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 Twenty-Four - The Place from Which You Came

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One may survive distress, but not disgrace.

    -- old Scottish proverb

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"Today is my last day teaching here."

The announcement completely shocked the fifth-year Gryffindors. On a rainy Friday morning toward the end of March, Professor Figg had simply strolled into the classroom, plopped into her chair, and calmly informed them that effective tomorrow she would no longer be their Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"As some of you may have heard," she continued briskly, raising her voice to be heard over the confused buzz of talk, "Minister Dumbledore has requested that all Aurors return to duty at once--and it seems that that includes the knackered ones they'd hoped would stay comatose."

She grinned at her own self-deprecating humour. "Once my replacement arrives, I will be leaving the school. But before I take my leave, I want to say that it has been a true pleasure to work with some of the wizarding world's most promising young minds." Her grin widened, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "And as for the rest of you, if you don't get an O.W.L. in this subject I'll come back and make you wish you had."

Then she ploughed into the day's lesson without pause for questions, picking their minds for the tiniest bits of information from last week's reading. As always, Harry found himself struggling to answer questions to her satisfaction. The class had just finished an in- depth look at some of the nastier hexes, and Figg assured them that her successor would continue with her lesson plans--"so don't think for *one moment* that you'll be able to slack off...I know what goes on inside your lazy little minds."

The lecture continued at the same fast clip, and before they knew it the class had ended and Figg was shooing them out the door.

Ron and Hermione had left the room, caught up in a heated debate over the proper uses of the Flesh-Rotting Hex they had covered in class. Harry had stayed behind to wipe up a puddle of ink that had leaked from his quill, and was about to hurry after them when he heard Figg call out:

"Just a minute, Harry."

He turned back, wondering what she wanted.

She beckoned to him. As he approached her desk, she picked up her wand and waved it at the door. It swung shut.

"Two things," she said once he had reached her desk. "First, my replacement doesn't know about your little 'study sessions', and wiser--or more paranoid--minds than mine want it to stay that way." Her beetle-bright eyes bored into his. "Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good." She leaned back and opened one of the drawers in her desk. "Second: take this, but don't open it yet." With a flick of her wrist, she sent a large, bulky envelope sailing through the air.

Harry dove and caught it before it could land on his foot. The plain, yellowing envelope was stuffed to bursting. The contents were far too thick to be ordinary letters.

He flipped it over. Covering the bottom edge of the flap was a large blob of red wax, and pressed into the centre of the wax was an imprint of an 'A' and 'F', written in script and set in a small square.

"That's my personal seal," Figg said, answering the question he had been about to ask, "and it's only official if it's not broken."

"What is it?" he asked.

She deliberately avoided his gaze.

"Everything's in there," she said. "All signed and sealed and terribly important-looking."

Harry groaned. He knew this game. If he wanted an answer, he'd have to draw the information out of her question by question.

"All right then," he began, "who do I give it t--"

Professor Figg's mouth turned down in a sudden scowl, and she sprang to her feet.

"Odious boy!" she exclaimed.

Harry stumbled backward and bumped into the desk behind him. He opened his mouth to ask what he had done wrong, but a closer look at her face showed that the outburst had not been directed at him. She was looking past him, over his shoulder.

"Ill-mannered whelp...don't you ever knock?" she snarled, scolding the person behind him.

He heard a low chuckle, and the sound of footsteps started at the back of the room and grew louder. Whoever it was was approaching.

Harry spun around, clutching the precious envelope and its mysterious contents to his chest.

There, walking toward him, was Remus Lupin.

Harry's jaw dropped, and he let out a rather undignified squeak.

"Whatever possessed you to arrive early?" Professor Figg's querulous voice barely penetrated the noise of the blood thumping in his ears.

Remus bowed grandly. "The chance to see your radiant smile, fair lady."

"Get off," she growled good-naturedly. "My chair's not even cold and you're already here. Were you *that* bored? Or just anxious to get off the dole?"

"Both and neither." Remus smiled at her. "I see you've got Harry staying behind. What did he do this time?"

"What...here...but...you?" Harry's ability to form a coherent sentence had decided to go on holiday.

Remus took pity on him. "One replacement Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, at your service."

Harry's next attempt made little improvement. "But...you...."

"Are a fantastic, inspiring educator?" Remus prompted, grinning. "With the bigwigs at the Ministry returning all Aurors--"

"--even the knackered ones--" Figg interjected.

"--*all* Aurors to active duty, I think that concerned parents might find it reassuring to know that a bloodthirsty beast will be teaching their children how to combat...well, other bloodthirsty beasts."

"Heh," said Figg. "Well put." She leaned over and prodded Harry with the tip of her index finger. "The boy's got something for you, Lupin. Go on, Harry, hand it over."

More than a little dazed, he did as he was told.

Remus took the envelope from him and was about to open it, but stopped at the sight of the large blob of wax covering the flap.

