Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

A week staying with the Weasleys cheered him up. And he was even more pleased to see some parcels arrive a few days later. One contained a rather snazzy leather jacket for Ron, with pockets and zips for every occasion. Another contained some rather elegant dress robes for Ginny, courtesy of Madam Malkin. A third contained another jumbo box of ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wonders’. With them was a short note from Fred and George. ‘Business going even better than planned. Thought we’d share it round the family.’

“Wow,” said Ron, as he unwrapped his parcel. “Just look at this!” He couldn’t wait to find a mirror to parade in front of, and spent happy hours moving the odd Knut from pocket to pocket. Ginny took rather more persuading to model her robes, although one evening after supper her mother and father eventually prevailed upon her, and she went up to change, coming down in a swirl of cloth, looking happier and prettier than she had for a long time.

Towards the end of the holidays, he said his thanks and goodbyes to the Weasleys senior, went back briefly to Privet Drive to collect his belongings, then returned to the Burrow to join Ron and Ginny on the train to London. For early spring, the weather was superb. It made such an enormous change from the gloom of winter to be travelling up in the train whilst outside the sun shone down on hedges slowly coming back into leaf again. And somehow, the threat of Voldemort and all that he represented seemed far away now, now that his supporters were safely locked away for a long time to come.

And once back at school, he found that the efforts he and Ron had made in the two previous terms were producing rewards: keeping up with the work was that much easier, and a decent set of notes made revision much simpler. The only lessons now that were a pain were, inevitably, Snape’s: the Potions’ master’s dislike of the Gryffindors in his class had, if anything, intensified. Harry was completely ignored during lessons except for the thirty seconds at the end when Snape would dip a ladle into Harry’s cauldron and lift out a small sample. Any mistake was conveyed in a short, sneering sentence: “Too much dragon’s spleen!” Success was indicated by silence (Harry almost swore he could see a look of disappointment on Snape’s face at the sight of Harry getting something right), and Harry knew that the silence meant he could bottle a small sample and take it up to the front bench.

Hermione received similar treatment, despite having her hand raised in answer to almost any question posed by Snape. No one in Gryffindor had forgotten the time when points had been taken from her for ‘being an insufferable know-it-all’. Ron once asked her why she still bothered, and Hermione told him that it would be giving in to Snape to stop raising her hand. Harry suspected, however, that nothing would ever be able to stop Hermione raising her hand in class when she knew the answer to a question. One lesson, however, Harry did notice that her hand was mysteriously absent from the air. Snape must have noticed this too, for suddenly he turned round with his characteristic sneer and said: “But perhaps Miss Grainger knows the answer to this?”, obviously hoping that she didn’t. To his obvious chagrin, she replied with the correct answer: “In the making of potions intended to disguise appearance.” Later, she did admit that she had done this deliberately in order to try and provoke Snape into asking her, and Harry and Ron each presented her with a chocolate frog in honour of the occasion.

Snape still hovered around Neville: whether to distract him or to make sure he didn’t receive any help from the others they weren’t quite sure, but Neville had adopted a technique of staring fixedly at his cauldron or the instructions, and, in his turn, acting as though Snape didn’t exist. As he told the others: “It’s easier that way.”

It did often irritate them, however, when they saw the help that some of the Slytherins received from Snape. One Friday afternoon after the lesson, Ron burst out: “If I’d had half the help from Snape that Malfoy does, my potion would have been fine.” Ron had had to spend ten minutes after the lesson removing what seemed like quick setting concrete from his cauldron. He was less than pleased when Hermione remarked: “Well, this way you have to get it right by yourself. And that means you have to try harder and learn more.” That might have been true, but it didn’t do Ron’s mood much good.

Their other classes were much better. Having covered elves, goblins, giants and centaurs, Professor Wynne was now taking them through how the wizards had seemingly dominated the other creatures. Despite token resistance from Ron, the course had all rather changed their view of the wizarding world. And even Ron would make time to go and talk to Grawp, and admit afterwards that, well, perhaps giants weren’t that bad after all. Professor Wynne had tried giving various psychological tests to Grawp but without much success: the giant’s concepts of things like time and number were, you might say, rather hazy. As Ron said afterwards, rather to Hermione’s disapproval, “Well, he’s a nice enough bloke, but a bit thick.”

