Harry Potter and the Summer of the Dementors

He had money. More money that he might ever need. He could live on the interest all his life without ever taking a job. Not, of course, that he wanted to. But on the other hand, he could afford to give a very lavish party. Very lavish indeed. And he would.

He sat in his room in Privet Drive, and drew a piece of parchment towards him. Now to make out a list of who to invite. The other Gryffindor seventh years, of course. Who else? The problem was not who to invite, but to think of who might be left out. The Defence Group? Why not - even if it did mean some Slytherins. After all, just because they were invited didn't mean they didn't have to accept if they didn't want to. But he reckoned that anyone who had joined the group should be invited. Except Marietta. And Cho might be a problem. But she didn't have to accept either if she didn't want to.

Who else? All those in the Order. That he knew of, that is. And that would include Dumbledore and McGonagall, so his conscience would be clear there too.

He would need a stack of parchment for all these invitations. In fact, he'd probably better go to Diagon Alley in the morning and buy some good quality stuff. And caterers. He intended this to be a party to remember. But he thought of another problem. He frowned over it for a few minutes, then brightened, scribbling a note, and sending Hedwig off to Hogwarts clutching it.

When she had returned, he sent her away with another note to Mr Weasley asking advice about the catering. In his reply, Mr Weasley recommended Beaux Fetes. "Expensive," he'd said, "but good." The note gave Harry the address and directions as to finding them - their offices were above a shop in Diagon Alley. So, the next morning after breakfast, Harry stood in the centre of his room, cleared his mind, and thought 'Diagon Alley!'. Stepping clear of the Apparation point, he looked up and down the street to get his bearings. Satisfied he knew where he was, he turned left and walked a little way, before stopping in front of a doorway with the name 'Beaux Fetes' flowing across it, and pushed it open. He made his way upstairs to a smartly furnished room where a very pretty young witch sat at a desk marked "Reception".

"Good afternoon," she said with a wide smile. "Can I help you?"

Harry recognised the accent - French. Beauxbatons? "Yes. I'm giving a party, and I would like to organise some food and drink."

She looked at him for a moment, and he realised that teenage boys probably weren't their usual sort of customer. "A party?" she asked, with a slight inflection in her voice.

He imagined they probably more used to catering for weddings, funerals, that sort of thing, so he explained.

"That's right. Birthday party, coming of age party and housewarming all rolled into one."

"Oh." Her manner thawed slightly. "How many guests would there be?"

"Oh, around fifty."

She reached for a parchment and quill. "Fifty guests. A buffet supper?"

"Yes."

"Drink?"

"Not spirits." Too much of a temptation for his fellow pupils.

"Wine?"

"Yes. And Butterbeer."

She scribbled away. "Do you want us to provide all the plates, glasses and cutlery?"

"Yes, please."

More scribbling. "That's no problem. And your name is?"

"Harry Potter."

The quill faltered as she realised who her customer was, but to her credit she didn't look up and stare at him. "The address?"

This was the difficult part. Grimmauld Place was, after all, the home of the Order. "I have an address where I can be contacted in the next week or so, but it won't be where the party is. It's a Muggle household, by the way."

Again she managed to write that down without showing any sign that this was at all out of the ordinary.

"And the venue?"

"Sorry?" asked Harry, momentarily at a loss.

"Where the party is actually taking place."

"Ah. Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather not tell you that."

This was too much for her. She stopped writing and looked up at him. "How can we set up for a party if we don't know where it is?"

"Ah, well. I wondered if it'd be possible to set it all up for me to come and collect."

She stared at him for a moment or two, obviously slightly baffled, then gave a very expressive French shrug of the shoulders. "We could do that."

"I'd prefer that," said Harry firmly.

Another Gallic shrug. "We can have it all ready in our kitchens. You can Apparate?"

"Yes."

"It will need several journeys," she warned.

"I can get some friends," Harry assured her.

"Sure. And how will you be paying?"

"I have an account at Gringotts."

"Vault number?" He told her the number, and the quill wrote it onto a parchment form. "Sign there."

He picked up the quill, dipped it into the inkpot, and signed.