"Your personal seal?" He gave Professor Figg a quizzical look.

Figg nodded once, brusquely. "It's all set up for you. You know the routine."

Remus took the envelope in his left hand. Firmly, he pressed the thumb of his right hand onto the misshapen blob of red. There was a loud pop, like a bottle of champagne being uncorked, and the seal melted beneath his thumb. A thin stream of crimson liquid dripped off the edge of the envelope and onto the floor.

Remus carefully opened the crackling envelope and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Some were normal wizarding parchments, but others were the distinctive size and shape of official Muggle government documents. As he leafed through the papers, his face turned an oddly ashen colour. Curiosity piqued, Harry tried to crane his neck to get a better look, but a loud cough from Professor Figg shamed him into grudging patience.

Remus went through the documents once, then twice. After he had finished a third reading, he glanced at Harry, then at Figg, then back at Harry. The sinews of his hands twitched.

"Is this real?" he asked.

Professor Figg huffed. "Well, unless the Weasley boys have gotten hold of it without my knowing, it's not going to turn into a rubber chicken anytime soon."

"What is it?" Harry asked, once again straining to see.

Remus shook his head.

"Arabella," he said slowly, "you know I can't do this."

She dismissed his statement with a casual flutter of her hand. "Don't talk damned nonsense."

"What is it?" Harry asked, a little louder.

"You wouldn't believe the rigmarole I had to go through in the Muggle courts to get those processed." She folded her arms across her chest. "And the wizarding ones were even worse, especially when they saw the names involved."

Harry was getting exasperated. "What *is* it?"

Figg kept talking as if he wasn't there at all. "Between the four of us, I don't know *how* Albus kept this out of the press."

"WHAT IS IT?" Harry all but shouted.

"Probably had a battalion of Obliviators assigned to deal with any problems. And I'll bet there were plenty."

"I'll just come back some other time, then," Harry said desperately, and started to head for the door.

"They're papers," Remus said in an awed voice.

Harry paused in mid-stride. Remus didn't sound sad or angry, but the passion in those two words was enough to stop Harry in his tracks.

"Papers," Remus repeated, "that transfer joint legal guardianship of Harry Potter from Mrs. Arabella Figg to Mr. Sirius Black and...." His long fingers tightened on the documents, as if he fully expected them to disappear. "And me."

Harry had to grab the closest desk to keep his footing. The floor was spinning under him.

"B...but why?" he croaked.

"WHY?" Figg looked as if she wanted to give him a good shake and dock ten points from Gryffindor. "Fourteen years with those blasted Muggle relations of yours, that's why!" She stomped out from behind her desk and over to him, looking as fierce and compact as an attack hedgehog. "Do you want to dig a little deeper 'round the roots of your family tree? As you've already lived with the worms, maybe you'll find some nice grubs to settle down with. Once they're done gnawing on my old bones, that is."

"Arabella, don't talk like that," Remus admonished, casting a uneasy glance at the still shaken Harry.

Professor Figg reached over and tilted Harry's chin up, making him look directly at her.

"Listen to me," she said earnestly. "It's not pleasant to think about, but my line of work is very dangerous. I am...well, *was* your legal guardian, and as such you're my responsibility. I have to be certain you'll be taken care of if anything happens to me." She grimaced. "And I'm not going to risk being distracted in the middle of laying into some Death Eater filth because I'm fretting over who'll make you wash behind your ears." Her voice was its normal crusty self, but the joke fell flat.

Now that the original shock had processed through his system, Harry was able to think clearly again. In his private opinion, he'd had quite enough of being other people's 'responsibility', but he couldn't very well say that to her face.

"I understand," he replied, as sincerely as he could.

Figg let go of his chin and turned her glare on Remus, who ducked his head and shuffled his feet like a chastised child.

"You see?" she said triumphantly. Still scowling at him, she pointed a bony finger at Harry. "*He* understands. And it's not like you've got much choice in the matter."

Remus massaged his temples. "You know I would give anything for this to work, but--"

"But what? Everything's official. All the real fuss is over with. I've got no objections. It's plain to see that Albus has no objections. And I don't see YOU making any objections." The last was directed at Harry, almost as an afterthought.

"I'll have to let Sirius know," Remus said in a low voice.

"Well, call him in then!" Figg ordered, waving her arms in the air. "Don't keep him waiting in the corridor."

Intoxicating joy blazed through Harry as her words sank in. He gave a whoop of pure delight at the same time that Remus rapped out a warning "Arabella!"

Figg shook a finger at Remus, teasingly scolding him. "You don't get that many dog hairs on those rags you call robes by accident. Buy a decent clothes-brush for goodness sake. Even Muggles use them--you could stand to learn a few lessons from them when it comes to personal grooming."

Still shaking his head, Remus walked to the classroom door. He opened it, and looked up and down the corridors to see if anyone was around. Reassured that no one was nearby, he gave a long, low whistle.

