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 Thirty-One - The Gathering Storm

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Who is the god that fashions enchantments - - the enchantment of battle and the winds of change?

    -- The Song of Amairgen, Leabhar Gabhála (Book of Invasions)

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The very first order of business that Will had planned was to properly bring Colin into the Six. Dumbledore's emergency meeting had taken priority on Monday evening, but now it was time for Colin to experience the more formal rituals that Harry and the others had already gone through.

Harry wished that he had had the foresight to talk to Colin beforehand, to tell him exactly what joining the Circle would entail. He knew the formalities wouldn't be painful, but Colin didn't know that. And Will Stanton was undeniably intimidating, despite his mild-mannered nature.

Small wonder, then, that at that moment Colin was sitting very stiffly on the edge of his chair, awaiting whatever would come with all the enjoyment of a second-year student sitting Professor Snape's first exam of the year.

From somewhere within his robes Will produced a small, battered leather pouch that was immediately familiar to the other Gryffindors. He undid the thin cord that held it closed and tipped the pouch upside-down over his hand. A single light-coloured stone, no larger than the ball of his thumb, dropped into his open palm.

"Keep this with you at all times," he ordered, placing the stone in Colin's hand and curling the young boy's fingers around it. "Your colleagues have them as well. In the immediate presence of the Dark this warestone will grow very cold, too cold to touch. A special spell will also cause it to vibrate slightly if it detects the residual magic of an Unforgivable Curse."

Colin glanced down at his closed fist with wary eyes, as he might have looked at the very first wand that Mr. Ollivander placed in his hand.

"It won't bite you," Will said. Gentle humour warmed his voice. "But do take care if you try using it for anything other than its intended purposes. We've had one too many unexpected reactions to risk another such incident."

Harry cringed at his carefully chosen words, sliding down a fraction of an inch in his seat. Hermione remained upright in her chair, but her face looked oddly pinched, as if she had eaten something that had turned out to be unexpectedly sour. Ron was scowling openly, not even bothering to look ashamed. Neville was pointedly avoiding all eye contact with his classmates. The only exception to their collective discomfort was Ginny, who was holding her hand in front of her mouth to conceal what was obviously a self-satisfied smirk.

"Thank you," Colin said, though he didn't sound at all thankful. He slipped the stone into his pocket.

Will tucked the empty bag back into his robes and held out a hand, a gesture of assistance that was both offer and command. "There is one thing left for you to do, if the Circle is to be completed tonight."

Colin took the outstretched hand and got to his feet--slowly. He allowed Will to lead him over to stand before the fire, but he moved as if he was wading through chest-high water. He seemed to be feeling for each footing, uncertain of his steps.

Hermione, seeing Colin's uneasiness, tentatively raised her hand and started to say, "Shouldn't we all--"

"The five of you have already forged the link," Will said, stopping her question in mid-sentence. With his free hand, he swept his cloak back and away from one shoulder, the midnight blue material falling in folds across his back. "Adding one more person to it requires less effort on my part than trying to synchronise five others at the same time. And Mr. Creevey will need a little time to adjust to the magic on his own."

Colin looked like he didn't want to adjust to anything. In fact, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it was only Will's firm grip on Colin's hand that was keeping the younger boy from outright panic.

Before Hermione or anyone else could respond, Will had taken Colin's other hand, and in the same movement knelt down on one knee. With Will kneeling, the young wizard and the Old One were just eye to eye.

"Can you stand very still for me?" he asked in a low voice, holding Colin's gaze steadily.

Colin gave him the tiniest of nods in reply.

The Old One nodded back. "Very good. Keep quite still, then. Take some nice deep breaths and allow yourself to relax."

Harry smiled inwardly. Colin was small for his age, about the same height as Ginny and a good half a head shorter than Harry or Neville. Normally, Will would have towered over him, and it didn't take any great amount of perceptiveness to realise that the height difference only served to add to Colin's nervousness. But by meeting the younger boy at eye level, Will made the whole thing seem less like an ordeal and more like a secret that would pass between friends...and equals.

The token gesture seemed to be having an effect. Colin was visibly relaxing with every passing second. His hunched shoulders dropped, his breathing evened out, and his posture went from one of awkward rigidity to a more easy, natural stance.

"Yes, that's right," Will said softly, voice and face as tranquil as a still pool of water. "You're doing quite well. Just stand very still now and clear your mind, let go of any outside thoughts or distractions...."

As Will continued to speak in the same hushed tones, Harry found himself struggling to stay awake. He was sitting nearer the fire than the others, and the drowsy warmth radiating from the grate blended with Will's voice, wrapping him in a soothing blanket of dreamy peacefulness. His eyelids were twin lead weights, pulling him down into a warm darkness that was filled with feather-light, hypnotic echoes of words that had dissolved into the shadows.

Yet just as he was about to nod off, he felt something *click* inside him.

It wasn't the kind of click he felt when he suddenly understood or realised something important; it was too strong, too forceful for that. He felt the click in his body as well as his mind--a sensation as unmistakeable as the feeling of a painfully dislocated joint sliding back into place, or a stray puzzle piece fitting neatly into its slot. It felt *good*, so good that Harry's heart gave a skip and began to pound faster.

He opened his eyes, his heartbeat singing in his ears, and his gaze went immediately to Colin and Will.

