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-Eight - Calling the Six

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The camera is an instrument of detection. We photograph not only what we know, but also what we don't know.

        -- Lisette Model

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The Hogwarts Express, with the addition of a few passengers, reached Platform Nine and Three Quarters only half an hour after its scheduled arrival time.

Apart from Professor Lupin and Madam Pomfrey, the only other Hogwarts faculty member to Apparate to the scene of the attack was Professor McGonagall. The mass of dark-robed figures Harry had seen clustered round the front of the train were Aurors, or people who might have been Aurors, or people who simply looked official and intimidating enough to be Aurors. And there were a lot of them: over a dozen, by his count. He, Ron, and Remus were standing on the uneven gravel of the rail bed near the rear of the train, away from the bustle, but they could still watch the Ministry officials at work.

The first thing the Aurors did--after ensuring that all the children were well away from the train--was to go over every inch of the Hogwarts Express. The hiss and crackle of detection spells finding traces of Dark magic rose above the nervous babble of frightened students. From basic detection spells, they moved to physically examine the engine and the coupling mechanisms between the cars, checking to see if anything had tampered with them. They cast Disarming Spells, Hex-Dispelling Charms, any number of countercurses, and a complicated-looking spell that created a very loud boom but did little else. It seemed that they were leaving nothing to chance.

Some of their faces were familiar. Harry recognised one or two whom he had seen last September at King's Cross, after the attack there. The only face he could connect with a name was that of Edward Linchley, the Auror who had worked with Mrs. Figg and had later been in charge of the investigation into the attack on St Mungo's. Linchley seemed to be in charge of the other Aurors this time as well, supervising their work.

The last colours of daylight had left the sky long before the Aurors were finished. Scattered stars glittered against the dull blackness, and a chilly night wind raked the lonely moor. Harry and Ron shivered in their school robes, wishing for the thick material of their warm winter cloaks. Except for the wind and the noises of the Aurors' investigation, it was eerily quiet.

By Harry's watch, a good forty-five minutes had passed by the time the students were permitted to reboard the train. The Aurors boarded the train as well, settling in among the jittery passengers. It looked like they were trying to keep some pretence of normality...as if a dozen senior Ministry of Magic officials always rode the Hogwarts Express to London during the Easter holidays.

Harry would have loved to have seen more, maybe talked with Linchley and asked after Mrs. Figg, but as soon as the train started moving Remus collared him and Ron and herded them like strayed sheep into the last compartment of the last car. He left them there and returned a minute or two later, Hermione in tow.

"Neville's with Madam Pomfrey," he informed them curtly as he closed the compartment door. "We're to stay out of the way until we get to London."

The next three hours were quite possibly the longest three hours of Harry's life. It wasn't an exaggeration. It actually felt as if time had slowed, dragging out minute after minute, stretching to unbearable lengths. He and Ron sat on one side of the compartment, staring down at their hands or their shoes or the floor or looking out the window at the flashes of light that flew past...anywhere but at Remus. Remus sat quietly across from them. He seemed to be trying to catch Harry's eye, but Harry wanted no part of that. Hermione sat--or rather huddled in the corner nearest the window--on the same side as Remus. She rested her forehead against the windowpane, and sat so still that she didn't appear to be breathing. Her eyes were closed.

After the train had pulled into King's Cross, Linchley and the other Aurors left. They had to present their reports to the Minister of Magic and give him a proper assessment of the incident. But before the they left Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry saw Linchley round up the disembarking students. From his somewhat restricted viewpoint through the window of the last car, he watched with dull acceptance as the chief Auror proceeded to carefully Obliviate any memories the passengers might have had of the attack.

Harry picked up bits and pieces of the story in the following weeks, enough to form a general idea of what the Ministry wanted the students to believe. Officially, the Hogwarts Express had been forced to make a sudden stop in South Yorkshire, on the main line between Doncaster and Retford. There had been serious mechanical problems farther down the line, some difficulty with a faulty signal near Peterborough, and the train had had to wait until it was repaired. The cuts and bruises that the students had suffered were attributed to the suddenness of the stop. Naturally, the Ministry of Magic was replete with apology: terribly troubling, regrettable that it should coincide with the holiday week, steps will soon be taken, etcetera, etcetera.

He, Ron, and Hermione were allowed to leave the train only after the other passengers had departed through the barrier, back to the main part of the station. The three of them shuffled onto the deserted platform, more than a little disoriented by its emptiness. Remus told them that they could walk about and stretch their legs, but the grim look on his face told them that they would be wise to stay as close to the train as possible.

"Where's Neville?" Harry murmured to Ron when he thought that Remus wasn't looking.

"Dunno." Ron yanked at the collar of his robe up, tugging it higher in a vain attempt to hide the livid marks that were beginning to show on his neck. The bruises left by Wormtail's clutching fingers stood out sharply on his skin. "Probably still with Pomfrey."

"His arm did look pretty bad," Harry admitted.

"Yeah." Ron winced as his knuckles brushed against one of the darker bruises.

"I hope he's okay," Hermione whispered, more to herself than to them.

"Mr. Longbottom is fine."

The three Gryffindors whirled round to see Professor McGonagall walking toward them.

"He will return soon," she said. "He volunteered to help Madam Pomfrey convey Miss McDonald to the nearest wizarding hospital."

"St Mungo's?" Ron said hopefully.

McGonagall shook her head. "Unfortunately, their casualty ward is still inoperational. The nearest wizarding hospital with a fully- staffed casualty ward is in Islington."

"That's close," said Harry. Islington was a London neighbourhood just north of King's Cross Station.

"A few streets away," their Headmistress replied. "As I said, they should be back soon."

True enough, Neville and Madam Pomfrey returned just under an hour later. Neville's arm was in a sling. The sling was tightly bandaged to his chest, immobilising his entire arm. They looked weary, but they came bearing good news.

