Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter
Genres:
Drama Mystery
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 04/02/2002
Updated: 04/16/2004
Words: 305,784
Chapters: 30
Hits: 74,152

Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

E. E. Beck

Story Summary:
First in a trilogy of novels about harry's last years at Hogwarts. This one takes Harry through a new world of Death Eaters, secret identities, girls, battles and more than I can list here.

Chapter 26

Chapter Summary:
Harry has an enlightening tea with the Headmaster and...guest, then has a really bad couple of days. He also has a dream. Yeah, one of those.
Posted:
09/24/2003
Hits:
1,696
Author's Note:
Author's notes: First, know that in this story *every* detail is important. I mean that literally. Pretty much every conversation has a point, which you

Chapter 26

Ready

Mourn not the dead that in the cool earth lie,

but rather mourn the apathetic throng

the coward and the meek

who see the world's great anguish and its wrong,

and dare not speak.

- Ralph Chaplin

***

There was a sudden movement behind Harry, and Dumbledore was abruptly at his side. "Harry?" he asked.

"I was working on my History O.W.L. in the library," Harry said, never taking his eyes off Fawkes. "And I was looking for a picture of Godric Gryffindor." Fawkes stirred a bit, his wings ruffling.

"And?" Dumbledore prompted after a moment.

"And I found a picture of Godric Gryffindor," Harry said. He pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it unwaveringly at Fawkes. "I know the spell to force you to transform," he said, deciding not to mention that he had just now read about it, and had seen it performed only once. "You might as well just change."

Fawkes twitched, ruffled his wings some more, then hopped down from his perch to the floor. Harry took a hasty step back to keep his wand trained. There was a long moment of silent immobility, and Harry was just beginning to think he would have to attempt the spell, when Fawkes let out a little chirrup. There was a flash of light, a whoosh of displaced air, and the phoenix was gone. In his place stood a man with long, disarrayed reddish hair, brown eyes, and a familiar jovial smile.

"Hello then," he said. "I was wondering how long it would take you to find a picture of me after you remembered everything, Harry."

"There aren't many pictures of you," Harry said. "I had to look in a book of rare etchings and things."

Godric Gryffindor nodded. "Yes. I was rather averse to having my likeness put down in my human lifetime, for reasons I'm sure you can now understand. I knew of course, when I appeared to you in this office in the fall, that it would only be a matter of time until you discovered the truth. But in your particular case, that was part of the intention, you see."

"No," said Harry. "No, I really don't."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, speaking for the first time since Gryffindor had transformed, "we should all sit down. I, for one, could use a nice cup of tea. And perhaps a biscuit or three."

It was one of those times when Harry was unsure on just what side of the genius/insanity line the Headmaster fell. All he knew was that if his phoenix of however many years transformed before his eyes into one of the Hogwarts founders, he certainly wouldn't conjure an ornate silver tea service, pass around a tin of sugar biscuits, and offer said Hogwarts founder "one lump or two?" with perfect equanimity.

When they were all settled, Harry having declined both tea and biscuits, the Headmaster leaned back in his chair and studied Gryffindor. "Well then," he said. "This is most revealing."

Harry, who didn't think so at all, lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

Gryffindor nibbled on his biscuit. He was wearing a set of high-necked, bell-sleeved robes. It seemed fashions hadn't changed too radically in over a millennium. "Sorry about never telling you for the past century or so," he said to Dumbledore.

"Not at all, not at all," Dumbledore said, waving magnanimously. "But tell me, you're not actually human, are you?"

"No," Gryffindor said, glancing at Harry. "That spell of yours wouldn't have worked on me. It's made to force an Animagus to transform, and I am not an Animagus."

"Well, what are you, then?" Harry asked.

"I'm not even really Godric Gryffindor, exactly," Gryffindor continued thoughtfully.

Harry spluttered. "Well then what--who--"

Gryffindor set down his teacup and folded his hands. "Godric Gryffindor is dead," he said. "He has been for over a millennium. He died at the age of three, when his home was not so accidentally set ablaze. This was quite unfortunate, for he had a destiny to fulfill, a role to play. Without him, this school, built on the tenets of the four founders, would not have been built, or would have been constructed much differently."

"So you...replaced him?" Harry asked, recalling suddenly some details from his research earlier in the school year. "He...you... reappeared suddenly when he would have been grown up."

"Precisely," Gryffindor said. "It was essential that his role in history be fulfilled, that this school be founded. We knew that, and our enemies knew that. That is why he was killed in the first place. A prophecy was made, you see--oh forget all that business. Suffice it to say that everybody knew he and his friends together would do something great, in founding this school, which would be a beacon and a haven for light magic in the dark times to come."

"So...what are you?" Harry asked, returning to the original question.

"Why, a phoenix, of course," Gryffindor said, smiling as if it were a very silly question. "Has it never occurred to you to wonder why, if a human can learn to turn into an animal, an animal could not learn to turn into a human? Not that the word animal particularly applies to me, but that's a matter of semantics."

Harry blinked. The thought had, in fact, not occurred to him, though it made a great deal of sense.

Dumbledore refilled Gryffindor's teacup and pressed another biscuit on him. "I imagine you have some important things to tell us," he said mildly.

Gryffindor dipped his biscuit in his tea and munched contentedly. "I do," he said after a moment. "Excuse me. I haven't had humanfood in a millennium. These biscuits are exquisite." Dumbledore beamed. Harry suppressed the urge to bang his head down onto the Headmaster's desk. Repeatedly.

"What is it that you...do?" he asked, floundering a bit for just the right question which would make everything clear. "Why are you here? Can all phoenixes transform like that?"

"I am here because of your Headmaster," Gryffindor said. "I am an aid if you will, to wizards and witches of light magic. I have, over the past millennium since my human life, been the lifelong companion of two wizards." He smiled a little wistfully. "Dear Michael. I still miss him."

Dumbledore nodded, appearing to be several steps ahead of the explanation and not at all surprised. "I have always thought perhaps," he said softly, "that there was more to magic than what we know of it. I have often felt the stirrings of forces beyond myself, beyond this school, beyond our small, human community." He smiled gently at Gryffindor. "I imagine you do not know all the answers, and could not tell me if you did."