Will's tranquil expression had not altered by so much as a hair, but Colin had the look of a small boy who had woken up early on Christmas morning and discovered his overstuffed stocking draped neatly across the foot of his bed. A dazzled smile glowed on his face, but his gaze was strangely vacant, not focused on anything or anyone.

Harry was startled for a moment, but a moment later he understood the reason for Colin's unseeing eyes.

*H...h...hello.*

Breathy and hesitant, the younger boy's voice drifted shyly into his mind. Harry could feel him fumble a little as he adjusted to the newness of it all.

*Are you all right there?* he heard Will ask, directing the question to Colin but allowing all of them to hear.

Colin's response came a little more smoothly. *Fine, sir.*

Will made a muted noise of approval. *Good to hear it. And just to be absolutely certain...Miss Granger, could you hear him clearly when he answered my question?*

*Perfectly, sir,* Hermione replied immediately.

"Excellent," Will said grandly, speaking aloud once more. He patted Colin on the shoulder. "You may sit down now, Mr. Creevey."

Colin blinked once or twice, collecting himself, then obediently trotted the few steps back to his seat. His chair was directly opposite Harry's, and Harry grinned at him as he sat down. Colin returned the grin, a little unsteadily but no less brightly.

Will straightened up, wincing a little as he did so. Being down on one knee for so long could not have been comfortable. He looked glad to finally sit down in his chair, where he could stretch out his legs and feel the warmth of the fire at his back.

"Speaking with one another in that fashion works best when all of you are in the same room, or within sight of each other," he said to them, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. "It's a very limited form of telepathy, but it is a means of communication that the Dark cannot break into. With enough practice it should come fairly easily to you. However, I don't recommend using it unless it is clearly an emergency."

"Because the Dark can detect us if we use it?" Neville guessed. A thin line of worry creased his forehead.

"Well, that," Will said, "and you'd likely end up with a headache if you kept it up for too long." His mouth twitched; he couldn't fully hide a smile. "It has its uses, though."

He paused long enough to marshal his thoughts, then tapped his fingers together lightly.

"Now that the Six are together at last, we can start to deepen your existing--"--and he used a long, strange-sounding word that flowed into and out of Harry's mind like water--"to make full use of your power."

He waited, expecting nods of confirmation and understanding, but all he saw were six equally blank stares.

"I...I'm sorry?" Neville stammered at last.

Will frowned at the bewilderment on their faces, but the frown quickly faded into an almost shamefaced expression.

"Ah," he said quietly, looking very ill at ease. "Forgive me. I'm so used to...the word doesn't really have a proper English equivalent. It doesn't have an equivalent in any modern language I can think of, either. I suppose the closest trans--"

"But it sounded like...." Ginny began, interrupting him.

"Yes?" he said.

"Like it was a...like you were...." Words failed her, and she ducked her head, embarrassed. "I don't know."

Hermione said impulsively, "It almost sounded like something from Charms class...but not really."

"Latin?" Now Will looked confused. "It sounded like Latin to you?"

"No!" she said hastily. She pressed her lips together, biting down on her thoughts. "Well, yes, sort of, but it wasn't...."

Ginny made another attempt. "It...it *sounded* like a normal word, like something I'd heard before, but it got all muddled up in my head. Like I wasn't hearing it right...."

She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. "And that didn't come out right at all, did it."

Her response did sound strange when said aloud, but Harry knew what she was trying to say. Trying to describe what he had heard was like trying to answer a tricky question on a Charms exam--the proper spell was right there on the tip of his tongue, but the more he strained to recall it the farther the answer receded into the darker corners of his memory.

"She's right," he said. His voice sounded shrill in his ears. "I felt it, too. Like I wasn't hearing it right, I mean."

Ginny shot him a grateful look, smiling at him.

Harry tried to smile back, but what came out felt more like a grimace. What he *hadn't* said aloud was that the word Will had used had, in his own mind, sounded something like English, and something like Latin...and something like Parseltongue. There was a sibilant quality to it that had conjured up old, bad memories of the Chamber of Secrets and made returning Ginny's smile next to impossible.

Unable to look Ginny fully in the eye, he glanced at Will. The Old One had removed his glasses and was holding them up to the light, seemingly checking for spots. He seemed to be deep in contemplation, so the children remained silent, waiting patiently--and uncomfortably, as the moments dragged on.

"Come to think of it, that doesn't surprise me," he said after what felt like an unnaturally long silence. "Considering that you--well, to put it plainly, you're hearing something in between English and the older languages you use for casting spells. It's your mind's way of sorting things out, trying to change the word into something you could understand. Does that make any sense?"

The children nodded, cautiously. It sounded reasonable enough, if only because they couldn't explain it any better themselves.

Will slipped his glasses back on, resettling them on his nose. "Truthfully, I wouldn't read too much into it if I were you," he said. "All languages, in a sense, come from the Old Speech, though non-magical folk lost the ability to understand it long ago. Even most witches and wizards would hear only nonsense syllables. But the fact that you could understand it--even in part--is a great comfort to me. It proves beyond a doubt that the Light has marked you as one of its own."

He gave Harry a sidelong glance as he said the last sentence, and Harry felt a little better when he realised what the Old One was trying to tell him.

"As I was saying," he continued, "the nearest equivalent in modern English would be something along the lines of 'contact', or possibly 'connection'. But you could say that it goes past that, describing something far more complex than the simple mental link the six of you currently possess."