And Harry had recently been awarded ten points by Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration for his success in turning a tea cup into a distinctly ornate silver cup. Though pleased enough at the time, something about the cup had nagged at him afterwards, and it wasn’t until several hours later he realised what he’d done: produced a replica of the Tri-Wizard Cup. He gave a mental shudder as he remembered the words: ‘Kill the spare!’, and the subsequent depression took several hours to wear off.

On the other hand, the Defence Group meetings had been going really well. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been doing most of the organising, together with Hermione. Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny had been coming on tremendously as a result of having to take their individual groups. Justin came along to the Gryffindor table one lunchtime to ask if two more Slytherin fifth years could join, and despite the look on Ron’s face, Harry had agreed. Ashley Judd and Peter Bodiley brought them along. One was a tall dark boy, the other a rather attractive blond. Harry could see that the girl looked distinctly apprehensive as she sidled into the room, so he went up to them and make them as welcome as he could. Peter Bodiley took the girl along to Ron’s group, and Harry noticed Ashley Judd and the other boy went into Neville’s group.

At the end of the session, the four Slytherins came up to him to say thank you. The girl – Jocelyn Moss – said, rather formally: “Thanks for letting us join.”

“That’s okay. You’re very welcome.”

“We’re still Slytherins, you know,” she said, almost defiantly.

Harry smiled at her. “I know. Don’t worry – I’m not going to try and convert you or anything.”

“It’s just that – well, we’re not all like Malfoy and his cronies.” She looked round the room. “This was rather fun tonight.”

“Was Ron okay?”

She nodded. “I know he’s got some attitude with Slytherins, but he was fine with me.”

“He’s got attitude with the likes of Malfoy. But I think he’s more open minded now about Slytherins in general. Having people like you along helps.”

She suddenly smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Next week okay?”

“Looking forward to it,” and the four of them turned and joined the departing crowd.

Now that the Quidditch season was over, Harry came to look forward more and more to the Defence Group meetings, even if they did mean extra work. But preparing for them sharpened up his skills immensely: not only had he to be able to demonstrate the week’s lesson, he had to be able to explain it to everyone. And explaining it meant understanding it.

But the star of the meetings in the last few weeks of term turned out to be Neville. After each session, he would take on all comers in a duelling competition, his face screwed up in ferocious concentration as he blocked charms and threw curses. Ron watched him in awed amazement.

“What's come into him?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But at this rate he can soon start to take over the whole group,” as Neville sent Ashley Judd toppling to the floor.

Even the Slytherins were impressed despite themselves – Neville had always been a standing joke in Slytherin – as Neville disposed of yet another victim. But they were to find out soon enough why Neville was trying so hard.

At supper one evening, whilst Harry was busy tucking in to his food, Neville turned to him, more diffident than usual. “Um, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Neville toyed with a roast potato on his plate, not looking at him. “You know next weekend is the last weekend of term?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“I was wondering,” and the rest came out in a rush, “whether you’d come and see Dad again.”

After all the hard work Neville had put in with the Defence Group, Harry could hardly say no. He felt he owed Neville a lot, and genuinely felt sorry for him and his father.

“Of course. No problem.”

“Thanks,” said Neville hastily, as if afraid he’d change his mind, and carried on eating his supper without another word.

Harry thought no more of the invitation until later in the week, when he mentioned the visit casually to Ron and Hermione. Neville had said nothing to them about the weekend. And when Ginny heard about it, she was keen to come as well.

“I’d really like to meet Neville’s dad,” she said. “And is his Gran really as fierce as people make out?”

“Not really,” said Hermione, scratching behind the ears of a purring Crookshanks. She turned and looked round the common room. “Neville?” she called.

Neville was just about to go up to the dormitory, and turned back. “Yes?”

“Is it OK if Ginny comes on Sunday as well as us?”

Neville stood with his mouth open for several seconds, then stuttered: “Oh, er … well … you see, Dad’s not too good with new faces.”

Harry could see the disappointment on Ginny’s face. “One more can’t make much difference, Neville?”

“Well …” Neville stood there redfaced, embarrassed.

Ginny looked at him and said stiffly, “It’s okay, Neville. I understand.”