"She'll live," Madam Pomfrey told McGonagall. "A messy business, to be sure, but the real danger has passed."

"She...she'll be all right?" Hermione's voice was barely audible.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.

"There were some...complications," she said softly.

Seeing horror and the darkness of self-loathing spread across Hermione's face, she quickly added, "She has some of the finest mediwitches and wizards in the country looking after her. They'll do everything they can for her, you mark my words."

Hermione's face had gone very white, and her mouth was a thin, pale line against her colourless skin.

Instinctively, Ron moved closer to her, but she just as quickly moved away from him, shuffling back a step or two to put a distance between herself and him. He didn't try to follow her.

"Were her parents notified?" Remus asked, shifting the subject off of dangerous topics.

"They were sending someone to fetch them as we left. There are so many Muggle-repellant charms round the place that they'd never be able to get in on their own."

"I see," McGonagall said with a sigh. "I suppose I should write to them. They deserve to know the truth, even if we're keeping it out of the press."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Well, when you do, be sure you tell them who kept their little girl alive until help came." She smiled at Neville. "She owes a lot to his quick thinking. Didn't move her, kept her warm. He did all the right things."

Neville accepted the compliment with quiet dignity, a secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"We'll make a mediwizard of you yet, young man," the school nurse said cheerfully. "Once that arm of yours is back to normal, that is."

"I think some sort of award is in order, Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall said. "For all of you...though it will have to wait until we figure out exactly what happened."

The greater part of the train ride back to Hogwarts consisted of exactly that.

Despite Remus's initial outburst, no one had bothered to ask Harry and the others how they had ended up on the Hogwarts Express. The Aurors were more interested in immediate questions of security and threat. The teachers had to deal with the more pressing matter of calming and controlling over two dozen scared children. But with the Aurors gone and Neville and Madam Pomfrey back aboard the train, the *real* interrogation could begin.

Since three adults had to question four children, the first round of questioning saw Neville talking to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione talking to Remus, and Harry and Ron speaking together to Professor McGonagall. The idea was that they would switch, allowing each story to be heard three different times to clear up any inconsistencies. There was no time for Harry and the others to get together and come up with a single story, so they chose their words carefully, testing to see what should and should not be mentioned.

To keep things simple, they agreed that they had halted their informal revising session when Harry had suddenly felt excruciating pain in his scar. They had sent Ginny off to find help and stayed to look after Harry. Somehow--and this part was made deliberately vague--they had ended up on the Hogwarts Express just before it came to its unexpected halt. They had then separated to deal with the crises that followed: Neville to watch over Natalie, Hermione to gather the passengers together in a forward car and keep up a defensive wall, and Harry and Ron to take on the Dementors.

Keeping the stories straight wasn't easy. Some teachers knew more than others and therefore could be told more than others. That was the reason why McGonagall received *all* the information and Madam Pomfrey received a rather expurgated version. They told her the truth, of course...just not all of it.

Remus was trickier. In terms of actual knowledge he was somewhere in between McGonagall and Pomfrey, but telling him too little was just as dangerous as telling too much. He could be told about Wormtail nearly strangling Ron, but not about what had caused the traitor to flee. He had seen Will, but had no idea who the strange man was. It made Harry's job a lot harder, picking and choosing what to say. As a result, he was very, very careful to sit on his hands when speaking with his father's friend. It wouldn't do for a nervous tic he hadn't even known he had had to silently negate everything he was saying.

Once every possible drop of information had been squeezed out of them, McGonagall turned them over to Madam Pomfrey. Fearing that they might still be suffering the effects of the Dementors' Dark magic, she plied them with innumerable pieces of rich chocolate and ordered them to have a lie down and rest until the train arrived at Hogsmeade.

They took an empty compartment in one of the forward cars and made themselves as comfortable as they could. In deference to his injured arm, they let Neville lie down on the cushioned seats. That way, he could stretch out full length and not have to contort himself to make room for someone else. He fell asleep immediately, snoring softly.

Hermione, however, lay down on the seats on the other side, turned her back on her friends, and didn't say another word for the rest of the ride. She might have fallen asleep, but Harry very much doubted it.

Harry and Ron, lying in a smushed, half-upright position on the floor, talked for a time, whispering to each other in the warm darkness of the compartment.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You feeling all right?"

"Yeah." A low grunt. "Neck still hurts, though."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not like you could have done anything. I had my wand in my hand, and I couldn't do a thing."

"Yeah. But I'm still sorry."

"Look, it's all right. Honestly."

There was silence for a time before Harry spoke again.

"Ginny's going to kill us, you know."

"Yeah."

"What was it she said? Don't go doing anything brave?"

A quiet chuckle. "Something like that."

"She'll never believe us."

"*I* wouldn't believe us."

"True."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Ron?"

"What?"

"...what's your dad going to say?"

A long pause. "I've no idea."

"D'you think he'll be mad at you?"

"'Course not. Dad doesn't get mad at anyone."

One could almost hear Harry's eyebrow go up. "Really?"

"Well, except for Percy...sometimes. And Malfoy's dad, but he's a bastard and deserves it anyway. And he used to get mad at Fred and George if they messed with his stuff. But--"

"So he'll be mad."

Ron sighed. "Probably."

"Would he send you a Howler?"

"Dad? No."

"That's good."

"He'd get Percy to do it."

"Oh."

The Hogwarts Express sped on through the night, past towns and cities, across open lands, and into the wilds of the north.

        *        *        *

But Percy didn't send a Howler. And for that matter, neither did Mr. Weasley. Ron's Howler came later that evening--in the form of a very, VERY angry Ginny Weasley.

It was three in the morning when the four Gryffindors returned to their common room, but Ginny was still awake. She was pacing agitatedly, occasionally tripping over her robes when she didn't watch where she put her feet. When her exhausted brother and friends emerged from the portrait hole, she let out a happy cry and rushed toward them.

The next moment she was eyeball to eyeball with Ron and screaming in his face.