"We'll send an owl forty eight hours before the party, telling how to collect it all. We'd appreciate the return of the cutlery and so on - clean - forty eight hours after. Part of the fee is a refundable deposit depending on breakages and so on. Any questions?"

She gazed up at him wide eyed. Harry felt somewhat uncomfortable under her gaze.

"No. That all sounds fine."

"Good," she said, with a note of finality.

Harry was lying on his bed gently dozing over a copy of The Quibbler, when he was jerked into consciousness by a loud crack. The noise made him almost fall off the bed in shock. Standing in the middle of the room he saw Dobby.

"Don't ever do that again!" he told the elf.

"Do what, Master Potter?"

"Appear like that. You gave me the shock of my life."

The elf's ears drooped. "Dobby is sorry if he disturbed Harry Potter."

"It's OK really," said Harry hastily, before Dobby decided to bang his head on the sideboard or try to punish himself in some other way.

The elf looked back up at him. "Dobby got the letter from Harry Potter, sir."

"Good."

"Dobby would be very happy to come and work for Harry Potter."

"Even better. I'll have to pay you," he said sternly.

"Dobby understands, sir. Dobby does not ask for much."

"Well, I'll pay you more than Hogwarts is paying you."

"If Harry Potter insists."

"I do," said Harry, mindful of what Hermione might do him if he didn't.

"When would Harry Potter like me to start?"

"Well, I'm giving a party soon."

Dobby's face lit up. "A party?"

"That's right. And I'd like help with that. In fact, I was wondering whether Winky might like to help too."

"Dobby can ask Winky."

"Good. Well, I come of age in a week or so, and that's why I'm giving the party. I'm moving to another house, as well. It's the new house I'd like you to work in."

The elf bowed low. "Dobby would be honoured, sir."

"We could go and have a look at it now," offered Harry.

"Would this be Grimmauld Place, sir?" asked the elf slyly.

Harry was startled. Not only because Dobby knew - but if Dobby did know, who else did?

"Dobby finds things out, sir. But Dobby doesn't tell. Oh, no. Particularly when it involves Harry Potter."

"Right ... well ... ok."

"Don't worry, sir. Dobby finds out by accident. No one else knows."

Harry was only slightly more re-assured. "Do you know how to get there?" Dobby nodded, his great ears flapping. "Then I'll see you in the kitchen." And Harry disappeared.

Even as Harry glanced round, he saw Dobby already beside him.

"This is Harry Potter's new home?" Dobby asked. And he shivered slightly.

"Yes. Why, what's the matter?"

Dobby stood in the centre of the room, swaying slightly, and looking around him. Then he sighed. "This house speaks to me," he said softly, in a way quite unlike his usual manner. "It is not a pleasant house. Many things have happened here. Many - unpleasant - things. You and your friends have cleaned a lot of them away, but the house still remembers. It remembers its past. It will take a long time to forget."

Harry was more than startled, he was astounded. "Is it safe?" he asked.

Dobby closed his eyes, still swaying from side to side. Then eventually he nodded. "Perhaps. When you and your friends are here, it helps to wipe out the dark side of the house." He shrugged. "Perhaps in some years' time, the house might forget its past. What it needs is friendship and laughter."

Dobby was behaving so differently from the way Harry was used to seeing him that Harry was completely convinced by what he had heard.

"Will a party help?" he asked.

Dobby's eyes opened, and a smile came to his face. "Yes, Harry Potter, a party will help."

"Good," said Harry in relief.

They looked around the house. Harry's apartment was on the first floor, Remus was on the second floor, and there were several attic rooms. Buckbeak had long gone back to the Forbidden Forest.

But the ground floor held several large rooms very well suited to the sort of party Harry had in mind. One for the youngsters, one for the adults, a room for the food. And the kitchen and the cellar to store things.

"Where is Harry Potter getting the food for the party?"

"Beaux Fetes."

Dobby nodded. "I knows them. I knows some of the elves who work there."

"I haven't told them where the party is going to be. They'll have all the stuff ready in advance and we'll have to move it here."

Dobby nodded again. "Winky and I can do that," he said.

"And," said Harry, slightly awkwardly now, "I'd like you to choose a room for yourself."

"A room for myself?"