Harry's stomach contracted as the sound of a thin jingling--the noise of dog tags striking against each other--grew louder. It was all he could do to keep from running over and pouncing on the great black dog that poked its nose around the door, peering into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Come on," Figg said, tapping her foot impatiently. "Hurry it up. I want to see a soppy family reunion before I go."

The dog trotted into the room, collar tags jingling and tail waving so frantically that it banged into to every single desk and chair between the door and the teacher's desk at the front of the room. With a glad whimper he went immediately to Harry, nosing his hand affectionately and gazing up at him with deep, soulful eyes.

"It's all clear," Remus informed the dog.

Harry jumped back just in time as the Animagus shifted form, then found himself wrapped in a fierce hug--which he eagerly returned.

"Good to see you again, Harry." Sirius's voice was thick with bliss.

"You're all right," he murmured, burying deep into his godfather's warm embrace. "I was so afraid...."

Sirius looked down at him, smiling brightly. His sharp features had softened with the passing of time, and the ragged, haunted look that had marked him as a former Azkaban prisoner had all but vanished. He had filled out, looking the picture of good health. His robes no longer seemed like cast-off garments draped over an emaciated frame. Friendship and freedom had done wonders for him--both physically and psychologically.

"Afraid of what?" Tenderly, he ruffled Harry's hair. "It'd take a lot to get rid of me."

The image of four mounted, severed heads, some with fresh blood still dripping from the stumps, flashed across Harry's mind like a flare of lightning. He pressed himself more tightly against Sirius, as though the older man's presence could erase the memory of that dreadful Christmas morning.

"Almost like old times, eh?" he heard Figg say.

Harry felt Sirius release him, though the older man kept a protective hand on his shoulder.

"Now, what's this you wanted me for?" Sirius demanded warily. "Has something come up?"

"Sirius," Remus said mildly, "Arabella has something for us." Without ceremony, he held out the sheaf of papers.

Sirius accepted the papers and began to read through them carefully. As the documents told their story, Harry felt Sirius's hand tighten convulsively on his shoulder more than once.

"You old hag," Sirius said wonderingly, almost lovingly, when he had finished reading. "If I knew you didn't have a sense of humour, I'd think you were putting us on."

Figg's eyes sparkled angrily. "Don't make me regret my decision, Black. You're not quite in my good graces yet."

"It's..." Harry fumbled for words, an expression, anything to properly describe how he was feeling. "It's like the stories. You're like a good fairy godmother...or something."

"Impossible," Sirius said decisively. "A fairy godmother would never be *that* ugly." A wicked leer creased his features. "Why, she'd be kicked out of the union."

"Blackballed, even," Remus added with a grin.

"Right, that's it." Figg stood up. "I'm not going to stand here and be insulted." With a valiant toss of her grey head, she marched toward the door.

"Good luck...'Mrs. Figg'," Harry said playfully, getting into the spirit of the moment.

"Insufferable brat," she retorted. "You three make a lovely little bunch...near gives me the pip."

Just before she opened the door, she turned around to stare at the three of them. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"You take proper care of him, now, do you hear me?" she said gruffly.

Sirius came to attention and mock-saluted her. "Yes, sir!" In a whirl of black fur, he was a dog again.

"Yes, ma'am," Remus said, patting the shaggy head of his faithful pet.

Grumbling and sniffling alternately, Figg exited the room.

        *        *        *

Lupin's return raised Harry's spirits considerably. Now that he knew his parents' friends were safe at Hogwarts, he had one less thing to lose sleep over. His buoyant mood continued through the remainder of the day with surprising results. He earned twenty House points for his good work in Charms, got a very high mark on the homework McGonagall returned to them in Transfiguration, and made it through History of Magic without falling asleep even once--the perfect way to start a weekend.

But if Harry's week had ended on a wonderful note, Snape's forthcoming week could not have been worse. To start, he had been tricked into involuntary participation in a scheme that involved several of his most disliked students and the 'living legend' Will Stanton. He had to take time out of his lesson planning to accompany the Gryffindors to their session, and then had to return at the end of the session to escort them back.

To top everything off, he had once again lost his coveted post of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor to none other than Remus J. Lupin, and consequently had to deal with the irksome presence of the new teacher's 'pet'. As Remus told it, the poor stray had been found "shivering outside The Three Broomsticks", sorely needing "a kind heart and a good home". Students from all houses flocked to lavish attention on the unfortunate dog, who accepted their sympathy and the occasional food treat with an almost human smugness. And Snape could do nothing about it.

In a word, Snape was miserable.

Naturally, he was hell-bent on making everyone around him--especially Harry Potter--miserable as well.

