked down, scuffing his foot in the carpet. "That's why Hermione and I were out here last night and fell asleep." Her hand was unexpectedly warm as she clasped his arm, and her face, now lit by the flickering fire, was concerned instead of angry or jealous.

"Do you want me to tell the others to skip Quidditch?" She asked. Harry silently blessed the circumspection that restrained her other questions. Or maybe it was more of that shyness he was so used to.

"No, don't do that." He smiled gratefully at her, oddly reassured as a bit of color tinged her cheeks at that. "I don't want other people to be asking about it. I'll come down and join you guys when I'm done talking to Dumbledore. Just--" He shrugged and fumbled for his planned maneuvers. "Just run the Chasers through the Hogshead attack several times, see how you do against that. And make sure George is watching his swings. He's been hitting with a rightward spin lately and that'll be easy to take advantage of."

"You want me to run the practice?" She looked aghast.

"Why not?" Harry returned the arm squeeze then turned for the stairs and a new robe. "Just tell the others I'm taking care of something important. If they ask what, just tell them to bugger off."

He raced up the stairs, leaving a protesting Ginny behind him. Ginny might not realize it, but she was the only member of the team besides Harry who wasn't going to graduate this year. She'd probably end up Captain after Harry himself graduated, depending on who filled the other slots. Practice now would be good for her.

When he came back down only three minutes later, still buttoning his robe and shivering from the cold water he'd splashed on his face, he found Hermione sitting on the couch before the fire, still stretching and yawning. Ginny still stood by the girls stairs, alternately casting Hermione strangely wistful glances, and looking blankly into the fire. As she heard Harry on the stairs her eyes lifted to him. For just a second he caught a glimpse of a hunted, desperate expression on her face, as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice and only he could save her. The power of it stopped Harry cold, but the look was gone before he could even really process it.

"Good morning," He said to Hermione, deciding to just leave Ginny be. For now at least.

Hermione simply nodded at him, her eyes sliding from him to Ginny with what could have been guilt. Harry sighed quietly. This was getting endlessly complicated. At least Ron hadn't been the one to find them.

"I'm going to see Dumbledore," He told Hermione. "I'll talk to you ... and Ron later." He hesitated, remembering his promise of the night before and steeling his resolve. "And I need to tell you guys about--"

"Right." Hermione cast Ginny an anxious look, as if she didn't think she should overhear this conversation. Ginny simply took up her broom and headed for the portrait hole, her face impressively blank. Harry was surprised at that, for he could see a storm of emotion in her every move. He wondered suddenly how often in the past she had concealed such turmoil from him, from everybody.

"Okay." He said, nodding at Hermione. "Why don't you head back up to bed? We've got a few hours before breakfast.

"Good idea." She practically reeled up the girls staircase, clutching the railing and fumbling for the door knob. Harry wished longingly for his own bed and more sleep, but Voldemort stopped for no one.

***

Harry goggled for a moment at Dumbledore's guardian gargoyle, completely stumped. Now that the Headmaster was using Muggle candy as well as wizard, the possibilities were nearly endless. Harry wondered dismally if just asking nicely would work.

"Excuse me, but would you mind shoving over just a bit? Not much, just a little."

For a moment he thought it had actually worked, but it was only the Gargoyle lifting its carved head to give him a rather irritated look and stick out its stone tongue.

"Right." Harry sighed and shrugged. "So, let's see. Twix--"

To his utter surprise, the statue sprang aside, and Harry could have sworn it looked irritated at his success. Harry just smiled, glad for the first time in his life that Dudley was such a pig. His cousin had been addicted to those Muggle Twix things, and they'd been the first candy to pop into Harry's head. Lucky, too.

This time when he reached the top of the stairs there was no hum of voices behind the office door. Harry hesitated, not wanting to disturb Dumbledore. It was barely dawn, after all. But he *had* promised, and he had a feeling Dumbledore really wouldn't mind if Harry woke him up for this.

The Headmaster answered Harry's knock in a scarlet dressing gown, all tasseled and garishly Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry what brings you here so early?" His voice was jovial as always, but his eyes were keen on the lines of fatigue about Harry's eyes. "Come in, come in. And do take some tea. Or hot chocolate? Its getting colder and colder in the mornings." As Harry followed Dumbledore to the desk he saw that the Headmaster's slippers were in fact a pair of rather rambunctious puppies which continually snapped and snarled at each other as Dumbledore walked. It was very distracting.

"Thanks." Harry accepted his mug of chocolate with relief. It was indeed quite chilly and the warmth felt good both on his hands and on his insides. Fawkes was looking a bit ragged, probably approaching a burning day and looking none to pleased about it.

"What brings you up to my sanctum so early once again?" Dumbledore set down his cup and regarded Harry fixedly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you so early," Harry stalled.

"Not at all, Harry. You're welcome anytime, day or night." Dumbledore smiled gently at him, then sat back. "I can guess why you're here this particular morning, but I'd really rather you told me." Endlessly kind, infinitely patient. Harry began to understand that old saying, 'destroyed with kindness.'

"I had a dream last night." Unconsciously a hand lifted to push aside his bangs and trace his scar. "One about Voldemort."

"Are you alright? In any pain?" It occurred to Harry with an unclenching sensation in his chest that another man would have demanded the details of the dream, of Voldemort and his plans, not inquired after Harry's health. Not for the first time a swell of respect, of loyalty and affection for this great man filled Harry with strength.

"I'm fine, now. It was ... unpleasant for a while, but I just waited it out."

"And got little sleep by the looks of you." Harry was surprised as Dumbledore reached a long finger and gently traced the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Where the Headmaster's skin met his he felt a light sort of bubbling, a warmth that seeped into his pores and seemed to align itself to his heartbeat. He suspected that if he looked into a mirror now the marks would be gone. He was unused to such affections from Dumbledore, from anybody really.

"No, not really." Harry took refuge in his drink for a moment. "Hermione and I kept each other company." He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Say, she's been having strange dreams, too."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked interested.

"Yeah. Not nightmares, though they upset her. She can't really remember them. She says they're just about this strange woman who she thinks she should know." Harry paused, aware he was babbling, and about something of little importance. "Its not relevant, of course, but it was nice to have her there."

"I'm sure."

Harry wondered how on earth Dumbledore did that, cramming whole paragraphs into just two words. He wondered how long the Headmaster would humor his ramblings before demanding he get to the point. Well then, Gryffindor bravery it was.

"So, the dream." He set down his mug but kept his hands clasped around its warmth. "I just saw Voldemort, Wormtail, and Lucius Malfoy."

"Any notion where they were? Any views out windows, or were they outside?" Dumbledore's eyes were piercing, holding Harry's unwaveringly.

"Inside. And no windows. Stone room with torches along the walls, a fireplace and a single chair for Voldemort." Harry paused, distressed by his inability to remember more.

"Don't worry too much about it. It is often difficult for anyone to recall the details of a dream, let alone any visions of a sort."

Visions? That was knew. Somehow applying the word to what Harry had always thought of as dreams lent them a validity and reality that was both reassuring and frightening.

"Right. Well Voldemort was alone, and he said he was getting impatient. Wormtail and Malfoy came in, like they were going to report or something." Harry paused, straining for exact phrasing and falling short. It felt like the details and impressions which had been so crystal clear before were now veiled by a foggy curtain. "Voldemort talked to Malfoy first. Malfoy said something like 'the attempt was unsuccessful.' They spoke a few moments about some sort of ... treatment or something. Malfoy suggested it had worn off, Voldemort said no then sort of ranted about how his smartest followers were all gone." He paused, looking to Dumbledore for comment.

"Hmm. That is vague enough to mean quite a number of things," Was all the Headmaster would say, before simply nodding for Harry to continue.

"So then Voldemort turned to Wormtail and asked about 'the photographs.' Wormtail said something..." Harry scrunched up his face, furious with his recalcitrant memory. "Something about resistance. I get the impression some sort of plan was faltering or failing. Voldemort was furious because Wormtail had not told him, even though he said the problem had lasted two or three weeks. He--he put Cruciatus on him." Harry paused, working hard to control his expression.

"Was there anything else of significance?" Dumbledore asked.

"Um...oh! Malfoy said something about their person at Hogwarts." Harry paused, looking for a reaction, but there was none.

"You don't need to be worrying about that," The Headmaster said after a pause. "I have that particular situation well in hand."

Harry nodded, his Snape suspicions strengthened. It was a new experience to be relieved about Snape, of all people.

"I think that's it, sir. Except Voldemort told Wormtail to strengthen whatever it was he's doing." Harry paused, a half-formed thought which he had ignored the night before crystallizing suddenly. "Sir, do you think these photographs could be used to ... effect people? Like, make them sick?"

Dumbledore glanced down at the bones protruding from Harry's slender wrist, his expression bland. "No, Harry, that could not be the cause of your illness." He steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "The Muggle concept of--what was it--yes, voodoo is not grounded in magical fact. It is beyond the capabilities of magic to effect change to an individual from the scant material afforded by a photograph, even a wizard photograph."

"What if Voldemort figured out how? We still don't know what that Death Eater Reynard did."