"Yes."

"Harry is too kind."

"No. I think you deserve one."

The elf seemed reluctant to speak for a minute or two, then: "There is something else. I do not wish to trouble Harry Potter but ... "

"Yes?"

"Winky would like to come and work here too."

"Oh - well, that wouldn't be a problem."

"Winky and I ..." Dobby was embarrassed. Then Harry suddenly twigged.

"Oh, right, well, yes, of course," he stammered. "No problem at all."

With a strange dignity, Dobby bowed his head. "Harry Potter is too kind." He paused, then said: "Harry Potter need not worry about his party. Dobby and Winky will arrange it all," he said firmly.

"OK then. I'll leave everything in your hands."

"Harry Potter need not worry about anything. It will all be arranged."

"Right then."

He had thought long and hard about whether he should invite the Dursleys. He knew what their answer would be, but he thought he'd better ask anyway, if only for form's sake. A couple of days beforehand, they were all sitting having supper - another of the silent meals. Sometimes the Dursleys talked to each other as if he weren't there, but that night was one of the silent occasions.

Eventually he decided to break the hush. "It's my birthday on Thursday."

Uncle Vernon grunted. Dudley looked at him as if to say: who cares? Aunt Petunia carried on cutting up her steak as if nothing at all had been said.

"I come of age then."

"Eighteen, not seventeen," grunted Uncle Vernon.

"Not in the wizarding world." Uncle Vernon winced. Another silence. "I'm giving a party."

Uncle Vernon's head swivelled on its non existent neck. "Not here, you're not!"

"No, that's right," said Harry, "because, you see, I've got a house in London."

He'd never told them of this before. They were used to his comings and goings by now, and they never asked questions. He didn't volunteer answers, either.

The three of them stared at him frozen. Dudley's mouth was open, which was not a pretty sight, given what was in it. Aunt Petunia's fork was arrested half way to her lips.

"A house ... in London?" Uncle Vernon finally spluttered.

"That's right," said Harry, sounding a lot calmer than he felt.

"How do you come to have a house?"

Harry shrugged. "Left to me by my godfather. Sirius."

"Your godfather?" Harry nodded. "The criminal?"

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"He was awarded a full pardon. Posthumously."

The news of his death didn't seem to sadden Uncle Vernon. "And he left you his house in his will?"

Harry nodded again. "That's right. I'll be moving in there after Thursday."

Even that news didn't unfreeze the Dursleys. Finally: "Moving in?" came from Aunt Petunia.

Harry nodded. "That's right."

"You're leaving?"

Harry nodded again. "That's right."

"For good?"

Harry could almost feel the excitement in Uncle Vernon's voice. Despite everything, there was still a slightly sick feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Did they hate him that much?

"For good," he said almost defiantly. No one said anything. Dudley closed his mouth. "But I'm giving the party there on Thursday. If you'd like to come, that is."

"To?"

"The party."

Uncle Vernon's eyebrows nearly met his low hairline. "A party?" he asked, his voice rising in incredulity. "At your house in London? With all your freaky friends there?" Harry nodded stiffly. "Not likely. And Dudley's not going either!"

"As if I'd want to," Dudley sneered.

Harry shrugged. "Well, you can if you want. In any case, I'll be back on Friday morning to collect the rest of my things." He looked across to Dudley. "You can have your room back then."

Aunt Petunia spoke for the first time. "You're moving out?" Harry nodded. The message was getting across slowly. "So we won't be responsible for you any more?"

"No," said Harry with a touch of bitterness. "But thank you for looking after me so well for all these years."

The sarcasm passed unnoticed. Uncle Vernon looked as if he wanted to say something - probably quite a lot, really - but then thought the better of it.

Harry put his knife and fork together. "I'll be here Wednesday night. But you can clear the bed after that." Then he got up and left the table.

Upstairs in his room, he gazed out of the window sightlessly, gripping the windowsill hard. Despite everything, the Dursleys were still his only family. He had lived here for nearly sixteen years. It didn't feel like home as Hogwarts had, and as Grimmauld Place was beginning to, but even so, he couldn't help but feel some small sense of loss at the thought of leaving. And though deep down he knew how much the Dursleys hated him, he hadn't quite been ready for the brutal rejection he'd just had. Sighing, he turned away from the window and started putting some more things into his trunk.

