Harry Potter and the Summer of the Dementors

When he next turned over, it was to be woken by a bar of sunlight beaming through the gap in the curtains. He blinked. What time was it? His watch showed it was after nine. So he had slept then. And no dreams. And nothing from the scar. Relieved, he climbed out of bed.

Mr Weasley was sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of tea. Harry poured himself one, and stole a mute look at Mr Weasley. There was a slight shake of the head. So he'd been in to the office already.

"A quiet night," said Mr Weasley softly. "Most of the Dementors seem to have gone to ground - either that, or we've bagged most of them."

Harry nodded. There was another unspoken message there. A quiet night. Nothing that would justify what he'd felt.

"I did take the liberty," Mr Weasley went on, "of sending an owl to Dumbledore."

Harry's reactions were mixed. Dumbledore probably did need to know, but he hated his role as a Voldemort monitor. He confined himself to another nod.

"The goblin connection has proved very useful," Mr Weasley continued in that soft tone. Harry didn't know whether he didn't want to disturb the rest of the house or whether he was trying to keep Harry calm. He raised an eyebrow in reply.

"A lot of the wizard teams reporting back have been very complimentary about the co-operation. If we really do want the goblins on our side, and with some sort of equality, then this sort of thing will filter back to the Wizengamot."

"So Arbuthnot's plans are working out?"

Mr Weasley put his cup down. "That's a little ungracious, Harry. We're all working to the same end. He needs you, and you need him. Sure, he'll use you, but won't you use the connection to him when it suits you?"

"I suppose," admitted Harry. "The difference is that I feel so powerless about it all."

"Being Minister circumscribes you more than you might think. Arbuthnot's not all powerful. He needs to tread carefully. If he gets it wrong, he's out, and we might end up with someone worse than Fudge."

"Politics," said Harry gloomily. "I don't think I'll ever get the hang of it."

"Depends if you want to or not. Or whether you need to. Do you want to be Minister of Magic one day?"

Harry snorted. "Come off it."

"You could be, you know."

"Why would I want to be?"

Mr Weasley shrugged. "Depends what you want to do in life. You can't be an Auror for ever, or you'd end up like Moody."

"Is that such a bad fate?"

"Yes and no. Depends what your talents are. I mean, can you imagine sending Moody to meet the goblins?"

At the idea of it, Harry had to grin. "Not really."

"You'd be as good an Auror as Moody. But there's more to you."

"There is one big snag," said Harry.

"What's that?"

"Tom Riddle," said Harry, deliberately using that name.

It threw Mr Weasley for a moment, then: "He's not out of the way, but he's on the way down."

"Maybe." Could he tell Mr Weasley about the prophecy? He listened for noises upstairs. No one seemed to be about. "Can I tell you something - in complete confidence. I mean, really in confidence?"

"Of course."

In a few sentences he sketched out the details of the prophecy. Mr Weasley was more than taken aback: Harry could see him going pale as he unfolded the story.

There was a silence which seemed to stretch out forever. Finally: "That does explain a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been a bit puzzled at times about your reactions to things. Now I think I know why."

It wasn't the response Harry was expecting. "In what way?"

Mr Weasley sighed and looked down at the table. "You're very - fatalistic - at times."

"It's either that or going into a tearing rage. That happened once, and I'm still ashamed about it."

Then he told Mr Weasley the story of how he'd wrecked Dumbledore's study.

"Oh dear."

"It's the feeling of ... impotence which is worst. Not knowing. And then I get paranoid. Are they keeping things from me? And then sometimes I knew they are, because I'm not safe. Voldemort might pick my mind."

"Thank you for one thing."

"What's that?"

"You said 'they'. Am I included in that?"

Harry looked at the mild but shrewd face across the table. "Probably not. But that's the trouble with paranoia - you don't know who you can trust. But yes - if I trust anyone, it's probably you."

"Well, thank you for that too." Mr Weasley was silent again, then: "As a teenager, someone who lacks autonomy, so to speak, it must be even more difficult. You want to be able to make your own decisions."

"Exactly," said Harry, relieved that at least someone understood how he felt.

"To a large extent, you have been this summer. And to be honest, I don't think anyone does know that much more than you. Dumbledore plays his cards close to his chest, but he always has. You're not the first to complain about that."

"Fair enough," said Harry. "It's just ... the waiting, if you see what I mean."

Mr Weasley nodded. "Yes, I can see that. But the longer you have, the stronger you become. You're becoming more mature. You're winning allies. And You Know Who isn't."

"I suppose," said Harry, slumping back in his chair.