That Monday, he gave Harry extended detention for asking for more clarification on the ingredients of the day's potion. (Though he hadn't dared to schedule the detention for that night: Harry rightly suspected that his saving grace was the fact that it *was* Monday.) He had almost given Draco detention--but settled for a reprimand-- after skidding on a patch of spilt rat's saliva that Draco and Goyle had neglected to mop up. Try as he might, he could not get a rise out of Hermione. She didn't react to any of his taunts, and that only made him all the more determined to provoke a response. (He very nearly provoked Ron into a wizard's duel, but mercifully class ended before things could escalate that far.)

When the five Gryffindors assembled outside Snape's dungeon office at quarter to seven, he ignored them. They took turns knocking on his door for a full ten minutes. It wasn't until Harry made a Very Loud Suggestion to use a Battering Charm to break down the door that he condescended to leave his office. And then, he unceremoniously pushed and shoved them up stairs and down corridors, all but tossed them into the little room off the library, and flounced away.

"Well," Ron joked once they had recovered, "at least he's not acting any different than usual."

"It only took ten minutes this time," Ginny said as she pulled her chair up to the table.

"Much better than Thursday," Harry acquiesced. "That time it took nearly half an hour."

In the same high spirits, they made the room ready. A touch of the mirror, and in no time at all the five students and their teacher had settled down to continue the studies they had left off last Thursday.

Since their interrupted session a week and a half before, the main focus of their work had involved tapping into the power of the Light to augment their own spells. They had progressed from small defence spells to the more complex ones. Neville managed to hold a 'Defendo Lux' spell on his own for a good five minutes, while the others pelted him with every hex and curse and charm they could think of. 'Defendo Lux' had become something of Neville's signature spell--possibly with the memory of his testing against Professor Figg's Imperius Curse in mind.

"Or perhaps," as Will later remarked, "it is simply the spell best suited to him. It does happen, you know. Take Mr. Potter's Patronus, for example."

It was an appropriate example. On his last casting of the Patronus Charm, Harry had been able to guide the glowing stag by pointing his wand. The greater degree of control actually allowed him to change the direction and intensity of its attack.

*That'll be useful if I'm surrounded by Dementors,* he thought, and then immediately prayed that he would never need to use it for that purpose.

Pleased with their progress, Will had called an early end to the session, asking them to jot down their opinions on the most recent improvement in spell casting and technique. For a time, there was only the ticklish sound of quills scratching on paper.

All of a sudden, Ron raised his hand. "Will?"

Harry's head snapped up. He saw Ginny and Neville look up as well, and next to him the sound of Hermione's writing had stopped. The timid quaver that had crept into Ron's voice had surprised them all.

"Yes?"

"Um...would you...er, that is...can I ask you something?"

Will looked up from his own writing. His lips twisted in an amused smile. "Without arguing the semantics of 'can' and 'may'...yes, you have my permission, Mr. Weasley. What would you like to know?"

Ron squirmed in his chair. "It's...it's a bit personal."

"Oh," was the neutral reply. "Personal in what way?"

Ron seemed to have discovered something truly remarkable about his shoes. Head bowed, he directed the question to the floor.

"What is...was...is Merlin like?"

The fire popped and crackled in the uncomfortable quiet.

Harry found himself staring intently at the row of books on the top shelf directly opposite. He couldn't bring himself to look at Will or Ron, and he couldn't look at the others without turning his head and thus drawing unwanted attention.

"I was wondering how long it would be before one of you worked up the courage to ask me that. Well, you asked a question, and you shall have an answer."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron raise his head. The apple of his throat bobbed up and down jerkily as he swallowed.

Will leaned back in his chair, propping his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"He was a strict master--one who would never be satisfied with anything but one's absolute best." He might have been describing a piece of furniture, so disinterested was his tone. "There was never room for failure as far as he was concerned. A brilliant man, to be sure, even if his behaviour often bordered on the eccentric. And...and...."

He was silent for a long moment. His eyes slid out of focus, no longer seeing anything in the room.

They waited. Tension sang in the air, vibrating like a plucked harp string.

"And lonely." His voice was barely above a whisper, with a curious husky note that stung at their eyes. "So very lonely...though you would never know unless you looked for it. And you'd never get him to admit it."

The fire in the grate popped again, loud in the roaring silence.

The distant, searching look left Will's eyes, and the soft blue-grey abruptly darkened to the turbulent colour of a stormy sea.

"But why do you care about this?" he demanded with cold, knife-like sharpness. "All you would need to know, you could find on the back of one of your Chocolate Frog cards. I highly doubt it would come up on an exam."

Ron recoiled, shrinking back into his chair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No. Don't be." It wasn't a reassurance--it was a command. The hard edge in Will's voice had dulled slightly, but only just. "It was a long time ago when we last saw each other, and I am quite content to let fact and fiction blur. Are the legends not enough?"

They didn't know if that question warranted an answer, or even if Will was looking for one.

