Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Seven - Affairs of Little Import

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It is not only for what we do that we are held responsible, but also for what we do not do.

    -- Moliere

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After the fiasco at dinner, an uneasy truce among all parties concerned reigned in the Weasley household. Perhaps the general realisation that they'd had a flaming row in front of their guest had something to do with it. Perhaps it was Fred and George's belated promise to buy a new cooking pot for their mother at the first available opportunity. Perhaps the fact that Mr. Weasley and Percy had arranged never to be home at the same time also helped. For whatever reason, things had improved, if only slightly.

Harry's biggest problem had been explaining to Ron exactly what had happened on his after-dinner walk with Ginny. Or rather, what *hadn't* happened. In explicit detail.

Apart from that, a week passed in relative comfort. Harry sent a short letter to Mrs. Figg using Muggle post to let her know that he was all right. He mentioned meeting Professor Stanton in passing, though he neglected to say in what circumstances they had met. Mrs. Figg had spent fourteen years of her life worrying about him--she didn't need to worry about something that was over and done with, not to mention beyond her control.

He also owled a longer message to Hermione, confirming their plans to meet when they visited London to buy school supplies. Harry's letter from Hogwarts, complete with the list of the new year's required textbooks, had arrived at the Burrow with the letters for the members of the Weasley family still in school. He had stopped questioning long ago how the letters managed to find him--no matter where he was.

Ron was still grounded, so the two of them spent most of their time in his room, talking about everything and nothing. Ron expressed his hopes of being able to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team, even as a reserve player. Harry talked about his battle with Indian food. They both agreed that the O.W.L.S. were terrifying, that Snape's class was probably still going to be a pain, and that Neville would melt no less than four cauldrons before the Christmas holidays.

Harry was certain that Ron had forgotten the whole Ginny incident, but the night before they were slated to leave for Diagon Alley his best friend brought up the subject yet again, just before they fell asleep.

Harry had to explain himself, yet again. "I told you, we went for a walk and talked for a while. Nothing else. That was it," he said wearily, twisting the blankets in his hands.

Ron's haughty sniff declared that he didn't believe Harry for a minute. "Why would she just up and ask you to do something like that?"

Harry had had enough, and sarcasm came easily to his tongue. "Maybe because she was really embarrassed to see two-thirds of her family at each other's throats, right in front of the famous Harry Potter?"

Ron sat straight up in bed. Even in the darkened room, Harry could tell that his friend was shaking, and his face had gone white as a sheet. He had a sinking feeling that he'd gone too far this time. Ron's reaction confirmed his suspicion.

"I don't care who the hell you think you are, if you so much as lay a *finger* on my sister...."

Before things could come to blows, Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "You'll what, Ron? Challenge me to a wizard's duel? Or maybe pistols at dawn?" he quipped, dredging up a memory from a television programme he had watched at Mrs. Figg's over the summer.

The sudden outburst of dry humour punctured Ron's anger like a burst balloon, and he found himself floundering for words. "I...I...just watch yourself, okay?"

Harry pressed his advantage, seeing an chance to set things straight for good. "Come on. Ginny's a nice kid, but dating her? It'd be like dating my own sister. If I had one, that is."

"You don't know what you mean to her," Ron said, shaking his head slowly. "You joke about it, but I don't think she's joking."

"I know," Harry said with a grunt, sitting up as well and shoving a stray piece of hair out of his face. "And that's exactly why I don't want to do anything that would...you know...mean too much. Just in case."

"Oh, so she's not good enough for you, is that it?" Confronted with an unpleasant reality that was more than he wanted to handle, Ron fell back on his tried-and-true argument. "Just because we're not rich or famous or--"

"They tried to get me, Ron. On the train, coming here. And they almost succeeded."

Harry's cold statement cut short Ron's descent into self-pity. "Who? What?"

"Voldemort. You know, the evil wizard? The one who wants me dead?"

"Don't say the name...." Ron hissed, though there was more plea than command in his voice.

Harry slammed his fist into the wall. "NO!"

A large chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and hit the floor with a thump.

Rubbing his bruised knuckles, he continued, more quietly. "I'm not going to tiptoe around this anymore. If you mention him in front of me, you'll damn well use his proper name. Voldemort. Vol-de-mort." He stared his best friend directly in the eyes. "Say it."