"Let me guess - you're tired at people giving you advice all the time?" Harry nodded. "Well, for what it's worth - keep plugging on. Learn as much as you can. When - well, whatever it may be - happens, deal with it then. I can't say: don't brood, because you will. But that's the real test of character - to keep going."

"I know, I know." He looked and gave a small smile. "Sorry. I know what you're saying is right - it's just that, well, it's not always easy."

"You can say that again," said Mr Weasley. "It gets on all our nerves. Look at Molly."

"She means well," said Harry awkwardly.

"Oh, I know that. But there are times when you have to, well shall we say, tread softly."

"Yeah. Fred and George's speciality, that."

That did bring a hoot of laughter from Mr Weasley. "Right. You know, Molly and I don't know how lucky we are. We've had four sons so far who have gone out and made a success of life, and whatever Ron ends up doing, I think he'll do it well."

"Yeah. He really was good that time we were ambushed by the Dementors. I mean, I'm not exaggerating for Ron's sake. He kept his head. Without him it'd have been a lot more difficult."

"Oh, I know." Mr Weasley sighed. "Just don't going around mentioning the word 'Auror' when Molly's around, okay?"

"Not a word."

"You talk about the waiting. Well, we all remember last time. That's what's getting on Molly's nerves. The fact that it might turn out like last time. And that this time it might be one of our family."

Harry suddenly felt ashamed. "Yes, I'm sorry, Mr Weasley. I know it's not only me who's affected by all this."

Mr Weasley sipped his tea, which must have been cold by now. "You've your own worries. But ..." He sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Let's talk about something else."

Harry grinned. "Yeah. Like whether the Tigfield Tigers will win again."

"They lost. Arbuthnot told me."

"Well, I've another weekend spare ..."

Mr Weasley did laugh, genuinely. "Careful, Harry. Inflated head time."

Harry grinned back. "Yeah. But wait until next term ..."

"Who'll be captain of Quidditch?"

Harry thought about this. "Dunno. But not me."

"Why ever not?"

"Don't want to be. Besides, you don't want a Seeker as captain. He's out there on his own, which isn't what you want as captain."

"True enough. Who then?"

"Ron, of course."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Ron'll do it well. He'll be worse than Oliver Wood."

"A hard taskmaster?" asked Mr Weasley with a grin.

"Ferocious."

"Good. Well, that's the world put to rights. Now, where's that Muggle girl? There's a lot I want to ask her ..."

But his question was answered by a clatter of feet from outside. Olive, Dean, Hermione and Ron all crowded into the kitchen, making an awful lot of noise.

"All these fields! And trees! And cows!"

"No sheep?" asked Harry.

Ron gave him a dirty look.

"No, no sheep," Olive said. "But I mean, round where we live, there's a park with half a dozen tress that're nearly dead, and that's it."

"The exercise seems to have done you all good," said Mr Weasley, surveying the party. Hermione's cheeks were glowing, and her eyes were bright.

Dean sat down. "All that walking! Half killed me."

"Good for you," said Hermione practically.

"Shall I put the kettle on?" asked Olive.

"No need," said Mr Weasley, pointing his wand at the stove. "Now, Olive, when you're at home how do ...?"

Ron sat down next to Harry. "All right, mate?"

It was a casual question, but Harry knew there was more to it. Hermione was watching him carefully too.

"I'm fine. Seriously fine. And your father and me have been putting the world to rights."

"You need Hermione for that."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Well," she said, "it looks as if I'm the only left to make the tea."

"Ah," said Ron, "she knows her place."

A wand suddenly appeared in Hermione's hand. The teapot began to rise up from the table and move towards Ron.

"No, seriously," he said hastily, "I was only joking!"

"You were joking seriously?" said Hermione dangerously, as the teapot advanced further.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. Okay?"

The teapot stopped in mid air, and Olive watched in fascination.

In her most dignified voice: "Ronald Weasley, there are some things you do not joke about. Got that?"

"Yes, Hermione, I've got that."

"Good."

The teapot descended to the table, and Hermione picked it up and emptied it into the sink. Harry heard a quiet "Phew!" from Ron.

Despite all that had happened, and was still happening, that was one of the best days of the holidays for Harry. Somehow, amongst all the laughs and jokes, the problems faded away. One of the standing jokes was to perform some magic trick around Olive, to catch her out. Even Hermione joined in, sticking Olive's cup to the saucer so she couldn't drink her tea without lifting up both cup and saucer.

Eventually Olive protested: "It's not fair. I can't do anything back to you all," and Mr Weasley declared the joke at an end. Mrs Weasley provided a picnic lunch, and after that Hermione insisted in dragging them out for another walk, despite Dean's protests. Then it was broomstick time, Harry taking up Olive once again, and trying to make her airsick.

