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 Sixteen - By the Book

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Upon the education of the people of this country the fate of this country depends.

    -- Benjamin Disraeli

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Harry woke up early on the Saturday of the match against Ravenclaw, long before the sun rose. He didn't get up early very often, but he wanted some time alone, before everyone else was up and running about. His nerves were on edge, as they always were before a match, and he needed a chance to focus and concentrate.

Yawning, he gathered his toiletries and padded quietly to the bathroom. Taking a cold shower was first on his agenda, just to get awake and moving. Then, he'd do some quick stretches, dress, and breakfast with the rest of the team.

He pushed open the door and wandered into the bathroom, the tiled floor cold even through his slippers. He was just about to undress and climb into the shower when he heard a very unpleasant sound coming from the direction of the toilets.

Someone was being sick. Violently sick, by the sound of it.

Cautiously, he walked over to the stalls. The door of the farthest stall was closed, and the ugly sound of retching grew louder as he approached.

He tapped on the closed door with his knuckles. "Are you all right in there?"

"Sod off."

Harry blinked. That certainly wasn't the reply he was expecting.

"Who is it?" he asked.

There was a grunt, another retch, and the sound of someone moving around inside the stall. Harry jumped as the bolt slid back with an angry clatter and the stall door swung open, revealing the pallid, sweat-streaked face of Ron Weasley.

"Ron! You're not sick, are you?"

"What does it bloody look like?" Ron snapped, leaning heavily against the stall door as he wiped his mouth. "D'you think I'm in here for a bit of fun?"

Harry ignored the comment. "Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

Ron sighed, pushing his damp hair out of his face. "I'm not sick, you git. Well, I *am* sick, but not like tha...ulp!"

He went an interesting shade of green and sank to the floor, making gulping noises. Harry ran over to his bath things and found his toothbrush glass, then filled it from the bathroom tap and carried it over to Ron.

"Drink," he ordered, holding the glass in front of his friend's nose.

Ron drank, slowly. He had to stop once and crawl over to the toilet, but the water stayed down. When he had finished, he looked a little more human.

Harry took the glass from him and refilled it, then sat down next to him and set the water on the floor between them.

"It's nerves, isn't it," he said.

Ron took another sip of water and made a face. "Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?"

"Ron...."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Harry countered. "Everyone gets nervous before a match, especially their first one."

"You didn't seem that nervous."

Harry shook his head, remembering. "I think I was still in shock at being thrown onto the team in the first place. You actually got picked, in proper tryouts--I was just Oliver Wood's lucky find."

"I bet *he* never spent half the night sicking up in the bathroom," Ron said with a queasy scowl.

"Who, Oliver?" Harry shrugged. "No, he was always fine...at least until about three minutes before we headed onto the pitch. You should have seen him then. Half the time I thought we'd have to tie a bucket onto his broom...for the spectators' sake."

Ron laughed weakly, and drank some more water.

"That's better," Harry said soothingly.

"I don't feel better."

"Well, you've just spent...wait, how long have you been in here?"

"Dunno. 'Bout two hours."

"All right. You've just spent two hours getting rid of everything you've eaten in the past few days. That doesn't mean you'll feel better right away."

Ron grumbled something that Harry didn't quite catch. He took another sip of water and swished it around in his mouth, then leaned back and spat it into the toilet.

Harry stood up. "I'm going to take a shower. You stay here and finish the rest of that water, then clean your teeth and we'll head down to breakfast together."

"Urgh...no breakfast." Ron squeezed his eyes shut.

He sighed. "Look, finish the water and see how you feel. You need to eat something."

Leaving Ron where he was, he quickly undressed and climbed into the shower. The water in the old pipes was icy cold at first, but soon warmed to a nice, refreshing temperature. He quickly lathered and rinsed, wanting to hurry up and get Ron downstairs before Gryffindor's new Keeper lost his nerve completely.

As he stepped out of the shower, his nostrils caught the strong scent of mint. Reaching for his towel, he looked over to the sinks where Ron was now standing. Ron had finished the glass of water, and taking Harry's advice, was preparing to brush his teeth and get the foul taste out of his mouth. He had smeared a goodly portion of toothpaste on his brush and was just raising it to his mouth.