"Stop it...." Ron squirmed under the full force of Harry's anger and tried to look away, but the other boy wouldn't let him. He moaned softly, frozen with wretched horror.

"Say it."

"V...Vol...*Voldemort*..." Ron finally choked out, his face contorting horribly with each syllable. He flopped back onto the bed, all his strength gone. "There, are you happy?"

"No," said Harry, feeling equally exhausted. "But it'll do, for now."

"How'd you escape, anyhow?" Ron asked once he had regained a little of his energy.

"Professor Stanton. He was on the train, too."

"Professor Stanton?" Ron's voice rose to a squeak. "You mean *he* saved you?"

Harry rubbed his forehead. "Something like that. I can't really explain it. Everything just *happened*, and the next thing I knew I in his car outside the train station. But I'm sure that if it wasn't for him, they'd have gotten me."

"He creeps me out," Ron said suddenly, vehemently.

Harry blinked. "Professor Stanton? Why?"

Ron thought for a long moment, so long that Harry thought he had fallen asleep. When he answered at last, his voice was hushed, bordering on reverent.

"Harry, the man knew Merlin. MERLIN. I've read enough Muggle books to know what they...and what *you*...think about him. King Arthur and all that stuff. He's just an old man in a pointy hat to you."

"Give me a little more credit than that," Harry said witheringly, rolling his eyes. "I collect Chocolate Frog cards, too, y'know."

Ron pounded the pillow in frustration. "I'm not explaining this right at all." He stared up at the ceiling, studying the Chudley Cannons poster over their heads. "Okay, think of Dumbledore. Think about how powerful he is. Got that?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Right. Now multiply that power, oh, say, a thousand times. Maybe even more. That's Merlin."

"I never thought of it like that," Harry said slowly.

"You see what I mean. That's what you're getting into."

"But even so--"

"You still don't get it." Ron shifted his weight, rolling over on his side to look at Harry. "He's...he's...wizards and witches don't take his name lightly. If you swear something on Merlin's name, something really important, you don't dare go back on it. You don't dare to. And if Professor Stanton is anything like him...." He fell silent.

Harry turned the words over in his mind. He had read the King Arthur stories many times as a boy at the Dursleys; any child would fall into fantasies to escape the life he had led. He had seen the animated film of "The Sword in the Stone" when Dudley received the video cassette for his sixth birthday. He currently had no less than seven Chocolate Frog cards with the great wizard's portrait on them. Ron's description of Merlin didn't fit in with any of the interpretations he knew--but from what he had seen of Professor Stanton, he was certain that Ron's was more accurate than any of the others.

Not that it was any more comforting. In fact, it was considerably less so. The mental image of an absent-minded old man with a long white beard, who not surprisingly looked a lot like Dumbledore, had given way to...well, he wasn't sure what, but it wasn't pleasant to think about.

"What time are we leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

Ron coughed. The bedsprings creaked with the sudden movement. "Around eight, Mum said. She wants to beat the crowds."

"I suppose we should go to sleep, then."

"Yeah."

Harry rolled over on his side, facing the opposite wall. "Well, good night, then."

Ron did likewise. "'Night."

He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. There was much to do tomorrow, and he needed all the sleep he could get. But as he lay in bed, a wicked little idea popped into his mind. Just evil enough to be deliciously mean, but not so cruel that he would regret it later. Ron deserved it, anyway, for being so uptight.

A sly grin spread across his face, and as he turned to his friend he was thankful that the darkness hid his evil glee. "D'you know, Ginny has a really cute dimple on her...."

With a horrified roar, Ron threw a pillow at him, and any further remarks he might have made were lost in a sea of smothered giggles as a truly magnificent pillow fight ensued.

        *        *        *

Morning came all too soon. Harry stumbled about in the early morning light, pulling on various articles of clothing and bumping into an equally sleepy Ron.

During his months with Mrs. Figg, he hadn't been troubled by nightmares or even regular dreams. Every night was a blissful oblivion, every morning he woke up and felt to some degree refreshed. But ever since he had arrived at the Burrow, he had started to dream again.

Not that the dreams were bad ones. Most of them made little sense, and none featured screaming or pain or flashing green lights. Some could even be called pleasant. Even so, he wished that he could just close his eyes at night and know nothing until the next morning. He didn't want the pleasant dreams if they eventually led to unpleasant ones.