“It’s Dad I’m thinking about, you see. He knows Harry and the others. And, as I said, he’s not good with people he hasn’t met before.”

Ginny nodded, but Harry could see the hurt.

As a result, it was a slightly subdued group that gathered in Professor McGonagall’s room after lunch on Sunday. Harry still couldn’t see that brining Ginny along would make that much difference, but he hadn’t dared to raise the subject again. Neville was the first to take a pinch of the Floo powder and he disappeared, followed by Hermione and Ron. Then it was Harry’s turn.

As soon as he stepped out into the Longbottom’s sitting room Harry sensed something was very wrong. He didn’t know why, but there was a distinct and definite chilling feel to the house. There was a prickling in the scar on his forehead which he had not experienced for nearly a year now. Then Harry noticed that Neville was gripping his wand tightly, and by instinct his hand went to his own. He could see Hermione and Ron looking round anxiously. So they could feel it too.

“Neville?” he asked. “What is it?”

But before Neville could answer him, the door from the hall opened, and there in the doorway was Neville’s father, but looking far more sprightly than Harry had ever seen him. And he was carrying a wand. At the ready.

“Imperio,” Harry heard him cry.

A familiar floating sensation entered his mind. Everything seemed so far away, everything seemed so easy now. Someone else was going to take all the decisions for him.

“Drop the wand, Harry. Drop your wand,” he heard whispering in his mind.

Drop his wand? Well, what did he need it for? It was only Neville’s father, after all. What harm could he be?

“Drop your wand, Harry,” he heard the voice say again, slightly more sharply.

Drop his wand? There was no way he was going to do that! Instead he raised it as he shook off the curse.

“Stupefy!” he cried.

Ron and Hermione were only a second behind him. Three bolts struck the figure silhouetted in the doorway, which crumpled unconscious to the ground. Harry’s mind immediately cleared.

“Dad!” Neville cried.

“That’s not your father,” said Harry. “Or if it is, he’s under the Imperius curse.”

Then Neville turned to Harry, wand raised. “Stupefy!” he cried.

His Seeker’s reflexes came into action. “Suscipio,” he cried in return, and caught the bolt from Neville’s wand.

And before Neville could do anything else, there were two cries of “Expellarmius!” from Ron and Hermione.

Neville’s wand flew into the air, to be deftly seized by Ron.

“What’s going on, Neville?” asked Harry, puzzled and alarmed.

But Neville had dissolved in tears, almost sinking to the floor.

Harry turned to Hermione. “Go back to McGonagall’s study and tell her we need help fast!”

“Why me?” she asked angrily, glaring at him.

Harry glared back at her. “Out of the three of us, who’s McGonagall most likely to believe?”

“Oh. Of course. Right. Sorry.”

And she quickly turned back to the fireplace.

“What is going on?” asked Ron, bewildered, looking down at Neville.

“I’m not quite sure. But something very odd.”

Then Neville, still sobbing, straightened up, threw himself at Ron, throwing him backwards. grabbing his wand back, and then running out of the room before they could catch him.

“And what’s up with him?” Ron went on, picking himself up from the floor.

“Dunno – but he seems to be part of it.”

“Neville?” said Ron incredulously.

“So why did he try to stupefy me?”

“Well, you did attack his Dad,” said Ron, looking at the figure on the floor.

“Is it his Dad?”

“Who else could it be?”

“Strong enough to try an Imperius curse on me?”

Ron fell silent. But at that moment, Professor McGonagall and Hermione emerged from the fireplace. Harry had never been so glad in all his life to see McGonagall. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she saw Frank Longbottom lying on the ground.

“What is going on here?” she gasped.

“Whoever that is,” said Harry, pointing at the motionless figure, “tried the Imperius curse on me.”

McGonagall looked at him, and her face became grim. “Right. You three stay right here. I’ve alerted Dumbledore and the Ministry.” She reached down for an ornament on a table, picked it up, pointed her wand at it, and murmured “Portus.” She looked up. “The Ministry can worry about this later. None of you move from here until I’m back.” McGonagall reached down to take Frank Longbottom’s hand, and then in a brief swirl they were both gone.

“Where’s Neville gone?” asked Hermione, looking around.

“Run off somewhere,” said Ron tersely.

“Shouldn’t we go and look for him?”