"That's really bothering you, isn't it?" Dumbledore nodded as if a silent theory had been confirmed. "Its bothering me as well. But, no, that could not have been Reynard's project. When I said magical fact, I meant it. It is simply, magiphysically impossible to construct a spell or curse of that nature. The conditions and very structure of magic will not allow it. No matter how powerful Voldemort gets, no matter how many brilliant followers he acquires, he will not be able to alter the laws of magiphysics any more than Muggles can alter their versions of these laws."

"So what could he possibly be using photos for?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Well now, to employ another Mugglism, perhaps we must think outside the box here." Twinkling eyes matched the Headmaster's mischievous smile. "Magic does not always have to be the answer. And since it cannot be here, the next logical conclusion would be the use of some sort of manipulated or real images to discredit somebody." He paused, smile widening. "Probably myself, actually."

"You mean, blackmail?" Harry gawked. He hadn't expected an answer to his question, based on Dumbledore's propensity for leaving him out of the loop, but the answer itself was surprising. "That seems so...so..."

"Unlike a Dark Lord?"

"Exactly!"

Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed, a full-bellied, rich sound that warmed Harry's bones unlike any hot chocolate could.

"It does, doesn't it?" Dumbledore sat forward, lips still twitching. "And you are right, it does seem a bit too...well I suppose you could say inept for Voldemort. I would have thought, with thirteen years to do so, he would have come up with more forceful and effective plans. Ah well, we still are not sure what these photographs are for, and I suspect we won't be until Voldemort is good and ready."

"And Reynard? And--?" Harry gestured vaguely at himself.

"I'm afraid we've made little progress on either front." Dumbledore squinted at Harry. "Though you seem to have improved, or at least stopped getting worse."

"Oh definitely," Harry hurried to assure. "I was just hoping you'd found something."

All laugh lines fell away from Dumbledore's face. "Unfortunately, we've made little progress on any front so far. We are at something of a standstill, unable to obtain the sort of resources and support we'd for an offensive with this Minister, unable to counter anything until Voldemort makes a move." He frowned off into the distance, the briefest flash of anger crossing his face. Harry had no doubt it was for that incompetent, Fudge. "We spoke of this several months ago, Harry, and Voldemort's prolonged silence is still very worrisome. He must be doing something..."

"And your, er, spies can't tell you anything?" Harry asked carefully. Dumbledore had mentioned these spies in that talk over the summer, but at the time the significance had completely eluded Harry. Now Snape's rage at the thought of someone seeing Harry visiting him at night was much more understandable, as well as Dumbledore's reticence on the matter. Harry shivered at the realization that perhaps the reason he wasn't told much was so he wouldn't have much to give away if he were ever captured again and tortured. It was a grim, necessary sort of truth that made his head throb.

"Unfortunately, my operatives have penetrated very little into the inner circle. They haven't even seen Voldemort." His smile was ironic. "I'm afraid that particular honor has been reserved for you, alone."

"Charming."

"I'm sure." Dumbledore returned his gaze to him, the brief moment of humor gone. "Did you get a good look at him?" He asked.

"No. The angle was all wrong. I was too far back, to his side." Harry frowned, thinking. "He looked about the same as he did before, at the graveyard. Except I think maybe there was more of him. Not just bones anymore. Do you think, maybe, he hasn't done anything because he has to recover from the ritual in the graveyard?"

"Not for nearly six months. That was a reasonable assumption to draw over the summer, but not now." The lines of laughter were replaced with those of strain and weariness.

"Well," Harry said, "Its a strange reassurance, but at least I had a dream."

"Yes, it is strange, yet reassuring." Dumbledore reached to take Harry's cup. "You will, of course, tell me if there are any further...excellent. I know I can count on you, Harry."

"Thank you, sir." Harry rose, understanding the unspoken dismissal. He nodded to Fawkes and turned to go.

"Perhaps not so much of a reassurance after all?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry turned, having only gone halfway across the room. He was again struck by the Headmaster's seemingly unending capacity for emotion, for compassion.

"No sir. I--I didn't really..." He shrugged helplessly. "Its really happening now, isn't it?"

"Yes." Dumbledore reached out a hand, as if he would have like to embrace Harry, but then thought better of it. "And I'm afraid, my child, that you will be involved one way or another."

"Yeah." Harry nodded, his own conviction affirmed. "I sort of thought that."

"We'll make it through, Harry, never fear." There was no arguing with that sort of conviction, and Harry didn't particularly want to try.

"Yes sir."

He slipped out the door and down the stairs, moving on legs which took over for thought and headed him towards breakfast. Dumbledore's presence had indeed been a comfort to his jangling nerves, yet he was still unsettled. There were too many things unknown, too many questions unanswered. Harry felt like things were slowly but inexorably speeding up, spinning out of control before he or anyone else could grasp the consequences. Perhaps, he thought, that was what war really was, this feeling of an immense machine grinding into action, unstoppable, thoughtless, and deadly.

He paused, surprised to find himself at the doors to the Great Hall. Glancing around, he saw that only the earliest risers were about. Madam Hooch was alone at the staff table and the only other people were a group of Ravenclaws, all looking very tired as they studied their Arithmancy texts. As Padma wasn't among them, and he wasn't particularly hungry anyway, Harry turned away from the hall. He hesitated a moment, torn between going back up to the tower and snatching another half hour of sleep or going out for a run. The run won out on the assumption that exercise tended to energize him anyway, and he really needed the fresh air and time to think.

Harry slipped out the main castle doors and jogged lightly down to the lake. He shed his robe and cloak, leaving only jeans and a T-shirt. Goose-bumps immediately rose on his arms but he knew it wouldn't take long at all for the run to heat him up. After a few preliminary stretches, he was off on his circuit of the lake.

It was only as he rounded the last curve and approached the castle once again that he remembered Quidditch. Harry swore silently, picking up his flagging pace as he spotted the unmistakably Weasley red hair. The team was heading up to the main doors, brooms slung over their shoulders and chatting amiably.

"There he is," Fred called as Harry panted up to them. "So kind of you to join us, oh exalted leader."

"Sorry." Harry glanced about for Ginny, but she didn't turn to look at him. "I had to talk to Dumbledore, then I completely forgot. I'm really sorry."

"'Salright." Angelina slung a companionable arm about his shoulders. She had nearly six inches on him, though he was gratified to realize that even that was less than last year. "We managed alright without you. Ginny filled in marvelously." She pitched her voice so Ginny would be sure to hear, and they both watched as the back of the Keeper's neck turned red.

"Its not like you particularly need the practice, anyway," George added.

Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he simply smiled a little at them all. It occurred to him suddenly that he'd known most of these people for five years, worked closely and practiced constantly with them. They'd had victory and defeat together, the triumph of the Quidditch Cup and the ignominy of that horrid fall his third year.

"You're all great, you know that?" He blurted suddenly.

"We know." Katie flashed him her pearly white teeth.

"'Course we do, don't we, your headliness?" Fred nudged Alicia beside him, who favored him with a withering look before smiling at Harry as well. As Head Girls went, she was pretty laid back, particularly when it came to late nights in the common room and the party after the Ravenclaw game. Harry had missed it, of course, but he'd heard it had been phenomenally loud.

The team split up as they entered the Great Hall, the twins following Angelina and Katie towards the far end of the table, while Alicia moved towards the staff table for whatever it was the Head Girl and Boy talked to Dumbledore about. Harry himself found an empty seat next to a few others as Hermione and Ron had yet to appear.

They stumbled in five minutes later. For Ron, morning's were something of a torment. The redhead sometimes had a hard time walking in a straight line before nine o'clock. Normally Hermione would be badgering and cajoling him along, but today she just trailed alongside, yawning just as frequently as Ron.

"Morning," Harry said as they plunked down beside him.

"Murf."

"Ug."

"How very articulate." Harry pushed the tea towards Hermione. "Here, this'll help."

"What did he say?" She asked after she'd drained half her mug, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the head table.

"Not much." Harry sighed and sat back, putting down his meager breakfast of a tall glass of juice. "I'll tell you guys later."

"Huh?" Ron looked completely befuddled.

"Later." Hermione patted his shoulder, smiling a little at Harry. They both enjoyed Ron's mornings sometimes. He was particularly gullible and docile, tending to do whatever he was asked. "Say, Ron, what're you doing this weekend?" She asked, a little too casually.

"There's a game." Ron fumbled with his bag and schedule, squinting at it. "Hufflepuff and someone...Slytherin."

"Oh dear." Harry sighed. "That'll be a massacre."

"They'll be shredded." Ron demonstrated by stabbing forcefully at his eggs, splattering the runny insides halfway across the table.

"Well then," Hermione said briskly, "Since you're both so sure of the outcome you won't mind skipping it."

"For what?" Harry asked suspiciously.

She gave him an irritated look. "Well, you two really need to get started on your OWL studying, and we should have that chat."

"What--oh." Harry frowned. Now that it was daylight and he'd lost that sense of connection and understanding he'd had with Hermione last night, he was doubting his decision and rash promise.

"Yes, that." Hermione looked immovable. "You'll be there Ron?"

"Of course," Ron said absently. Despite his own apprehension Harry couldn't suppress a smile. Hermione really knew how to deal with Ron. Their friend had no idea what they were even talking about, and he probably wouldn't even remember he'd agreed to skip the Quidditch match until one of them reminded him.