"I can't BELIEVE you!" she yelled. "I TOLD you not to go running off like a bloody idiot and what happens? The moment I leave, the *second* I'm out of the room, you go and end up on the train, doing exactly what Will told you NOT to do, and you could have been killed and did you even ONCE stop to think about me? Or anyone else? Even for a minute? *No*, of course you didn't, because you're Ron Weasley, big strong bloody STUPID Ron Weasley who goes charging in without thinking, like ALWAYS. Well it would have served you right if you'd gotten yourself killed, and I wouldn't feel a bit sorry for you, not one single little BIT!"

Tears ran down her face as she railed at him, and when Ron wordlessly opened his arms she grabbed him and hugged him as if she never wanted to let go.

Harry, embarrassed, turned away. He looked round to see where the others had gone.

Hermione was no longer there. He hadn't seen her leave, hadn't even heard her climb the stairs. She had slipped away without anyone noticing.

Neville was standing stiffly to one side, every bit as uncomfortable at the display of sibling emotion as Harry was. He grinned weakly, but winced suddenly and scowled at his injured shoulder, hissing through his teeth.

Harry started to turn away, but came to an abrupt halt as he felt something cold and wet touch his hand. He looked down and found himself caught in the dark, worried, and impossibly reproachful eyes of Snuffles.

"Don't give me that," he grumbled. "It's bad enough dealing with Remus--I don't need you laying guilt on me, too." He knelt down and rubbed the dog's ears. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

Though dogs are not exactly able to convey the impression of absolute disgust through facial expressions, Snuffles made a remarkably successful attempt.

Harry got the message. "Right. Dumb question." A yawn that threatened to break his jaw told him that sleep was better than standing round arguing with an Animagus.

He stumbled over to the staircase that led to the boys' dormitories. Snuffles followed him closely, collar tags clacking against each other. Harry was about to tell him to go back to Remus, but thought better of it. He needed Sirius' solid presence tonight as much as Sirius needed to reassure himself that Harry really was all right and safe.

"You'd better not snore," he said warningly.

Snuffles thumped his tail on the floor, eagerly whining agreement.

Together, they climbed the stairs to the fifth-year boys' room and crept in as quietly as they could. It made little difference, as Dean and Seamus were already fast asleep, but sneaking round the school had become second nature to Harry and when he was very tired he tended to slip into familiar habits.

He peeled off his grimy work robe and kicked off his dust-coated shoes, but didn't bother to remove the rest of his clothes. He pulled back the bedclothes and crawled between the sheets, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh linen. Snuffles scrambled onto the bed, turning round three times to curl up awkwardly at the foot.

Harry was asleep before his head could properly sink into the softness of the pillow. He did not hear Neville and Ron sneak in five minutes later.

The great black dog stayed awake, keeping watchful vigil until the first hints of dawn began to glint on the horizon, but just before the sun rose he too put his head down on his paws and drifted off to sleep.

        *        *        *

Harry spent almost all of Saturday asleep, waking only for dinner and a long, hot shower, and then returned to bed until late Sunday morning. By Easter, he was feeling remotely human again.

Snuffles had left sometime late Saturday night; he had probably gone back to report on him to Remus. Harry didn't care. He enjoyed having the bed all to himself once more.

Ron slept through Saturday entirely, an immobile lump under his bedclothes. Harry had to prod him awake for Easter Sunday breakfast.

Neville, on the other hand, did not leave his bed. Madam Pomfrey had ordered strict bed rest for him for an entire week to allow his arm time to heal. Even so, he couldn't sleep much for the pain in his shoulder, and had to spend his time propped up on pillows, catching naps when he could. His meals were brought to him on trays by a small army of house elves. The other boys were eagerly invited to eat whatever food he couldn't finish. Bed rest may have been boring, but he didn't seem to mind much.

To Harry's astonishment, Dean and Seamus did not ask what had happened. Either McGonagall had gotten to them first and had spun a believable tale, or they had become so accustomed to sharing a room with The Boy Who Lived that one more strange and remarkable occurrence made no difference to them. Whatever it was, Harry had to envy them their self-possession, if not their uncomplicated lives.

'Uncomplicated' was the key word. For students at Hogwarts, the Easter holidays were a decompression time, the last chance they would have to truly relax before exams began. Doing absolutely nothing was the norm. Anyone who attempted to revise in the Gryffindor common room during the holidays ran the risk of being kidnapped by Fred and George, smuggled outside the castle, and dumped unceremoniously in the frigid lake. Even Hermione would normally take a short break during the week--though only after two successive Easters past had seen her storming back into the common room, dripping rivulets of water from her sodden clothing.

Thus, Easter Monday marked the start of a whole week of freedom.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were enjoying a late breakfast that day, demolishing a mountain of buttered toast, when Harry's snowy owl swooped into the Hall, circled round the Gryffindor table three times, and lighted next to him.

"Hi, Hedwig," Harry said, scratching his owl's feathers affectionately.

Hermione nibbled at a corner of her toast. She had been working on the same piece of toast for some time now: she had barely eaten any of it. "Harry, you've got something."

"Owl post?" Sure enough, Hedwig was clutching a large manila envelope, addressed to him in a cramped handwriting.

"Who'f it fwom?" Ron asked, talking round a mouthful of bacon.

"Can't tell," he said. He took it from his owl's talons and turned it over. "There's no return address."

Ron's eyes widened. "Thaf's odd." He swallowed his food.

"Could it be a trap?" Ginny asked fearfully.

Harry shook his head, but he made no move to open the envelope. "Hedwig wouldn't take it if it was a trap...I think."

Ginny was already edging away from Harry and his suspicious post. "M-maybe we should leave it there for now and let McGonagall look at it, or something."

"Or give it to Snape," Hermione said, setting her toast aside. "He could tell if there's poison or anything on it."

"*Poison*?" Ginny was practically under the table.