He pushed his chair back and stood, drawing his robes closer about him. "You'll understand it more in practice, I think."

He motioned to them to stand up. Once they were on their feet, he raised his right arm and made a peculiar gesture with his hand.

The long table and all seven chairs vanished in the blink of an eye.

The sudden change was rather disorienting. With all the furniture gone, the little room didn't look so little anymore. It felt much larger, and the children felt much smaller standing in it.

"The basics of your magical training will come in handy," Will said. "Concentrating on the spell, not allowing distractions to break your focus. But you need to practise together."

He stepped to one side. "If you would be so kind as to make a circle, facing inward, and join hands...except you, Mr. Potter," he said when Harry started to follow his friends. "Stand here for now, beside me."

Baffled, Harry hung back and watched as the others formed a circle in a manner that reminded him, oddly enough, of the Yule Ball two Christmases before. There was a pause where no one seemed to know how or where to move, but after a second of hanging back Ron grabbed his sister's hand and strode into the centre of the room, pulling her along after him.

Once Ron had taken the initiative, everyone else followed. Neville quickly moved to stand beside Ron. Hermione took the empty spot on Neville's other side, and Colin slipped in between Hermione and Ginny. The five of them joined hands, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and craned their necks to look back at Will expectantly.

The Old One studied the arrangement with a critical eye. He pressed his index finger to his lips, tapping them gently as he thought.

"Hm," he said finally. "Not...quite. Mr. Creevey, if you would please switch places with Mr. Weasley? And do allow yourselves enough space to feel comfortable--two steps backward should do it."

Colin and Ron did as they were asked. Once they were in place, the five of them took the requested two steps backward, widening the circle.

"Better," Will said absently, as if he was approving a rearrangement of the now non-existent furniture, rather than that of the children. "Yes, that will do nicely."

Harry gazed hard at his friends, trying to look like he knew exactly what Will had in mind. Ron was now farthest away from the fire, facing him and Will. Ginny was to her brother's right. Then (following the circle anti-clockwise) came Colin, then Neville, and finally Hermione to Ron's left. He knew there was a pattern behind their positions-- Will never did anything without a reason--but try as he might he could not come up with one that seemed to fit.

He was sunk so deep in his search for the pattern that he only caught the end of Will's next statement--or rather, question:

"...to explain why I made that change?"

No one's hand went up, not even Hermione's.

"No ideas?" He raised an amused eyebrow. "Strange. Well, we'll try a little experiment, then. Mr. Creevey, Mr. Weasley, if you would be so good as to return to your original positions?"

Colin and Ron exchanged glances, then silently changed places again. Now Colin was the one facing the fire, standing between Hermione and Ginny, and Ron was on Ginny's other side.

Once they had rejoined hands, Will gave his next command.

"Close your eyes and concentrate on the hands of the person on either side of you," he said. "Just their hands, nothing else. See what happens."

Harry shut his eyes as well, wondering if he would feel anything. He listened intently, ears pricked for any sound, but there was only silence. For a second, he thought about activating the mental link to see what he was missing, but he quickly came to the conclusion that doing so would not be wise...certainly not with Will standing right next to him.

Ten seconds passed, then twenty. Half a minute had gone by and he had neither heard nor felt a thing.

*If something was supposed to happen, it would have happened by now,* he said to himself, and opened his eyes.

Will was leaning against the mantelpiece, his arms folded across his chest. His friends were still standing in their circle, still holding hands, their expressions a mixture of bewilderment and open confusion. Nothing had changed.

"Well?" Will said, prompting.

Colin was first to answer. "That was *weird*."

"It--*tickled*," added Ginny, taking great care to choose the right word. "Just a little bit."

Hermione, ever precise, tried to give a more specific description. "It felt rather like static electricity."

Neville blinked. "Static what?"

"Static electricity," Harry said, before Hermione could answer. He had been feeling left out of things; Neville's question had given him an excuse to leap back into the conversation. "Like when you touch a door handle and you get a shock."

"Oh," said Neville.

"And that was all you felt?" Will asked. He didn't sound disappointed or angry; he asked the question as if he already knew the answer.

Their reply came in a mixed chorus of "Yes" and "Yes, sir."

"Then Mr. Creevey and Mr. Weasley will switch places once more and you will try it again. This will be the last time, I promise."

Shoes shuffled across stone as Colin and Ron changed positions. Ron took his place between Hermione and Ginny and turned around, and in doing so met Harry's gaze. He glanced at Will, then back at Harry, and tilted his head a fraction of an inch as if to ask, *What's he playing at?*

Harry lifted his shoulders just enough to indicate that he had no idea, either. He was starting to feel rather silly, standing around like an unwelcome party guest while Ron and Colin danced back and forth across the room. What was more, his back was to the fire, and his neck and shoulders had grown uncomfortably hot. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

Will cleared his throat. "As I said before, I want you to concentrate on the hands--"

And all of a sudden, Harry's hands began to tingle.

"--of the person next to you."

A crackle--if it was possible for one to feel a crackle instead of hearing it--of energy shot through his hands from wrists to fingertips, and the tingle intensified.

"The way their fingers feel in yours--"

The tingle became a pressure, and from the feel of it he could have sworn that someone, a real someone, had grasped his hands. There was weight, and soft warmth, and an almost bony firmness between thumb and palm and around the side where the other person's fingers curled--would curl--over his own.