A warning bell went off in Harry's head. "Wait, don't use tooth--!"

It was too late. Ron had started to brush.

Harry could only watch in dripping dismay as his friend's eyes widened, his stomach seemed to ripple, and his face lost the tiny bit of colour it had had.

The foamy toothbrush clattered on the floor as the door to the last stall banged shut.

"...paste," Harry finished belatedly.

He looked out the window as the sound of Ron being sick again echoed off the bathroom walls. The sky was starting to turn pinkish-grey, but the sun wasn't even up yet.

It was going to be a very long day.

        *        *        *

A short (and for Ron, non-existent) breakfast later, the Gryffindor team was robed and ready for the game. Fred and George had taken one look at their younger brother's nauseated face and had quickly moved with their heaping plates of food to the other end of the long table, a gesture that Harry found very touching. He brought Ron some dry toast to eat, which Ron proceeded to take and shred until all that was left was a pile of crumbs. But for all his nausea, Ron looked better when the rest of the team had finished eating and they had left the Great Hall.

Colin, Beatrice, and Tommy were waiting for them at the entrance to the changing rooms. The three reserve players wore the school-issue Quidditch robes as well, even though they wouldn't be playing. Or probably wouldn't be playing...Quidditch games being what they were, anything could happen, and the team didn't want to run the risk of a forfeit in mid-game.

Just before they were about to head onto the pitch, Fred and George paused and turned to Harry. The girls followed suit, and so did Ron and the reserve players. Strangely enough, they were giving him the same look that he had always seen them give to Oliver Wood right before the start of a game...an expectant, anticipatory look.

He swallowed nervously. "Umm...are we going?"

They didn't move.

Harry felt an irrational prick of anger, but brushed it off. Well. If they wanted a captain, they were damn well going to have one.

"What are you all standing around for?" he demanded, straightening his back and brandishing his Firebolt. "We've got a game to win!"

Their faces broke into grins, and with whoops and cheers they surged out onto the pitch. The reserve players headed for a bench on the sidelines, and the rest of the team followed Harry to the centre of the pitch.

The Ravenclaw team was already there, waiting for them. Harry strode across the soggy grass to stand in front of Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain. They nodded to each other.

"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch ordered.

He shook Davies' hand, returning the older boy's pressure firmly. It wouldn't do to apply too much force in the handshake, or too little, for that matter.

"Mount your brooms."

Harry mounted his broom, blood rushing in his ears. Dimly, he heard Madam Hooch counting down, and the moment her whistle blew he took off, the exhilaration of flying dancing up and down his spine. Blurs of rich scarlet and bright blue raced across the sky like colourful streamers, darting in and out of his field of vision. There was nothing quite like Quidditch, nothing in the world.

This was the last year that Lee Jordan, the twins' friend, would be providing commentary for the matches, and from the sound of it he was determined to go out with a bang.

"Welcome, one and all, to the first Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. Gryffindor is looking good this year, under the direction of their new captain, Harry Potter. With the addition of fifth-year Ronald Weasley as the team's new Keeper, this could prove to be a season to remember. The Weasley family has given their house some fantastic players, and it looks like the youngest Weasley boy will be no excep--"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall interrupted him angrily, her voice drowning out the laughter and hoots of the Gryffindor side.

"Just a little pertinent information, Professor. But on with today's game...Ravenclaw Chasers have the Quaffle, heading for the Gryffindor goal...."

Harry swooped through the sky, testing the day's light, favourable wind. His precious Firebolt responded superbly, as always.

He saw Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, out of the corner of his eye. She was following him. With a laugh, he zoomed in the direction of the Ravenclaw goal. Maybe a few laps around the stadium would tire her out.

"Ravenclaw in formation...whoa, looks like that Bludger was almost *too* close...heading for the goal...there's the shot--and stopped, stopped by Ron Weasley!"

The Gryffindor side cheered loudly. He could hear Ginny's high-pitched voice screaming her brother's name.

Jordan sounded equally triumphant. "Yes, Ron Weasley is showing the true Weasley colours today. Watching today's game, I'm reminded of a similar situation involving his older brother, Charlie Weasley, long considered to be one of Gryffindor's finest Seekers. Of course, I wasn't around at the time, but I've heard it said--"

"Jordan, I think we'd like to know what's going on in the game."