On Wednesday morning he woke early, gazing blearily at the rays of sunshine beaming through the gaps in the curtains. He felt a profound and deep sense of relief as he lay in bed, and it took him several minutes to work out why. He realised it was the last night ever that he'd sleep in this room. Tonight would be the party: at midnight, he'd be seventeen. Slowly he got up and dressed, drew the curtains, looked around at the room. He might have spent the last six years there each summer, but now he was glad to be out of it. He hurried downstairs, beating the Dursleys to the breakfast table.

He put his breakfast things in the sink, and hurried upstairs, but not quickly enough to avoid Aunt Petunia on her way down.

"I'm off now, but I'll be back briefly on Friday morning to pick up the rest of my things."

She looked at him, but said nothing. He stood to one side to let her pass, then went up to his room thankful the encounter hadn't been worse. He picked up a bag, stood in the middle of the room, thought hard, and re-appeared in the hall of Grimmauld Place.

Every time he went there he noticed something else about the decoration. He'd opened an account at Wicked Wizarding Furnishings (really quite good despite the name) and told Remus to measure up for carpets and curtains and get what was needed. Now he stood on a large deep pile rug. All the woodwork was freshly painted white, leaving a slight smell in the air. He knew Remus had gone to Muggle DIY shops for that, but charming the paintbrush made painting a good deal easier.

He turned and went upstairs - the stairs themselves had had the tatty carpet removed and again had been painted a brilliant white. The brightness made the house seem even bigger. He stopped in the doorway of his bedroom. This was going to be home from now on. He gazed at it. Some things were the same: the posters on the wall, for one. The books. But the bookcase was different, and so was much of the furniture. Again the carpet had been renewed, a light pastel colour. New curtains were hanging at the window. He put his bag down and sat on the bed. He'd sleep here tonight and all the other nights from now on. Next to this one was another room - a study if you like - then a bathroom and a spare room. Remus had something similar on the floor above.

Well, it was home now. He stood up and decided to go back downstairs to see how the arrangements for the party were going.

There were three big rooms on the ground floor. Harry poked his head into one, and saw tables covered with plates, glasses and knives and forks. The second room was much the same, except that Winky and Dobby were in there. Dobby rushed forward.

"We has moved in, Harry Potter, sir. And we is getting things ready for your party tonight!" The little elf was brimming over with excitement. Behind him Winky hung back. Harry looked past Dobby to catch her eye. Slowly she came forward.

"Winky is glad to work for Harry Potter," she said softly.

"It's good to have you here," he said, with what he hoped was a re-assuring smile.

Winky was wearing a plain dress, he was pleased to see, without any of the sartorial excess of Dobby, but he was slightly concerned at the way she was twisting the hem nervously in the fingers of one hand.

"I hope you'll both be very happy here," he told them.

"Oh, we will, Harry Potter, sir," said Dobby brightly.

"Good. Then I'll let you get on with it."

He backed out of the room as the two elves turned and busied themselves. Rather at a loss as to what to do next, he wandered down to the kitchen, but that too was empty. Back upstairs to his bedroom - he lay down on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. And without realising it, fell fast asleep.

He woke with a start, and for some moments didn't realise where he was. Then it came to him: home, Grimmauld Place. That still got some getting used to. He looked at his watch, and with a shock, realised that it was four o'clock. He'd missed lunch. In fact, it wouldn't be all that long before people started arriving. He got up from the bed and decided to have a shower, and put on his party clothes. Well, not exactly party clothes, but some of the smarter stuff he'd got from Madam Malkin's and hadn't worn yet.

Feeling fresher from his shower, he stood in front of the mirror and gazed at his reflection. The clothes did look good. Normally he wasn't fussed about what he wore, but after years of Dudley's cast offs it did make a rather pleasant change to be dressed reasonably snappily. As for the rest - well, there wasn't a lot he could do with his hair. It still defeated all attempts to gel it, or smooth it down, or tame it in any other way. The spectacles - well, he could try contact lenses, but he wasn't that keen on the idea. And the face? The scar? Well, something else to live with. With a sigh, he turned away from the mirror and went downstairs.