He closed his eyes. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

The words themselves may have sounded nonchalant, but finality in his voice was absolute and unquestionable. The subject was closed, and Harry knew with a chilling certainty that they would never speak of it again, not even among themselves.

Will pulled a watch from some hidden recess in his robes and checked the time.

"It's getting late," he proclaimed, a little too loudly. "Nearly your curfew."

As if on cue, there was a insistent banging on the door. Snape had returned to cart them back to Gryffindor Tower.

Silently, the five of them gathered their belongings. Murmuring muted goodnights to Will, they filed from the room.

Harry, however, lagged behind, taking his time putting his things away. When Ron passed by, he pulled his friend aside.

"Tell Snape to go on without me," he said quietly. "Tell him I'll catch up in a moment."

Ron gave him a look that plainly said "You're barking mad," but he nodded and hurried out into the corridor--just in time to receive the full blast of Snape's temper.

"Hurry it up, Weasley," Harry heard Snape bark. "I have better ways to occupy my time than shepherding you lot around the school. Where's Potter?"

"He said to go ahead." Ron's voice was muffled by the door. "He wants to talk to--"

Snape cut him off irritably. "Fine, fine. Now get moving, all of you! Damned nuisance...."

The stream of muttered invectives died down as Snape escorted his charges away. Harry waited until Snape's voice was no longer audible, then looked back at Will.

The older man had left his chair and was standing beside the fire, gazing down at it with a single-minded focus that Harry was reluctant to interrupt.

As he waited for his presence to be noticed, a memory from his very first meeting with Will floated to the surface of his mind. He had the feeling that he was looking at a man behind a glass wall. He had never stopped to consider where that feeling had come from. But now he wasn't certain whether it had been purely his first impression, or whether he had fallen under the spell of a carefully projected image.

Either way, he didn't like it.

"Miss Granger's hearing is tomorrow, correct?"

Lost in thought, he almost missed the subdued question. "Yes, sir."

"I see. Do you intend to listen in?"

"I...we're not allowed," Harry replied woodenly, carefully. "Ron's going to be with Hermione, not me. And she told me that she doesn't want me using the cloak to sneak in and watch. So I can't."

Will's bleak, severe gaze flickered toward him for a disconcerting second, then returned to the study of the flames.

"Whatever gave you the impression that you had to be in the room?" he said, so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear him. "Good night, Mr. Potter."

"But I don't--"

"Good night, Mr. Potter." Like it or not, his tone implied, this conversation had ended.

Harry stifled a sigh. "Good night, sir."

        *        *        *

The next day breezed by with frightening speed, and by the end of the Tuesday classes it was obvious that Ron and Hermione were feeling the pressure of the impending faculty hearing.

Ron was outwardly calm, but his inner turmoil manifested itself at dinnertime as he devoured everything in sight, wolfing down his food as if he'd never eat again. In contrast, Hermione only toyed with her meal, preferring to read the enormous book she had brought with her. She opened it to the middle and stared at the pages, but her eyes didn't move. Ron finished her food for her, and would have started on his sister's plate if Ginny hadn't fought him off with her fork.

After they had eaten, or pretended to eat, the three friends left the Great Hall. Harry trailed Ron and Hermione to the Transfiguration classroom where the hearing was slated to be held. He was a little miffed that Hermione had chosen Ron over him, but he knew it was for the best. This way, he and Hermione would know where Ron was. Not that they believed that Ron needed constant supervision, of course, but it gave them a far greater peace of mind, and it made Ron very happy. A good solution for all concerned.

He didn't hang around the classroom after they had gone in. There was no point.

He had several assignments due in the next few days, but the prospect of sitting in the library and trying to concentrate on one specific task was not at all appealing. He was about to go out and practice Snitch-catching until he recalled that the Slytherin team had reserved the pitch that night in preparation for the match against Gryffindor that Saturday. Quidditch was out as well.

His feet led him back to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"What's the matter, dear?" she asked him. The wrinkles on her pudgy face deepened in kindly concern.

"Nothing really," he replied. "Thanks for asking, though."

"If you're sure..." she said helpfully.

"Thanks all the same." He gave her what he hoped was a bright smile. "Widdershins."

The common room was mostly empty; the majority of the students were in the library finishing up homework. A bunch of sixth-year girls sat near the fire, trading gossip. Lee Jordan was sitting at one of the room's writing desks, scribbling something on a torn piece of paper. Two first-year boys were absorbed in a game of wizard chess. Harry had to grin at that--he might have been watching himself and Ron from four years ago. One of the boys' knights had just smashed the other boy's queen in an bold attack that Harry knew would lead to certain checkmate in two moves. He'd lost to Ron often enough to know when defeat was closing in.