He was very careful with the Floo Powder, and luckily was able to arrive in the same location as the rest of the Weasleys. Pounding the soot from his clothes, he stepped out into the bustling world that was Diagon Alley.

Mrs. Weasley took charge. "Now, first we'll head for Gringotts, and then get your things for the year." She hurried off through the packed crowds, leaving her children and Harry to follow her as closely as they could.

The imposing bastion of wizarding finance known as Gringotts Bank always sent a thrill of delighted terror running up Harry's spine. The ugly but well-dressed goblin clerks and tellers, the clink of money and scratch of quills--the atmosphere of the place was nothing short of intoxicating. Harry and Mrs. Weasley produced their keys, and a goblin directed them down the long tracks to the rows of vaults.

Harry was careful to count how much of each coin he scooped into his money pouch. In previous years, he had grabbed handfuls of money haphazardly, but with the sour memory of taking taxi fare from the Grangers still fresh in his mind, he was determined to be more careful with his spending habits this year.

The Weasley vault was next, and Harry was relieved to see a little more money inside it than he had seen in previous years. Mrs. Weasley wasn't forced to go digging in the darkest corners in search of a few scattered Knuts. He was glad that the Weasleys didn't have to scrape together their last precious coins to buy school supplies this year.

Relief surged through him when they finally left the darkness of the vaults and could once again step out into the bright sunshine.

"Now then," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking some Sickles and a couple Galleons into her hand, "Ginny and I need to stop by the robe shop. Would the four of you please get all your textbooks? Ron, I think you know what Ginny needs."

"Sure, Mum," Ron said. He was eager to get back in her good graces again...and hopefully salvage the rest of his summer.

Flourish and Blotts was packed with Hogwarts students, and the clerks scurried about trying to find enough copies of the standard textbooks to satisfy the high demand. Ron, Harry, and the twins joined the mad scramble, and somehow were able to get all of their necessary books, pay the frazzled manager, and get out without being crushed.

Once on the street outside, they surveyed the damage. Harry felt very bruised and battered, but his books were intact.

Ron, however, was not so lucky. "Damn it all!" he swore, holding up his copy of "Intermediate Charms". "The cover's nearly off!" And indeed it was--there was a large rip down the spine, as though he had tried to wrest it out of someone else's hands and only just succeeded.

"We can use Spell-o-tape on it at home," Fred huffed, straightening his twisted robes. "Just don't let Mum see it."

Ron blanched at the thought of his mother's reaction. "No fear," he said.

"Well, we're off to Gambol and Japes," said George. Diagon Alley's premiere wizarding joke shop was always a high priority for the twins. "Either of you want to come?"

"Don't you think you should buy the cooking pot *before* you go off spending money there?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Fred snickered, and reached out and cuffed Ron over the head. "Nice words coming from someone who's grounded until the end of summer. I'm surprised Mum even let you come with us today. Take good care of our precious Ickle Ronniekins, Harry--don't let him get into any trouble!" Laughing, the twins strolled off, down the street.

Ron snarled and spun around to go after them, but he in mid-turn he crashed into a person who had unexpectedly appeared behind them. They both fell to the ground, landing on the uneven cobblestones.

"Watch where you're going!" Ron yelled, rubbing his aching bottom.

"Why don't you watch where *you're* going, Ron Weasley!"

Harry, who had been helping Ron to his feet, glanced up to see none other than Hermione Granger helping the other unfortunate victim to stand. The victim in question was a sore-looking Neville Longbottom.

"Hey, you two. When did you get here?" he said happily. Ron nodded a curt hello, still massaging his behind.

"About a half-hour ago," replied Hermione as she dusted Neville off. She had a cloth shoulder bag filled with books slung over one shoulder, and her Hogwarts school uniform was immaculate. She looked every inch the model student and prefect--which, of course, she was.

"I'm here with Gran. She's in Madam Malkin's...and if I'm lucky, she'll stay in there for a while." Neville's clothing was in slight disarray, but he looked none the worse for wear. Harry noticed that he had lost some weight over the summer, and had grown a bit as well. He was only just shorter than Ron, who had always been the tallest of the four of them.

"New cauldron?" Harry pointed to the gleaming copper kettle sitting at Neville's feet. It was filled to the brim with textbooks and various potion ingredients.