Remus was in the kitchen.

"Harry. Good to see you. You've moved in for good now?"

"That's right. A few last things to collect from Privet Drive, but that's it."

"How're things going for the party?"

"I'm leaving that to Dobby and Winky. Oh - and thanks yet again for all the work you've put into the place."

Remus shrugged. "Well, I took the measurements along to the shops, and they came up with the stuff."

"It's odd - when Dobby first came here, he said something about the house - how it spoke to him. About it not being a pleasant house, because of its memories."

Remus looked interested in this. "Really?" He thought for a moment. "It's certainly seen a lot happen here. And just as well I've had a lot of experience with the Dark Arts - removing some of the spells and enchantments was hard work. I'll have to have a chat with him sometime."

"But he said that with new people living her, the house could change."

"Oh, yes, I can imagine so. Just like it picked up the bad influences in the first place. I remember ...." Then he paused.

"Yes?" prompted Harry.

Remus was obviously a little reluctant to go on, but he said: "When I change, at the full moon - well, to begin with, yes: I could sense things about the house. But more recently, I've had a quieter time."

"Oh." Although he wanted to know more, Harry was reluctant to ask Remus about it. He supposed that it was a bit like him and Voldemort: everyone wanted to know about it, but in some ways it was a very private thing.

"Right," said Remus, "I'd better go and smarten myself up."

"Yeah. Oh, and Remus - could you do me a favour?"

"Sure. What's that?"

"Well, effectively there's going to be one room for the adults, and one for the rest of us. The wine's going to be in the adults' room - it's Butterbeer apart from that. Could you just keep an eye on things?"

"Make sure no one gets too drunk?"

"Something like that." Harry knew Remus was fairly abstemious.

"Mind you," he said with a faint smile, "I'm not a professor any more."

"Maybe not," Harry replied, "but everyone still respects you. And Dumbledore and McGonagall will be there as well."

"Outgunned and outnumbered. Sure, Harry, that's no prob."

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully. It was one thing fewer to worry about.

Remus made his way upstairs, and Harry wandered up to one of the front rooms. People would be using the fireplace in the hall to arrive. He picked up a Butterbeer, but only sipped at it. It wouldn't be a good idea to have too much too early. He looked at his watch yet again. Half past six. The invitations had said: "From 7 pm onwards ..."

He wandered again from room to room, once more at a loose end. There was some food out, but most of it was scheduled for nine o'clock. And the cake for midnight.

He was gazing out of the front room window at the rather dingy square outside when he first heard noises from the hall. He hurried out to find the Weasleys appearing one by one. Mrs Weasley rushed up and gave him a big hug.

"Harry! How are you?" eventually holding him at arms' length.

"Fine," he told her, smiling. Behind her he could see Mr Weasley, then Ron and Ginny.

"Hi, Harry," said Ron, grinning over his mother's shoulder.

Ginny smiled and waved. She was dressed - well, rather skimpily, if he was being truthful. He was slightly surprised at Mrs Weasley letting her come like that - but remembered that Ginny could be stubborn enough when she dug her heels in.

"You're the first here."

"Told you so, Mum," remarked Ginny.

Mrs Weasley turned to her and said sweetly: "Well, I thought you might want to catch Harry on his own, before everyone else arrives." Ginny went pink and started looking round the hallway. "It is nice in here," Mrs Weasley went on approvingly.

"Mostly Remus' work," Harry told her. "And I've acquired a couple of house elves." Eight eyebrows went up at this remark. "Dobby and Winky," he explained.

"Oh, right," said Mr Weasley.

"Have you warned Hermione?" Ron wanted to know. Harry grinned. "What's it worth to not wind her up?"

"You can if you like, but keep her clear of Winky."

"Yeah, okay."

They heard a clumping from down below, and Hagrid appeared from the kitchen.

"More room in that fireplace down there," he explained. "How are ye all?"

"Hagrid! The man who gave me my first ever birthday cake!"

Hagrid stopped and scratched his beard. "So I did. Six years ago now, wasn't it?"

"That's right. Come on through, all of you, and help yourself to drinks."