"--the shape of their palms, the texture of their skin--"

He wanted to open his eyes, but he was afraid to, because he knew his brain would never be able to come to terms with the fact that there was no one near him and nothing in his hands.

"--their hands, nothing else."

There *was* nothing else. The heat on his back, the tense neck muscles left over from Quidditch practice (could it really have been earlier that day?), the ache that had started to creep into the arches of his feet from standing for so long, all of that had dwindled down to nothing.

"...and now...let go."

The ghost hands disappeared.

Harry nearly cried out, startled by the loss. His hands clenched reflexively. He grabbed only air.

He opened his eyes at the same time that the others did. Still standing in their open circle with their hands at their sides, his friends looked as if they had just finished a lengthy round dance or a children's game. Their faces were flushed, and the colour was high in their cheeks.

"What WAS that?" Neville whispered, awe-struck.

"'That', Mr. Longbottom," Will replied casually, "was a properly connected circuit. A far more effective use of your collective magical abilities than 'static electricity'."

He took Harry by the shoulder and walked him forward. "And if Mr. Potter were to join you in this particular arrangement...say, by standing here--"--and he guided Harry between Neville and Colin and gently pushed him into the centre of their circle--"--you might find that you've more magical ability at your command than you could have ever imagined. But I think you've done enough for tonight."

For the second time that night, all the children could do was stare blankly at him.

The Old One cocked his head to one side and gave them one of his more inscrutable smiles. "After all, you'll need a little time to adjust to the magic on your own."

Dazedly, the children drifted away from the centre of the room, wandering toward the door. Will waited until they had all reached the far side of the room, and then conjured the table and chairs back into place with a pass of his hand.

"Come Monday, we will work with this more intensely," he said. In three strides, he had left his place by the fire and was beside the mirror. "In preparation, I want all of you to eat properly for the next few days. No more skipping meals, do you hear?"

Next to Harry, Ron stiffened, and Colin drew a sharp breath. Harry was too preoccupied rubbing his hands together, trying to get rid of the clutching feeling that had lingered on his palms, to actually hear the reprimand.

Will nodded to the six children in their huddled group, pointed to the mirror and uttered a single word.

The flare of white light from the intricately carved pattern on the wooden frame seared their eyes. By the time they had blinked and rubbed the worst of the glare away, Will was gone, and the glass of the mirror was ordinary reflective glass once more.

        *        *        *

Morning post was always something of an event at Hogwarts. Even students who weren't expecting letters or parcels from home looked forward to it, eagerly awaiting the flurry of wings and the shower of paper. The sleepy mumble of conversation would rise in pitch and volume as the owls rushed into the Great Hall, a steady din that would be punctuated with laughter and shouts once the post started to rain down. It was often hard to hear the voice of the person next to you over the thin rip of envelopes being opened, the crackling of brown paper wrapping being wadded up and tossed aside, and the rustle of fresh copies of the Daily Prophet being passed from hand to hand. But since most of the teachers took breakfast in their rooms in the morning, no one really cared about the noise. It was all part of the morning at Hogwarts.

At the Gryffindor table, six heads looked to the enchanted ceiling, watching the owls.

Hermione and Neville merely glanced up; they were first to go back to eating. Neither was expecting letters from home that day. Across from them, Ginny watched the owls in flight for a moment longer before she too returned to her meal. Harry never received owls, but he always liked watching the post come in. It was one of the most magical sights at Hogwarts, and no matter how many mornings went by it never failed to take his breath away. Most of the owls had departed by the time he dragged his gaze from the ceiling.

Fred and George, however, looked like they wanted nothing more than to chase after the owls, race after them on their brooms across the rich blueness of the cloud-dotted sky. Their heads stayed up longest, and only Harry, sitting across the table from them, heard the faint, wistful sighs they made when the last tawny owl disappeared.

Ron, sitting between Harry and Ginny, was the only one who had not looked up when the post arrived. Instead, he had been wrestling with an overflowing pot of honey and had come out the worse for it--his hands were liberally smeared with the sticky syrup. But just as he started to use the edge of his butter knife to scrape at his fingers, a plain brown post owl darted in through one of the high windows, swooped low over the Gryffindor table, and neatly dropped a letter beside his plate.

He looked down at the letter, then at his hands.

"It figures," he said grumpily.

Nibbling on her toast, Ginny leaned over to get a better look at the envelope.

"Hey, it's from Percy!" she exclaimed.

"Well, would you look at that." George reached across the table and picked up the letter. He turned it over, studying the scarlet wax seal on the flap. "Ministry paper and all."

Fred cautiously sipped his tea, then added another lump of sugar from the bowl in front of him. "I'm surprised he didn't mark it 'Official: Private and Confidential'."

"Why would he do that?" asked Harry.

"Well, let's put it this way," Fred said. "When he started at the Ministry, the first few times he owled a letter to say he'd be home late for dinner he stamped it 'Most Secret'."

Hermione nearly dropped a spoonful of marmalade into her tea. "You're joking."

"We only wish," George said with a snort. He tossed the letter back onto the table.

"We went through two weeks of it before Crouch finally found out and put a stop to it," Ron said. He abandoned the butter knife, and used the tips of his little fingers to gingerly pick up his napkin. "Said Perce was running the Ministry owls ragged."

Fred suddenly looked thoughtful. "Speaking of owls, that wasn't Hermes, was it?"