"Well, they might have put something in the sticky part of the seal or on the edges of the paper. There are all sorts of poisons that can enter your body through the skin if you're not careful."

"Reading ahead in our Potions text again?" Ron teased.

She glowered at him. "*Someone* has to."

"Wait a minute," Harry said suddenly. He had been studying the envelope more closely. "This is Colin's handwriting."

"How do you know?" Ginny didn't sound convinced.

He pointed to the address. "Look at the way my last name's written. Colin does this weird thing with double letters; he sort of squashes them together. It's the same with the double 'e' in his name."

Ron squinted at the letter. "You're right. It's hard to see, but you're right. That's his handwriting."

"But what's Colin doing sending you a letter?" Hermione asked.

"I think I'd have to open it to find out," Harry said sarcastically. Ignoring the black look Hermione gave him, he picked up an unused butter knife and slit the top of the envelope.

"Harry, be careful!" Ginny squealed.

He rolled his eyes and reached inside the envelope. He pulled out another, smaller envelope, then hunted round some more and produced several sheets of slightly wrinkled paper. He set the smaller envelope aside and smoothed out the wrinkled sheets.

The sheets of paper were not typical letter parchment. Colin's letter had been written on several sheets of flimsy blue-lined notepaper, with uneven edges that made it look like it had been torn from an old school notebook. The printing was jumpy and the paper itself was splashed with ink blots, as if it had been dashed off and sent in a great hurry. It was dated the day before, Easter Sunday.

Dear Harry [it said],

I honestly can't believe I'm writing to you about this. You'll probably think I've gone completely gaga. I wouldn't blame you. But I have to tell someone, and I know you're the only one who'll understand. It sounds so stupid, writing something like this. But here goes.

"What's it say?" Ginny asked, her fear over the letter's contents forgotten for the moment.

"Ginny!" Hermione admonished. "What if it's something personal?"

Ron snorted. "Personal? From Colin Creevey? Not on your life."

"Just let me read it over first," Harry said, "and I'll let you look at it when I'm done...if you can wait that long, Ginny."

Ginny scowled at him, and slapped more jam on her toast.

Grinning, he turned his attention back to Colin's letter.

So anyway [Colin continued], I got back home on Friday. Mum wanted me to come home for Easter--my grandparents and aunts and uncles and some cousins were all set to come to our house for a big family Easter dinner. We had lamb and real mint jelly. You should try my gran's mint jelly. She makes it herself with mint she grows in pots in her kitchen and it's really corking stuff. But that's not what I wanted to tell you.

I don't think I've ever told anyone, but my dad was the one who taught me all about photography. It's his hobby--he's done some really great work. He even turned our upstairs toilet into a darkroom (Mum wasn't half upset about that), and I've helped him develop his film ever since I was tall enough to fill the basins. I'd promised to show him how I develop film with the special potions that make the pictures move. He was so excited when he saw some of the snaps I took at Quidditch practices, and he wanted to see how it was done.

I had a new roll of film that I hadn't developed yet, the most recent one that was still in my camera. I had a couple exposures remaining when I left school, so I took a few snaps on the train. Nothing fancy or anything, just a shot or two to finish the roll. So when I got home, I developed them like I always do. Two sets of prints: one done the Muggle way with regular paper and one done with a special kit I bought in Diagon Alley last year. (It cost nearly all my birthday money, but it was worth it.) Wizarding ones always take longer to develop--you have to alter the normal developing process a bit--so I started them first and let them soak in the proper solutions. I don't want to bore you with details, but I showed my dad how it worked, and then we developed the negatives the Muggle way while we waited for the wizarding ones to be ready.

(Oh, this was Saturday, by the way. I would have written sooner, but Mum made me stay with the company all this evening. I hope this letter gets to you in time.)

So anyway, I was just taking the first set of prints (Muggle prints from one of the other rolls of film, not from the last one) out of the stop bath when Dad tapped me on the shoulder.

[Here, there were a lot of scribbling and crossouts, as if Colin had tried several times to write something but didn't like any of his attempts]

Sorry [it continued after the crossouts]. I can't write a proper conversation so I'll just say that he asked me if I'd done something wrong with a couple of the wizarding prints. I went and checked the ones he was talking about, and sure enough the last three prints I'd made were blank. They weren't overexposed or processed wrong or anything like that. It just looked like there was nothing there. So I told him I'd try doing them over again while the first roll of Muggle prints were drying. Just then Mum yelled at me to go to the shops and pick up some carrots for dinner. (I really hate the way my mum cooks carrots-- they're all nasty and mushy.) But I went because I wanted to think about what I'd done wrong with the prints. I hadn't skipped a step or anything like that. All the other photos came out fine...it was only the last three that were blank.

So I got back with the carrots and redid the wizarding ones, but the same thing happened again. The last three prints of the last roll of film were blank. By that time I'd run out of the potions I needed to make wizarding prints, so I just decided to do them the Muggle way, since I had all the equipment set out.

I've sent you what came out--it's in the other envelope. They're the last three prints of the last roll of film, the ones I took on the train, done the Muggle way. They're only proof prints, and they're not very good. Dad could do them tons better than I could, but I didn't want him to see them. (I had to tell him that I'd overexposed them and that the potions wouldn't work with the overexposed shots.) But now I'm babbling, and I should send this before my parents come and yell at me for being up so late.

Harry, I hope you understand this. I feel like I should know what's going on, but I don't, and I know that you're the only one who will. Hope you had a good Easter. See you back in school on Sunday.

Yours truly, Colin Creevey

"Well?" Ginny piped up. "What is it? What'd he say?"

"Ron," Harry said briskly, "hand me that other envelope."

Startled by his friend's tone of voice, Ron passed him the smaller envelope. Harry didn't bother to take care opening it. He slid his finger under the flap and tore it open.

Three black-and-white photographs slid out, landing among the dirty breakfast dishes and used cutlery.