"Sorry, Professor. Gryffindor has the Quaffle...."

The play continued below, but Harry didn't pay attention to it. Lee Jordan's running commentary was enough for him to get the gist of what was going on as he looked for the Snitch.

"Nice catch there by the lovely Katie Bell of Gryffindor...play back on the Ravenclaw end...nicely done there...."

Cho had stopped following him and was flying in the other direction. It didn't look like she had seen the Snitch, but Harry braked quickly and turned around. Now was not the time to be playing games with the other team's Seeker.

"Pass to Angelina...back to Katie...oh, intercepted by Ravenclaw captain Roger Davies! He's heading back to the Gryffindor goal...he shoots...and it's in! Point goes to Ravenclaw in the first goal of the game."

Harry groaned as he circled over the Gryffindor goal, looking down at Ron. He couldn't see the expression on his friend's face, and he was glad of it.

Play continued with no sign of the Snitch. Angelina slipped past the Ravenclaw Keeper and got in the first goal for Gryffindor, but after that neither team could score. Ron viciously killed every shot that came in his direction, and not even the Chasers' combined efforts could get the Quaffle past the Ravenclaw Keeper again. The crowd was growing restless, and Harry found that he was getting restless, too.

Then, he saw it--a glint of gold halfway across the field.

Cho saw it, too, and she was much closer to it than he was. She took off, heading straight for it.

His heart sank. Even with the Firebolt's superior speed, he wouldn't make it in time. He bent forward over his broom anyway and sped toward the Snitch, hoping for a miracle...or an accident...or both.

The wind in his ears was deafening, but over it he heard someone--it sounded like Colin--shout:

"Use the 'Friend or Foe Feint', Fred!"

Fred needed no encouragement. A Bludger was coming toward him. He whacked it directly at Harry.

Harry had heard Colin and Ron discussing this new play with the Beaters a few days before, so he had a vague idea of what he was supposed to do. He descended quickly, getting out of the Bludger's path, but Cho was so caught up in the chase that she didn't see it coming at her until it was almost too late. She looked behind her, saw the Bludger not five feet from her head, and swerved at the very last minute. The Bludger just grazed the tail of her broom, spinning her around in a dizzy circle.

The Ravenclaw side started howling "Foul! Foul!", and even some Hufflepuffs and Slytherins joined in, voicing their displeasure.

"Close call there for Ravenclaw's Seeker," Jordan commented. "Not technically a foul on Gryffindor's part, since they *were* initially aiming at their own Seeker...."

The Ravenclaw crowd booed loudly, and the Ravenclaw players gave Fred murderous looks.

Harry climbed, getting above Cho to see if he could find out where the Snitch had gone. He'd lost sight of it, and he didn't want to wait until Cho had pulled out of her tailspin to look for it again.

After a moment, Cho managed to right herself. Her hair had come out of its usual neat, high ponytail, and was falling messily in her face and eyes. Harry, flying above her, thought that it made her look even prettier, but as he stared at her he saw something that drove all thoughts of Cho's physical merits from his mind.

The Snitch was caught in her hair! He could see it, its tiny gold wings beating frantically as it tried to escape from the thick black tangle.

As far as he could tell, Cho didn't know it was there. And the Snitch wasn't going anywhere for once--it was a perfect opportunity to end the game before Ravenclaw could have a chance to score. But the only way to get it would be to....

Steeling his nerves, he tipped his Firebolt into a nosedive, narrowly avoiding a passing Bludger and heading straight for the Ravenclaw Seeker.

There was a collective gasp, as if everyone in the stands had decided to hold their breath at once.

Jordan's voice rose over the confused noises of the crowd. "Potter's going into a dive...has he seen the Snitch? But is he...it looks like....what's he doing?"

Cho whipped around at the sound of Lee's puzzled commentary, and as she turned Harry saw the golden sparkle of the Snitch, still entangled in her hair. She stared up at him, bewilderment changing to alarm and then to panic as Harry barrelled toward her in a streak of crimson, not stopping, a look of grim concentration on his face.