After tea, it was finally time to go back. They packed up their things, and made their way to the fireplace for Dean and Olive to go back to Grimmauld Place. Needless to say, Harry Apparated.

He led them out into the square, and Olive sighed.

"London! In some ways it's nice to be back, but those fields! I think I could become a country girl yet."

"We'll see," said Dean.

"I mean, you could wotsit - Apparate - to work, and I could stay and look after the house."

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

"Well, she has the brains. I don't. No, a house in the country would do me fine."

Harry said goodbye to them at the Tube station, then slowly made his way home. Remus was downstairs when he arrived back.

"Hi. Have a good weekend?"

"Excellent. You?"

"Been doing some stuff for Fred and George."

"Going well?"

"Yeah. I've just finished the main part. Just needs tidying up now. Oh, a couple of things have come for you. There's an envelope up there on the mantelpiece, and that book from Flourish and Blotts."

"The dodgy one?"

"Well, it's not exactly dodgy. But yes, there are some things in there which you need a licence for. Or more. Shall we have a look at it after supper?"

"Sure. I'll take my things upstairs."

Harry and Remus had virtually exhausted Flourish and Blott's stock of books related to the Dark Arts. As Remus himself had said: "Hermione would have a field day in here!" Nevertheless, they had worked through many of the books chapter by chapter, practicing some of the spells as they went along. Some of the spells were extremely difficult, some were far too dangerous, some would have had Ministry officials on their doorstep sooner than you could blink. But as Remus said, it was useful to know about them even if you didn't use them yourself. He told Harry that knowing what your enemy was up to always gave you an advantage. Harry himself couldn't imagine any occasion when he'd want to use most of the spells, but he also knew that practice, and extending his range of spells, would help improve his general wizarding skills.

They spent a long time on the new book that evening even though most of the spells and charms inside were ones they couldn't try out: not that they were exactly illegal, but if they were detected there would certainly be questions asked.

On his way up to his room, the envelope on the mantelpiece caught his eye. He'd forgotten about it. He ripped it open and scanned the parchment inside. He was slightly surprised that it was from Zakod - Raknuk's son.

Dear Mr Potter,

I am writing to you because I would like to meet you to talk about a rather delicate matter concerning goblin/wizard relations. This is an unofficial contact, and I would ask that you tell no one else, but I would be grateful if you could meet me just outside Gringott's at nine o'clock on Monday morning.

If the time is inconvenient, let me know.

Goblin Zakod.

Harry frowned. More hush hush stuff. On the other hand, with things looking as promising as they did, he could hardly ignore it. Too late now to send a reply - it was close on midnight. Oh, well. He'd better turn up and see what it was all about. Yawning, he made his way up the stairs.

He remembered the goblins' penchant for formality when he dressed the next morning, and decided to put on something reasonably smart. What a change it was not to have to climb into Dudley's cast offs. He had a fleeting thought to go and visit Privet drive to see how the Dursleys were; a thought that died almost as soon as it came into his mind.

Diagon Alley first - he stepped away and began to walk towards the gleaming white façade of the bank. Zakod was outside, looking slightly anxious. When he caught sight of Harry, his face brightened with a touch of relief.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I wasn't sure whether you'd got my note."

"Sorry I didn't reply. I only got to it at midnight last night."

"No matter." The goblin smiled. "You're here now."

Harry gave a smile in return, still wondering what this all about.

"It's a matter of some delicacy," Zakod when on. "Better not discussed around here." Harry nodded, although still in the dark. "If you follow the instructions on this parchment, it will show you how to get to where we're going."

Harry took the slip of parchment and read it through carefully. They seemed very complicated, and he read it through a second time. Finally: "Okay."

"You've got all that?" Harry nodded once more. "Good. Then perhaps I might go first." The goblin smiled again and disappeared.

Harry glanced down at the parchment once more to check he'd got it right, and then followed.

Around them was moorland, rather beak and unforgiving, obviously a long way from London. He was in a hollow, a dip in the ground, a little more sheltered than the grassland around. The air was keener here, and colder. A slight breeze was blowing, hissing through the grass. Wisps of clouds were scudding across the sky.

The parchment hadn't given any clue as to exactly where he'd Apparated to, and he was curious as to where he was - and why he was here at all. He saw Zakod standing a short distance away, again with that look of relief on his face.

"The person we will be meeting will be here in a moment," he said re-assuringly.