Hermione and Ron gasped, drawing a sharp breath at the same time.

"Is that--?" Ginny began in a tremulous voice, but stopped short.

Hurriedly, Harry shoved the breakfast dishes and platters aside with one hand and spread the photographs out on the table with his other hand. He had to see them better. He had to be certain that they were there, to prove he wasn't still asleep and in the middle of a rather realistic dream.

The first print was not very clear. There was the grey of the open moor land in the background, a large black blur in the foreground, and an irregular blotch of light near the bottom right hand corner of the picture, as if Colin had taken the snap through the compartment window and in his haste had forgotten that the camera flash would reflect on the glass. Though the subject was far too blurry to be identifiable, it had to be one of the Dementors, riding past on its midnight black horse.

The second was far more interesting--to put it mildly. Colin had apparently remembered to open the compartment window and remove the obstruction of the glass, for there was nothing to mar the perfectly clear image of Wormtail, caught with his silver hand wrapped round Ron's throat. If his feral snarl and maddened eyes didn't give away his murderous intent, the frantic purple of Ron's face certainly did.

The last print was not nearly as exciting, but nonetheless dramatic. It was of Will in his dark robes, profiled against the dazzling white of the wall of flames. Colin's skilful photographic eye had managed to capture the Old One just as he straightened up from his bow, and he had also captured the sense of complete mastery and authority that surrounded Will like a second cloak.

        *        *        *

Some days later, long after the original shock had passed, the four of them sat down together and tried to figure out exactly who had first figured out what to do with the photographs. Ginny swore up and down that it had been Harry's idea, but Hermione pointed out that she had been the one to suggest that they act upon said idea. But regardless of whose idea it had been, all four of them had leapt up from the table at once and sprinted out of the Great Hall, up the stairs, and through the second-floor corridors to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and office.

Harry reached the door to Remus's office first. He knew that Remus would be awake--it was nearly ten in the morning--but even if he hadn't been sure he would have pounded on the door with the same desperate urgency.

"Remus!" he shouted, rattling the door handle.

Hermione was a few steps behind him. She, too, started pounding on the closed door. "Professor Lupin! Professor Lupin!"

Ron and Ginny soon brought up the rear, more slowly than normal. Ginny seemed to be yelling at Ron about something. Harry was only able to catch the tail end of her words "--and you didn't TELL ME?!" before the door flew open, knocking him backward into the Weasley siblings and sending them all crashing to the floor.

"What is it? What's going on?" Remus barely had time to get the words out of his mouth before the four children had streamed past him, into the main part of his office.

Snuffles was crouched in one of the room's rickety chairs with the morning's Daily Prophet crumpled under his paws. He had likely been reading it in his human form when the knock came at the door--his contorted position was a clear indication of a hasty transformation. He leapt off the chair when he saw Harry dash inside, but froze when the other Gryffindors followed his godson into the room.

Harry turned to Ginny first. "Ginny, can I trust you not to scream?" he said breathlessly.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"Can I trust you?"

She stiffened, affronted by his insult to her sense of self-control. "Of *course* you can. I'm not stupid."

"Fine." With that, he looked over at Snuffles. "Sirius, there's something you have to see."

The great black dog hesitated. His eyes darted from Harry to Ron to Hermione to Ginny and finally back to Harry.

"Please, Sirius," Harry begged. Of all times for his godfather to err on the side of caution...."It's about Wormtail."

The traitor's name acted like a key turning in a lock, because there was a loud pop, and a heartbeat later Sirius Black--in threadbare pyjamas, patched dressing gown, and bedroom slippers--stood before them.

"What's happened, Harry?" he said huskily. Worry and fear creased his worn face. He hadn't shaved yet, which only served to add to the appearance of a prisoner on the run. "What's that rat done now?"

Ginny gasped, and a tiny squeal forced its way through her nose, but true to her word she didn't scream. She inched closer to Ron and Hermione.

"It's all right, Gin," Ron said soothingly. "It's okay."

"Don't start that," she snapped, but she didn't take her eyes off Sirius.

"Harry, what is it?" Remus had moved forward to stand beside Sirius. He placed a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We've got proof," Harry said, breathing hard. "Proof that he's not dead." Before either of the older men could react, he thrust the photograph of Wormtail and Ron into Sirius's open hands.

"This...this is...." Sirius stared at the photograph, his mouth hanging open.

"Where did you get this?" Remus said sharply.

"Colin took it," Harry replied. "You know Colin Creevey, right?"

It took a moment for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to connect the name with the student. "Fourth year, Gryffindor. The one who always has the cam--"

"The camera," Sirius interrupted him. His hands were shaking so violently that he could barely hold the photograph. His eyes were dazed, unseeing. "The Muggle-born boy with the camera. My god, Remus...do you know what this means?"

"But when did he take it?" Remus said, taking the photo from Sirius's hands before he could damage it.

"On the train," Hermione said. "He was on the train, and he took the picture--"

Ron took over from her. "But the Aurors put a Memory Charm on everyone but us, so he didn't remember it--"

Ginny cut in, quickly, "And he sent it to Harry because he thought--"

"Because he thought I would know what it was, and what to do with it." Harry was sweating: his palms were damp and clammy and were leaving smudges on the other two photographs. "This is what you need, isn't it, Sirius? This proves that you were innocent the whole time...that you didn't kill Wormtail."

"'Cause for someone who's supposed to be dead, he sure felt alive to me," Ron said, pulling down the collar of his robe and rubbing his throat tenderly. The marks of grasping fingers were slowly fading, green and yellow round the edges but deep purple in the centres.

Something snapped deep in Sirius's eyes. With a roar, he sprang forward and grabbed Harry, crushing him in a hug so violent that the younger boy let out a high squeak of shock.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" Sirius crowed, spinning round and round in dizzying circles, carrying Harry with him in his ecstatic fit. "Harry, Harry, Harry, HARRY! This is it! This--is--IT! We've got that bastard for good and all! Lock him up in Azkaban and throw away the key! Ha HA!"