"It looks like...no, it can't be a Wronski Feint...what's Potter doing?"

Cho dove for the ground, trying to get away, but her broom was no match for his. He was gaining on her. Fifty metres away, he let go of the broom, holding on with his legs and trusting the Firebolt's precision flight abilities to keep him from overbalancing. The fierce wind stung his eyes and burned in his nose and lungs.

They were well below the rest of the play by now. The ground was coming closer and closer. If they didn't pull up in the next few seconds, both of them would hit the ground at full throttle.

It was now or never.

With an animal yell, he leapt off his broom and flung himself at Cho.

Cho screamed, reflexively jerking upward on her own broom.

The sudden change of direction freed the Snitch from her hair, and Harry's hand closed over it, accidentally grabbing a few strands of her hair in the process and yanking them out of her head.

He had just enough time to roll over in mid-air to avoid hitting the muddy ground face first.

He blacked out, but only for a moment. He could feel the Snitch squirming between his clenched fingers, a tiny buzz of frustration beating against his palm.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew shrilly, stopping play. As he lay on the soft ground, he saw members of both teams flying toward him, and felt the thudding squelch-squelch of feet on the soggy pitch, running in his direction. The crowd was deathly quiet.

The first person to reach him was Ron. He was dragging Harry's discarded broom behind him, gasping for breath as he ran.

"Harry! Harry! Are you okay?" he yelled, dropping to his knees. Flecks of mud covered his face like extra freckles, and his uniform was filthy with grass stains and more streaks of dirt.

Harry grinned, looking up at his worried friend. He was thinking about how funny it was to be in this position.

"Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?" Ron demanded to know.

"I'm fine," he said with a little giggle. It really was very funny, if you thought about it. If you switched their roles and replaced Ron with Colin, and it would have been just like tryouts all over again. "Never better." He giggled again.

Ron looked horrified, though Harry couldn't tell whether the reply or the giggle was the cause of his friend's shock.

"Fine?" he yelled in disbelief. "FINE?! Like hell you're fine! I don't know what the hell you were playing at, but you--"

"Hey, Ron," Harry said, interrupting him. "I got the Snitch."

He lifted his arm and opened his hand, feeling the strands of Cho's long dark hair tug at his fingers.. The little golden ball fell to the ground and bounced once.

Ron's face went white, then bright red. "You...you...."

He whirled around, robes flying, and shouted to the team:

"HE'S GOT IT!"

The Gryffindor team let out a roar and surged forward as the Gryffindor side exploded with an ear-splitting cheer. Harry found himself being picked up and gently hoisted onto Fred and George's shoulders, even as Madam Pomfrey yelled at them to put her patient down.

"POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the frenzied crowd.

He couldn't see much of anything on top of the twins' shoulders, but he didn't care. He knew that he was filthy, his clothing coated with mud. He knew that when things had quieted down, he'd have to face Hermione and Ginny's combined wrath for allowing himself to be so reckless. He knew he'd be incredibly sore for the next week, if he was lucky. And he didn't even want to *think* about what he'd have to say when he saw Cho again. But none of that bothered him at the moment.

He'd won the game for Gryffindor.

Nothing else mattered.

        *        *        *

The pain wasn't as bad as he had feared, but he still hadn't regained all of the feeling in his back and legs by the time their next session with Will came around.

As he'd expected, he'd been chewed out by both Hermione and Ginny-- separately and together--for his actions during the Quidditch match. However, one can only hear 'You're lucky you didn't break your neck!' so many times before the statement loses its effectiveness, especially when everyone else you know seems to think that your behaviour was not only justified, but also nothing short of a stroke of genius.

He was glad when they had prepared the small room and Hermione had touched the mirror. Waxing philosophical about Quidditch would only be a sure sign that he'd hit his head harder than he thought during his fall.

Will was waiting for them when the wreaths of mist cleared.

"A pleasure to see you've all returned," he said as he picked up his blazer from the back of his desk chair and put it on. "I was afraid you four would need some time to recover from our last meeting. But no matter--there is much to do. Shall we begin?"

They took up their positions on either side of the mirror.

"Enter, Watchman of the Light."

"Grant to us your inner sight."