He sat down in a chair well away from the others. Idly, he slipped a hand into his pocket and took out the small white pebble that Will had given him. Professor Trelawny had mentioned in a recent class that some diviners in ancient cultures often rubbed small stones prior to practising their craft as a way of working out minor distractions. Like everything else in Divination, he had taken the statement with a large grain of salt, but there was no denying that he had distractions that could use working out. It was worth a try, at any rate. He had nothing better to do.

Having been in the pocket of his robe, close to his skin, the stone was warm to the touch. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the rough and smooth edges and the little irregularities in the stone's surface. The minutes trickled past.

As the worn pebble rolled through his fingers, he felt something tug at the back of his mind. It was as if someone was standing beside him and jabbing at him with a stick, telling him that he ought to be doing something with the stone, to the stone. The feeling grew stronger and more urgent the longer he held the stone in his hand.

Sensibly, he closed his eyes and listened to that feeling.

With the deftness of an artist making a rough sketch before beginning to draw, the outlines of words started to form in his head. Not in English, or in the forced formal Latin of spells and charms, but in a far older language. The spell-speech that Will used at times, when calling on the power of his birthright. The forgotten language that belonged to the Light, to that particular magic that Harry was only just learning to understand.

Under his breath, he recited the words that had formed on his tongue, relishing their strangely familiar pattern. Then, responding to the instructions that whispered through his body, he blocked everything out of his mind. All outside thoughts faded away. The garbled chatter of the common room, the soft background noises, everything died down as if he had turned down the volume on an antique wireless. There was only him, and the stone, and whatever the stone would tell him.

The hidden artist had finished the rough sketch and had begun to work in muted colours. Smooth, sure strokes painted a picture in his mind.

It was of the Transfiguration classroom, seen as he would see it from one of the students' desks near the front. Torches on the walls. The chalkboard at the front of the room. Professor McGonagall, sitting behind her desk...and other people with her, and nearby.

The directness of the link between his stone and Ron and Hermione's stones barely registered in his consciousness. Whatever it was, it was a powerful magic. The stone would tell him everything. All he had to do was concentrate.

The artist quickly filled in the blank spots on the canvas, adding subjects and the beginnings of fine detail. Professor Sprout at one end of the long desk. Professor Flitwick standing on a chair beside her. Professor Snape on McGonagall's other side--the unseen artist took great care to shade in the cold dark eyes and thin-lipped sneer.

Just as he had a clear idea of where he was and who he was seeing, the picture blurred and changed, giving way to not one picture but many, flashing past at a speed that made his head sing with dizziness. There was Hermione, fearfully pale, with Ron standing resolutely beside her. A flash of fingers intertwined--he was holding her hand. A glimpse of mouse-coloured hair and a scared face told him that Natalie was in the room as well, though she was dim and insubstantial, not as visible as the others he saw.

More images passed, some lingering only long enough to register a single detail. Flitwick's normally cheerful face drawn into a frown. A glitter of the torchlight reflected in Snape's eyes.

The visions flew by at the same rapid pace, connected like a narrative. With them came corresponding emotions, painted so that the feelings actually became a part of the picture, as much as a person's skin or clothing. Lingering fear from Natalie, accompanied by guilt so overpowering that it made Harry's head ache. Ron's barely hidden anger, coloured the same shock of fiery red as his hair. Hermione, literally wrapped in a shadow of doubt and shame as she told her side of the story. A mixture of bold, desperate impartiality from the four Heads of House...with perhaps a hint of snide satisfaction emanating from Snape and the occasional flicker of uncertainty from McGonagall.

He could see them holding the hearing. Not as clearly as if he was actually in the room, but the idea was general enough. But at the moment there was far too much indecision clouding the scene for him to tell who was winning the argument, if Hermione would have to--

"Harry! Harry!"

The artist's picture vanished like a burst soap bubble as a voice broke into his thoughts. Disorientation fogged his mind for a breathless second until he remembered where he was--and realised that he had lost concentration.

Getting to his feet, he saw Colin Creevey running up to him. Heads turned as the young boy sped past, but the Gryffindor students soon returned whatever they had been doing without a second glance, as if to say, "Oh, it's only *Colin*."

Harry was furious at losing concentration, but the flare of anger faded when he saw the jubilant expression on Colin's face.

"What--" he began, but stopped short as Colin thrust a handful of a charred, blackened substance directly under his nose. The acrid odour of burnt paper filled his nostrils, making him cough and paw at his glasses, trying to wipe his eyes.

"Harry, look at this!" Colin said.

Carefully, Harry took the black mass from Colin's hand.

The smell and texture was enough to tell him what it was. He may have been teasing Hermione about the various uses for his old assignments, but he actually *had* used a few pieces of parchment to relight the gas cooker at Mrs. Figg's house during the summer. And what he held in his hand was part of a burnt piece of parchment.

A small section of the edge hadn't caught fire. The crackling paper was dark and falling to bits, but he could make out some of the writing. He hurried over to the fire to have a closer look. Colin doggedly followed.