“You heard what McGonagall said. Not to move from here.”

“Even so,” protested Hermione. “Anything could have happened to him.”

Ron looked at Harry. “What do you think?”

Harry walked over the window. The landscape outside was as peaceful as it always had been. The hills behind the house seemed bare and deserted, the fields were empty apart from a few sheep.

“Let’s take a look out from the front room,” he suggested. “I go first. Hermione watches our backs.”

Through the open door he could see down the hallway to the front door. The parlour was off to the left, just beyond the stairs. Harry moved cautiously to the doorway. Everything seemed as it should be. He moved forward two or three more paces. Then a movement from the top of the staircase caught his eye.

Standing at the top of the flight of stairs was what seemed to be Neville’s grandmother. But in her hand there was a wand, pointing at him, and once again he heard the cry of “Imperio!”.

Once more he felt that floating dissociated feeling, but this time he sensed the mind behind it: that of Bella Lestrange. This was not Mrs Longbottom. Fortified by his experience of only a few moments ago, Harry pushed back as hard as he could with his mind. He felt her shock and dismay as her mind in turn was invaded, and deeper down, further back, he sensed something else too: something darker, harder, and, if possible, more evil. Voldemort.

But once again Ron came to the rescue with a bellowed “Stupefy!” Distracted by her mental tussle with Harry, Bella collapsed down the stairs, her mind a silent shriek.

“It’s not really Neville’s gran, is it?” asked Ron, worried about what he’d done.

Harry pulled himself out of Lestrage’s mind. “No,” he said with a shudder. “It’s Bella Lestrange. They must be using Polyjuice potion. And I suppose they both thought that I wouldn’t be able to resist their Imperius curse.”

“Lucky for us you can,” said Ron.

Then they heard scrabbling noises from the room behind.

“It’s okay,” said Hermione quickly. “It’s Kingsley and Percy.”

The two adults moved swiftly into the hall and looked at what seemed to be Mrs Longbottom sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Harry could see that Percy was about to start saying something.

“It’s not her,” he said quickly. “It’s Bella Lestrange.”

“How do you know?” asked Kingsley curiously.

“Keep it for later. If you want some kudos, Percy, you can Portkey with her straight back to the Ministry.”

“But we’re not allowed …” began Percy, then fell quiet.

Harry grinned inside. Percy breaking rules … but Percy could also see how much he had to gain from breaking them …

He watched Percy deliberating for a few more moments, come to a decision, then take a coin from his pocket, followed by the murmur of “Portus!”. He leant down and took Lestrange’s hand, then disappeared.

“That’s got rid of him,” said Ron.

Kingsley looked at him curiously but said nothing.

“Voldemort’s around somewhere,” Harry told the Auror.

“Your scar?”

“No. Oddly, I don’t feel a thing now. I did when we arrived.”

“Then …?”

“Bella tried the Imperius curse, and somehow our minds linked. And I sensed Voldemort in her mind, but much further away, deeper down.”

“You can throw off the Imperius curse?” asked Kingsley, even more curious.

“Yes.” Thanks to Bartimeus Crouch, Death Eater.

“Where is he then?”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t know exactly. But at a guess, not too far.”

“We’d better get you out of here,” said Kingsley.

Harry shook his head. “Not yet. We’ve got to get Neville.”

“So where is Neville?”

“Don’t know.”

“Look, the area is going to flooded with Aurors in a few minutes. But against Voldemort himself ….”

“We’re not going without Neville,” said Ron obstinately.

Kingsley sighed, exasperated. “As I say, the whole place will be surrounded in a few minutes. Getting Neville will be no problem.”

“And there’s Mrs Longbottom and Neville’s father too,” said Hermione.

“That’s no problem either.”

“Yeah, well,” said Ron, “we want to make sure.”

“You don’t go out of the house,” warned the Auror.

No one said anything. Then Harry remarked: “We were going to take a look out of the front window.”

Kingsley looked at the three of them, knowing whatever he could say wasn’t going to change their minds now.

“I go first,” he said. “And you don’t follow until I know the coast is clear.”

“Sure.”

Kingsley took a couple of paces forward, and pushed at the door, which was very slightly ajar. Slowly it swung open. They could see inside: see Frank Longbottom slumped in a chair.