Gryffindor shook his head. "Sorry, I really don't. You are correct--there are places beyond this world, magics beyond your magic, forces that come from outside the world you know and shape its course and future. I am a servant of one of these forces, of what you think of as light magic." He shrugged expressively. "I could not adequately describe, nor could you comprehend, the scope of the world beyond yours."

"You're in conflict," Harry said slowly. "You said you have enemies."

Gryffindor nodded. "We are never not in conflict," he said softly. "The fight I am engaged in has been raging since the first moments of the universe. I, and my opposite numbers here in your world, are only emissaries of our conflict sent here to watch and help from behind the scenes."

Something tickled at Harry's awareness. He tilted his head, considering Gryffindor through narrowed eyes as he pursued the vague notion. "So all phoenixes are like you?" he asked.

"Yes," Gryffindor said. "Which is partly why we are so rare. Not all can or wish to transform into humans, but all are servants of the powers that direct me. We are not really phoenixes, anyhow. That is simply what we become here in your world, governed by your magics."

"And what about your enemies?" Harry asked. "What do they appear as?"

Gryffindor smiled at him, appearing pleased. "Any number of things," he said. "What you call Dementors are servants of our enemies. And various...other...creatures, some of which are simply illusions cast to mimic creatures naturally found here."

Harry's idea exploded into his mind, and his eyes widened. "Nagini!" he said. "That's how she's survived. I knew it was her--she's like you, not really a snake."

Gryffindor nodded. "Your intuition is keen," he said. "Nagini is, like me, a creature not of this world, but inhabiting it. She, like some others of her kind, has taken the form of a particular kind of snake."

"And Voldemort doesn't know," Harry said slowly. "Anymore than Professor Dumbledore knew about you."

"Ah." Gryffindor looked suddenly uncomfortable. "That's the rub, you see. It appears that he does, in fact, know of Nagini's identity." He grimaced. "There are rules about these things, you see. We can live with humans, but we cannot reveal ourselves, our plans, our world to them, no matter...who they are. But it appears one of our enemies has decided to ignore the rules this time." He paused, looking speculatively past Dumbledore into the mid-afternoon sky. "It is disturbing," he said softly. "Something is building, some plan coming to fruition. And we are all desperate, willing to do anything to see it stopped."

"So that's why you're here now, why you let me find you," Harry said slowly. "Because Nagini already did."

"These are ancient rules," Gryffindor said. "It is chilling to think what is at stake for both sides to be ready to forget them."

"And you're on the side of good?" Harry asked.

Gryffindor cast him a fond, slightly amused smile. "It would be best to leave it at that, I think," he said. "The intricacies of our battle, and the exact nature of the forces involved go somewhat beyond the human concepts of good and evil. But those labels will suffice for now."

"So, what did you do to me before?" Harry asked, switching topics. "When you transformed and bound me and erased my memory?"

"Ah." Gryffindor looked suddenly more serious. "That is partly why I have appeared to you both now." He hesitated, glancing between them. "It seems that there is something amiss with you, young Harry."

Harry sat up straight. "What do you mean?"

"I had received hints of it from my brief contacts with you," Gryffindor explained. "And from conversations I heard in this very office. I thought at first that the problem would correct itself." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Or that your Headmaster would sort it out. But I became more and more concerned as time passed and there appeared to be no change."

"What problem?" Harry demanded.

"There appears to be some sort of spell on you," Gryffindor said. "A spell that I was unable to reverse."

A chill ran down Harry's spine and settled in his gut. "Oh," he said in a very small voice. He thought of a stack of parchments, of spidery, angled handwriting, of clinical curiosity and terrifying warnings.

"You see," Gryffindor continued, "I knew you would need to discover me eventually. But you weren't ready when I appeared to you, and I had very little time then." He tilted his head towards Dumbledore. "I did not want you discovering me then, either."

"So you erased Harry's memory," Dumbledore said.

Gryffindor nodded. "Knowing, of course, that he would stumble across the memories eventually when the time was right, as you yourself had planned. And also knowing that he would eventually find a picture of me and make the connection." He bent his head to Dumbledore again in a sort of half bow. "I haven't yet thanked you for contriving to have myself assigned as Harry's project."

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspected that was of significance," he murmured. "But I was unsure at the time just why."

Harry sat silent, not really listening to their exchange. His fingers clenched in his lap were beginning to go numb, and he wished his brain would follow.

"You couldn't reverse it?" he said abruptly.

Gryffindor turned back to him, frowning. "No," he said with a sigh. "The enchantment was very old and entrenched within you, and I could not lift it in that brief time without damaging you in the process, if it could be done at all. I did not have the time to fully examine its complexities."

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. Even now the boy grows...she has no idea what she is raising, what is living in her home.

Dumbledore's eyes were sober. "I suspected something of the sort," he said with a sigh. "I have been attempting, as you said, to counteract such a possibility, but I have been thus far unsuccessful."

"There are other ways," Gryffindor said, rolling his tea cup between his fingers. "It is simply a matter of the right moment, the right impetus."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "And perhaps," he said softly, "I have been impetuous in my actions. Perhaps my methods were crude."

Gryffindor smiled gently. "You have taught these children that magic is in their blood and in their souls," he said softly. "You have taught them that they have been born with a great gift and a great responsibility, and that they must believe in that gift to be able to understand it properly. There is power in their bodies and power in their minds. It is only the intersection of the two that makes it magic."

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Perhaps I have neglected my own lessons," he said softly. He and Gryffindor locked eyes and seemed to conduct a silent exchange of thoughts. Harry glanced back and forth between them, feeling as if an entire conversation was taking place just out of earshot. Finally, Dumbledore nodded and sat back. "You have given me much to think about," he said.

"There is one more thing," Gryffindor said, pushing his cup and saucer away and turning to Harry. "There was something causing you to feel ill many months ago. I attempted to ease you once as you ate." His eyes were piercing.

Harry frowned, taking a moment to recall. "Oh, yes, that's right," he said after a pause.

"It has stopped?" Gryffindor asked. "You are no longer...diminishing?"

"No," Harry said immediately, running a hand down the front of his robes. Indeed, he hadn't changed a bit in the past months, since Christmas or thereabouts.

Gryffindor studied him a moment longer, appearing unsettled. "I do not like this," he said slowly. "The power that was influencing you would not, should not, have given up so easily. There was a purpose to such an attack."

Harry shrugged. "But I'm fine now," he said.