As they poured themselves something to drink, Harry muttered to Ron and Ginny: "There's another room next door. This one's for the adults."

The two Weasleys grinned. "Okay."

Harry heard more voices in the hall, and went out to see Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnegan. Lavender turned to him. "Hi, Harry. There're more to come."

Dean Thomas scrambled out from the fireplace, followed by a girl who Harry had never seen before, and who looked more than a bit apprehensive. Then Mr and Mrs Granger, followed finally by Hermione.

Hermione rushed up to him, threw his arms round his neck, kissed him on the cheek, then cried, "Happy birthday, Harry."

"You'll have to wait until midnight," he told her, amused.

He noticed several of them clutching half concealed parcels well wrapped up. Mr and Mrs Granger stepped forward, and shook hands with him gravely. He wondered whether this was their first time with Floo powder, and was slightly surprised it had worked for Muggles.

"The others are in there," he said. They smiled at him and he turned to his friends. "We're in there," he hissed, pointing to the other room. They nodded, taking his meaning.

Dean stepped forward. "This is Olive," introducing the girl he was with.

"Hi. I'm Harry Potter."

He noticed that his name didn't bring the usual reaction, and she didn't stare at his forehead, unlike everyone else he was introduced to. Then he found out why.

"Hi. Um, Dean tells me I'm a ... Muggle."

"Oh." That explained the look on her face as she'd stepped out of the fireplace.

She looked round the hall with its gaslights and candles. "You really are all wizards," she said.

"That's right," Harry told her, smiling slightly.

"Dean told me last night - about what sort of party we were going to, and I didn't believe him. Thought he was pulling my leg. Then we went along to Lavender's, and I saw her step in the fireplace."

"Not much fun, travelling by Floo powder."

"You can say that again."

"Lavender had to get some special stuff for Muggles," Dean told him.

"Right."

Olive was still looking round. "So this place is yours?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Long story," he said briefly.

"Oh. And everyone else - they're wizards too?"

"Apart from Mr and Mrs Granger. They'll be the only other Muggles."

"Ah."

Harry could see that she still wasn't sure whether she was safe here. But before he could say anything, there were fours pops in quick succession a few feet away. Fred and George had arrived, together with Alicia and a girl Harry didn't recognise. She couldn't be a Muggle, though, since they'd all Apparated. Olive was looking at them fascinated.

"Harry!" cried one of the twins. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks, guys. Adults or children?"

Fred turned to George. "What a question! Why?"

"Well, the adults are all in that room, and we're going to be in that one."

"Ah. Well, for tonight, we're retarded adults."

"Just for tonight?"

"Careful, Harry. You may live to regret that remark."

"No tricks here tonight!"

"Would we do a thing like that?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, fair enough. No tricks then."

"Wine in the adults' room, Butterbeer elsewhere."

"We're adults for the moment!"

"Behave like one, then."

"Yeah, yeah," and they went off in search of a drink.

Olive was still looking at them wide eyed.

"Don't worry," said Harry. "Everyone's quite harmless. Except for one thing - never, ever accept anything, anything at all, not even a glass of water, from anyone with red hair."

"And why not?" asked a voice behind him.

He turned and saw Ginny. "I was warning her about Fred and George. And the rest of the Weasley family, if it comes to that. This is Olive. She's Dean's girlfriend, and a Muggle."

"Oh, right," said Ginny. She held out a hand to Olive. "Come and join us."

By nine o'clock the house was full of chattering noisy people all enjoying themselves. Harry slipped into the adults' room to find that Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had arrived without him seeing them. He pushed his way through the crowd towards them.

"Thank you for coming," he said rather breathlessly as he stopped in front of them.

"On the contrary, Harry, thank you for inviting us," said Dumbledore. "We would have introduced ourselves earlier, but you were next door, and we felt our appearance there might be a touch inhibiting."

Harry grinned. "Maybe."

"This is quite a party you have," said McGonagall.

Harry looked round. Mad-Eye was deep in conversation with Kingsley. He could see Tonks in another little cluster. Hagrid was sitting in a corner, talking animatedly to, of all people, the Grangers. Even when sitting down on the floor, his head was still at the same level as theirs.