Harry barely had a chance to return the embrace before Sirius was off, whirling about the room, capering nimbly on his toes, dancing a jig in his ratty dressing gown and slippers, grabbing a very startled Remus and attempting to do an Argentine tango with him--and laughing merrily the whole time, happier than they had ever seen him.

The happiness was contagious. Hermione and Ginny were laughing with him, clapping their hands delightedly at his exuberant and ungainly dances. In its tank, the Grindylow poked its head out of its weed- covered habitat, alarmed by the uproar. Ron grinned broadly at Harry as Sirius waltzed by, dragging a feebly protesting Remus with him as he sang tunelessly at the top of his voice.

The celebrations had reached a fever pitch when all of a sudden Hermione gasped, clapping her hand to her face.

"Wait, wait!" she cried out.

Sirius stopped abruptly in mid-polka, and Remus almost fell over his own feet. Ron and Ginny's smiles faded like sunlight behind a dark cloud. Five pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

"What is it?" Harry said, dreading what he would hear.

Hermione stared back at him, her face troubled. "Harry, Muggle courts won't accept photographs as evidence anymore. It's...it's too easy to tamper with them, if you know how to do it. So if wizarding courts are anything like Muggle ones, they could say that you made this photograph yourself."

"*Made* it?" Ginny echoed. "But how?"

"I don't know. That's just what I've read. 'Photographic evidence of crimes may be inadmissible in a court of law'."

Harry shook his head. "Not if we've got the negatives and someone who can develop them. Colin has them, and we have Colin."

"Or we will, once classes start again," Ron added.

"But they wouldn't accept it as proof," Hermione countered stubbornly. "Not *legally*."

"Forget the courts!" Sirius said scornfully. "Forget legal! Who gives a damn if they won't take it?" He pointed to the photograph still clutched in Remus's hands, now rather worse for the wear. "Put that picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet and THEN see who cares about proof!"

"Sirius, please--" Remus began.

"Oh, shut up, Moony!" Sirius barked. "Go and do something useful-- get the fastest owl they've got in the Owlery." The dazed delight returned to his face, and he crooned, "That lovely, BEAUTIFUL snap's going to the Daily Prophet, special delivery! Stop the...what do they say in the newspapers when there's a really big story?"

"'Stop the presses'?" Hermione offered timorously.

"YES!" he shouted, punching his fist in the air. "Stop the presses! Hold the front page! Make way for the biggest scoop of the cen--!"

The triumphant shout died on his lips as he spun round and saw Professor McGonagall standing in the now-open doorway.

The photograph slipped from Remus's hand and landed on the ground, face down.

Hermione let out a little cry and stumbled backward, bumping into Harry. Harry stumbled as well, but used the opportunity to bend down and snatch the dropped photograph. As he straightened up, he stuffed it and the other two pictures that Colin had taken into his robes.

Professor McGonagall didn't notice his fast retrieval. She was rather more preoccupied by the sight of a convicted, escaped murderer standing in the middle of a Hogwarts professor's office, clad only in pyjamas. Her eyes widened, and one hand flew to her throat, but she quickly recovered.

"May I borrow Harry for a moment, Professor Lupin?" she asked, quite calmly.

It took Remus two tries before he found his voice. "A...A...Of course, Minerva."

Harry hurried forward as McGonagall held out a thin white envelope.

"This letter just arrived for you, Mr. Potter" she said. "By express Muggle post."

"Muggle...?" A letter by Muggle post could only be from Will. An express letter...an express letter meant that it was urgent. He took it from her and tore into it, pulling out the letter with hands made clumsy by nervousness.

Dear Mr. Potter [it read],

I am sitting in my office with a very fidgety owl beside me, waiting for me to hurry up and pen a reply to a most pressing letter from Minister Dumbledore. But before I reply to his query (which you needn't worry about just yet), I wanted to get this letter out to you before the postman comes. I'll have to keep this brief.

There will be no meetings this week, either Monday or Thursday evening. Mr. Longbottom is in no fit condition to be casting spells, though by Monday week he should be well enough for us to resume our sessions. However, we (and yes, I do mean 'we') have been asked by the Minister to attend a meeting that same Monday at 7.30 PM, in his office at Hogwarts. Don't worry, it will be nothing like the last one. There will be no trials or testing--only questions.

By now, I'm guessing that you've discovered the identity of your last companion. You should have no difficulty getting him to your 'study session' by 7.00. I will be waiting for you--all six of you--there.

I remain, in haste, Will Stanton

Harry slowly folded the letter. His mind was racing.

"Is it about your aunt and uncle?" Sirius asked hoarsely, in hushed tones.

"No," Harry said. "It's nothing."

Remus's eyes narrowed. "Harry...."

"It can wait until Monday week."

"Monday week?"

"Next Monday evening," he said meaningfully, returning Remus's level gaze. "At seven-thirty. In Professor...in Minister Dumbledore's office."

Sirius started. "How do you--"

Remus cut him off. "Monday it is," he said deliberately. "Will you tell us what's going on then?"

"Yes," Harry replied, hoping with all his heart that that statement would not turn out to be a lie.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "If you've no further business here, children, I will escort you back to your common room."

"We're done, Professor," he said.

"Finished, you mean?" she corrected automatically.

"Yes."

With that, the four Gryffindors shuffled out of the office, not daring to look at Professor McGonagall or each other. Remus and Sirius were left standing next to each other, staring after them.

"Until Monday, Harry," Remus called out. His voice cracked slightly on Harry's name.

The office door swung closed.

        *        *        *

Harry thought that he'd never make it through the full Easter week. He woke up early every morning and didn't fall asleep until late at night, kept awake by the nervous buzzings and flutterings in his stomach. It was an effort to maintain a show of normality, to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. He played chess with Ron and lost every time, played countless games of One-handed Exploding Snap with Neville and lost almost every time. At least the losing was normal enough, but he could have played better if his mind had been even remotely focused on the games.