Gryffindor pursed his lips, but nodded. "I must go, then," he said, rising and bowing to them both. "Thank you, Headmaster, for the tea and biscuits--they were a treat."

Dumbledore rose too, and Harry hastened to follow. "Albus, please," the Headmaster said. "After such a long acquaintance, it seems only proper."

"Godric," Gryffindor returned. "It is as good a name as any."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"To find some of my comrades," Gryffindor said. "Some things I have learned these months worry me greatly. There are forces gathering. Something is afoot. I have...errands to run." He smiled at Harry's frown. "I will be back," he said. "For you will have many questions for me once you have a chance to consider the matter." He smiled ruefully. "You will find, however, that there is little I can tell you. It is inherent in your particular...position that discovery and knowledge come to you in their own time."

"Everyone seems to say that," Harry said a bit morosely.

"Perhaps because it is wise," Gryffindor returned. "Perhaps because it may save you from attempting to fly when you cannot yet walk."

Harry was tempted to retort that he could both walk and fly, the latter with quite a bit of skill, thank you, but he restrained himself. Gryffindor bowed once more, nodded to each of them, then transformed in a shower of gold sparks. He hovered for a moment before the desk, the breeze from his wings ruffling Harry's hair. The phoenix turned on a wingtip, meeting Harry eye to eye just for a moment, before darting out the office window and disappearing into the sky. In his wake, something fluttered into Harry's lap.

"He has left you a gift," Dumbledore said, gesturing.

Harry glanced down and caught his breath. It was a feather, not unlike the one that served as the core of his wand, he imagined, but much longer. The shaft was a rich, shimmery gold, while the plume shaded from it into a deep crimson at the tips of the fragile ends. Harry picked it up carefully, feeling a shiver of energy crackling between his fingers.

"Why would he leave me this?" he asked, perplexed. "I already have a wand."

Dumbledore considered the feather, then Harry. "All in good time, I'm sure," he said. "But until we know, I suggest you keep that feather with you at all times, Harry."

Harry nodded. He had had the same thought. He tucked the feather carefully into his robes, then glanced back up at the Headmaster. There was a very strange moment then, gazing at each other across the Headmaster's desk, the remnants of tea for three spread between them, the empty chair to Harry's left almost laughing at them.

"That was...certainly something," Harry said.

Dumbledore twinkled. "I have always enjoyed a good surprise," he said.

"Yeah," Harry returned a bit dryly. "Your phoenix is a Hogwarts founder, except that was only part-time anyway."

"It does explain so much," Dumbledore said contemplatively. "And open the door to so many more avenues of thought." He appeared to get lost in those thoughts for a moment, his chin coming to rest in his cupped palm as he tugged meditatively on his beard.

Harry shifted uneasily, wishing that the Headmaster would either stop thinking or share his thoughts. After a moment Dumbledore seemed to remember his presence and straightened up.

"Goodness, look at the time. The elves will have dinner ready within the hour."

Harry started, glancing first out the window to check the sun, and then over to Dumbledore's clock, which said "time to go." Taking the hint, Harry rose.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he said.

"Thank you," Dumbledore returned. "That was quite a remarkable discovery you made." He winked. "And just think of the things he will be able to tell you for your project."

Harry, who had forgotten that entirely, brightened. "You'll tell me when he returns, then?" he asked.

"Most assuredly," Dumbledore said. "I imagine he will want to speak to you, in any case. Now then, off with you. I think perhaps you need to balance all that studiousness with a few frivolous hours of fun, hmm?"

Harry grinned. "Yes, sir. Good afternoon, Professor."

He made his way down from the office and out into the corridors, his steps taking him towards Gryffindor by default. He stopped only to collect his books and things from the library, trying to look as responsible as possible as Madam Pince reluctantly surrendered them to him.

The common room was only half full when he finally reached the tower. Through the great windows Harry could see a generous sprinkling of little black patches all over the grounds, especially thick on the lakeshore. He reckoned half the school was out there, chatting and studying and lazing about in the warm grass. Most of the people inside were fifth and seventh years, unsurprisingly. Hermione sat alone at a table, bent low over a roll of parchment, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth as she drew with painful precision. Harry hesitated, torn between joining her and going up to the dorm. Only the fact that he hadn't spoken to her alone in weeks finally decided him.

He waited until she finished whatever she was doing and sat up before approaching and taking the seat next to her.

"Come to apologize, then?" she asked without looking up.

"For what?" Harry replied, mystified.

Hermione jumped, sending her quill skittering across the table. "Oh, Harry," she said, her eyes very wide. "I, er, I didn't know it was you. How was the research, then?"

"Fine," Harry said, eyeing her carefully. "I got plenty of books."

"Well," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and appearing to make an effort to smile at him, "just having them doesn't do as much good as, say, reading them."

"I did that, too," Harry protested.

"Books of pictures don't count," Hermione retorted, with a bit of her old snap.

"Just the one," Harry said slowly.

Hermione turned and looked closely at him for the first time. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"Well, no, not wrong," Harry said thoughtfully. "Just, er, a bit of a shock, I reckon you could say."

Hermione frowned worriedly. "What happened?"

Harry considered not telling her, but it seemed silly. He had been keeping things from Ron, and to a lesser degree Hermione, all year, and it was getting tiresome remembering who knew what and who didn't. Besides, he felt a desperate need to explain it to someone, to share his complete inability to form an appropriate reaction to what he had learned. And Hermione was the best candidate: perhaps she would know something about phoenixes or magic or something that would help explain.

Hermione sat quietly through his recitation, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. Halfway through she stopped him for a moment, summoned her quill, and began taking frantic notes.

"And Professor Dumbledore said to keep the feather with me all the time, and I left," Harry finished. "Well?" he added after a moment of silence.

Hermione held up a hand, staring at her parchment fixedly. "Hmm!" she said finally.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

Hermione sat back, blinked, and looked suddenly at a loss. "Well, to be honest, Harry, I don't quite know what to say."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Only Dumbledore seems to know what to do with all this."

"Some of the things they said are fascinating, though," Hermione commented thoughtfully. "About magic beyond our magic, a battle beyond ours."

"What do you think it all means?" Harry asked. "Is there a world out there where everyone is animals?"

"No, no," Hermione said dismissively. "Gryffindor said the phoenix was only the form he took 'here.' Which implies that he has another, truer form somewhere else."