Kingsley held out an arm to stop them rushing forward, and advanced very slowly into the room. The others followed him.

“Keep an eye open behind, Hermione,” whispered Harry.

“I am doing.”

“Good.”

Kingsley knelt down by Mr. Longbottom and reached out to feel for a pulse at the neck. Harry took the opportunity to slip over to the window and peer out. He could feel Ron breathing down his neck.

Lying on the path about twenty feet from the house he could see the figure of Neville, slumped on the ground, apparently unconscious.

“Kingsley,” he hissed.

The Auror joined them at the window. “Well, you know where he is now.”

“We can’t just leave him there,” said Hermione indignantly.

Harry scanned the surrounding fields. Everything still looked completely peaceful, as if nothing untoward was going on.

“The question is,” said Hermione, “who stunned him?”

“Bellatrix?” suggested Kingsley.

“She was upstairs,” objected Harry.

“Could have done it from a window.”

“Maybe,” conceded Harry. But he wasn’t convinced. “In that case,” he went on, “it’d be okay for us to go out and have a look at him.”

Kingsley turned to him and smiled slightly. “Nice try, Harry. But you’re not going anywhere.”

“What are we going to do then?”

“Sit and wait until the Aurors have been over the place with a fine toothcomb.”

“With Neville lying out there on the path?” said Hermione indignantly.

“Yes,” said Kingsley, “even with Neville lying out there on the path.”

But any further argument was cut short. The windowpanes suddenly began emitting a high pitched hum, and then collapsed into tiny fragments of glass, which fell on to the windowsill and floor in tiny glittering shards.

“Down,” shouted Kingsley, pulling on Harry’s robes.

Despite Kingsley trying to pull him back, Harry peered over the windowsill. As he looked out, an excruciating pain struck his forehead. It was all the more painful since it came as a complete surprise. And the reason was plain to see. Standing further down the pathway was a figure dressed from head to foot in dark robes: a figure that looked human, but, somehow, subtly, was not. Voldemort himself.

The red eyes were fixed on the window. A slight smile seemed to play over that white, snake like face. “Harry,” Voldemort said, in that deep, hissing voice.

Kingsley raised himself up with his wand at the ready, but Voldemort merely gave a soundless flick of his wrist. The Auror collapsed back to the floor, unconscious.

“Harry,” Voldemort said again.

“Yes?”

“We meet once again, Harry.”

“That’s right. And each time we meet, you have fewer and fewer supporters.”

Voldemort smiled slightly. “But I still have two faithful servants to do my bidding.”

“That’s what you think.”

“What do you mean by that?” And for the first time, there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

“Well, Bella Lestrange is locked away in the Ministry now, and Pettigrew is locked up in Hogwarts.”

“Do not lie to me, Potter,” the voice hissed.

“But, Tom, I thought you could always tell when people are lying to you. Am I lying to you now?”

“Do not call me by that name!”

“Why not – Tom?”

Harry heard Ron muttering up at him: “Are you mental? What are you trying to get him angry for?”

“Perhaps you too have fewer supporters than you think, Harry,” Voldemort replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Poor Neville. His father was recovering so well. And then two of my servants come and tell him: fetch Potter to us, or your father will receive a rather different treatment. Treatment he had already received once before.”

“That’s about what I would expect from you. Threats and torment.”

Voldemort laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Crude, maybe, but effective. Now Harry, listen to this. Enervate,” he hissed.

On the path, Neville stirred, turned over, looked up, and saw Voldemort standing in front of him.

Voldemort looked back down at the boy lying on the ground. “Crucio,” he said lazily.

Neville’s screams rang out over the fields. In the silence that followed, Voldemort looked towards the house once more. Harry saw those red eyes glittering at him.

“So, Harry,” he said, “are you going to let your friend suffer like that again? He won’t suffer in silence, you know.” Harry clutched his wand in impotent rage. “So, Harry,” he went on, “you can let your friend suffer the same fate as his mother and father, or …” Voldemort shrugged “… come out and duel with me.”

“You mustn’t!” whispered Hermione from beside him.

But then came the most surprising event of that afternoon. Neville still had his wand with him, grasped tightly in one hand. And he raised it at the figure in front of him.

“Expelliarmus,” he cried with all his strength.