George tilted his head back, searching the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall, but all the post owls had departed. He turned to his twin and shrugged. "Didn't look like it."

"That's odd," said Ron. "Why wouldn't he use Hermes?"

"Is anyone actually going to OPEN it?" Ginny said loudly.

Ron glanced at the letter, then back down at his honey-coated hands and the now honey-coated napkin he held in them.

"You do it, Gin," he said. "I'll be lucky if I can get this stuff off my hands in time for class."

Grinning, Ginny picked up the letter and opened it. She began to read.

While she read, the others went on with their breakfasts and their breakfast conversations. Using a motley collection of salt cellars and pepper pots that they had pilfered from neighbouring tables, Fred and George demonstrated to Harry their newest plan for outflanking an opposing team's Chaser. Neville helped himself to more bacon and went back to reading an essay that Hermione had written for Transfiguration. Every so often he paused to argue with her over the finer points of changing down pillows into Canada geese. Ron, having abandoned all pretence of table manners, was noisily sucking honey off his fingers, half-listening to the others talk.

Harry had just downed the last of his juice and was about to leave the table when he happened to glance over at Ginny. She was staring down at the letter, her eyes darting back and forth as if she was searching for a particular word or sentence and couldn't find it. She was also biting down on her lip hard enough to leave a white dent ringed with red where teeth met flesh.

"Ginny? What's wrong?" he asked.

The twins swivelled round, turning to face their sister. Hermione and Neville had by that time put aside the paper and were discussing the reading due that day for Charms, but the worry in Harry's voice made them break off their conversation and look across the table at Ginny. Ron paused in mid-lick, and grabbed Harry's relatively clean napkin to finish wiping his hands.

Silently, Ginny folded the letter. It took a few tries before she could return it to the envelope; her hands were trembling, and the paper was thick and stiff. Only then did she look up, and her gaze was troubled.

"You might want to read this, Ron," she said faintly, and held the envelope out for him to take.

Ron reached for it, but Fred was quicker. He leaned across the table and snatched it from her hand.

"Hey!" Ron shouted. "Give that here!"

Fred ignored him. Snarling, Ron made a grab for the letter, but Fred dodged the swipe and Ron only succeeded in tipping over his own brimming teacup. A cascade of tea spilled across the table and into his lap. Fred took advantage of the accident to pass the letter to George, and the two of them hurriedly bent over it, reading quickly.

"It NEVER ENDS!" Ron wailed. He tried to use Harry's napkin to dab at his dripping robes, but the napkin refused to unstick itself from his fingers long enough to be of use.

Hermione pushed her plate aside and took out her wand. "Look, just stop fiddling with it and hold still."

"Stupid sticky--"

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Harry, would you mind--"

"I'm on it." Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Ron's hands. "Ablutio!"

A glittering blue light shot from the tip of his wand, and in the blink of an eye Ron's hands were clean and dry.

"There now," said Hermione, fixing Ron with a superior smile. "Did you completely fail the test on Cleansing Charms?"

"Could've done my robes while you were at it," Ron said sulkily. "You try getting your hand stuck in the honey pot and see how well *you*--"

"Damn it all!"

Harry's head shot up in time to see Fred crumple the letter in his fist. The crunch of parchment sounded like a gunshot.

"I knew it," he growled. His face was flushed scarlet, and his usually laughing eyes snapped with anger. He flung the wadded parchment onto the table. "I *knew* something wasn't right."

"Give me that!" Ron grabbed the letter, smoothing the wrinkles and pressing the parchment flat with his forearm as he scanned Percy's densely packed script.

"What does it say?" Harry demanded. The twins scowled but said nothing, and Ron was lost in reading, so he had no choice but to turn to Ginny. "Gin, what did Percy say?"

Ginny picked up her fork and twirled it in her fingers, but the absent look on her face made it plain that she wasn't entirely aware of what her hands were doing.

"He's worried about Dad," she said. "He said that Dad hasn't been well lately."

"'Hasn't been well?'" George repeated scornfully. "Try 'working himself to death'--that's what he really means."

Neville gasped. "Did...did your brother actually say that?"

"Not in so many words, but it's obvious enough, isn't it?"

Harry leaned over, pretending to sop up the tea that had spilled onto the bench, and whispered in his best friend's ear, "Your dad...he was okay when you saw him in Dumbledore's office, wasn't he?"

"He *said* he was fine," Ron whispered back, still staring at the letter. "He said it was one too many late hours at the Ministry, but he's worked late before and he'd *never* looked like that."

"Everyone at the Ministry is busy now," Hermione told the twins. "Your father's always worked hard...maybe he just needs rest. Maybe Percy's reading too much into things."

George shook his head. "If *Percy's* worried about Dad working too much, it has to be bad."

Fred picked up the empty envelope. "It's like, now that Mum's gone, all he ever does is work," he said. "Nights, weekends, everything. Percy says he's been taking every assignment that comes up, no matter what it is. Not just raids on people with Muggle stuff--he's doing other things, too."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

Fred crumpled the envelope. "That's just it. Percy wouldn't say."

"Wouldn't say...or doesn't know," George added.

"But why?" Harry pressed. "Why's he doing it?"

"Dumbledore's making him," Fred said darkly.

Anger flared in Harry's heart, and he half rose out of his seat. "Dumbledore wouldn't do that!"

"How do you know?" Fred countered, staring him full in the face.