"But where?" Harry asked, mystified.

"Well," Hermione said, growing more enthusiastic, "there have long been theories of other, well - dimensions is the best word, I suppose. Another...plane of reality, if you will. It's all very complicated, and why didn't you take Arithmancy, Harry?"

"Because I'm sane?" Harry muttered.

"Try this," Hermione said, flipping her parchment over and beginning to sketch. "Our world is defined by a set of variables, spatial and temporal, all right? And, oh this is exciting, magic comes to us through our blood. We draw it from an outside source, Dumbledore told us so. So what if there was another world that was defined by a different set of variables. Space and time, perhaps, though they wouldn't have to be the same. And it was also defined by a new measurement, by magic. What if it were...were constructed upon the rules of magic, not matter?"

Harry blinked, scrunching up his face. "How would that work?" he asked. "How would it be different? Would everyone look different?"

"Maybe," Hermione said. "That's the trouble with all this, it's purely theoretical and relies on concepts of higher Arithmancy that few people in the world can grasp. It's like you said, you can't really conceive what a different world would be like, can you? So you have to rely on Arithmancy to understand. You have to abstract it."

"That's all well and good," Harry said, deciding that Hermione could be excited over whatever she wanted, but he was happy with a nice, simple translation. "But what does it mean? Where is this place?"

"Well, anywhere," Hermione said. "It's not on the same plane as us, Harry, so it could be, well, it could be right here. It could be in America. It could be everywhere. It's not very effective to measure it by our world. We can't really ask where it is because we can't answer in our own terms."

"And it's where magic comes from?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "That was just a leap on my part," she admitted. "Gryffindor didn't really confirm it, but it does make sense, doesn't it? Remember what Dumbledore taught us about portals in our blood?"

"I suppose," Harry said. "It's just...weird. Thinking about another world somewhere out there, or right here, with different sorts of...beings, I guess."

Hermione nodded. "It's fascinating," she repeated. She sighed, slumping a little. "But there's no real way to know for sure, of course. Until Gryffindor comes back, anyhow. Oh, Harry, just imagine the things he knows about the universe. And about history. Why, he lived the founding of Hogwarts itself. Just think what he could teach us."

"I think he's more concerned with now than then," Harry said soberly. "He said some scary things. About a really old conflict and rules and things."

Hermione frowned. "I can't do much with that," she said. "I'd have to know a lot more about his role in our world, and his, and how our worlds intersect. But he erased your memory. Now that is interesting." She hesitated, then plunged on. "Harry, I'd like you to tell me what you remembered. I know you didn't want to before, and I respect that, but in light of all this I think maybe it's time you let someone else mull it over a bit."

Harry considered this, then shrugged. It seemed a very small thing to do, now. Hermione didn't take notes this time as he spoke, but she followed every word with careful attention. When he was done she sat back, squinting vaguely into the distance and chewing her lip. "Huh," she said after a long moment.

"What?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled apologetically. "Sorry, but I'm not quite sure yet. I have some ideas, but I'll need to check on some things first before I'm ready." She winced at Harry's frown. "What about Gryffindor?" she asked hastily. "Did you get a sense of just what his role is?"

"I think he's like...like a soldier, sort of," Harry said. "He had people or whatever that he has to answer to, I think, that tell him what to do."

Hermione shrugged again. "We'll just have to wait until he comes back and ask him," she said. "The possibilities are endless, and I could be wrong about all of it."

"No," said Harry contemplatively. "No, I don't think you're wrong. Not about the important bits, anyway."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to reconsider. "You think?" she asked. There was a sharp, analytical gleam in her eye as she watched him.

Harry, who was suddenly struck by the absurdity of trying to know anything about something so strange and inexplicable, shrugged self-consciously. "I'm just talking," he said. "How would I know?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Hmm," she said noncommittally.

"Who'd you think I was when I just got here?" he asked suddenly.

She sighed. "It's not really important."

"It was Ron, wasn't it?" Harry pressed. "You want him to apologize for something. Did you have a fight?"

"It's really not--"

"What about?" Harry asked. He sat forward, gripped by a sudden fascination with her, with them. It was a lot like the way he used to poke at the scar on his arm after the fourth task, prodding and picking at the barely healed wound to see what hurt and what didn't.

Hermione flushed, almost guiltily, Harry thought. "It's not a big deal," she said, not looking at him. "You know how Ron is sometimes."

"It was about me, wasn't it?" Harry asked, struck with sudden insight. "Something about me?"

Hermione bit her lip, then jerked her head in an abortive little nod. Harry felt a pang of something, like the tingles that sometimes coursed up and down his arm from the scar, painful, but oddly addictive. "He's just a little upset," Hermione said in a rush of words. "About how we kept everything from him. I thought he would be once he had a chance to stew over it a little."

"What did he say to you?" Harry asked intently.

Hermione shrugged, bending her head. Her hair, which she was wearing loose but for the front bits held by a shiny gold clip, fell over her face in soft, dark waves. Harry stared, finally allowing the thought to fully form, to step out into the spotlight of his full contemplation. It had hidden before, crouching in the shadows of his attention, safely concealed by memory charms and Viktor Krum and Celestina and Ron. But now it was there, fully visible, and Harry allowed himself to wonder, for the first time, what might have happened had there been no godforsaken obsession potion, if he had not been ensnared by Celestina.

"What did he say?" Harry asked, more softly.

Hermione hunched. "Harry, you mustn't...he didn't mean...Ron's just--"

"Hermione."

"He said that I trust you more, that I think you're more competent and capable, that you're more grown-up and smarter and better at things than he is."

"He said all that?" Harry asked. That was no phantom pain; that was real and double-edged and complicated.

"Well, not exactly, but it's what he meant," Hermione said, sitting up and brushing her hair back from her face with a nearly defiant gesture.

"What did he really say?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.

"He said I like you more than him," Hermione said with a little laugh. "You know how he simplifies things down to the most basic level."

Harry sat still a moment, hands working desperately at each other beneath the table. "Well, do you?" he asked.

A spasm of something wrenched Hermione's face for a moment. "Don't you dare," she whispered. "Don't you dare, Harry Potter. You know better and don't make me--it's not like that. Friendships aren't like that."

"No," said Harry, "friendships aren't. You can't like two people the same way."