If Voldemort had not been taken completely by surprise, there was no chance that Neville’s spell would have worked. But, startled as he was, Voldemort’s wand slipped an inch or two from his long, white bony fingers.

“Accio wand!” cried Harry instantly. And in that vital second, Voldemort’s wand flew across the lawn and in through the window. Harry seized it, held it up, and with a quick flick of his wrists snapped it in two. Quickly, he passed the pieces to Hermione, whispering fiercely: “Hold on to it tight!”

“You think I need a wand to defeat schoolchildren?” said Voldemort derisively, although Harry thought he could detect a more uncertain note in his voice.

Then, oddly, Harry thought he heard the sound of the front door being opened. And a deep, quiet, relaxed voice said: “More than just schoolchildren, Tom.”

It was Dumbledore.

He took a few paces forward: Harry could see him now, standing confidently on the path, gazing at Voldemort. “So you lost your wand, Tom? Now that was careless.”

“Wand or not, I am still a match for you and a few children!”

“Maybe, Tom, maybe. But there are twenty to thirty Ministry wizards watching you now. And I do know that even without a wand, you can deal quite easily with any Ministry wizard. But twenty or thirty of them? Each one could deliver you a small jab, perhaps, before you overcame them, but small jabs would add up, one by one, until you found yourself weakened fatally. Of course,” Dumbledore went on, shrugging, “you could always try it to find out. But I wouldn’t give a lot for your chances.”

“No Ministry wizard could kill me,” said Voldemort contemptuously.

“Who said anything about killing?” asked Dumbledore. “We leave that sort of thing to you and to your followers. As I’ve told you before, there are things worse than death. Much worse than death. Certainly as far as you are concerned.”

Voldemort’s snake like tongue flickered over his lips. Then he turned to look at Harry. The scar on Harry’s forehead hurt him more now than ever.

“Do not think, Potter, this is an end to it. It is not. You have the advantage now. But perhaps not next time”

A sudden green glow encircled Voldemort, and a green death’s head began to emerge from it and rose up into the sky. Then the light winked out, and Voldemort was gone.

Things happened very fast after that. The air was filled with the crack of Apparating wizards. Dumbledore ran down the path to Neville, and began helping him to his feet. Wizards appeared in the front room with them: one tending to Frank Longbottom; another to Kingsley. Then Dumbledore was with them, still clutching Neville.

"Take my hand, each of you," he said quickly.

As they all joined hands, Harry felt the all too familiar lurch of a Portkey, and he was carried out of the Longbottom house, away in a sickening swirl, to find himself back in Professor McGonagall's study at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey was there, together with the Professor.

"Lestrange has been taken to the Ministry, Albus," she told him the moment he appeared.

"Excellent, Minerva." He turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Neville has been through a rather bad experience. The hospital wing, I think?"

"Of course, Headmaster." She bustled forward. "This way, Neville."

The others watched him being led away. Neville hadn't spoken a word since Dumbledore had rescued him.

Dumbledore turned to the remaining three. "You are going to have to excuse me for a little while. I have one or two matters to attend to. If I may use your fireplace, Minerva?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Not for the first time, Harry found himself once more in the hospital wing at the end of a summer term. But for once, though, it was not him who was in bed nursing his injuries. Instead, Neville was lying propped up on pillows, looking extremely worried. Dumbledore sat at the foot of the bed, and Harry, Hermione and Ron were perched on the bed next to them.

"I'm really, really sorry," said Neville, looking, if possible, even more anguished.

Dumbledore waved a hand in dismissal. "Neville, if you've learned one thing from all of this, it is that Voldemort and those who think like him will do whatever they want to make things go their way, even if it means hurting other people. That is a more valuable lesson than anything you will learn from any of your teachers."

Neville nodded. "When I went home the weekend before, Peter Pettigrew was there," he told them. "He showed me Dad and Gran. They'd got them hostage. They were going to work Gran over, then start on Dad, unless I could ..." his voice faltered "... unless I could bring Harry to them."

"Which again goes to show," said Dumbledore gently, "that one of Tom Riddle's favourite tricks is to sow dissent amongst friends. It's a trick he has used many times before, and will almost certainly use again."