"Hogsmeade in a couple weeks," Harry realized. "We can do Christmas shopping."

She smiled back, her eyes sparkling. Christmas shopping for the trio was always something of an adventure as they scrambled to hide purchases from their intended recipient and offered wild suggestions to the others.

"Goodness, the year is going fast," Hermione said. "Usually by this time we're neck deep in some huge conspiracy or adventure."

"Sure," Harry said noncommittally, though he wasn't all that positive that he at least wasn't caught up in yet another one already.

***

"This really isn't fair." Ron glared at the last group of hurrying Gryffindors, who promptly ducked out the portrait hole under the force of his scowl. "It's illegal or something. Duress I think it's called."

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione matched him glare for glare while Harry carefully edged away. "It's not like I put a mind-altering potion in your tea, Ron. It's not my fault if you're incapable of rational thought in the mornings."

"I'd still rather go. It's not even December yet, and you're already worried about the dratted OWLs." He waved a contemptuous hand at the stack of books before her at her corner table.

"That's not the only reason why we're here," Harry put in quickly. "And besides, do you *really* want to watch the Slytherins tearing through the Hufflepuffs?"

"Well, no." Ron still looked rebellious, his eyes flicking repeatedly to the tower windows where the end of the Quidditch Pitch was visible, stands packed full of students waving green or yellow scarves and banners. Most of the Gryffindors had gone, if only to encourage the Hufflepuffs. The trio were the only people in the common room, anyone else who was skipping the game having disappeared off to the library or to find a quiet spot to snog as the case may be.

"Harry's right. We're not just here to study, though heaven knows both of you could benefit from a few good hours--"

"What else, then?" Ron cut her off, looking only marginally interested.

"I needed to talk to you both," Harry said, dragging a comfy armchair up to the table and settling down.

"What about?" Ron sat down as well, his attention caught.

Harry took a deep breath, completely lost now that the moment had arrived. Over the past week neither he nor Hermione had said a word about his dream, or last year. They had actually been avoiding each other, Harry uncomfortable at his unaccustomed show of intimacy and Hermione for her own (mostly Ron related) reasons. Neither of them had given Ron any clue about the night they'd spent before the fireplace, and Harry was actually beginning to suspect that it was nothing more than a fanciful exaggeration of his tired mind, an anodyne to the horror of his nightmare.

But the contrasting stubbornness of Hermione's mouth with the compassion in her eyes reassured him that yes, that conversation and that night had occurred. And he wasn't getting out of this.

"I wanted to tell you guys about last year. About what happened in the third task." He wasn't looking, but he heard Ron's intake of breath clearly.

"You don't have to," His friend began, Quidditch completely forgotten.

"Let him talk." Harry winced. Apparently Hermione knew, as Harry himself did, that he would back out of this at the slightest opportunity. He knew he would one day be grateful for the pressure of her will, but now he could only be irritated.

"What do you guys know?" He asked then. No sense going over things they already understood.

"Well, not much, really." Ron sounded nervous. "We saw the parts in the maze, of course. Or heard about them. Bagman commentated, and parts of it were broadcast on this huge screen thing." He paused, frowning. "It was sort of odd. This mist kept getting in the way. I don't think it was supposed to be there."

"There was a lot of mist," Harry confirmed. "And it probably covered some of the ... other things that Bagman didn't see. Like ... like what happened to Fleur. I think someone--" He paused, his eyes flicking to Hermione, "somebody hit her with a curse, and not as part of the competition. At the time I thought it was Victor," He hurried on, "But now I'm not so sure. It could just as easily have been Crouch, if he'd slipped in somehow."

"Victor?" Hermione looked aghast.

"If it was him, he was under Imperious," Harry assured Hermione. "He had no choice in the matter, and that would partly explain why he didn't make it to the cup."

"Crouch?" Ron repeated.

"That comes later." Harry paused again, thinking. "So you didn't know that Fleur got hit by a curse." He glanced again at Hermione. "It could have just been part of the tournament, but I could have sworn I heard--oh well, that's not the important thing. What else do you guys know?"

"That's about it." Ron spoke again as it appeared Hermione was not going to. "The screen cleared up when you and ... Cedric got to the cup. We saw that spider," He shuddered mightily. "We couldn't hear what you guys were arguing about when you got to the cup, but knowing both of you you were probably telling each other to take it."

"Right." Harry shrank back a little. "It was my idea for us to take it together," He said quietly.

"Oh." Hermione came out of her thoughts, reaching a hand towards him. Harry figured her quick mind had grasped the significance of that.

"What else do you know?" He asked, evading her and looking at Ron again.

"Just that you both touched the cup and were gone." Ron laughed a little sadly. "It was actually kind of funny, nobody knew whether it was supposed to do that, but Bagman sounded sort of panicky before someone hit him with a Quietus. We just sat there, for about half an hour." He gulped a little. "People started realizing, after a while that something was wrong. You were just ... gone and all the teachers were huddled together. Fleur and Victor were guided out of the maze. They both looked worse for wear.." He trailed off, looking to Hermione.

"We were really starting to panic, Ron and I especially when you reappeared," She took up the story. "And then someone yelled 'he's dead!' and we thought, God Harry we thought you--" Her hands flexed on the table edge, and Ron too looked pale.

"But it wasn't me," Harry said, surprising himself with the calm. "What else?"

"Um, Dumbledore talked to you. We couldn't really see, but at that point the fact that you were moving was the important part. Then you went off with Moody and we didn't see you again until the hospital wing when you said that You-know-who was back again." Ron glanced at Hermione. "We assumed that he'd come back somehow when you were gone, and that the cup was a portkey. We also figured...well some of your injuries weren't part of the tournament, were they?"

"You guys talked about this?" Harry asked, a hand going unconsciously to his forearm.

"Of course." Hermione looked indignant. "We were worried, but we didn't want to ask you about it."

"Actually, Sirius told us if we bugged you about it he'd revert to his scary convict routine on us," Ron added sourly.

"I didn't know that. That does sound like him. And I'm grateful for that and for you guys listening to him."

"Well, sure." Hermione smiled bravely at him. "We did worry, but you looked happy at the party, and we just figured you'd tell us when you could."

"Well, I suppose I can, now." Harry took one last deep breath then plunged ahead. "The cup was a portkey, you were right about that. It took us to a graveyard somewhere or other. We weren't sure either, whether it was part of the tournament or not." He hoped, if he just told it all straight through without stopping it would be quick and easy. "Wormtail was waiting for us, or for me at least. He was carrying Voldemort, or what was left of him. Just this shadow thing, I guess. I didn't get a good look at him but it seemed like he was more being than human." He paused, the short, sharp sentences he'd started with derailed by unexpected philosophy. "He told Wormtail to kill Cedric, just 'kill the spare' like he was there and then he was on the ground. His eyes were open and he was just staring and he was empty." Harry found himself gesturing, his calm falling away as the desperation to make them understand took over. "He was just...empty and gone. No one's home." He was dimly aware of Ron and Hermione converging on him, one on each arm of the chair.

"Slow down." Hermione's steady eyes and firm voice grounded Harry once again. He didn't really know if he should thank her for that. He'd rather have just gone through it, no stops for thought.

"Okay. I was ... I was surprised." Beside him, Ron laughed a little hoarsely before Hermione quelled him with a look. "No, it is funny. I mean, he was right there. He said 'wands out, you reckon'? Then just empty." Harry tried to continue but he felt like a broken record. Every time he tried to go on with the story he just jumped back to Cedric's face. In touching unison Ron and Hermione each clasped a shoulder.

"Then what happened?" Hermione coaxed.

Harry shrugged a little. "They tied me to a headstone." He rolled up his sleeve, displaying the jagged line of scar tissue near his elbow. "Wormtail did that. They needed my blood to give him his body back. Bone of the father, flesh of the servant willingly given, and blood of the mortal enemy." Ron took his forearm, looking at the scar. Harry glanced briefly at him, overwhelmed by the storm of anger in his eyes.

"So, how did you get away?" Hermione, ever-practical, forcing him to keep it moving in a logical progression.

"Barely." Harry rolled his sleeve back down, oddly reluctant to display the scar. "He--Voldemort I mean--wanted to duel. He gave me my wand and we ... exchanged curses." He shrugged self-depreciatingly. "Not like I knew many spells to throw. Just Expelliarmus and Stupefy, for all the good those would do. And then, and then things just went crazy."

"Then? You say they just went crazy *then*?"

"Ron--"

"Our wands connected," Harry plowed on, ignoring them both. "Dumbledore called it Pre...Prio..."

"Priori Incantatem?" This time Harry was relieved for Hermione's soothingly academic interest.

"Right. People, they climbed out of the end of his wand."

"What? What does this connection thing do?"

"It forces the images of spells to re-emerge from a wand. For You-know-who I guess the people he killed..." She stopped, her words strangling as her eyes got bigger and bigger.

"Cedric and Bertha Jorkins. There was this old man, a Muggle I think. They all just climbed out, these ghost people. Then my parents came out."

Ron's fingers dug painfully into his shoulder and Hermione looked like her worst fears had been confirmed.