"Because...." He sat down heavily. Having said it aloud, there was no way he could possibly begin to explain...especially because he wasn't entirely certain of it himself.

Ron shoved the letter away from him. It landed in a wet patch on the table, and the ink began to bleed, spreading in a rainbow-coloured blotch across the page.

"Because he wouldn't, that's all," he said defiantly. "Dumbledore's not like that."

"What about Percy?" Hermione said abruptly, cutting the budding argument dead.

Fred switched his flat, unfriendly stare from Harry to her. "What about him?"

"Couldn't he do something?" She was using her most sensible tone of voice, the kind that always made Harry feel like he had done something amazingly idiotic. "Talk to your father, find out what's really going on?"

Abruptly, Fred and George slid down the bench, away from her. They stared at her, eyes wide with fascinated horror, as if she had just revealed that she had contracted some terrifically contagious disease.

"This IS our brother Percy you're talking about, right?" George's voice was incredulous. "Not some other Percy?"

Fred pushed back the sleeve of his robe and pressed the back of his hand to Hermione's forehead. His brow was furrowed in a mock serious frown.

"No, no fever," he said briskly, puckering his lips in concentration. He took her wrist gingerly between thumb and forefinger. "And pulse reads normal."

"But clearly," George said, equally mock serious, "I believe we have a case of TBO here."

"Ah, TBO." Fred clucked his tongue. "Traumatic Brain Overload--of course."

"Poor girl," said George sympathetically. "Must've been all those books. Terrible shame."

Fred nodded, and used one finger to tilt Hermione's chin upward, examining her more closely. "Nothing to be done. We'd best notify her parents at once."

Angrily, Hermione slapped Fred's hand away. "Stop that!"

"Oh-oh, patient showing signs of violence." Fred made as if to jot down a note on a pad of paper. "Might need restraints."

"Leave OFF, Fred!" Ron shouted, pounding his fist on the table.

Fred drew back, alarmed by the fury of his younger brother's outburst. "What's gotten into you?"

"She told you to stop, you stupid prat!" Ginny yelled, so loudly that heads started to turn at other tables.

"Keep your hair on, Ginny," George protested, grinning nervously. People were staring openly at the seven of them now, and for perhaps the first time in his life he found that the attention of a curious crowd was not something he welcomed. "It was only a joke."

"You don't *ever* joke about something like that," Neville declared in a voice as thin and cold as an icy wind. His eyes were fixed on his half-full plate. "Ever."

The twins glanced at each other, then back at the younger Gryffindors. They took in Hermione's blotchy face, Ron's murderous glare, Neville's frozen silence, Ginny's death grip on her knife and fork.

And then there was Harry.

Neither Fred nor George had ever met Will Stanton. If they had, at that moment they might have seen an eerie similarity of expression in the set of Harry's jaw, in the deep lines that had formed around his mouth, and above all in the cold green fire of his eyes. It wasn't exactly the same, nowhere near identical, but anyone who had seen Will Stanton and knew of his powers would have shrunk back from the look on Harry Potter's face.

It was that look, more than anything else, that told the Weasley twins that they had crossed a line with their joking.

George spoke first. "Sorry, Hermione."

"Yeah," Fred said, with more sincerity than that particular word usually warranted. "Sorry about that. We didn't mean to...I mean, honestly, we never--"

Hermione made a weak attempt at a smile.

"No, it's all right," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"*Hermione*...." Ron hissed. His eyes had narrowed to furious slits.

"I'm FINE, Ron." There was an unspoken command to drop the subject that not even Ron Weasley could ignore.

An uneasy quiet came over their small group. No one had an appetite for breakfast any longer; the food had already shrivelled up and grown cold on their plates. Ron had calmed down, though judging by the quiver of tension in his shoulders there was a part of him that still seemed to be waiting for the command to leap over the table and take on both his brothers at once.

"What about Bill and Charlie?" Harry asked, anxious to turn Ron's attention elsewhere.

Ron said nothing, so Fred answered instead. "The only one who could ever make Dad do anything was Mum."

"Oh," he said in a small voice.

Suddenly, Ginny threw down her knife and fork, making them all jump.

"What if he goes to a raid really late one night, and he hasn't gotten enough sleep so he's tired, and someone lets off some really nasty hex or curse at him and he's so tired that he can't get out of the way in time, and--and--" Her voice caught in her throat.

Her brothers were saved from having to reply by an abnormally loud cough that came from direction of the raised dais at the front of the Hall.

Heads turned and plates clattered as the students looked round. Professor McGonagall had entered the Hall from the door behind the teachers' table. She coughed again, then cleared her throat, and hall rang with the noise.

"May I have your attention please?" she said. Her voice had been greatly amplified, most likely by a Sonorus Spell. She walked round the front of the table. "Students, may I have your attention please!"

A few first and second years stood on their seats, bouncing on tiptoe and elbowing each other out of the way to get a better view. Harry was too far away to see the expression on her face, but he could see that she was standing very stiffly, and that her hands were clasped in front of her.

McGonagall waited until most of the scuffling had died down before she spoke again.

"I regret to inform you that the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, scheduled for tomorrow, has been indefinitely postponed. Will the captains of both teams please see me in my office?"

Cries of shock and indignation rose from the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, and everyone started talking at once. Not surprisingly, the loudest shouts came from the Quidditch teams of the affected houses.