"I felt so helpless," said Neville. "I mean, what could I do against those two and ... and Voldemort himself?"

"Not entirely surprising," said Dumbledore, as he reached over to try one of Neville's Every Flavour Bertie Bott's Beans. This time he chewed appreciatively. "That sounds to be rather formidable odds."

There was a few moment's silence.

Then Dumbledore went on: "There is, however, something else. Not to do with we friends in here, but to do with the world outside. I have talked about Tom Riddle's ability to sow discord. This is part of it. We here know that he used Neville's family to blackmail him. The rest of the world does not. And that's how it should stay. It is our secret and we should keep it that way."

There was more silence until Neville said: "But, Professor ..."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "One part of you wants to confess what you did. Another part of you wants to keep it quiet. Knowing you, Neville, I can imagine that it is something that you will keep on your conscience for a long time. There is little I can say to comfort you except to remind you that you did what you did because of the very real threat to your family.

"But I do not want to give Tom Riddle the satisfaction of the rest of the world knowing that he can prey on people's fears and get away with it."

Neville looked down at his hands. "If you say so, Professor."

"I do," said Dumbledore firmly.

"And," Neville looked even more lugubrious, "Harry, Ron, Hermione ..."

"Don't say anything," said Hermione quickly, leaning out and touching his hand.

"Yeah," said Ron, who'd been regaling the school endlessly about the encounter with You Know Who, "forget about it."

"And I know what it's like losing parents," said Harry quietly.

Neville blinked and looked down. "Even so ... I shouldn't have ..."

"The subject is closed," said Dumbledore firmly. "Apart from the small matter of house points, of course."

The four of them looked at him wondering what to expect. "I think Neville should be awarded a hundred points for disarming Tom Riddle," Dumbledore told them. They all blinked. Neville's jaw dropped. "And lose a hundred points for leading his friends into such danger," Dumbledore went on with a gentle smile. "As for the three of you ... well, I think fifty points each should suffice."

Fifty points each! That should secure the House Cup all right.

"But, Professor Dumbledore ..."

For one moment Harry thought Hermione was going to argue the points with Dumbledore.

"Yes?"

"He's still out there, though, isn't he?"

"Tom Riddle? Yes, he's still out there. But now with no willing followers at all. And unlikely to gain many. Who wants to be on the losing side? He could force help, as with Neville. But that little episode just proved that pressed men aren't much use. And there is something else as well."

"What's that, Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded to the two pieces of wood that Harry was idly twirling. He had been carrying them around ever since the battle. After all, it had been this wand that had killed his parents, and he reckoned he was entitled to keep it.

"Tom has lost his wand. Oh, he can get another easily enough. But perhaps not as good. Mind you, even with an inferior wand, he is a force to be reckoned with. But at each encounter, he grows weaker. Defeat does not suit him. Perhaps, sooner rather than later, he will lose once and for all."

Dumbledore carefully avoided looking at Harry as he spoke.

"Meanwhile," he said, "we must remember one thing. The more we work together, the stronger we are. Remember that over your summer holidays."

Getting on the train at the end of the school year was not quite such a dismal experience for Harry as it might have been in the past. At least he could Apparate to see Ron or Hermione now, or even go to Grimmauld Place, where a room would be ready and waiting for him.

But as a prefect, instead of sitting down and relaxing, he had to walk the length of the train, just to make sure everything was as it should be. And inevitably, he ran into Malfoy and his cronies. Those pale blue eyes were now filled with hate.

"Happy now, Potter?"

"About what?"

"The trouble you've caused."

"I think you've got that wrong, Malfoy. It wasn't me that caused the trouble. If your family want to practice the Dark Arts, they ought to be prepared for the consequences."

"Maybe it's you who needs ought to be prepared."

"A threat, Malfoy?"

"Take it anyway you like."

Harry shrugged. "I only worry about threats from people who are able to carry them out. I don't put you in that category."

And he brushed past the trio, no longer caring what they thought.

At King's Cross, he had a quick word with Mr and Mrs Weasley, who had come to collect Ron and Ginnie, promising to visit soon to bring them up to date with all that had happened. But standing impatiently in the distance he could see Uncle Vernon. No taxi this time. Sighing, he began wheeling his trolley forward, knowing that another summer in Privet Drive was about to begin.

THE END