"They talked to me you know." Harry tried a smile, knowing it didn't fit well at all on his face. "They were really nice. They sort of snapped me out of it, I guess. They told me to run." His momentum began to run out and he scrambled desperately for his self-control. "Cedric asked me--he said to take his body back with me. So I did." He fell silent, physically incapable of saying another word. He felt a swelling fury at his trite phrases, knowing they were not adequate. He knew neither of his friends could understand the gritty taste of the graveyard dirt, how he'd brushed his teeth until his gums bled and that Earthy tang would not leave him alone. He knew for a fact words could not express the sheer vacancy of Cedric's body, the sinking heaviness of realizing that he was gone for ever and ever, amen.

He was vaguely aware of a quick exchange of looks and whispers, then suddenly there was a warm weight on each side of him, something wet on his neck and something else tickling his ear. He opened his eyes, unsurprised to find himself smooshed between his two friends in the poor armchair. Hermione was sniffling into his neck, her tears burning his skin. Her hair had escaped its braid, wrapping itself about his ear and shoulder like clinging vines. Ron was holding his hand and shoulder in bruising grips, his eyes huge and dark.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ron chanted softly, clenching his fingers at each repetition.

"I don't need your pity," Harry said, pride stinging away the remains of his grief.

"Its not pity." Ron loosened his grip to lean around and stare him straight in the face. "I'm really sorry. I treated you so badly last year and all along someone was setting you up."

"You couldn't have known. I didn't know." Harry found it difficult to look directly at Ron when his face was so laid open. It was like Ron's entire heart and soul were mapped out in his mobile features and it seemed an invasion of his privacy to observe him like that.

"I still feel bad." Unexpectedly, Ron followed Hermione's example and hugged him convulsively, though there were no tears from him. They sat there in a silent clench for uncounted moments. Ron was the first to release his hold, retreating back to the arm of the chair. Hermione followed suit a moment later, shielding her face from them with a curtain of hair.

"So, Crouch made the portkey?" She asked with a little quaver.

"Yeah. And he tried to help me through the rest of the tournament to be sure I would make it that far. Dead blood would do them no good, I suppose."

"Don't say that!" Ron and Hermione snapped, once again in unison. Harry noted with a calmer part of his mind that it was only in crisis that the underlying similarity in their personalities emerged. In everyday life they were as different as a Bludger and a Snitch.

"Sorry." Harry shrugged, only realizing then how incredibly exhausted he was. He felt like he'd just played an eight-hour Quidditch match, like he could just fall asleep right there.

"I meant what I said." Ron was intent again. "I'm really sorry."

"I know." Harry reached up and clasped Ron's forearm. "I understand. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you for telling us." Hermione faced them again, the marks of her tears plane. "We appreciate your trust."

"Sorry it took me so long." Harry waved their denials silent. "No, it did. I know you've been curious, since all you knew was that Crouch was Moody. But I'm glad I told you, too. I needed to say it all."

Silence descended again, the three just gazing at each other as the enormity of the events hung between them. This was no childhood adventure, no crazy determination to save the school or kill the monster. This was angry, bloody fact, and it was just the beginning.

"You look completely knackered," Hermione said, running a fingertip down Harry's cheek. "You're eyes are just holes in your head."

"But I need to tell--" Harry flicked his fingers at Ron.

"I'll do that. You go get some rest." Hermione tugged firmly at his robes, giving him the choice of strangulation or obedience.

"Tell me what? There's *more*?" On his other side Ron pulled at his arm to keep him in his place.

"He had a dream, and let go you big Weasley idiot." Hermione won the Harry tug-of-war, rising to her feet with him.

"One of *those* dreams?" Ron demanded, standing as well.

"Yes." Harry was surprised at the distant, echoic sort of sound to his own voice. He wondered with little concern if he could make it all the way up the stairs.

"I'll tell you about it," Hermione said. "Here, let's get him upstairs."

And they shepherded him up like a little child, continuing the charade as Hermione removed his shoes and Ron pulled a light blanket over him. As one of them removed his glasses, Harry looked blearily up at the blobs above him.

"Love you guys," He murmured.

He was too far gone to clearly hear their answers, but he didn't really need to.

***

Christmas in the wizarding world was, pardon the pun, a magical time. For the entire month of December wizarding establishments everywhere sported enchanted fairy lights, and little tufts of mistletoe that scampered about the ceiling and parked themselves above your head at wonderfully inopportune moments. In the purely wizarding settlement of Hogsmeade, the decorations were even more flamboyant.

"Oh, my mum would love that," Hermione sighed, pointing at a magically animated nativity scene. Tiny sparkling crystals of snow fell over the rustic stable. A tiny firefly lantern bobbed and glowed within, illuminating the lined face of Joseph, the serene one of Mary, and then tiny baby Jesus, bringer of magic to the Earth. "You know," Hermione continued, her voice sliding from delighted to clinical in a moment, "I was very surprised to find Christianity had such a strong foothold in the wizarding world. You'd think, with the old witch hunts and some of the more orthodox doctrines, the two lifestyles would be incompatible."

"You mean Muggles have Christianity, too?" Ron stopped in his tracks, shocked. "But they can't! They don't believe in magic! How can they worship the Son of Light, the being who taught the first humans about magic when they don't believe in magic?"

"It's not quite the same thing, Ron." Hermione straightened, going into lecture mode. "The Muggle version of Christianity has many similar characteristics, but it's basic premise is somewhat--"

"Now they're certainly not in the spirit," Padma murmured to Harry, jerking her chin towards a huddled group of dejected students as the two of them hurried to leave Hermione and Ron to their discussion.

"Hufflepuffs." Harry shrugged sympathetically. "After the loss to Slytherin two weeks ago, can you blame them? That score was downright humiliating."

"It's just Quidditch," Padma started, before cutting herself off and rolling her eyes. "Look who I'm talking to."

"Just Quidditch, indeed," Harry said good-naturedly. "Say, I just remembered I'd promised to teach you a little something about flying."

"And I promised to give you dance lessons," Padma agreed. "How about we arrange a mutually beneficial trade of expertise?"

"Sounds very official." Harry mock frowned. "But I don't really know if I like this trade business. I'm a fan of upfront payment, myself."

"So you're saying the Muggles think they nailed Jesus to the cross?" Ron's incredulous voice floated up to them as he and Hermione began to catch up. "That's nutters! Everybody knows the cross was one of the first wands, made by Jesus to help harness the magic of the first wizards."

"Well *I* know that, but Muggles don't. And who's to say what happened anyway? It was two millennia ago, wizards and Muggles could both be right, or both be wrong."

"Nailed him to the--completely daft. Wait until I tell mum. She's always said Muggles were a little off, now she'll be convinced." The pair came abreast of Harry and Padma as they paused to glance into the window of a fantastically decorated furniture store.

"My mother is Christian," Hermione snapped.

Ron went pale, then bright red. "Er, I didn't mean to--that is--"

"Does he realize how obvious he is?" Padma asked in a whisper.

"He thinks he's really subtle," Harry muttered back. "Of course half the school, including Hermione, knows how he feels about her. But that's part of the Ron charm."

"It is rather cute," She agreed, tugging his arm to get him moving. "Hey, you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas."

Harry didn't answer. His eyes were caught by an all-too-familiar shadow leaning against a doorway in the alcove of the building they were approaching. Moody's magical eye seemed to glow in the dark as he flicked it up and down the street full of students.

"That's odd," Harry muttered. "He's the third professor I've seen today. McGonagall was standing outside the Three Broomsticks, and Flitwick was trying to be inconspicuous by Gladrags."

"I saw Sprout, too," Ron added as he and Hermione fell in step with them again. "She was by Zonko's, of all places."

"The professors are allowed to come down here and shop, you know," Hermione interjected. "Remember in our third year?"

"They're not shopping, though." Harry turned a little to get another glimpse of Moody. "They're ... watching. It's creepy."

"Sensible, if you ask me. No sense sending out half the school without some sort of protection."

Harry nodded in agreement, though his mind was still occupied. "I suppose," He agreed. "But it's still bothering me. Don't know why. I just feel..." He shrugged, unable to find a word for the tickling sense of alarm building in his chest.

"Jumpy is what you are." Ron thumped him heartily on the back. Harry silently thought Ron had no room to be calling *anyone* jumpy. Over the past two weeks he'd practically been Harry's shadow, asking every half hour if his scar hurt or if he wanted to talk. It was unlike him, and very touching. For a few days at least. "Just enjoy the day," His friend continued. "It's December. Christmas in three weeks--"

"Exams in two--"

"And there's candy to be bought, not to mention presents!" He grinned, completely ignoring Hermione's interruption.

"What did you want, anyway?" Harry asked, deciding it was good enough advice.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something. You always do."

"That's of no help," Hermione said, frowning. "But at least you're relatively easy to shop for. You, on the other hand," She added, jabbing a finger at Harry, "Are something of a puzzle."

"I am?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Oh, definitely," Padma agreed. "I've been thinking about what to get you for weeks now."

"I'm not that hard to please, you know." Harry frowned at them, a bit put off. "I'd be happy with just a bag of chocolate frogs."

"But *we* wouldn't," Padma retorted, grinning. "Just shut up and deal with the thoughtful, personal gifts, will you?"

"Yes'm." Harry grinned back.