McGonagall paid no attention to the uproar. She crossed the Great Hall with long, deliberate steps--students who were in her path scattered as she approached them--and did not pause in her stride until she had reached the double doors at the other end of the hall.

"NOW, gentlemen?" Her voice, sharp and ominous, boomed in the cavernous, high-ceilinged space.

Roger Davies bolted from the Ravenclaw breakfast table with all the speed and grace of a lamed rabbit. Twice, he trod on the hem of his robes and almost fell over his own feet, but managed to right himself in time to stumble up to McGonagall.

Draco, on the other hand, calmly finished the buttered, toasted crumpet he had been eating and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He folded the napkin neatly in half, then into fourths, and set it next to his plate. Only then did he get to his feet and head for the double doors, where McGonagall and Davies stood waiting for him.

Once the doors had closed behind both professor and students, dozens of conversations sprang up from the long tables, high-pitched and urgent like the rustle of long grasses in a strong wind.

"What was that all about?" Fred said to the table at large, scratching his head.

"Bet Malfoy's father pitches a fit when he finds out Slytherin's had their match cancelled," George said, rather snidely. "Good job we're not playing this week, right, Harry?"

But Harry wasn't listening. His eyes had followed Malfoy, Davies, and McGonagall as they left, and he had seen a dark blur slip through the doors just before they had closed completely. The blur soon resolved itself into the shape of large black dog, galloping toward the section near the middle of the Gryffindor table where he and his friends were sitting.

Snuffles was breathing hard by the time he reached them. Harry bent down to stroke the shaggy fur, but his hand stopped when he saw that Snuffles had something in his mouth. It was thin and flat and white-- an envelope.

"Is that for me?" he murmured.

The dog whined softly and nudged his hand with its nose.

Harry took the envelope, not caring that part of it was damp, and slit it open. Keeping it between his knees, he read it as best he could in the darkness under the table.

The letter wasn't long, but he had to read it through twice before the words finally sank in.

Harry,

Urgent message from Dumbledore--Lestranges escaped from Azkaban early this morning. Inform Dr. Stanton as soon as possible. Don't worry about class.

Remus

Lestranges. Azkaban.

Still staring at the paper, he reached out with his mind, searching for the link.

It was like gathering a handful of strings into his hand, individual threads that he could feel with his--well, he'd heard of people seeing things with their mind's eye before, but never *feeling* things with their mind's *hand*. He tugged on the strings gently, just enough to get their attention.

*Can all of you hear me?* he asked, though he knew it wasn't necessary.

He sensed their initial shock, the sudden quickening of heartbeats as they were caught off guard by his intrusion into their conscious thoughts.

*H...Harry?* Hermione's voice, breathy with fear, was the first to slide into his mind. *What are you--*

*The Lestranges escaped last night,* he replied, cutting her off. *They broke out of Azkaban.*

A sharp spike of fear--from Neville, a detached part of his mind silently registered--made Harry's scar pulse sympathetically. He winced, but ignored off the pain.

*Ginny, what do you have first this morning?* he asked.

*Ancient Runes, today,* Ginny replied. *I...I don't know what Colin has.*

*Speaking of Colin, where is he?*

*Right behind you.*

Harry jumped, but didn't turn around. Faintly, he heard either Fred or George say, "Oi, Colin! Bad luck for Slytherin, isn't it?"

*Colin! Where were you?* he asked silently.

*Talking to Emma Fitzpatrick,* Colin said. *She's in my Muggle Studies class. I got away as soon as I could--who are the Lestranges?*

*I...* he began, but stopped. It wasn't the time to explain. It wasn't his place to explain, either. *Something's come up, and we have to talk to Will. What do you have first today?*

Colin hesitated. *Care of Magical Creatures, but Hagrid's away again. My class is supposed to stay here for a study period with Professor Sinistra.*

*Right. That settles it.* He let go of the threads, and said aloud, "Hermione, can I borrow your quill?"

Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He flipped the piece of parchment over and, using his knee as a makeshift table, quickly scribbled on the back.

Remus,

Thanks. Have told others, going to let Will know right now.

Harry

Once the smudged scrawl of ink that was supposed to be his name had dried, he stuffed the parchment back into the envelope.

Snuffles had been watching the proceedings closely, and when Harry turned back to face him he leapt to his feet, whining urgently. He looked as frustrated as a dog could look--not being able to speak properly to his godson must have been driving him mad.

Harry held out the letter. "Take this to Rem...er, Professor Lupin, okay?"

Snuffles glanced at the envelope, then up at him.

"I'll be all right," Harry whispered. "Trust me."

The Animagus reluctantly took the letter from him, holding it carefully in his mouth.

Harry glanced round the Great Hall. It was as good a time as any to leave. Classes would be starting soon, and it was better to be out in the corridors when other students were around than to be caught sneaking off to the library when none of them had any reason to be in that part of the castle.

He got to his feet, and the others stood up as well.

"Let's go," he said firmly.

Hermione picked up her schoolbag, and Neville gathered his books. Ron and Ginny stacked their plates and brushed the crumbs from their robes. Colin stepped aside to let Harry by, and the six of them started for the doors as a group with Snuffles following, trotting in their wake.

"And where are you all off to?" George called after them.

"The library!" Ron shouted back, over his shoulder. "We've got to study!"

Fred's confused shout followed them out of the Great Hall. "You're all skiving off class--to STUDY?"

            *            *            *

Once they were safely in the corridor, they broke into a run.