It was in Hermione's hand. He would recognise it anywhere--she and Ron had scribbled enough notes in the side margins of his schoolbooks to make identification a brainless task. And there were a few phrases he could just make out if he squinted at it long enough:

"...of leech may be obtained through a careful scraping of...."

"...caution must be exercised when...."

"...common medicine...found...and dieffenbachia...."

It was Hermione's paper. He was sure of it.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, turning his attention back to Colin.

"Well," Colin said breathlessly, "I was going to go study, and I went to the library, but it was really cold where I was sitting so I thought I'd go and stand by the fire, so I got up and was walking past the row of shelves that's right next to the Restricted Section, and I know I don't usually go back there but all the tables I usually sit at were full, and since you weren't--"

"Colin."

The younger boy paused, and took a deep breath. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Where'd you find it?"

"In the fireplace in the library. Not the big one--the little one back by the Restricted Section."

Harry blinked. "But that one's hardly ever lit."

"There were a lot of ashes." Colin held up his hands. They were covered in ash well past the wrists; he had done some digging to find what he was looking for. "Someone used it, and recently, too. The house elves hadn't had the chance to clean it properly."

"Was there any more?"

"Nothing as big as this piece. I saw some other bits, but they're really, really small."

"That's great!" Harry shouted, then remembered where he was and lowered his voice. "That means we can...." He trailed off as a thought struck him and crushed what little hope he had had. "No, we can't."

"Can't what?" Colin asked.

"All this proves is that someone tried to destroy Hermione's essay. It doesn't mean that she didn't burn it herself--after giving it to Natalie to copy."

"But I thought you said that Natalie said that she couldn't find it when she looked?"

"Hermione could have found it later, and given it to her then. That's what Snape would say," he added sourly.

"But couldn't they look for fingerprints? Something?"

"They'd find prints all right. Hermione's *and* Natalie's."

Colin's face fell. "So this doesn't help us at all, does it?"

"Not real...." He trailed off again. This time, the idea that had come into his head had restored most of the hope--not all of it, but most. "It might. It just might."

Colin scratched his head, very confused. His grimy fingers left dark streaks of ash and dirt in his mussed hair.

Harry motioned with his hand, indicating that they should step aside. Together, they walked over to the doorway that led to the Fat Lady's portrait. Once they were well out of earshot, Harry leaned over and whispered into Colin's ear.

"Find Neville and Ginny and meet me in the library. Five minutes. I've got--"

"A plan?" Colin's eyes shone eagerly, alight with some of their old, familiar hero worship.

Harry looked down at the flaking, burnt parchment.

"Something," he said. "It's a start."

        *        *        *

Forty-five minutes later, Harry's 'something' had evolved into a plan. A risky plan, one laced with the very real possibility of failure, but a plan nonetheless.

He knew from the start that he had to keep Colin out of the main part of the decision-making. They could not risk his participation--it held too many complications. Searching for a believable explanation, he was finally forced to appeal to the younger boy's flare for the dramatic.

"You're our very last resort," he said, filling his words with urgency. "If this blows up in our faces, you have to go to McGonagall with the evidence and act like you just found it."

"None of us can do it," Neville added. "It'd look like we made up a story to get Hermione off."

And Ginny, used to soothing the wounded egos of her older brothers, mollified him with the placating phrase: "You're the only one for the job, Colin."

Colin pouted, but nodded agreement.

"All right," he said. "But you let me know what happens, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said. He was glad to see one obstacle out of the way. And it wasn't even a lie--they might actually have need of Colin if the whole thing did blow up in their faces.

Once Colin had left, Harry, Ginny, and Neville formed an impromptu council of war at a secluded table in the library. They talked and argued the idea around in circles, being careful to keep their voices just above whispers. Once all the salient points had been argued to exhaustion, and all objections had been made and countered, their conversation immediately returned to the possible results of the faculty hearing.

"What I want to know," Neville said, propping his chin on his hands, "is why can't they just give both of them Veritaserum or something? Then they'd know for sure telling the truth."

"They can't," Harry said quickly. He didn't want to dwell on the subject of Veritaserum for too long--it brought up a number of bad memories. "You need Ministry approval to use it. And besides, no one's going to waste Veritaserum on something like this."

"So unless one of them owns up..." Ginny trailed off.

"They'll both get punished for it," Neville concluded.

"Expelled?" she whispered.

"Maybe," Harry said grimly. "If they're lucky, they'll end up on probation or something for the rest of the year."

"But Hermione won't be prefect anymore," said Neville.

Ginny looked like she was going to cry. "I can't believe that Snape and McGonagall even *think* that Hermione would let someone copy her homework."

"She wouldn't even let ME copy off her, and I was a lot worse off in that class than Natalie ever was." Neville said the younger girl's name as if he was referring to something particularly rotten.

"Tom Riddle was a straight-A student, once," Harry muttered, low enough so Ginny wouldn't hear.