Hermione nodded, appearing relieved. "It's silly," she said. "Ron will get over it. He'll realize it's all foolishness."

"But you're not just friends with Ron," Harry said. "Not anymore."

Hermione took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself. "Yes," she said steadily. "I'm not just friends with Ron. There's more now." She lifted her chin and looked steadily at him. "But I am just friends with you."

That hurt, and not like the scar, but like the initial rip of the knife going in. He knew he shouldn't speak, that he should accept it and leave her to her studies, and for the sake of their friendship never speak of it again. But a reckless sort of panic had gripped him, possessed him with all the power of a wish long silenced, too long deferred.

"Why?" he asked. "Hermione, why?"

She flinched as if he had struck her, and then turned hastily away. "Because there's no real place for me like that. Not with potions and transforming phoenixes and new planes of existence. And I can't, I won't be...you and I could really...I'm afraid you'll--" she cut herself off sharply, inhaling a shaky breath. "There's just...no room. I don't need that from you."

Harry stared at her back for a long moment, physically unable to speak. He wondered how her half-formed sentences would end, what she was really afraid of. He was afraid he knew. He had never in his life wished more not to have a scar on his forehead.

He rose silently, collecting his bag of books with suddenly fumbling, numb fingers. He didn't glance back until he was at the base of the boys' staircase, and it was only to see Hermione's back as she sat, hunched and alone, over her homework.

***

Sleep had, of late, become something of a refuge for Harry. He could close his curtains, his eyes, and his mind, and simply drift away, soothed by the familiar sawing of Neville's snores and Ron's mumblings. This was, he had thought on more than one occasion, sort of funny considering the sorts of things that could happen to him in his sleep. But his link with Voldemort had been silent and still for months, ever since Christmas to be exact, and though this still disturbed Harry somewhat, he couldn't help but be grateful.

So it was with a sense of surprise, fear, and a sort of resignation that Harry found himself once again drawn in to Voldemort. Now that he was more aware of it he could literally feel the connection tugging at him, inexorable and unstoppable.

When the scene resolved itself about him, Harry squinted around, then blinked in surprise. He knew this place, he had seen it before. Voldemort had been here the summer before his fourth year, when he had killed that poor Muggle. It was all the same; the blazing fire, the hearthrug, the high-backed chair. Harry didn't need to look to know who sat in that chair. Even the events seemed similar. Wormtail was just leaning over the chair, offering Voldemort a small cup. Nagini stretched languidly on the rug before the fire, fangs gleaming.

Harry shivered. He wondered just what sort of monster Voldemort was that poisonous venom had become his sustenance and medicine.

"That is sufficient, Wormtail," said Voldemort's unmistakeable hiss. Harry couldn't quite see him, as he was standing (floating? Existing? He couldn't quite put a name to it) a bit behind his chair. Nor did he mind this positioning.

"You seem so much stronger, My Lord," Wormtail said, stepping back and putting the cup aside.

"Yes," Voldemort murmured. "I am stronger. My waiting is nearly over."

"When shall we move, My Lord?" Wormtail asked. His face, in the flickering firelight, was a study in trepidation. Harry, who held a special place inside himself just to hate this man, let out an unheard snarl. He couldn't even be brave, be committed in his own choice of alliance. Remus' words came back to him then, and Harry felt the truth in them. Wormtail would only be content when he was serving the biggest bully on the playground. And right now, unfortunately for them all, no one quite fit that description.

There was a thoughtful pause. "Have Lucius come to me as soon as he arrives," Voldemort said finally. "I think perhaps...yes. I think perhaps it is time."

Wormtail started, and his voice shook as he responded. "Y-yes My Lord."

Harry began to relax. If this were all, he was getting off easy. No pain, no torture, and he could now warn Dumbledore that something was coming. He waited for the return to his body, to awaken back in Gryffindor tower, only a little disappointed that he did not have more information to bring back.

But it did not seem to be. Wormtail hurriedly left the room, but Harry remained, suspended helplessly in the vision, unable to go, and unwilling to once it became clear there was more to see.

Wormtail was gone only briefly, judging by Harry's disrupted sense of time. He returned in a shuffling of feet and a quavering voice, announcing that Lucius Malfoy had arrived. Malfoy swept through the door in his wake, long green robes billowing impressively about him.

"My Lord," he greeted, circling the chair and sinking to his knees.

"Lucius," Voldemort returned. The name sounded almost like Parseltongue on his lips. "It is time, Lucius."

Malfoy lifted his head, apparently concerned. "Are you certain you have recovered sufficiently, My Lord?" he asked. There was a long, icy silence, and Malfoy hastily dropped his head again.

"I am sufficiently strengthened," Voldemort said finally. Harry knew nobody, with the possible exception of Snape, who could be so threatening simply in his pauses. "And Harry Potter is sufficiently...depleted. You will retrieve the boy at his next visit to Hogsmeade."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius said immediately. "It will be done in a week."

"See that it is," Voldemort hissed. "The time of my ascendancy grows near, and I will not tolerate any delays."

Malfoy bowed low again, a strange, hunching motion as he was already kneeling. It was very odd to see such an overbearing man abasing himself so. "It will be done, My Lord," Malfoy said again. "I shall inform my son. He needs to be aware."

"Do so," Voldemort agreed.

Only then did the vision fade, much to Harry's relief. His scar had been pulsing with slowly increasing agony during the course of it, and by the time his eyes opened again upon the shadowed inside of his bed, it was burning with a constant pain. Harry lay still for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside sufficiently for him to rise. He wondered if that was the only way he could sever the strong connection with Voldemort that precipitated the vision. It seemed to be what did it every time. This was a mixed relief, for at least there was something that could rescue his consciousness from its wanderings, but it also meant that if he ever needed to stay, to hear more, to learn more, it would be nearly impossible.

Harry sat up, only a little dizzy as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He threw on a robe, then his Invisibility Cloak with the habitual stealth of a practiced nighttime wanderer. He was out of the dorm, the tower, and on his way to Dumbledore's office within fifteen minutes.

He paused at the gargoyle statue, trying to recall the password he had guessed so easily that very day. "Jelly slugs," he said finally, gratified when the statue sprang aside with alacrity.

Dumbledore was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, his crimson dressing gown the only sign that Harry had woken him. Harry had long suspected that Dumbledore was somehow alerted when someone gave the correct password, and the Headmaster's unsurprised greeting seemed to confirm this.