"Thanks, Professor," he told her. "I'd better go and make sure everyone else is OK."

"Are my students behaving themselves?"

"Up to a point," he told her.

"I'd better not ask any more." But there was a slight smile on her face.

Harry slipped through the crowd and stopped near Hagrid.

"Great girl, she is, great girl," he heard Hagrid saying. "Bright as they come."

Not surprisingly, the Grangers were lapping this up, even if it was from a twelve foot gamekeeper.

Mad-Eye suddenly swivelled round. Harry had forgotten that magical eye. He'd been talking to Kingsley in rather an intense way, and in hushed tones. Was something else up? Or was he just being paranoid?

"Well, Potter?" he growled, before taking a swig from his flask. Harry gave an involuntary shudder. "What is it then?"

"Sorry, Mad-Eye ... it's that flask. Crouch used to drink from it all the time - the Polyjuice potion."

Moody looked at his flask with distaste. "That scum! You've put me right off my Old McGonagall's now."

"Your what??"

"Old McGonagall's. Yeah - Minerva's part of the family. Not in the business herself, mind you."

Harry had visions of Professor McGonagall supervising the distilling of whiskey.

Mad-Eye took another swig. "I'm wrong, though," he said. "Hasn't spoiled the taste at all."

Kingsley gave a big booming laugh.

"Right," said Harry. "Well, I'll, er, just leave you to it."

He thought he'd done his duty, and made his way out again. The other room was fairly crowded with youngsters by now. Hermione had brought along a Muggle stereo, powered by batteries, and it was playing music softly in the corner. Luna drifted up to him.

"Nice house," she said.

"Yeah. Home from now on."

"It belonged to Sirius?" Harry noted thankfully she'd stopped referring to him as 'Stubby Boardman'.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about what happened to him."

"Yeah, well." Harry shrugged.

"What are you going to do with the wand?"

For a moment Harry wondered what she was talking about, then he realised. He hadn't told his story to anyone at Hogwarts, but no doubt Ron had.

"Frame the bits and put them over the mantelpiece?" he joked. She considered this. He'd forgotten how literal minded she could be at times. "Perhaps not a good idea," he added hastily.

Before the conversation could go any further, he felt a tug at his sleeve. Relieved, he turned round. Ron was standing by his shoulder.

"Harry," he hissed, "Neville and his Gran have just arrived in the hall!"

"Right. 'Scuse me," he said quickly to Luna.

He hurried out. Neville's Gran was standing in the middle of the hallway with a rather determined expression on her face. Neville was behind her, not meeting his eyes. He suddenly realised how much Neville had grown: he seemed to loom over his Gran. On the other hand, there was no doubt who was in charge.

"Harry," said Mrs Longbottom. "Sorry we're late. And just as well you sent me an invitation as well. Neville didn't mention it at all, then didn't want to come!"

"Well," said Harry hastily, "Neville's not a party person really." Neville caught his eye for the first time and gave him a small smile of gratitude. "How are you?" he asked her.

"Fit as a fiddle. And thank you for what you did for us."

"It was Neville - he took on Voldemort and knocked the wand from his hand."

Mrs Longbottom turned and looked up at her grandson. "Good work, Neville."

Neville shuffled his feet.

"And how's Mr Longbottom?" Harry asked hastily.

"Getting better all the time. That potion of Neville's has worked wonders. I must admit I had me doubts at first, but it's done the trick. And there's that Snape saying our Neville can't do potions!"

Harry thought he'd better move the conversation on again for Neville's sake. "Can I take your hat and coat, Mrs Longbottom?"

"Of course." She reached up and withdrew an enormous hatpin, taking off the hat that had become so famous in Gryffindor. Harry did his best to hide the smile on his face. "Help me with me coat, then, Neville."

Finally they got the hat and coat hung up. Harry told Neville where the others were, and took Mrs Longbottom in to introduce her to the other adults. Dumbledore was talking to Mad-Eye (again, it seemed to Harry, slightly furtively), and Harry looked round: perhaps Hagrid, who was sitting quietly in a corner with a flagon of something. He took Mrs Longbottom over to where he was sitting, and introduced them to each other. Hagrid's face brightened as he realised this was Neville's Gran.