Ginny occasionally joined her brother and her friends for their daily pastimes, but Hermione didn't seem to be interested. She spent quite a lot of time sitting before the common room fire, holding Crookshanks in her lap and stroking his fur absently. Harry or Ron or Ginny would have to call her name several times before she heard them, and even then her responses were vague, half-hearted. After this had happened three nights running, they gave up on asking her anything and let her alone. She didn't notice.

Their explanations for her odd behaviour varied. Ron proclaimed that Hermione was going through what he expertly called 'a mood'. Ginny said (with some superiority and a good deal more authority) that it was a 'woman's thing', and that the boys should leave her be and quit pestering her. Neville shrugged and accepted their explanations, and after a while so did Harry. Hermione could take care of herself--he was more concerned with how to approach Colin when he returned from the holiday.

He had written to Colin the moment he got back to his room on Easter Monday morning. The note he had sent was a short one:

Colin,

I got the pictures just this morning. Don't feel bad about sending them-- you did the right thing. I can't explain it all right now, not in a letter, but we can talk about it when you get back to Hogwarts.

Harry

P.S.: Could you make a few more copies of those three pictures? Muggle-style copies are fine. And could you bring the negatives of the pictures with you when you come back to school? It's very important--please keep it secret, and don't let your parents or anyone else know.

He hoped that would be enough to keep Colin busy for the week. He knew that if he specifically requested copies of the pictures, Colin would slave over the prints to get them as perfect as possible. The younger boy's hero-worship wasn't as obvious anymore, but there was no denying that it was still there.

At the same time, he sent a few lines to Will as well, using a plain barn owl instead of Hedwig and marking the letter for Muggle-style postal delivery for greater security.

Dear Will,

I got your letter...I hope this reaches you safely. Just in case it doesn't (though you wouldn't be reading this if it didn't, but you never know), I won't say anything about you know what, but I promise we'll be ready.

Sincerely, Harry Potter

He very nearly added a postscript to that letter, saying something along the lines of "You knew, didn't you? You knew that someone-- that Colin had taken those pictures on the train," but he decided against it. Something like that would be too difficult to put into words without giving too much away, and if the letter were to be intercepted before Will could receive it...no, better to wait until Monday.

If he could wait until Monday.

The stress he had laid on secrecy in his letter ensured that Colin wouldn't run up to him, demanding to know everything about everything, as soon as school started again. What he hadn't guessed was that Colin would take his request for secrecy to heart. The younger boy said nothing about photographs or meetings or anything like that. The school day on Monday passed without him saying so much as greeting Harry in the hall.

*Trust Colin to go overboard,* Harry thought wryly.

He quietly pulled Ron, Hermione, and Neville aside after lunch and told them to be in the little room off the library by quarter to seven at the very latest. Ron promised to let Ginny know, and the four of them split up immediately, not wanting to be noticed whispering in corridors.

Harry made the first move after dinner. Colin was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. He looked up as Harry walked by, and a small, shy light danced with excitement in his eyes.

"Hey, Colin," Harry said casually. "Are you busy this evening?"

"No, not really." Colin was equally nonchalant. "Why?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione and Neville and I were planning to do some revising for the O.W.L.s tonight, and I heard that you just finished covering localised Heating and Cooling Charms in class today. How'd you like to practise them with us tonight?"

Colin's entire face lit up in a way that made Harry's heart ache. On any other person it might have been for show, a deception to fool anyone who might be watching them, but no one could fake that degree of sheer delight.

"Wow!" he said. "That'd be smashing!"

"Come on, then," Harry said, already heading for the door. "We want to start by seven."

Colin shoved his books aside and leapt to his feet. "Sure!"

They left the common room and hurried through the halls, heading in the direction of the library. Colin kept up a steady stream of talk, yammering on about this and that, not noticing or caring that Harry was quiet, monosyllabic in his replies.

Soon enough, they reached the little room off the library.

"Is this where you go?" Colin asked, looking up at Harry. "I've never been in this room before. Is it nice?"

"Not many people know about it," Harry replied. "It's nice enough."

He pointed his wand at the lock and muttered a special charm that only he and the others knew. After Snape and McGonagall's unexpected visit, they had charmed the door so that it would only open for the five of them. He pushed on the door and let it swing open.

The fire was already lit, glowing in the grate with jewel-like colours of reds and oranges and golds. Seven chairs had been drawn up to the long table, and the others were seated round it; Ginny and Ron on one side, Hermione and Neville on the other. The two chairs closest to the fire, on either side, were empty, as was the one at the far end of the table.

"Hi!" Colin said brightly.

No one responded to his greeting. Their faces were serious, their manner no-nonsense and grave.

Colin's bright smile faltered slightly.

"Is everything ready?" Harry asked, ushering Colin into the room.

"Whenever you are," Ron said quietly. There was no mistaking his tone--he was deferring to Harry, allowing him to take charge.

"What's ready?" For the first time, Colin seemed to grasp that this wasn't an ordinary revising session, and that Harry wasn't planning to talk about localised Heating and Cooling Charms. Uncertainty and nervousness flickered across his face. "Harry?"

The four Gryffindors seated round the table stood up as one, rising to their feet in a gesture that looked expertly choreographed, perfectly timed. Harry knew that it hadn't been planned, but even so it was physically impressive. He heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath; one could only guess the impression it had made on Colin.

He walked over to the mirror and stood in a position that would shield Colin from the full force of the flare of light. Extending his hand, he touched the intricately carved wood of the frame. He didn't look back at the younger boy, but kept his eyes fixed on the mirror.

When the mist cleared he saw that Will was standing beside his desk, holding his academical gown aloft and running a hand over it in an attempt to manually smooth out the wrinkles in the black fabric.