"But they *can't* do this," Ginny protested fitfully. "They can't. Not to Hermione."

Harry prodded the lump of charred parchment with his finger. "That's why this has to work."

The library closed at eight. The three of them took their time walking back to the dormitory.

Entering, they saw Ron sprawled in a chair by the fire. His robes were in more disarray than usual, and there was a black look on his face.

They hurried over, and Ginny pounced on her brother at once. "What happened?"

"What did they say?" Harry's stomach was a bundle of nerves.

Ron rubbed his forehead wearily. "Nothing. Nothing yet. McGonagall told us that they're going to talk it over later tonight, her and Snape and Sprout and Flitwick. She wants to see us tomorrow after dinner. That's when they'll announce their decision."

"Tomorrow?" Harry frowned. "That seems awfully quick."

"Snape seemed to think it was an open-and-shut case."

"He would," Neville grumbled. He looked around the room. "Where's Hermione?"

"Upstairs, getting ready for bed," Ron said with a shrug. "It's been a rough night."

"And you let her go *alone*?" Ginny yelped.

Ron turned baleful eyes on her. "Well, she didn't ask me to scrub her back, did she?"

"I can't believe you," she snapped, fuming. "I'm going to see--"

Suddenly, Hermione burst into the common room. She looked like she had only just finished a bath. A thick towel was wrapped around her hair, and she held her dressing gown tightly closed at the throat. She left a trail of wet footprints on the floor as she ran over to them. Her face was flushed, either from exertion or from the heat of the bath water.

"It came!" she cried, waving something white in the air. "It came!"

"What came?" Harry said, trying very hard not to notice the streams of water still running down her bare legs and dripping onto the hearth.

"Last week I wrote to my parents, asking them to look for my paper. If I've left it at home, they'd find it. And I just got an express post owl from them." During her speech, Hermione had somehow managed to tie off her dressing gown, adjust her hair towel to stop it from slipping, and show them the letter, all the while maintaining a decent state of semi-dress.

Ginny bounced on her toes. "What did they say?"

"I...don't know." Hermione flushed sheepishly. "I haven't opened it yet."

She turned the envelope over. Her hand hesitated over the flap.

Ginny bounced harder. "Well, open it, you goose!"

Hermione's hand trembled. Abruptly, she thrust the envelope at Ron.

"Y-you open it," she stammered.

"If you insist." He took it from her, slit the top, and held it out to her.

"What are you doing?"

Ron shrugged. "Hey, I opened for you, but there's no way *I'm* going to read it."

Hermione glowered at him and snatched the envelope away. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. Her brow furrowed, and she looked inside the envelope, pawing through it as though she couldn't find something. She held it upside down and shook it, but nothing came out.

"This is just a letter from Mum," she said sadly. "They must not have found it."

"And are you going to tell us what it says?" Ron said pointedly.

Hermione scanned the letter. "It *says*, Ron, that they can't find it. According to Mum, they've torn the house apart looking for it, and it's not there."

"Could it have been stolen?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, and I know it's not possible. Not even with magic. There's..." She paused to choose the right word. "There's a special protection on our house that prevents magical tampering."

"Like the one Mrs. Figg used on my aunt and uncle's old house?"

"Something like that," she said slowly. "It's a bit different. But my mum says right here that she remembers seeing it in my trunk when I was packing." She pointed to the paper, indicating the line. "And she'd swear to it."

"And Natalie said it wasn't there." Another question popped into Harry's mind. "Could anyone else have gotten into your trunk at school?"

"Impossible," Hermione snapped, though without her usual crispness. "No one's been in that trunk except me."

"But how could you know?" Neville pressed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, I'd know. Everything has its place in my trunk. If even so much as a quill was out of order, I'd know as soon as I opened it. And everything was in place that very morning, because I went to get more parchment from it before I went to the library."

"I guess being anal has its good side," Ron quipped. Hermione's face went bright red, and he hastily shouted, "Joke! It was a JOKE! Bloody hell, Hermione, calm down!"

"So no one could have mucked about with it," Harry said thoughtfully. "That day, after dinner--did you check to see if Natalie was right?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "I took everything out of my trunk when I was looking. I know it wasn't in there."

Harry nodded. This was good. The letter from Hermione's mother had eradicated most of the problems with his original plan. One last question, and Hermione's innocence would be guaranteed. "Is Natalie in her room?"

"She should be," Hermione replied. "McGonagall'll be coming around to check on us in half an hour."

"Then we have half an hour." He looked at Neville and Ginny, and saw comprehension beginning to dawn on their faces. "Let's get this over with."

Ron's eyes widened. "Get what over with?"

"I'll explain on the way." Harry put an arm around Ron's shoulders, and Ginny did the same to Hermione. With Neville bringing up the rear, the five of them headed for the stairs that led to the girls' rooms.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ June 7th, 2002