"Enter, for the time draws near."

"Power will erase our fear."

The mirror's blinding light had barely faded before Will turned to the business at hand.

"What would you say has been the most beneficial spell you've learned for dealing with the Dark Arts practitioners, or an enemy in general?"

"Expelliarmus," Ron answered promptly, surprising all of them--even himself--with his quick response. "A fast and effective means of disarming your opponent."

Will's eyes shone with approval. "A textbook definition, Mr. Weasley. Very good." He turned to the others. "Would you all agree?"

They nodded.

"Right, then. On a related note, which spell have you found most effective against Dark Arts creatures?"

"'Expecto Patronum'," Harry said immediately.

Will raised an eyebrow. "I see. Why is that, Mr. Potter?"

"Umm...." Harry mentally kicked himself for replying so quickly. Talking about the Patronus Charm would certainly lead to a number of awkward questions, most of them revolving around the dramatic escape of his godfather Sirius Black from the wizarding authorities. Ron knew the whole story, and so did Hermione, but Neville didn't. And as with anything bordering or firmly in the realm of the illegal, the fewer people who knew of it, the better.

"It's one of the most powerful spells we know, and can be used against Dementors," he said finally, hoping that answering with the partial truth would be sufficient.

To his relief, it was.

"Quite right," Will said. "I believe that two years ago, you learned how to perform the Patronus Charm. When you explained it, you said that the spell was useful against Dementors, as the embodiment of the caster's positive thoughts and emotions. That is the spell I wish to work with today."

"But there aren't any Dementors here," Hermione said.

Will gave her a look. "Indeed, Miss Granger."

"Oh...right." She smiled wanly. "Silly question."

"I can create something similar to the effects that a Dementor would produce in you," Will said. "It would be localised, affecting only the caster of the spell. And since our Mr. Potter has first-hand knowledge of the Patronus, I think it is only fitting that he should be the first...I think 'test subject' is too strong a phrase, but it is as good as any. "

Harry winced. He wasn't going to escape so easily, after all.

"What do I have to do?" he asked. He couldn't stop his voice from quavering.

"Nothing more than what you would normally do. I'd like to try the spell with direct contact, at first. My hand on your shoulder would be sufficient."

"And what would happen?" asked Neville.

"That, Mr. Longbottom, is what we will find out." He moved to stand behind Harry, who was standing with his back to the fire, facing the door. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry held out his wand, trying to keep his hand from trembling. "I'm ready," he said, gripping his wand tightly.

He felt Will's hand touch his shoulder.

Instantly, a wave of burning coldness seized his chest.

Out of pure instinct, he looked around, searching wildly for the Dementor, but there was none there. Will's hand was a light pressure on his shoulder, but the horrible frozen feeling wasn't coming from there. It was building deep inside, tearing him apart from within.

He could see his friends staring at him. Ron was white-faced and still, but Hermione was wringing her hands, and Neville was gnawing feverishly on his thumbnail.

The deep, intense cold penetrated his body, seeping its way into his mind and heart. Faintly, but growing louder by the second, he heard the shouts of his father and the final screams of his mother, her sweet voice begging Lord Voldemort to spare her child, to kill her instead. But mingled with their cries were other screams and shouting voices-- voices he had heard before, voices from King's Cross Station and from the memory of the attack on St. Mungo's. Colin's high, heart-breaking sobs, Ginny screaming in blind terror, Ron frantically repeating, over and over, "Wake up, Hermione...please wake up...."

The happy memory. He needed a happy memory.

Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the cold and focus on the wild cheering of the crowd and the look of delighted disbelief on Ron's face as he had held up the Snitch.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted.

A rush of white light flared against his closed eyelids, and a great blaze of warmth flooded through his body, driving away the pain and cold. Whatever Will had done, it made him feel stronger, much more powerful. The effects of the Dementor were completely gone.

His eyes flew open in time to see the giant, silvery-white figure of a ghostly stag emerge from the tip of his wand. It was larger than his regular Patronus, so large that Hermione, Ron, and Neville had leapt out of their chairs and backed away to stand pressed against the door. The Patronus nearly filled the small room. It also looked far more solid, less like a ghost and more like a flesh-and-blood animal.