"Yeah. This one's supposed to have some spell on it that makes it spill-proof, or something like that."

"I bet things are going to be different this year in Potions," Ron said jokingly, running his hand around the cauldron's rim.

Neville looked him straight in the eyes. "Oh, you've no idea," he said softly.

A curious note in his friend's voice made Harry pause. There was a rather strange look in Neville's eyes, and an even stranger smile on his face. Harry stared, trying to figure out what it was. The word 'confident' popped into his mind--Neville looked confident. To be honest, he looked more than confident. He looked completely at ease with himself, and everything else, for that matter.

It was frightening.

"NEVILLE!"

The crotchety voice of an elderly woman boomed over the chatter of the crowd, causing more than a few people to stop and stare.

The odd light faded from his face, and before their eyes the strange new Neville became the nervous, timid boy they had always known.

He gulped, and glanced anxiously around. "Gotta go," he said. "'Bye, you guys!"

With that, he grabbed his cauldron and ran off, disappearing through the door of Madam Malkin's shop.

"What in blazes was that?" Ron looked as though he had just heard a house-elf demand workers' compensation and extensive pension plans.

"I *think* that was Neville Longbottom," Harry replied.

"Nah, couldn't be. He didn't trip over his own feet even once."

"Oh, stop being mean," Hermione said with a sigh, interrupting their discussion. "Let's get going--it's quarter past now, and I have to meet Mum and Dad at the Leaky Cauldron by five."

They wandered through the alley, admiring the window displays and chatting about the upcoming school year. Ron and Harry stopped to press their noses against the shop front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, forcing Hermione to drag them away from the store window by the backs of their shirts.

Something had been bothering Harry ever since they had left Flourish and Blotts, and his uneasiness only grew as the day progressed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but as they passed by Gambol and Japes, it suddenly hit him.

"Say, do you know who we haven't seen?" he said.

"Hmm?" Hermione was only half paying attention. She was flipping through one of her new books, and consequently bumping into people as she walked.

"Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Harry, who was starting to lose circulation in his fingers, shifted the stack of books in his arms. "Come off it, Ron."

Ron stopped walking and gave Harry an incredulous stare. "Let me get this straight...you're worrying about Draco Malfoy? Did I hit you too hard with the pillow last night or something?"

"Ron, please." Hermione lowered her book, glaring at him.

Ron remained undaunted. "I can't believe this!" he spluttered. "This is *the* Draco Malfoy we're talking about here, right? The same one who all but admitted that he was a...a 'you-know-what' in training?"

"They're called Death-Eaters," Harry said automatically.

"I *know* that," snapped Ron.

"Then use the proper *name*," Harry snapped back.

"Stop it, both of you!"

Hermione's sharp command froze them in their tracks.

They looked over at her. She had thrown her heavy shoulder bag to the ground, and her eyes flashed fire and steel.

"Yes, you heard me," she said. "I'm here to have a nice, enjoyable day with my best friends, not to sit here and watch two little boys have a brawl in the street. Now shake hands and make up."

Harry's anger wilted under Hermione's wrath. He shifted the books to his left arm and grudgingly stuck out his hand. After a moment, Ron slowly extended his own, and they shook hands, immediately yanking away from the other's grip when the painful ritual was complete.

"Thank you," Hermione said, still sounding disgusted with them. "And now, I'm going to Fortescue's for ices. Whether I'm going to have company, or whether I'm going to get a chance to start the reading for the school year, is entirely up to you."

She stormed off, leaving them standing by themselves in the middle of the street.

Harry, watching her rapidly walk away, decided that he'd had enough of arguments for one summer.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you," he said sincerely.

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "Same here. Just a stupid fight, 's all."

"You up for a sundae?"

The mention of food brought a smile to Ron's gloomy face. "Only if you're paying," he said slyly.

Harry laughed. "I suppose it's the least I deserve." Since his burden of books prevented him from simply reaching over and clapping a hand on Ron's shoulder, he settled for kicking his friend lightly in the shin. "Come on, or Hermione'll get her nose in the books she's bought and we'll never get it out."

They ran down the street, not stopping until they had reached the door of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The little bell above the door gave a silvery tingle as they entered. The queue was short, though the shop itself was crammed full, and they soon reached the counter.

"Butterscotch sundae, please. No nuts, extra whipped cream."