"Come sit down," Dumbledore said, guiding him to a chair with a hand on his shoulder. "Tea?"

"Please," said Harry, who could have done with something warm inside him.

Dumbledore conjured a pot and cups, and promptly poured. It wasn't until Harry had taken a few sips, and acquiesced to the Chocolate Frog that the Headmaster was pressing upon him, that Dumbledore allowed him to speak.

"You have dreamed," he said. It was not a question.

"Yes," said Harry. "I reckoned it would start up again eventually. But I was still a bit surprised."

"I imagine," Dumbledore said, cradling his teacup.

Harry waited for more, but nothing else seemed forthcoming. It appeared Dumbledore had decided to simply wait for Harry to tell it at his own pace. Harry took a deep breath and did so, between slow sips of tea.

"And you are still in pain?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry squinted. "A little," he admitted. "It's fading fast."

Dumbledore nodded, appearing relieved.

"It's funny," Harry said musingly. "Whenever I've...seen...before, someone's always died, or had the Cruciatus Curse put on them. I mean, this time I was in pain, but no one else was."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But you must remember that your link to Voldemort is also an emotional one. You know that you feel it when he is experiencing an extreme emotion, not just pain."

"He was happy," Harry said slowly. "More and more as time passed in the vision. He got happier and happier. Or, well, what passes for happiness with him. He doesn't feel it quite like the rest of us."

"Quite right," Dumbledore said. "He is very pleased that his year-long wait is over."

Harry sat up straight. "What are we going to do?" he asked worriedly. "The Hogsmeade weekend will have to be cancelled."

"No," said Dumbledore. "That is the very last thing we will do."

Harry blinked, startled. "But Malfoy, and other Death Eaters probably, will be showing up."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm afraid we are in quite a difficult spot," he said. "We cannot cancel the excursion, for then Voldemort would know that we have discovered his plans somehow. He has, as of yet, been unaware of your ability to reach him, and I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible." He gave Harry a significant look. "Besides which, yours is not the only position at risk."

Harry nodded, sobered. If he didn't know Harry had seen him, Voldemort would make the obvious conclusion. Harry would not like to be Snape, should that happen.

"Fortunately," Dumbledore continued, "I suspect our Potions Master will not be involved in this matter. He has not been called in some time, and it is unlikely that he will be summoned in this matter. Afterwards, perhaps, but not during. Voldemort will be too worried that it would arouse my suspicions, should Professor Snape aid in this attack. Severus's position at Hogwarts is much too important to him."

"So what can we do?" Harry repeated. "He didn't give any orders to hurt anybody besides me, and all he said was to capture me. But all the students can't go to Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore sighed again. "They can, and they must," he said. "There is no other way."

"Will we set a trap?" Harry asked.

"No," Dumbledore said decisively. "No, I shall not risk you in such an endeavor, not at this juncture. We are on the eve of something, Harry, Voldemort himself said it, and I will not risk your capture."

"How will we stop it, then?" Harry asked. "Capturing me is the first step. It's what will start everything moving now that Voldemort is ready for things to happen. How can we prevent it?"

"You shall not go to Hogsmeade," Dumbledore said. "The rest of the upper year students shall, but we shall make it widely and publicly known that you will be otherwise occupied."

Harry frowned, considering. "I could tell Ron and Hermione I can't go in front of a bunch of Slytherins," he said.

Dumbledore smiled, almost indulgently. "That will do as a start," he said. "Though I would remind you that Slytherin students are hardly the only ones in the school apt to pass such news along to an interested party. A curious parent, perhaps."

Harry nodded, chastened. "Malfoy will know, though," he said. "Draco, I mean."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Young Mr. Malfoy may be our best chance to get the word to the proper ear before next Saturday. But all the same, I encourage you to take steps to ensure that the information is as widely disseminated as possible. This is a school full of children, Harry, children who are utterly unaware, or unable to understand, the consequences of their actions. They may think themselves playing a game, exciting and dangerous, but not really real. They may be simple dupes of their parents. They may be...otherwise involved."

Harry nodded soberly. Students were hard that way, he reflected. With adults, loyalty was easily paralleled with guilt and innocence, with complicity in good or evil. With students it was more difficult to say what was guilt and what was foolishness. Harry found it hard to believe that any Hogwarts student, with the exception of certain Slytherins, could be willingly helping Voldemort, but then again most people who didn't know his story would have a hard time believing that he, fifteen-year-old Harry Potter, was discussing evasion tactics with the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the leader of the light after having a vision.

And there was also Malfoy to consider, Malfoy who still got regular packages of sweets from his mother. Harry was beginning to understand evil, and it didn't encompass a petty trick like dressing up like a Dementor and attempting to frighten somebody. Malfoy seemed very young to him, with his spitting little taunts and nasty smirks. Very young, and arrogant and stupid. Harry equated Malfoy to himself a year and a half ago, bumbling about in an adult's world, thinking he understood the scope, the reality of it. He pictured Cedric's silent, empty face, and shivered. He wondered just how much damage Malfoy could do before he realized just what he was doing. And how they could stop him after he did realize.

"I'll make sure everyone knows," Harry said. "I'll say I have to stay back and study for the O.W.L.s. Which is true, anyway." Hermione would be very pleased--Harry stepped on that thought before it could completely form.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "That should be sufficient, I think. As you said, Voldemort has no intention of attacking the students full out. If you are not present, I imagine there will be no attack at all. I shall deploy all of the professors, of course." He hesitated. "It will only delay him, you understand."

"Yes," Harry said. "I know. He'll try and find another way to do whatever it is he's doing."

Dumbledore nodded. "Quite," he agreed. "But we shall meet him when he does."

Harry nodded. "I thought I'd be sort of glad," he said contemplatively. "When he finally did something. I thought it would be better when he was more out in the open. I hated all the waiting."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "And now you find it not so?"

Harry shook his head vehemently. "It's different now," he said. "I'd gotten used to not having dreams. To waiting for him." He shuddered again, just a little.

"It will be alright," Dumbledore said gently.