"Anybody else for Dervish and Banges?" Hermione asked, gesturing at the storefront to their left.

"Oh, definitely." Padma detached herself from Harry, joining Hermione at the glass doors. Harry and Ron stood on the sidewalk a moment before exchanging resigned looks and following the girls inside.

The store wasn't nearly as big as Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, but it was still rather extensive. Harry broke into a light trot to catch up to Padma before he lost her in the maze of shelves.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"Recreation section." She grinned at his surprise. "What? You didn't think I only read stuffy old school books, did you?"

"Well..."

"Prat." She caught his hand and drew him down the appropriate aisle with her. "Let's see ... Crystallography, Cyclical Magiphysics, Dancing. So, you'll probably want a mixture, oo here's a good one on ballroom dancing. Nice fold-out photographs, too."

"You expect me to learn to dance from a *book*?" Harry asked, staring at the thick volume she'd plunked into his arms.

"Don't sound so appalled. Theory and practice are two different things, and if you're learning from me you're going to have a good dose of each, Mister." Padma skimmed down the rows of books, pulling out a few then replacing them. "Now, you'll need something a little more modern. They tend to play a real mix of things at school dances. Hmm, this looks nice."

"Does this mean I can get you Quidditch and flying books?" Harry asked hopefully.

Padma laughed, taking the dancing book from him. "Go on with you. This'll be easier without you standing there looking pouty anyway."

"I don't pout," Harry said, jutting out his bottom lip.

"And do [please remember to get books for *me*, not just ones you want to borrow," Padma continued, ignoring him completely.

Harry sulked off up the aisle, secretly pleased. He thought he understood now what some of the older students had been talking about when they said you would never understand dating until you tried it. The exchange he'd just had with Padma had been just the sort of thing that he and Ron would have been disgusted by only a year ago. Bloody hell, it was fun.

Harry reached the end of the aisle, and turned left. "O...P...Q," He muttered, running a finger along the shelves. "Good lord!" The Quidditch section took up about ten feet of shelving. There were literally thousands of books displayed, hundreds of famous stars winking and grinning at him as Bludgers and Snitches and Quaffles zoomed around them.

Harry gawked a moment. Maybe bookstores weren't so bad after all. He'd known Flourish and Blotts had a substantial supply of Quidditch books, but he and Ron had never accompanied Hermione in here before.

Five minutes later, Harry had a small stack of treasures. He'd gotten Padma a copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages" as well as an interesting looking one called "From Awful to Quaffle: A Guide to Brooms and Quidditch for the Flying Novice." He'd also spotted one or two he'd like to take a look at himself, including a biography of Krum. He considered giving that to Hermione for Christmas, but decided against it. He'd probably end up losing a limb, from Hermione herself or Ron.

"Surprise, surprise." Speak of the devil. Hermione stepped up beside him, toting her own stack. "I figured I'd find either you or Ron here. Good thing it's you, though."

"Why's that? And where is Ron?"

"I lost him somewhere in the Muggle studies section." She grinned in satisfaction. "He was ogling his way through a book of Hollywood stars."

"And this pleases you?" Harry asked, confused.

"Well, no." Her smile faded into a scowl for a moment, before returning more devious than ever. "Keep watch for me, will you?"

"Oh, gotcha." Harry hurried to the end of the aisle, peering about. It was tradition for whichever member of the trio was available to guard the person and purchases of another from the third who would try to get a peek at his or her newly bought presents. Now he understood why Hermione was in the Quidditch section. He didn't see Ron anywhere though, and he shifted his books from one hand to the other restlessly. Ron tended to be upfront about his attempts at infiltration, so he wasn't too worried. He would just have to distract him with something. If it was Hermione, though...

Harry winced, remembering his friend's devious little plans. She'd once transfigured a chocolate frog into a Snitch in the middle of Honeydukes, thus focusing Harry's entire attention away from his guard duties. She'd almost gotten to Ron that time.

Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was chewing her lip thoughtfully, perusing the shelves with care. As he turned back to watch the obvious approaches, Harry's eye was caught by the sign labeling the other side of the aisle. It was the language section, and nearly as extensive as that for Quidditch. Keeping one eye peeled for a flash of red, Harry turned to the shelf beside him. Goodness, how many languages *were* there? Ah, here it was, Korean...Latin. Harry examined the selection, then pulled out an English-Latin dictionary. He was sort of curious after hearing both Snape and Hermione mention it.

Flipping through, he was surprised to see many familiar words.

"Hey, Lumos means light?" He asked in surprise.

"Are you guarding or not?" Hermione demanded. "And of course it does. You didn't think they just picked random syllables for spells, did you?"

"Sorry." Harry turned back to his post, still holding the book. He continued flipping through, finding spell after spell. He wondered why the teachers didn't just tell them what the words meant. It would certainly be easier to remember some of them.

Harry stopped dead, his finger poised halfway down a page of S's. His mind spun back nearly three months to the beginning of the year, to Professor Flitwick standing atop his pile of books, wand waving energetically as he explained a particular spell. Harry stared fixedly at the word beneath his finger, trying his best to memorize the pronunciation. He might never need this, but you never knew.

"All done," A cheery voice said behind him. Harry slammed the dictionary shut, spinning to see Hermione regarding him with some amusement. "Some guard you are," She said. "You getting that?"

"No." Harry replaced the dictionary, hoping she didn't see the way his hands were trembling a little. "Want me to watch your back while you buy those?"

"Please." She hefted her load. "Though I doubt Ron will think much of it. He thinks the books I buy are all for me."

Harry craned his neck to examine the titles as they headed towards the front of the store. "Interesting combination," He said, gesturing to the top few. Three were Quidditch related, two biographies, and a history of British World Cup games. Below them was a book entitled "Yule: A Comparison and Exploration of Muggle and Wizard Christmas Beliefs and Practices." "Hermione!" He jabbed a finger at the top biography. "That's not very nice."

"I was planning on having Victor sign it," She said imperturbably, though her lip was twitching. "Ron *did* ask him for his autograph, you know. And I figure he'd enjoy a biography of such a famous Quidditch star."

"You're devious," Harry said, not sure whether to laugh or worry.

"Maybe." She looked suddenly uncertain. "I just hope he doesn't get all pissy. I just want," She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I want, I guess."

"You'll figure it out." Harry put a hand on her shoulder as they joined the short cue.

"I hope so." She sighed. "This really is ridiculous, sometimes."

"Speaking of figuring things out," Harry said, deciding subject changing was the better part of valor, "I have no idea what to get Padma."

"Hmm." Hermione plopped her books down on the counter as she thought. "Get her something non-school related, I'd say. Something personal."

"But *what*?" Harry asked, almost desperately.

"I'm not sure." Hermione handed over several Galleons to the store clerk, then stepped aside for Harry to buy his stack. "But there's a nice little boutique on Asphodel Avenue. Why don't you look in there?"

"Will you distract Padma for me?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sure. It'll give us a chance to buy for you."

Harry paused in the act of lifting the newly purchased books. "Do you like her, Hermione?" He asked.

She stared at him a moment, caught entirely off guard. "Padma? Of course I like her. Why on Earth wouldn't I?"

"No reason." Harry hurriedly stepped out of the way as the person behind him coughed pointedly. "Just she's been spending a lot of time with Ron, you and I. I wanted to make sure you didn't mind her being around."

Hermione eyed him a moment longer then smiled gently. "I really do like her, Harry. And yes, I do think you two make a lovely couple." She smiled at his blush. "It's nice to have another girl around sometimes, especially somebody who takes her studies seriously." She hesitated a moment as they headed for the entrance. "And really, it's not like she's *really* a part of the trio. She hasn't, you know, fought the monsters and solved the mysteries."

"That's exactly what I'm getting at," Harry said, realizing it himself for the first time.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that." Hermione put down her bags and faced him. "I mean, she doesn't *have* to be part of all the memories to be friends with us."

"I know." Harry shrugged a little. "And I really do like her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Aren't you telling this to the wrong person?"

"Probably." Harry shrugged as Ron joined them, empty-handed. "Ron, wanna come to get Padma's present with me? Hermione's going to distract her."

"Sure," His friend said, as Padma herself joined them.

"All set?" She asked.

"Let's go."

They all winced as a blast of cold hit them as they exited. December never kidded around when it came to icy winds. The group split up at the corner, Hermione and Padma heading for Main Street while Harry and Ron turned the other direction for Asphodel Avenue.

"Don't get lost," Hermione called after them.

"How can we get lost, it's two streets over." Harry muttered.

Ron shrugged, looking exasperated. "Lord knows. Although Padma did look sort of amused. What are you getting her anyway?"

"No idea."

"I know that feeling." Ron shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning. "I can't think of a thing for Hermione."

"Maybe you'll find something nice at this boutique place she told me about." Harry drew his cloak closer about himself as they turned a corner and headed straight into the wind. "You should get her something non-school related, something personal," He added with an inner smirk.

"I don't know." Ron scuffed his shoes on the stone sidewalk. "Anything I think of seems either too personal or too impersonal."

"You'll figure it out," Harry assured. "Hey, I think that's the place right up there."

"Wow, that's very..."

"Girlie?" They looked at each other, weighing their options.

"If anyone sees us going in there," Ron started.