The giant stag turned around, and bowed its head in recognition. But as it lowered its head, Harry saw that there was a strange mark between the antlers, one that had never been there before.

It was a small circle, quartered by a cross.

"Salve, Patronus," Will said softly.

The stag raised its head and stared directly at them for a long moment. Then, it seemed to ripple and vanished, leaving the room as empty as before.

"Quid quid latine dictum sit, altum viditur," Will said solemnly, his deep voice ringing in the silence.

"What does that mean?" Harry said breathlessly, looking up at him.

The corner of the older man's mouth twitched. "'Anything said in Latin sounds profound'. A tribute to the remnants of a classical education."

Hermione laughed, a nervous little laugh that almost sounded like a cough. Ron and Neville smiled uncertainly.

Slowly, they returned to their seats. Harry was grateful to sit and rest his shaky legs, which hadn't stopped shaking.

"Now," Will said, removing paper and pen from his briefcase, "I want you to tell me everything about what you've just witnessed...or, in Mr. Potter's case, experienced. Anything you saw or felt, no matter how insignificant."

"It was a lot bigger than the usual Patronus," Hermione said. "It looked more solid, too. But I didn't notice anything strange."

"What are you talking about?" Ron spluttered. "Didn't you see that huge flash of light the moment he called out the spell?!"

"I thought that was how it *always* happened," she said sullenly.

"Of course that's not how it *always* happens!" Ron was staring at her as if he couldn't believe his ears.

"Well, what are you getting angry at ME for?" she shouted, glaring daggers at him. "Despite what you may think, Ron Weasley, I'm NOT a walking textbook. I AM allowed to make the occasional mistake!"

Harry didn't like the sound of that. Hermione wasn't very good at producing a Patronus. It was a sore subject with her, but she'd never gotten this angry over it. It was frightening.

"I felt a lot stronger," he said hastily, hoping to shift the subject away from observation and into his experience.

Will had been watching Ron and Hermione argue with an odd expression on his face, a look that Harry couldn't quite define. The expression faded slightly as he turned to Harry, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that made him appear old and tired.

"I expected as much," he said. "That's the whole purpose of this experiment--to make you stronger. Magic by the book can only give you so much. With this enemy, you need every advantage you can find."

        *        *        *

The month of November came and went in a blur of classes and Quidditch and twice-weekly sessions. If they weren't in class, they were doing homework for class, or thinking about the pile of homework they hadn't finished yet for class the next day. The wizard chess sets and decks of Exploding Snap cards gathered dust in a corner.

Quidditch practices and games took up even more time than before, as practices became more intense and the games came thick and fast. Ginny began to complain that the only times she ever saw her brothers were when they were on their brooms or falling asleep in their food. She was being sarcastic, but she wasn't exaggerating--Harry and Ron often returned from practice and went straight to bed, only to be shaken awake by Neville a few hours later when it was time to head to the little room off the library.

They had been practising all sorts of spells, alone and in combination with Will. Some spells didn't work so well in combination; many of them were no different with Will's help than they had been without it. But some of the spells were vastly different.

After the success of Harry's Patronus Charm, they tried a variety of similar protection spells and shielding charms. Together with Will, Hermione cast a wall of protection so strong that not even a direct curse could penetrate it. Try as they might, neither Ron nor Harry nor Neville could figure out a way around it. Once Will removed his magic from the wall, though, Neville's next spell got through. Fortunately, it was only a Tickling Charm, and once the fit of laughter ended she was perfectly fine.

It was a lesson that they wouldn't soon forget, though. It was a reminder that Will's magic was not only different from theirs, but also stronger, more powerful. He was adapting to their capabilities because they couldn't adapt to his. And as lopsided and unfair as it sounded, for the time being it was their only option.

November was drawing to a close when Will told them that their next session would be a little out of the ordinary.

"We're going to have an audience," he said. "Your Headmaster has requested to see our work in progress, and I have accepted. I think he'll be quite pleased to see what you've accomplished."

Harry smiled thinly. He wasn't so certain. Recently, the front pages of the "Daily Prophet" had been filled with announcements from the Ministry of Magic, reassuring the public that investigations into the "King's Cross Incident" and the "St. Mungo's Incident" were well underway. Every possible lead was being followed. Every enquiry was being made. Every suspect was being questioned.