"Yes," said Harry. "This time. But now that he's ready, he'll move fast." He paused, considering. "Sir, do you know why he was waiting for so long? Was it just trying to regain strength after getting his body?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said. He set down his teacup, opened a desk drawer, and began rummaging. An assortment of very strange noises emerged--Harry could have sworn he heard a bunch of kittens mewing over the rustle of parchment and the clatter of quills. Dumbledore at last came up with a roll of parchment, which he unrolled on his desk. Harry glanced down and started in surprise. The outline of a familiar face was traced faintly in a hand Harry knew to be his own. Superimposed over it were a series of strange, unintelligible runes.

"I drew that," Harry said. "After my last dream. After that family died."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "At the time, I had my suspicions as to its significance, but I wanted to make sure. It seems that Voldemort has partaken of a particular ritual sometime in the past year which drastically reduced his strength and extended the time of his recovery after the Triwizard Tournament."

"What sort of ritual?" Harry asked, fascinated.

"Tom Riddle's father was a Muggle, as you know," Dumbledore said. "And as I also think you know, Tom was a man deeply driven by his shame. I believe that he would be willing to do anything to erase this fact. The runes you saw on his face were doubtless inscribed over his entire body. It seems that he was attempting to . . . purify, I suppose is the best word, his blood."

Harry frowned. "But that doesn't make sense," he said. "He's a wizard. You taught us that there's no real difference between a pureblood's blood and a Muggle-born's."

Dumbledore smiled. "I am glad to see my students remembering some of my boring lessons," he said.

"They weren't boring," Harry said, quite truthfully.

Dumbledore appeared genuinely pleased. "It is very kind of you to say so," he said. "I do miss teaching." Harry wanted to say that Dumbledore had never stopped being a teacher, whether he was the Headmaster or not, but he continued before Harry could. "You are quite right, of course. But this ritual has little to do with science, or with logic, for that matter. You and I know that the genetic contribution of his father makes no difference, and that attempting to change such a thing is foolishness at its height. But there have long been stories of a ritual designed to cleanse a wizard's blood of the perceived taint of Muggles or other...problems. It is said that wizards in ancient cultures would perform the ritual upon themselves and their wives before attempting to have a child. It was supposed to prevent the birth of squibs, as well."

"Does it work?" Harry asked, intrigued.

Dumbledore shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "It has the ring of superstition about it, and the full shape of the ritual itself was lost to us many years ago."

"But Voldemort found it again," Harry said. "Or reinvented it."

"Quite," Dumbledore said. "In any case, the ritual involves an incantation written upon the skin, and long periods of deep meditation. It is said that the wizard must become connected to each drop of his own blood, to know it intimately, before he can expel any 'unworthiness'." Dumbledore's lips twitched ironically. "The entire process would be very long and draining." He hesitated, considering. "This may explain both Voldemort's long silence this year, and his brief appearance over Christmas. It may be that his attack upon the McCarriks served a greater purpose than sending a message to his followers and the wizarding world alike. It struck me as odd at the time that he did not follow the attack up with more, and I thought perhaps he was being cautious, perhaps he was taking advantage of the Ministry's unwillingness to acknowledge him. But perhaps the killing of the McCarriks was somehow essential to the ritual. There is no way to tell."

Harry nodded slowly. "And now he's ready," he said. "He's strong enough to start up again. Do you think--do you think he'll start killing again?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "Though perhaps not so flagrantly. As I said, he may wish to take advantage of the opportunity Fudge has given him. I suspect any activities connected with the Dark Mark up to the appearance of Voldemort himself at the Ministry will simply be dismissed as the actions of the remaining Death Eaters."

Harry clenched his fists. "He's dangerous," he said. "Fudge, I mean."

Dumbledore nodded. "Cornelius is a very frightened man," he said, "and he is unwilling to contemplate a greater fear. He knows his own power, and that it will be quite unequal to a second war. And he is afraid."

"So am I," said Harry morosely. "But you don't see me telling lies in the newspaper."

Dumbledore smiled tolerantly. "Cornelius is a problem," he said. "And one I suspect we shall not overcome for quite some time. But he is, after all, one man, and there are plenty of others in this world ready and willing to make up their own minds. It is the nature of a selfish fear to blind, Harry, as it has Fudge. But it is in the nature of an unselfish fear, a fear for others, for our world, to become bravery and sacrifice, and it is those things, not fear, that will save us."

Harry nodded, finishing his tea. Dumbledore always seemed to have the best tea he had ever drunk.

"And now," the Headmaster said, "you should be getting back to bed, hmm? Today is Monday, and you must be alert for your classes."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, rising. "I'll start telling people tomorrow that I won't be going to Hogsmeade."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said.

As he turned to go, Harry's eye fell upon Fawkes's empty perch. He paused a moment, for he had forgotten the startling events of the afternoon almost entirely. "Sir?" he asked softly, "what if our war isn't all? What if Fawkes...Gryffindor...what if he means it's part of a bigger war? How much can we...what can we..."

"I think," Dumbledore said gently, "that these are things only Fawkes himself can tell you when he returns."

"Yeah," said Harry on a long breath. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Harry. Sleep well."

***

"Well," Hermione said briskly, taking the seat between Harry and Ron at the lunch table the next day. "I just told Parvati and Lavender that you won't be going, so it should spread pretty quickly from there."

"This is the first time I'm actually glad people care what I do," Harry said a little dryly. He had told a silent Ron and a tight-lipped Hermione the details of his dream and Dumbledore's plan that morning. He'd been a bit occupied with other things, but it seemed they still weren't speaking except through irritated glances. But sometime between then and lunch there had been a slow defrost, starting Harry thought, on Ron's end. Ron had been a little extra attentive to both of them all morning, fetching Hermione's teapot for her in Transfiguration, and casting Harry furtive, guilty looks. This was another first, Harry brooded--the first time he'd ever been halfway glad that somebody pitied him. For it was pity, he knew, spurring Ron's change of heart, and guilt over whatever he had said to Hermione.

Hermione herself was a study in cool efficiency. She accepted Ron's tacit apologies with serene forbearance, and treated Harry to the most painfully normal reactions he could imagine. She smiled warmly at him, poked him when his attention wandered in class, and set about spreading the word of his weekend plans with calculated efficiency. It made Harry's face ache with trying to smile back, and stung with a deep, lingering bruised feeling inside. He wished very much that she would show just a little that she was feeling what he was. If she was feeling what he was.

"We should still get the Slytherins," Ron was saying. "Parvati and Lavender don't actually socialize with many of them, you know."