"I know." Harry winced up at the delicately pink facade, the flowery welcome mat and the flamboyantly frilly window drapes, all done in sickeningly sweet pastels. "Good cause, right?"

"Sure." Ron sounded dubious, but they moved stolidly forward, each taking only one furtive look about for any classmates, particularly anyone of Malfoy's crowd. Harry didn't even want to think about what kind of mileage Malfoy would get out of this.

Instead of a bell ringing, their entrance was hailed by the triggering of a series of spells which first welcomed them into the shop in a manically cheerful voice issuing from the ceiling, then set the various dolls lining the front shelves to dancing and chattering and generally making a ruckus.

"You said Hermione told you about this place?" Ron demanded in a horrified undertone.

"You think maybe she was putting us on?" Harry whispered back. No one was about, but with about fifty pairs of glass eyes gazing fixedly at them neither felt like speaking loudly.

"Doesn't seem like her." Ron shrugged before moving further into the shop.

Ten minutes later, as the two wended their way through the precipitous piles of various seemingly random items, Harry had to admit that this definitely was the place to be to find the particular gift that had to be just right. They'd found everything from old spell books to cooking implements to antique weaponry.

"Say, you think Hermione would like this?" Ron lifted a square of cloth, which upon closer inspection proved to be an elegantly embroidered shawl.

"Say, that's pretty," Harry said, squinting. "At least I think it is," He added.

"Not like we would know." Ron dropped the shawl in disgust. "God, why wasn't this so hard for the last four years?"

"Because we weren't fifteen then?" Harry asked.

"But it's not like anything else has changed," Ron said, scowling.

Harry stopped in his tracks, staring at his friend. "Which is not to say you wouldn't want it to," He said carefully. He was rewarded with a blush and a thunderous expression.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron demanded defensively.

"Just that maybe a book isn't the best way to go this year," Harry replied diplomatically, before heading quickly on, leaving Ron to stew on that for a while. If he wanted to take the tacit advice, more power to him. If not, well Harry had enough to worry about without getting more headaches from the Ron-Hermione issue, not too mention all the ulcer-inducing potential of Victor's involvement.

"D'you suppose we'll be able to get out of here?" Ron asked a few minutes later.

Harry sighed a little. He hadn't really expected Ron to admit anything, but it would have been nice.

"You been keeping track of the turns we're making?" He asked, seeing Ron's point.

"No. You?"

"We're doomed." Harry gazed around himself. On every side there were ceiling-high shelves, crammed with every item imaginable, organized, as far as Harry could tell, by some system involving color, age, and the last three letters of its name. He had no idea where they were, and he had a sinking feeling that this was one of those wizard buildings which had quite a bit more space on the inside than on the outside. 'Don't get lost, indeed.'

"I wonder if there are skeletons around here, of other lost travelers," Ron muttered morosely.

"Haven't seen one yet--Hey! That's personal, isn't it?" Harry jabbed a finger at the cabinet before them, its shelves lined with rows of differently shaped bottles of perfume.

"Wouldn't it be like saying 'you stink?'" Ron asked dubiously.

"I don't think so." Harry opened the glass door and scanned the bottles. "I think it's supposed to be romantic. Help me figure out which one."

"That one says it's charmed to renew the scent for twelve hours," Ron pointed out.

"Hmm, and that one changes through a series of flowers." Harry fingered the various containers, overwhelmed by the variety.

"D'you think it's, you know, right?" He asked.

"Don't look at me." Ron shrugged eloquently. "Seems good enough, though."

"Okay." Closing his eyes, Harry reached out and plucked a bottle at random. He smiled as he glanced down. It was a lovely cut-glass container, ornament as well as perfume. The scent altered every three hours through a progression of familiar and unfamiliar plants. "This looks good."

"Now we just gotta get out of here."

"You don't want to get Hermione anything?" Harry asked as they began working their way back to what they hoped was the entrance and the counter.

"Didn't see anything ... right." Ron shrugged again, once more morose. "Besides, it's not like whatever I get will be anything next to what Victor can get her."

"I wouldn't say that." Harry frowned at the multi-colored displays of rugs. He didn't remember seeing this part before. "Hermione will like whatever you get her."

"So why am I worrying so much about exactly what that should be?" Ron asked, not unreasonably.

Harry was glad that they finally emerged from the maze of shelves into the entrance, and that there was the distraction of finding a shopkeeper and paying for the perfume, because he really didn't have an answer for that.

***

Harry shifted his bags, careful not to jostle them too much. He'd bought more today than he ever had in one day before in his life, and he was beginning to regret it now on the long, mostly uphill, trek back to the castle. It was still late afternoon, yet the sky was already darkening. It had gotten progressively colder throughout the day, and even a full belly of Butterbeer wasn't helping. He was eternally grateful for Hermione's warming charms. He'd been afraid to try it himself, worried he'd light himself on fire like he had his cloak.

The scattered groups of students about them walked mostly in silence, apparently just as tired as Harry and his companions were. Harry himself was thinking longingly of the undoubtedly spectacular dinner awaiting them, not to mention the warmth of the Great Hall.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took him a moment to register the distant sound. He stopped dead, barely keeping hold of his many bags as he strained his ears.

"You hear that?" He asked sharply.

"What? I don't hear anything." Padma tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Come on, Harry, it's freezing out here. Let's keep moving."

Reluctantly, Harry complied, though that tantalizingly familiar sound still danced just out of identifiable hearing range. It sounded like someone wailing, someone screaming ... begging...

"Blimey, it's subzero," Ron complained, looking pointedly at Hermione.

"I put on that warming charm not ten minutes ago, Ron. It can't have worn off alre--Harry!"

"Everybody Run!" Harry yelled, projecting his voice so the scattered groups of students all up and down the path would hear him. For a moment everybody just stared at him, shocked. Some of the younger students took a few running steps before stopping, realizing nobody else was.

"Harry, what--"

"I said run! Run for the castle!" Harry shoved his bags at his friends, fumbling in his robes. God, if he'd forgotten his wand ... no, there it was, that spark he felt at any contact with it one of the most welcome things he'd ever felt.

About him a few students were looking worried, a few laughing at him. But his friends were watching him intently, their faces set.

"What is it?" Ron asked, drawing his own wand.

"Dementors. I feel--" But it was too late. The unnatural cold seemed to clamp down on them like a vise, freezing the very breath in their lungs. Turning, Harry saw the black mass, wave upon wave of the creatures streaming towards them from the North, from the part of the Forbidden Forest which bordered Hogsmeade from that direction. That distant sound was becoming sickeningly audible, and it took every ounce of will power Harry possessed not to follow his own advice and just run for it.

His brain was whirling, bits of thoughts surfacing then submerging beneath the tides of panic. Dumbledore had said something last year, something about Dementors and Azkaban ... where were all the teachers? They'd been unable to go twenty feet without spotting one all throughout the day, and now there wasn't a one on the entire hillside ... how had they gotten so close to the town and the school without anyone knowing? ... Had they abandoned Azkaban? Did that mean there was an army of angry prisoners somewhere out there? And underlying it all was the ever increasing mist, the desperate pleas...

"Harry!" A stinging blow landed across his cheek. Harry jumped and spun to see Hermione, her jaw set and her hands white-knuckled on her wand. Ron stood beside her, shivering violently but looking as if nothing in this world could make him move. Glancing around, Harry saw that the rest of the students were finally taking his advice and heading at full tilt for the castle at the top of the hill. But as he judged distances and speeds with a practiced Quidditch eye he could see with a sick sort of fascination that only the first few would make it.

"You with us?" Ron asked tensely.

"Yeah. Sorry." Harry took a deep shuddering breath, making an effort to hear Ron and Hermione and not his mother. "I've gotta ... Patronus..."

"You can't for so many. There are thousands of them." Padma's eyes were huge as she ran her wand through her hands distractedly.

"Well, I'm not going to just stand here. Where the hell did all the teachers go?" Harry took one last deep breath, knowing this was it. He'd once watched a program on the Learning Channel about black holes and other spatial anomalies. They'd called it the event horizon, the point at which there was no return and you could do nothing but be sucked down into the darkness. He felt that invisible line approaching now, coming as inexorably as the mass of figures gliding silently towards them.

"Happy memories," Hermione was muttering, "Ron, did we buy any chocolate?"

"I thought that was for afterwards."

"Well, it can't hurt--"

"Quiet!" Harry lifted a hand, turning his back on them and facing the approaching Dementors. He reached for a moment of pure elation, of unadulterated happiness. He skipped over the entirety of last year as a matter of course, then he found it.

The heft of the Quidditch cup in his hands, the blissful expression on Oliver's face, the approaching flood of screaming Gryffindors...

Harry was oddly aware, as he focused on that scene and those sensations, of a curious sort of feeling inside him. He felt much like that boutique, like he had much more space on the inside than on the outside. It felt like something had opened, an enormous empty space in the center of his head that needed to be filled. And then he filled it.

"Expecto Patronum!"

He felt like he was riding with Prongs, like his mind went with the enormous stag which exploded from his wand. The beast, its very essence a part of Harry's memory, raced towards the approaching hoard and plunged right into the center of it. Harry felt the exultation as the beast lifted and tossed Dementors on its horns, as the silent monsters scattered, some slower than others as if the touch of that glowing set of antlers had injured them. He returned to his body as Prongs did, the stag leaping back into his wand with what could have been a satisfied flick of his tail. For a moment Harry was disoriented, feeling like he had been stuffed in a tiny place, much too little for him.