"Right on time," he said. He draped the gown over the back of his desk chair and approached the mirror with a smooth, measured tread. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded a brief hello in return.

Will's gaze roamed across the assembled students for a moment before coming to rest on the steadily widening eyes of Colin Creevey.

"And to you also, young man," he added, smiling genially.

"Will," Harry said, feeling that it was up to him to make the necessary introductions, "this is Colin Creevey. He's Muggle-born, a fourth year in Gryffindor." Feeling that that had gone well, he turned to Colin and said, rather more grandly than he had intended it to sound, "Colin, this is Professor Will Stanton of Cambridge University."

Colin stared. His eyes were as wide as Harry had ever seen them.

Will spoke lightly. "So you're the lad with a knack for photography."

There was a flash of blind panic in Colin's eyes.

"I really wish I could have you take my next driving licence photo." Will's voice was gentle, self-mocking in an attempt to prevent that flash of panic from flaring out of control. "Maybe then I wouldn't come out looking like I'd sneezed in the middle of the snap, as it were."

Colin bit down on his lip, hard.

Will glanced sideways at Harry. "What exactly *did* you tell him?"

"I...I didn't know where to start," Harry said lamely.

"You're slacking on me, Mr. Potter." There was only a faint note of reproof in that statement; the words were harsher than the tone. "I'd have thought--"

There was another flash in Colin's eyes--this time, of recognition. "You were at Dennis's...at my brother's funeral."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as his stomach turned in on itself. Squirming against the tension that had tightened the air in the room, he stared down at the floor, only looking up again when he heard Will's soft reply:

"Yes, I was."

Colin stared at Will pensively, in the frank, disconcerting way that very young children often have when they assess the trustworthiness of an unknown adult.

"Mum didn't know who you were," he said bluntly. "You didn't look like one of Dad's friends from work--my dad's a milkman, and you don't look like a milkman--and most of our other relatives live far away, out in Australia and places like that, and they couldn't come. Dad actually thought you were the new vicar for a bit, at least 'til he saw you didn't have a collar."

"Vicar, you say?" Will raised an thoughtful eyebrow. "That's a new one. Though I'm not entirely sure I like it."

"You were there," Colin said, as if Will hadn't spoken. He was in another place, much farther away than Australia or the lands where long-forgotten relatives lived. "But I asked them about it a little later, later that night, and they didn't remember it. They didn't remember you at all."

He seemed to turn his words over in his head. "I thought I had dreamt about you being there." A tremor shook his lower lip. "I have a lot of dreams about it. About that day. Sometimes I don't know what was a dream and what wasn't."

Harry heard someone behind him sniffle quietly--it sounded like Ginny.

Will looked sad, and very old. "I'm very sorry."

"You were in the picture, too." Colin changed the topic so quickly that Harry coughed, startled. "The one I took even though I don't remember taking it. How come it didn't work when I developed it the wizarding way?"

"Certain types of magic are simply not compatible," said Will, slipping into a lecturing tone for a moment before he paused, continuing in a less severe manner. "My power may interfere with the magic used in the developing process--but then again, I don't know enough about wizarding photography myself to try and explain it properly. But as for Muggle photographs...."

"...they wouldn't detect the magic," Colin finished, picking up the idea. "They'd only detect the light."

Will's smile returned, more wistful this time. "That's quite poetic."

"Is it?"

"I think so."

"Colin," Harry said suddenly, "what he's trying to say is...is...." Lost, he looked to Will for help, better phrasing, anything that would salvage his position, but the Old One merely smiled down at him in his most maddeningly placid way.

"Don't make me do your job for you, Mr. Potter," he said, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at Harry over the top of his glasses.

"Right." Dejectedly, Harry started over. "We--me and Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Neville, that is--we've been working together all school year, trying to find the way to defeat Voldemort. And Will-- Professor Stanton, I mean--he's been helping us, because he knows all about Dark magic."

"But he's not a wizard," Colin said.

Ginny went very white, and Ron gave a choked squawk. Neville looked like he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his hands and die. Hermione seemed to be suppressing hysterical laughter.

"No," Will admitted logically, "I'm not. It puts me at a terrible disadvantage, I know, but we all have our shortcomings."

Harry couldn't tell whether or not that was supposed to be a joke, but he didn't want to wait and hear Colin's reply. "He's immortal, Colin. I don't have time to explain all of it now, but you'll have to trust me on this."

"Trust you?" said Colin, looking from Harry to Will and back again. "Trust you about what?"

"We need your help, Mr. Creevey." Will had apparently decided to rescue Harry from his predicament. "We need you to help us drive the Dark Lord back once and for all. It is your choice; I cannot force you in this matter. But we need your help."

"What do I have to do?" Colin asked with the swiftness of one who had made his choice a long time ago.

Harry glanced back at his friends, and they quickly took their positions on either side of the mirror. Hermione and Ginny guided Colin to stand beside them on their side.

"Just watch us, and you'll see what to do," Harry said. He touched the frame again, and declared: "Enter, Watchman of the Light."

They took up the chant as the tingling sensation of ancient power stirred in their blood.

"Grant to us your inner sight."

"Enter, for the time draws near."

"Power will erase our fear."

"Enter, lest the darkness win."

Colin's voice was as resolute as the others. He stood tall beside Hermione and Ginny, smiling with a fierce confidence and pride. "We the Six now call you in."

The carved symbols that edged the wooden frame blazed even more brilliantly than before, shining like starlight and sunlight and the brightest moonlight all combined.

When they could see again, Will stood before them in the little room, looking serious but pleased. His blue-grey eyes were serene, but just beneath the calm surface was an intense glow that burned brighter than any flame.

"And then there were six?" Ginny said softly, though it was hard to tell whether she was asking Will, her friends, or herself.

"When the Dark comes Rising, six shall turn it back." Will spoke as if in a dream. "And now that your Circle is complete, the last and hardest part of this battle may begin."

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ August 4th, 2002