Harry looked round the hollow. It seemed even bleaker as he looked more closely. Some stunted looking trees formed a wood a little way away. On the other side were some rocks, through which a little stream slowly trickled. The ground was rough, and covered with heather and bracken. He didn't like the place: there was a bad feeling to it. He didn't know why, but he knew something was very wrong. He shivered slightly. He was just turning to Zakod when he heard a sound rather like a crackle, and the air seemed to change indefinably. A voice came from behind him, as a pain stabbed at his forehead.

"Welcome, Harry."

It was a cold high voice. He knew that voice only too well. Reluctantly, knowing what he would see, he turned. Twenty or thirty yards away stood a tall thin figure dressed in his usual black robes, which contrasted starkly against the pale white hands and face. Lord Voldemort.

He and Voldemort locked gazes, each trying to assess the situation. Then Harry remembered Voldemort's powers of Legilimency. Better not to keep eye contact. The scar throbbed all the more as he looked away.

Then Harry turned to Zakod. "Why?" he asked. The goblin said nothing.

"Zakod is now one of my faithful servants," Voldemort told him. "As of yesterday."

So that's what he'd registered! Voldemort gaining a supporter such as this - no wonder he'd been pleased. That's why his scar had reacted as it did.

"Why?" he asked Zakod again.

The goblin drew himself up and looked at Harry.

"We goblins do not need our rights granted to us by the likes of the Wizengamot. Humans are not the only magical people around. Goblins are a proud people, Mr Potter. We want to be the equal of humans - but on our own terms."

"And do you really think he'll let you have any rights?" asked Harry, gesturing towards Voldemort.

"Ah, Harry, trying to sow dissension already. I thought that was rather my speciality. You are learning things from me." There was satisfaction in the cold voice.

"No," said Harry bluntly. "Any one who thinks they'll gain privileges from you is a fool. It's as simple as that."

"Well, time will tell on that."

Harry knew that somehow he had to get out of here. There would only be one ending to the day if he couldn't get away. There was no way he strong enough yet to tackle Voldemort.

But how to escape? Apparate? He glanced surreptitiously down at the parchment and thought hard. Nothing happened. He heard Voldemort laugh.

"Harry, the first thing I did when I appeared was to cast an anti-Apparition charm round the area. You think that the old fool Dumbledore is the only one who can do that?"

Ah. Well, that one was out, he thought to himself. Keep calm. Keep calm. He knew his wand was in the pocket of his robe; he moved a hand down to touch the handle.

"No, Harry, no duelling this time," said Voldemort, sounding amused. "I don't think it a fair match. Mind you, I do miss that wand of mine." There was a flash of anger in his voice. "But I do have a rather good replacement, and it has served me well so far."

So if I can't Apparate, how else do I get out of here? Harry began running through all the spells he and Remus had worked on last night. Most of them seemed singularly inappropriate. There was one however ... if he could remember all the details, that was. And get it right first time. There would be only one opportunity.

"Well, Harry, your time is nearly up," said the thin, high, cold voice. Voldemort sounded pleased with himself. "You know, you have annoyed quite a few of my allies. Thinned their ranks very considerably. But after a Kiss from a Dementor, I don't think I would have much more to fear from Harry Potter."

He could feel the air around him growing icier. He thought he knew what was coming, and pulled out his wand.

"Going to produce that Patronus of yours, Harry? I must admit it was a remarkably good one." A lazy flick of Voldemort's wand. "Try it. Go on, Harry, try it."

Several hooded figures appeared by the edge of the wood. He knew what they were. And he knew what they'd come for. He shivered, then raised his weand.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed with all his force, pointing his wand at the ugly creatures.

Nothing happened.

"I did warn you, Harry."

He lowered his wand. Well, that was no good then. His mind went back to what he'd been reading the night before. He'd never imagined that he'd have any use for any of them. Not then. But there was something which might do the trick ... they hadn't been able to practice it, of course. Would it work?

"And after you, Harry, Zakod is going to fetch those two friends of yours. It will be their turn next. Imagine the consternation in the wizarding world when the bodies are found. Or perhaps I should leave the three of you alive - just the empty shells, so to speak."

Ron and Hermione as well? He looked at Voldemort and saw the answer in his eyes. Not just him then. And he could well imagine the effect that the discovery of their relicts would produce: the fear which Voldemort thrived on. The three of them - their souls removed by the Dementors. The panic that would follow. He couldn't let this happen.

"Well, Harry, say goodbye to your soul."

He turned to look at the approaching Dementors, partly so that Voldemort could not see his face, aware of Voldemort's power to read his mind. They were coming closer now, and he could begin to feel their effect on his mind. If he was going to do it, it would have to be now. He looked down to the scrap of parchment that Zakod had handed him: that would do. His wand was still in his other hand. He touched wand to parchment, wondering if he'd get this right, and murmured something very quietly.