But then senses returned one after another, and he was aware that it was no longer quite so cold. Blinking his dazzled eyes he could see the last of the Dementors disappearing into the Forbidden Forest, could hear Hermione's sigh and Ron's whoop.

Then suddenly there was a quick succession of *pops* one after another like popcorn. A pair of warm hands seized Harry by the shoulders, swinging him around to face a shaking, but smiling, Professor McGonagall.

"Well done, Potter!" She cried, gripping him tightly. "We got here as soon as we could, but it seems we weren't needed." She paused a moment, eying him. "You alright, Potter?" She asked in a quieter voice.

Harry just stared at her a moment, still dazed. "Er," He said intelligently. "

"Weasley, Granger! Chocolate!" The Professor reached down and took Harry's hands, exclaiming at their icy feel.

"Right here." Ron shoved a frog into Harry's face, the wrapper only half off. Harry accepted it absently, only realizing what it was as the warmth began to reawaken his insides.

"I'm alright," He said finally. "Just a little disoriented."

"Well, I would imagine." McGonagall patted his hand, returning to her normal brisk manner. "That was an enormously powerful Patronus you just conjured. I imagine you're feeling a bit out of sorts."

Harry just nodded, not really sure how to explain how he was feeling. That feeling of constriction was receding along with the chill the Dementors had left, but his emotions were in a whirl. He'd heard it again, heard her again. And again he'd had to kill the only connection he'd ever found to his parents, the only way he could ever hear his mother's voice.

"Come on now," Hermione took his arm firmly. "Let's get you back to the castle and get some food in you."

As he followed her up the rest of the path Harry was aware of the activity around him. It seemed like the entire staff was out here now, some heading down towards the forest edge while others herded the crowd of shaken students up to the school.

"Typical," Ron muttered. "They only show up when it's all over."

"Be quiet," Hermione snapped, snatching another frog from him and thrusting it at Harry. "You in there, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry answered. "But I should talk to Dumbledore," He added, a little sense returning. "Ask him about Azkaban."

"You don't think--oh dear, this isn't good at all." Hermione replied, keeping hold of him as they approached the castle gates. "But I imagine you won't be able to get a private word with Dumbledore for a while." She gestured to their right and Harry groaned as he saw a contingent of obviously Ministry officials heading up the front lawn.

"How did they get here so fast?" He muttered irritably.

"It's the Ministry."

Harry glanced down, for the first time realizing how quiet Padma was being. She was walking beside Ron, wand still held loosely and her face tinged with gray. She looked as if she had just suffered a severe shock, which of course she probably had.

"You alright?" He asked gently.

She jumped a little, then glanced up at him briefly. "I'm fine," She said unconvincingly, before turning away and hurrying off without another word, aiming for a cluster of Ravenclaws ahead of them.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said, restraining Harry's attempt to follow her. "She's fine. I think she was just shaken up. Let her be."

"Are you guys alright?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Fine. Just got cold." Ron moved in closer, taking Harry's other arm. Harry didn't really see why until he glanced around and realized that the majority of the students milling towards the main doors were staring or pointing at him.

"You don't think the Dementors had a really bad effect on Padma, do you?" Harry asked, looking for and not finding his girlfriend in the crowd.

"She seemed okay," Hermione assured.

"At least she didn't run," Ron added grumpily. "Cowards."

"You're warming up," Hermione said with obvious relief, clasping Harry's hand. "You feeling alright now?"

"Aside from my face." Harry lifted his other hand and gingerly probed at his cheek. "Was it really necessary to slap me that hard?"

"We'd been calling your name for a minute and you just stood there like you were in some sort of trance." She examined the mark sympathetically. "I didn't mean to hit quite that hard, though."

"Now I know how Malfoy felt," Harry muttered.

"Really?" Ron perked up. "Does it hurt really bad?"

"It's horrendous," Harry assured, grinning. "You ever thought about being a Beater, Hermione? You've got a fabulous swing."

"Ug, flying." She shuddered expressively.

"Oi, smell that? Bless those house elves!" Ron increased his pace as they entered the castle, as it seemed everyone else was doing. The odors issuing from the great hall were indeed appetizing, a fact which filled Harry with hope. Perhaps he could make it through a complete meal tonight, maybe even have some dessert--chocolate anything was sounding wonderful right then.

So it was with great disappointment that Harry pushed his plate away not five minutes later. As soon as he'd sat down at the Gryffindor table any vestiges of hunger had been erased. He couldn't really be sure whether it was his stomach's fault, or due to the constant barrage of curious or fearful glances and none-to-discrete questions.

"Where did he learn to do that?" He heard as a group of older students passed. "I thought it was supposed to be this hugely advanced spell."

"Well, he is the Boy Who Lived," Another replied.

Harry suppressed the enormous desire to slam his head repeatedly into the table.

His friends were being wonderful, but even their concerted efforts couldn't shield him from the overpowering curiosity of the entire school. Harry felt himself shrinking in his seat under all the scrutiny, now finding the smells of the beef stew and crusty bread nauseating.

"D'you suppose Dumbledore is dealing with the Ministry?" Ron asked, jerking his thumb towards the vacant seat at the head table.

"Probably. Though I bet he'll be making some sort of statement to the school," Hermione commented.

As if on cue a hush fell across the room as Dumbledore appeared from a side entrance and approached the head table. He stood behind his chair for a long moment, just gazing about the room.

"I believe," He said finally, "That in spite of what many of your elders say, you all deserve the benefit of the truth. Lies with the intention to protect have a distressing tendency to do just the opposite." He sighed, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. "Today, many of our students were threatened with the most dire of fates on their way back from Hogsmeade. The Dementors who attempted to reach them, and perhaps this school, would have had no compunctions about performing their kiss on anyone they found." A mass shudder gripped the room. "It was very fortunate that one of the students present had the skill and control to perform a Patraness spell, one of the only known ways to repel Dementors. For this, I do believe one-hundred points to Gryffindor are in order." The applause that greeted this statement was much more muted than it ordinarily would have been, though many of the Gryffindors did cast Harry pleased smiles. "I would like to assure you," Dumbledore continued, "That I and the entire Hogwarts faculty will do our utmost to ensure that events such as those of this afternoon never occur again. We wish with all our hearts for your time and learning here to be as safe and pleasant as possible, no matter the events engulfing the wizarding world, or no matter what lies those in authority wish to tell you." His eyes narrowed a moment, and Harry felt momentary sympathy for the ministry officials undoubtedly waiting for him. "So enjoy your meal, and the rest of your weekend." With that the Headmaster swept out, leaving behind him a buzz of nervous and speculative chatter.

"That wasn't quite the comforting assurances I was thinking about," Hermione murmured, her eyes still on the door through which Dumbledore had left. "But I do agree with him, lying to all of us would do no good."

"Hey Harry!" A painfully excited squeal interrupted. "Can you teach me how to conjure a Patronus?"

"No Colin, I really don't think I can," Harry answered calmly. "I'm a horrible teacher and it's one of those spells that takes a long time to learn."

"Are you sure?" Colin Creevey looked crestfallen. "I think it would be awesome to be able to face down Dementors without breaking a sweat!"

"Excuse me," Harry said abruptly, standing. "I'm really very tired. I think I'll head back to the common room now." He hurried out of the hall, his shoulders straightening as soon as he felt the weight of all those glances lift. Normally he wouldn't have just left them all like that, and he wouldn't have done anything to hurt Colin, no matter how annoying he sometimes got. But he just couldn't face them all right now. He just wanted to go curl up in front of the fire and let its warmth soothe him through the long wait ahead. Harry had no desire or intention of sleeping until he'd spoken to Dumbledore about the Dementors. He was concerned not only with their appearance, and what that might mean in terms of Voldemort and Azkaban, but also about the teachers. Harry didn't want to seem presumptuous by telling the Headmaster how to run his school, but the teachers hadn't been there when it really mattered. How could their safety be assured when the protectors weren't even around when they were needed?

Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed the figure occupying a couch off to the side of the common room fire, even though Harry was facing him straight on as he entered. It was only when Neville spoke his name that Harry noticed him.

"Oh, hullo, Neville. Shouldn't you be at dinner?" He asked.

"Got my own." Neville gestured to the laden tray of goodies on the table before him. "I got lost today and found the kitchen by accident. Those house elves really are very helpful, aren't they?"

"Yes they are," Harry agreed, reflecting with a tolerant smile that Neville was the only person he knew who could *accidentally* find the Hogwarts kitchen and sound believable. "You didn't go to Hogsmeade?" He asked then.

"No." Neville looked away, a flush rising in his cheeks. "I, er, thought it would be better to stay here and study."

Harry stared uncomprehendingly as he took a seat across from Neville. There was indeed a substantial pile of books beside the food tray, as well as an impressive supply of parchment and a veritable army of those highlighters. But he'd never known Neville to forgo a visit to Honeydukes for anything, let alone for books.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, worried. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"Oh, no. I just ... well the OWLs are this year and I sort of figured if I studied all year maybe it would ... help." Neville shrugged, looking miserable.