"I'll have a banana split with marshmallow topping."

The witch behind the counter dished out their orders and handed them the chilled dessert cups brimming with ice cream. Harry made a face as he paid the bill, more for Ron's benefit than in reaction to the cost of their treat.

Hermione was sitting alone at a table in the corner, sipping a large root-beer float and thumbing through her copy of "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5" by Miranda Goshawk. She looked up as Harry and Ron approached, and gave them a cool, superior smile.

"Well, now that you're acting like human beings again, maybe we can have a civilised conversation," she said smoothly. "How was your summer, Harry?"

"Not too bad," he muttered, diving into the sticky butterscotch.

"Except for that little part about nearly getting killed on the train to Exeter," Ron added casually through a mouthful of banana.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Hermione leapt out of her chair, almost upsetting the table. "WHAT?" she shouted, eyes bugging out of her head.

Harry grabbed her arm and yanked her back into her chair. "Shh! Keep it down!"

The customers in the shop had stopped their conversations and were staring with great interest at their table. Harry ducked his head, not wanting his scar to be seen, and Hermione and Ron quickly busied themselves eating their desserts. Only when the general hum of conversation had started up again did they continue with their own.

By this time, Hermione had calmed down, though her hands were shaking. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" she growled. "What happened?"

Harry explained the incident on the train, giving her a little more detail than he had told to Ron. Her eyebrows went up when he mentioned Professor Stanton's name, but she kept silent, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

"So you didn't actually see anyone," she said when he had finished. "How could you be sure? Maybe...maybe it was just someone trying to get through to the next car."

"And what if it wasn't?" Harry said irritably, scraping the last of the butterscotch from the bottom of his glass.

Hermione grimaced. "I'm just looking at other possibilities. You don't have to be so defensive about it."

"I think I have a little right to be defensive, Hermione."

"All I'm saying is--"

"What're you gabbing about?"

Three heads snapped around to see Ginny sauntering toward them, sipping delicately on a large fizzy lemon squash. Her hips swayed a little as she walked, something that did not escape Harry's notice--but a low grumble from Ron's direction made him quickly avert his eyes.

"Nothing," said Hermione, at the same time that Ron and Harry answered, "Quidditch."

Ginny snorted. "At least you're all in agreement." She turned to her older brother. "Ron, Mum wanted me to tell you that we're leaving in fifteen minutes, so you'd better have everything you need."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, using his spoon to mash the last bit of banana into a sticky paste. He noticed the lemon squash his sister was drinking, and his eyes widened. "Hey, where'd you get the money for that?"

"Fred and George." Ginny took another long sip.

Ron stared at the drink in her hands as if it was poisoned. "You...you took money...from *them*?! And it didn't turn your hands black or...or *explode* or something?"

"Nope." She noisily slurped the last of her drink and set the empty glass on their table. "Later, Hermione," she said nonchalantly, and walked out without so much as a glance at Harry or her brother.

Ron's forehead hit the table with a loud thunk. "What is with everyone today?" he moaned.

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Harry.

"She's your sister, Ron." Hermione handed Ginny's glass to a waitress who was circulating with a tray.

"Tell me something I don't know." Ron stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Look, Harry, I'll meet you outside in a minute, okay? I've got to have a slash."

Hermione choked on her float. "Ron!" she managed to gurgle, but he had already vanished into the lavatory. "I swear, that boy...."

Harry toyed with his spoon, rattling it against the rim of the sundae glass. He'd been dreading this moment all summer, but now was as good a time as any, before he lost his nerve. "Um, Hermione...about...about the money...."

She shook her head, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Don't worry about it."

"I'll pay you back, of course," he said quickly.

"You don't have to. I'm just glad things turned out all right."

He felt a lump swell in his throat, and had to swallow a few times before he could reply. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She finished the last bit of her float, and grinned. "Now, you should go before Mrs. Weasley sends out a search party. She'd have every reason to, given your record recently."

Harry returned her grin, and he picked up his books and left the ice cream shop. Once he was out in the street, though, his cheerfulness faded. School would start in less than a week, and with it would come a whole host of problems that he had been able to avoid for a few blissful months.

For the first time since he had started at Hogwarts, he almost didn't want to return. And his first real step back inside the wizarding world hadn't been the reassurance he badly needed.