The Grangers were talking to Professor McGonagall now, and he caught a snatch of the conversation as he squeezed past: " ... a brilliant student, really outstanding ..." No guesses as to who was being referred to there.

As he came back out into the hall, he saw Seamus and Lavender on the first steps of the staircase, holding hands, obviously heading upstairs. He gave a loud cough, and they turned and saw him. Lavender went a delicate shade of pink, released Seamus' hand, and they both began making their way back down, looking decidedly shifty. Harry grinned.

He took Neville in to join the others. By now, everyone who should have been there was there, and he could afford to relax.

He saw Justin talking earnestly to Hermione, and decided that was one he could miss for the moment. One of the Slytherins had arrived - Ashley Judd. And to his surprise, he was talking to Ron! Now there was a turn up for the book. He sidled a little closer, then discovered that the topic of conversation was the Chudleigh Cannons. A Slytherin supporting the Cannons? Well, why not? He couldn't see Cho, but then perhaps that was just as well. He began to move slowly round the room, exchanging greetings with people as he bumped into them.

At ten o'clock, the tables suddenly started filling with plates of food. There was a mad scramble for knives, forks and plates as everyone tucked in.

"Good food this," mumbled Ron through a mouthful of sausage roll, whilst Hermione looked at him, faintly disgusted.

Well fed, and three or four Butterbeers later, he felt his sleeve being tugged. He turned round to see Hermione standing smiling at him.

"Hmm?"

"Time, Harry."

"Time for what?"

Then he looked at his watch. Ten to twelve! Suddenly the room was emptying. Hermione tugged his sleeve again.

"Come on."

He allowed himself to be dragged into the other room. Everyone was crowded round the walls, and in the centre was a table with an enormous cake, and under the table were heaps of parcels. Suddenly his eyes began to prickle. Hermione edged further forward into the room, still pulling him behind her.

Dumbledore stepped forward, and with a wave of his wand, the seventeen candles on the cake burst into flame. Everyone started cheering, and carried on until Dumbledore raised his hand.

Complete silence fell on the room as Dumbledore looked round.

"We are all grateful to Harry for many things, including this magnificent spread. Why, I have even seen Alastor Moody sampling the delights of the table!

"The fact that so many of us are gathered here tonight is also a tribute to Harry. He has been an inspiration to his fellow students. He has been an inspiration to many of us grown ups too.

"But most of all, we are here because of Harry himself, for the person he is."

He paused. Harry suddenly had to wipe his face with the back of his hand as he felt his eyes prickling again.

"And now Harry is reaching maturity, and we all hope that the promise he has shown as a youngster will be fulfilled in the man."

There was another enormous cheer. "Speech, speech!"

The room slowly fell silent. Harry stood in the middle of the room, his throat choked up. He tried once or twice to speak, failed, took a deep breath. Finally: "Thank you all for coming to what is my first ever birthday party. And thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for what you just said. I hope ... I hope I can live up to those words."

The clock in the hall began chiming. A slow chorus began: "Happy birthday to you ..."

As the last ragged notes drew to an end, there was another cheer. Harry stepped forward with another deep breath, and blew out the candles in one deep exhalation. As he stepped back, Dobby came forward with a knife.

"For Harry Potter to cut the cake."

Despite the crowd, Harry could see Olive staring at Dobby with amazement. To a muggle, a house elf was no doubt a very odd sight. He took the knife from the elf, then turned to Dumbledore.

"Would you do the honours, Professor?"

"No, Harry. But I do have a better idea."

With a flourish he waved his hand in the air, and it came down with a bright sword glistening in it, a sword whose hilt glistened with many jewels: Godric Gryffindor's sword. With another twirl, he presented the hilt to Harry.

Harry looked from the sword to Dumbledore, remembering the last time he had used the weapon. Around him the room was murmuring.

"Don't worry, Harry - it's been cleaned since then," said Dumbledore quietly.

Only he and Dumbledore would really appreciate that remark.

"It seems - well ..."

"Lese majeste? Perhaps. But why not?"

And Harry stepped forward to cut his second ever birthday cake.