Hermione nodded. "This is quite good, actually," she said. "I can draw up a schedule for you, Harry, if you like. Divide the day up for most efficient studying. You always do best if you start with Charms, you know. And it will be good for you to study without Ron interrupting you"

Ron made an outraged noise.

Harry blinked. "Oh," he said, taken aback. "You guys aren't staying, too?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Oh, I'd like to," she said, "and I probably would have if you hadn't had that dream. The O.W.L.s are coming faster than everyone realizes. But I think it would be better if we spend the day in Hogsmeade, just in case."

"Oh," said Harry, "that makes sense, I reckon. Dumbledore said he'd be sending all the professors out to watch. It still is a little dangerous. They might not get the message. Or they might just attack anyway."

Hermione nodded gravely. "Besides which," she said, "people will think it strange if Ron misses a Hogsmeade visit. Dumbledore is right, we've got to be very careful now. Who knows who's watching, and what they're thinking."

Harry nodded numbly. It seemed that wherever Hermione went, Ron must go too, now.

He spent the rest of lunch in silence, half listening to Ron and Hermione tentatively working their way through a civil conversation. Harry nibbled absently at his sandwich, even though he was not particularly hungry.

"Potions," Hermione said as people began making their way out of the hall. "Let's not be late, please."

Harry stood, ready to go. He bent to retrieve his bag from the floor beside his seat, and nearly cracked his head on the edge of the table as the world suddenly tilted wildly. He made a flailing grab for something, anything to steady himself, and snagged a handful of someone's robes.

"Harry?" A pair of hands seized him about the shoulders and helped him stand up straight. Harry blinked rapidly, waiting for everything to stop revolving quite so frantically about him. He felt very weak, and it wasn't until he thought about it that he realized he had been feeling so for quite some time. His bag seemed several stone heavier than it should, and his shoulders seemed weighed down by the previously unnoticed drag of his robes. "What's wrong?" Ginny asked, for it was she Harry had snagged.

"Dunno," Harry said. "Just lost my balance, I reckon." Over Ginny's shoulder he could see Ron and Hermione's concerned faces, and to his dismay, several more people behind them. It seemed his near fall hadn't gone unnoticed. "I'm fine now," he said hastily, projecting his voice to carry. "Nothing to worry about."

"Alright," Ginny said, releasing him with obvious reluctance. "If you say so."

"Harry, are you sure you don't want to--" Hermione began.

"Positive," Harry said, not even wanting to hear the words 'hospital wing.' He was feeling better now, less dizzy, and he was sure this lethargy was just the result of prolonged exhaustion. He certainly hadn't been sleeping quite as much recently as he should.

Hermione surveyed him critically, then nodded in apparent satisfaction. "If you're sure," she said. "Come on, let's get to Potions."

"I've got Herbology, I'll walk part way with you," Ginny said, falling into step with Harry. Her hand hovered uncertainly at his elbow, not touching him, as if she wanted to take his arm but wasn't sure she should.

Harry followed Ron and Hermione towards the doors to the entrance hall, trying to avoid the eyes of the small crowd of people who had gathered around his seat. He fervently hoped the incident hadn't spread past a few Gryffindors, for he really didn't feel like dealing with either derision or sympathy right then. But his hopes were dashed as they approached the entrance hall and were met by Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode, coming from the Slytherin table and all looking very interested.

"Did we swoon again, Potter?" Malfoy asked, an eager glint in his eyes. "Did we think we saw a Dementor in our roast beef?"

"Ignore him," Hermione muttered fiercely out of the corner of her mouth to Ron.

Harry blinked at Malfoy, utterly unprepared to make any sort of response. He was tired, Dumbledore's phoenix had been a Hogwarts founder, and Hermione--he just couldn't muster up any sort of response to the irritating git.

"Ignore him," Hermione repeated over her shoulder, glaring for emphasis.

Harry nodded, picking up his pace a bit.

Malfoy's pleased smile morphed into a scowl. "I'm talking to you, Potter," he said, picking up his own pace to match Harry's.

Hermione glanced back at him again, but instead of a hissed warning she gave Harry a meaningful look, and tilted a little wink in Malfoy's direction. Harry started, for he had almost entirely forgotten the plan. Now was a perfect opportunity to drop the tidbit about Hogsmeade, with Malfoy and a crowd of other Slytherins all watching him. The only problem was doing it so it didn't seem like he wanted them to hear it.

"Harry," Ginny said suddenly.

Harry glanced at her, surprised. "What?" he asked distractedly.

"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" Ginny asked.

Harry blinked once, then again. He wondered if Ginny had suddenly developed a talent for mind reading. But then, looking at her face, he saw to his dismay that she was very serious. She gazed back at him, a little color high on her cheeks but her look steadfast. "I," Harry said, "that is."

Ginny lifted an eyebrow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy's face twisting up in rage. It was this, more than the hopefully expectant look on Ginny's face that unlocked Harry's tongue. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said. "I wasn't planning on going to Hogsmeade. O.W.L.s, you know, and I have my History project to work on."

"That's very admirable of you," Hermione chipped in loudly. "Study should always come first."

"Oh," Ginny said softly. "Well, that's too bad, then." She seemed to shrink a little as they walked.

"At least you have that much good sense," Malfoy snapped, apparently determined to be noticed at any cost. "I'd rather write fifty rolls of parchment than go on a date with Weaslet, too."

Ginny flushed violently, though whether at the insult or the word 'date' was impossible to say. Before them, the back of Ron's neck darkened to match it, and it was only Hermione's grip on his arm that stayed him.

"I've got to go," Ginny said hastily as they reached the center of the entrance hall. "I'll see you later, Harry," she added, smiling at him with that determined look again, even through her flush. She hurried away, looking as if she would much rather have run.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who appeared to still be irritated, but also satisfied with himself. He showed no reaction to Harry not going to Hogsmeade. Harry frowned worriedly, but shrugged it off. Quite a number of people had heard him say it, and somebody would have to tell. The thought of Death Eaters descending on a Hogsmeade swarming with students, professors or not, left Harry cold.

Someone had to have heard. Someone would have to tell. Voldemort's plans had to be delayed this time, Harry thought as he descended the stairs into the dungeon, a smirking Malfoy at his heels. Voldemort might be ready, but Harry certainly wasn't.