"That sounds like Hermione," Harry observed, then cursed himself inwardly as he saw Neville's expression.

"I'm not like Hermione," The other boy said softly.

"And no one expects you to be," Harry hurried to assure. "I'm sure the OWLs won't be nearly as hard as all the older kids say they are. I mean, one of his brothers told Ron he'd have to wrestle a troll to get sorted." He was gratified to see a smile slide onto Neville's face, and continued. "And, you know, if you need any help, I'm not the greatest student ever, but I'm sure I could give you a hand."

"Really?" Neville looked delighted beyond all expectation.

"I'm really not that good in some of the subjects," Harry reminded him quickly.

"What about Transfiguration?" Neville scrabbled through the parchments before him, coming up with a crumpled roll. "I've been having a real hard time with this animate to inanimate stuff."

"Me too, actually. But," Harry added as he saw Neville's crestfallen expression, "We can have a go. Hermione always says that learning together is much easier than learning alone." He stood and took a place next to Neville, squinting along with him at the round scrawl of his notes. "Look here, I think part of your problem is what you've got written down here." Harry withdrew his wand and summoned his own parchments from Hermione's corner table. "Look here, you skipped the 'swish' in the wand movement. I remember McGonagall said that was a really important bit and no matter how hard you concentrated on suspending the life force of a truly animate object, it wouldn't do any good without the swish."

"I wonder why a little swish makes such a difference?" Neville asked, scribbling in the information. "I mean, you'd think the important bit would be concentrating on what you want to do."

"You'd think." Harry shrugged diffidently. "But no one said it had to make perfect sense."

"It never does," Neville muttered, scanning the rest of his parchment. "D'you see any other problems here?"

"No," Harry said, glancing from his own admittedly disorganized notes to Neville's.

"That's my big problem, I think." Neville admitted. "It's like I hear what the professors say or copy down what's on the board, but something always gets lost somewhere in the middle." He sighed a little sadly. "Of course, when I go and read the notes back to myself I forget half of it five minutes later anyway or just can't understand what I meant in the first place."

"Tell you what," Harry said, Neville's distress bothering him more than he expected. "I've got at least four hours before I can--" He abruptly changed his words, realizing he was about to blurt out his intention of visiting Dumbledore late that night, "should go to bed," He supplied hastily. "So why don't we just go over all the notes about animate objects and transfiguring them? My notes are nothing like Hermione's, but they work well enough."

"You wouldn't mind?" Neville's hopeful look was back. "I don't want to be a bother. Sometimes I just can't think." His frustration was nearly palpable. "It's like my brain is stuck in quicksand, like I can't understand things everybody else does. I feel like things should be easier, but they've always been like this." Harry was touched by the near desperation he could see in Neville's eyes. He wondered suddenly if Neville had ever told anybody about how he felt before, or if anybody had ever bothered to listen.

"It's no bother, I'd love to do it. It'll help me learn too." Harry scooted closer, unrolling his notes. "So, d'you want to start with the beginning of the year and just go straight through? We probably have time."

***

Harry sighed as quietly as possible and stretched. The invisibility cloak didn't offer much protection against the pervasive chill which seemed to inhabit the very stones of the castle during winter. In his current position, leaning against the wall down the hall from Dumbledore's gargoyle, Harry had an excellent view of the entrance itself as well as both approaches.

He glanced down at his wrist, realizing only as he did so that his watch had been broken since last year. He really should order a new one from Hogsmeade, maybe one of those really neat wizard ones where you could keep track of people. In any case, it would be really nice to be able to tell what time it was. He felt like he'd been leaning here, tucked away behind a tapestry, for hours. He knew nobody could see him, but the way Mrs. Norris tended to stare right at him even when he was invisible was really unnerving.

At least the corridor was empty now. When he'd arrived about eleven there had been something of a cue to see the Headmaster. He hadn't known most of the people, but he figured half were terrified or angry parents while the other half were Ministry people. He had knew respect for the work Dumbledore did, dealing with all those people.

The last set, a dour pair of what Harry assumed were Ministry from their briefcases, had gone up a while ago. Harry was just waiting for them to be through before he spoke to Dumbledore himself.

Harry wriggled his shoulders, hoping to keep his back from getting stiff. If they weren't out by the next time Filch came by, he was heading to bed. He could speak to Dumbledore tomorrow.

Harry cocked his head, listening intently. He hadn't thought Filch would be back around so soon. In fact he thought the man had just been through not fifteen minutes ago. He leaned around the tapestry, squinting down the dark hall. There was no lantern, so maybe it was somebody else. If it was another ministry worker...

A disturbance at the gargoyle caught Harry's attention. He ducked back behind the tapestry, more reflex than necessity given the invisibility cloak, and watched as Dumbledore graciously ushered out the two ministry men. Harry could hear their conversation clearly as they paused by the gargoyle. They were finalizing plans to send in teams of Aurors to force the Dementors out of the Forbidden Forest before they could do further mischief. Glancing back up the hall in the other direction Harry saw a shadow poised against a moonlit window, obviously waiting for something. Filch wouldn't bother waiting, definitely. And there was a sort of tension in the shadow's stance, the way it continually shifted forward and back as if it were restraining itself.

The moment the two ministry men concluded their talk with Dumbledore and rounded the far end of the hall, the figure moved forward at a near run.

"Albus!" It cried, in a very familiar voice. It took all Harry's self-restraint not to jump out right then and greet him, but some instinct restrained him. He didn't particularly want to eavesdrop on the Headmaster and Remus, but he couldn't exactly slip away now with them standing not a meter away.

"Ah, Remus, I was wondering when you would be arriving." Dumbledore extended his hand, but Remus ignored it. Harry was concerned to see the unhealthy pallor of Remus' skin.

"I came as quickly as I could, as soon as we heard...Albus, what were you thinking? Somebody could have been killed! Worse than killed!" Lupin took a step back, gesturing wildly. Harry was shocked, rarely if ever having seen his former teacher anything less than calm and composed.

"Now, Remus," Dumbledore began placatingly, "You must understand that it was entirely necessary--"

"We agreed," Lupin cut him off doggedly, "To discuss things before you went ahead and made plans. Sirius is furious, and so am I! Why if the slightest thing went wrong, if you'd mis-timed by just a minute there could have been slaughter!"

"Now, now, no need to exaggerate. My entire staff was waiting within sight and hearing range of the location. At the slightest sign of anything amiss with the attack they would have apparated in directly and handled things. Alastor, Minerva, and several others have mastered the Patraness spell and were poised to use it if anything were to happen. Come now," Dumbledore placed a hand on Remus' arm, "Come into my office and have some tea with me. We can talk about this some more and--"

"Is this really necessary, Albus?" Remus asked abruptly. All belligerence had left his voice, and he just sounded tired and sad.

"Yes, Remus." Dumbledore, too, sounded very sad. "All my plans have been sped up. This is the way it must be."

"But he's so young," Remus whispered.

"Harry is strong, and he will be just fine." Harry jumped at the sound of his own name, then felt himself blush at the assurance in Dumbledore's voice. It was nice to know the great wizard had such confidence in him. "I admit that the attack today was a severe measure, but I assure you Remus that I would have not resorted to such a thing without due cause." His normal jovial smile returned. "It was actually a lucky thing that those Dementors were sent out. All I did was...juggle things a bit, ensure they were in the right place at the right time. It's ironic that they ended up serving my purposes, considering their master."

"I still think it was incredibly dangerous," Remus said, though he sounded much mollified.

"Harry comported himself beautifully, and in doing so he may have saved more lives than he can know." Dumbledore looked thoughtful a moment. "We have just to wait and see whether today's efforts will bear fruit. Come, Remus, do let us get some tea. I'm sure you're exhausted as well..."

Dumbledore's words cut off as he shepherded an unprotesting Remus through the open gargoyle and it shut behind them. For a long moment Harry didn't move, staring blankly at the opposite wall. The implications of what he'd just heard were so enormous, so unthinkable that he couldn't even absorb them.

It was only when Filch came through the corridor on his rounds, lantern clanking and grumbling to his cat that Harry came back to himself. He waited until Filch and Mrs. Norris were well and gone before he slipped out of his hiding place and headed back for the tower. He was so tired he could barely walk in a straight line, yet his brain wouldn't stop going. It seemed ludicrous, out of all the realms of possibility that Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore, had somehow orchestrated the Dementor attack that afternoon. Yet the Headmaster's own words seemed to confirm it. And what would come of it? What was he trying to do? What did Sirius and Remus know, what were these plans?

Harry had to thump the portrait several times before the fat lady woke up, and even then she was remarkably grumpy. Harry slipped into the common room and out of his cloak, still lost in thought. Who had sent the Dementors in the first place? Voldemort was the obvious candidate, but did that mean Azkaban had been abandoned and the prisoners released? Why had Voldemort sent them?

Harry stumbled up the stairs and literally fell into his bed without bothering to undress. The exhaustion that gripped him was complete and unbreakable, pinning him down with leaden weights. He slept like that, sprawled awkwardly across his covers, invisibility cloak clutched to his chest. And his dreams were uneasy phantoms, tormenting him with possibility and supposition, with truth and lies.