He had a feeling that every day, something horrible was approaching. And at that moment, there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

        *        *        *

On one of the early December days when they were less awake than usual, McGonagall came around to the Gryffindor breakfast table, taking the names of those students who were staying over the holidays.

Neville was going home, as usual. "Gran wants to have a big family party for some reason. I haven't the faintest idea why--she hates most of my relatives, and the ones she doesn't hate usually hate her."

"Tough," Ron said sympathetically. "Maybe you can get away from a few days and come visit us. I mean, we're already having eleven people in the house...an even dozen won't make much difference."

Neville looked more cheerful. "I'll see what Gran says."

McGonagall had approached their end of the table, and took down the names of a few second and third-years who were staying. She paused briefly when she came to their little group.

"Mr. Longbottom, you'll be going home this year, as usual. And Mr. Weasley, your brothers informed me that you and your sister will also be going home for the holiday." She scribbled something on the parchment she was holding. "Mr. Potter...Miss Granger....I assume you'll both be staying." She started to walk away, toward the other end of the table.

"Actually, Professor, we're going to the Burrow this Christmas," Harry said. "Ron invited me and Hermione to spend the holiday with his family."

"And my parents said it was all right," Hermione added, unnecessarily.

"Hermione and I," she corrected him absently. She gazed at him, then Hermione, with a troubled look in her eyes. One long finger was pressed against her cheek.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Hermione asked, concerned.

McGonagall shook her head briskly. "No, no, nothing. Never mind. It isn't important."

With that, she strode off, the heels of her shoes clicking and snapping against the stone floor.

"Well, *that* was strange," Ron remarked, dipping his toast into the puddle of egg yolk in the middle of his plate.

"Tell me about it," Harry said.

Hermione frowned. "What do you think was wrong?"

"She's pwobabwy worwied about pwecious wittle Hawwy," Ron said through a mouthful of eggy toast, spraying crumbs on the table.

"Ron, close your mouth!" Hermione exclaimed in disgust, edging away from him.

"Pwiss," said Ron, deliberately getting crumbs on her.

She squealed and smacked him.

Neville and Harry broke up the argument before it could escalate, and they left the Great Hall and hurried down to the dungeons for Potions class.

Harry thought nothing of it until later that evening, just as he was about to get some dinner. He was up in his room, looking for a clean robe--the one he was wearing had frog gut stains on it from a mishap in Potions--when he saw a folded piece of paper on his pillow.

He picked it up and unfolded it. There was a message written on it.

Dear Harry [it read],

Professor McGonagall informed me this morning that you and Miss Granger will be spending the holiday with the Weasley family at their Devonshire home. Normally, I would have no objection to your plans, but after consultation with Dr. Stanton I am forced to concede to his concerns that this might place the two of you in danger. Regardless of what you may have read in the papers, you may take it from me that the investigations into King's Cross and St. Mungo's have produced nothing that the Ministry will accept. It is with your safety in mind that I must forbid you from leaving Hogwarts grounds this Christmas. I apologise most sincerely, and I hope you will understand. Please do not hesitate to speak to me if you have any further questions.

Albus Dumbledore

So that was that. The best-laid plans of Harry Potter thwarted once again by Lord Voldemort.

Harry understood all right. He understood all too well.

It didn't make him any less angry, though. He *wanted* to have a normal Christmas, with a normal family. The Weasleys were as normal as anything could ever get in his life, and spending Christmas with them would have been heavenly. And once again, Voldemort was denying him something he wanted, something he loved.

It wasn't fair.

Hermione would understand, of course. She'd probably sigh in relief, knowing that Dumbledore and Will had their safety in mind. It wouldn't be much of a loss for her to stay over the holiday...he knew she would stay if she had a logical explanation for doing so. There was no way she'd visit the Burrow without him--it would be overwhelming for her to go alone.

So that wasn't a problem. And he could tolerate another Christmas at Hogwarts, even if it wasn't what he really wanted.

But the hard part, the part he wasn't looking forward to, would be breaking the bad news to Ron and Ginny.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ April 14th, 2002