Dog and children kept pace with one another until they reached the shifting staircases. It was there that Snuffles disappeared up the staircase that led to the second floor corridor and the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, and the children took the one that led to the floors above, and the library.

Harry saw the Animagus vanish out of the corner of his eye, but didn't pay much attention to where he went. Sirius Black knew the secret passages of the castle better than almost anyone alive; Remus would probably get the note before they could contact Will.

Once they were in sight of the door to the room, Harry fired off the unlocking spell. A shower of sparkles sped ahead of them and struck the door. He, Ron, and Ginny were first to reach the door itself, and for a moment it was all elbows and feet as they fought to get inside.

Ginny, being smallest, was first to wiggle free. She headed directly for the mirror, and once she had touched it she flicked her wand at the cold grate, kindling a fire on the coals leftover from the night before.

The others staggered in after her, out of breath from their long run. Hermione and Neville looked more winded than Ron or Harry. Neville was quite grey in the face. Hermione clung to the edge of the long table to steady herself as she gulped lungfuls of air.

Will was waiting for them when the mist behind the glass had whirled away. He had changed his shirt, but other than that he looked exactly as he had the day before. He held a cup of coffee in one hand. In his other hand was an envelope.

Harry gasped out, "Remus just had a letter from Dumble--"

"As did I." He held up the envelope. "Arrived not five minutes ago. I was wondering if you'd show up."

"What happened? Remus only said they'd escaped."

Will's face was grim. He set his coffee cup on his desk, and tucked Dumbledore's letter into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"They escaped well enough," he said. "And killed an Auror in the process."

The words had scarcely left his lips before the barrage of questions began.

"Who did they kill?" Ron demanded to know.

"Did anyone else escape?" Hermione asked fearfully.

"How could they get out without a wand?" asked Ginny.

Harry had a chilling thought. "They weren't Animagi, were they?"

The Old One held up his hands for quiet. "We're wasting time. Activate the mirror, and I'll tell you what I know."

The Six crowded round the mirror, jostling for position.

"Enter, Watchman of the Light."

"Grant to us your inner sight."

"Enter, for the time draws near."

"Power will erase our fear."

"Enter, lest the darkness win."

"We the Six now call you in."

Whether it was the urgency in their request or the myriad of emotions surging through the room, the carved pattern on the frame seemed to glow brighter than normal as Will stepped through the mirror and into the room.

The children fanned out and took their places round the table. They stood beside their chairs, waiting for Will to sit down, but the Old One did not approach his seat by the fire. He stood in front of the mirror, surveying the room.

"We won't need these," he announced. He passed his hand through the air in the same peculiar gesture he had used the night before, and table and chairs disappeared.

Hermione's schoolbag had been lying on the table, and it fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Hurriedly, she scooped it up and whisked it out of the way, setting it in the far corner of the room, and rejoined the others in the centre.

Will strode over to the fire, and turned to face them. The firelight cast a long shadow of him into the room. Illuminated from behind as he was, it was hard to tell where his shadow stopped and the bottom of his robes began.

"The Minister was remarkably open when it came to details," he said tersely. "Some of the other prisoners created a distraction, and the Lestranges managed to get away in the confusion. They attacked an Auror who was trying to watch for the Dementors, stole his wand, and killed him with it. Presumably, they Apparated off the island--they'd need a wand for that. The Ministry has had squads of Aurors combing the coastline all through the night, but there's no trace of their whereabouts. It's my opinion that they had help, or at the very least had someone waiting for them on the mainland."

He ticked points off on his fingers. "As a result, the Ministry is on high alert. The number of guards at Azkaban has been tripled. The name of the Auror they killed will not be released until his family has been notified. And I've heard nothing about Animagi, so I won't speculate on that. Was that everything?"

The children were stunned speechless. Even if Will *had* left something out, they would not have been able to tell him so.

"Don't look so surprised," he said reproachfully. "I've been expecting something like this for some time now. If you think on it, Azkaban is a perfect place for the Dark to launch an attack-- for more reasons than you'd imagine."

Harry found his voice. "Because of the Dementors."

"Not even that. Traditionally, the Dark has attacked from the sea. Read your history closely enough and you'll see what I mean."

Hermione's hand went immediately to her schoolbag, but Will shook his head.

"No, not *that* sort of history," he said, rather dismissively. "Not the kind they'd teach you here. All you need know is that the Dark has time and again come to this island, riding on the wave of invasion, and the Light has time and again taken arms to drive it back. It is the way of things."

"So how do we drive them back to Azkaban?" Ron asked.

"We don't."

Neville's mouth fell open. "*What*?"

"So what are we supposed to do then?" Ron didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Go back to class and pretend it didn't happen?"

Will fixed him with a stern look. "Chasing after escaped prisoners is not your job. Let the Aurors and the Ministry deal with Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange. You have another task." He smiled a wintry smile. "I had hoped we would have more time to prepare, but the Dark always was one to spoil my best-laid plans."

Harry thought of Christmas with the Weasleys, and couldn't decide whether to be miserable or furious.

*Best-laid plans, all right,* he said to himself.

"I've given this matter a good deal of thought," Will went on. "As I see it, the Dark Lord's best chance of winning revolves around one main problem. He must eliminate you as a threat, but he cannot kill you outright if he wishes to wield the full power of the Dark. And as you have the resources of the Light at your disposal, his options are rather limited. But he does have options, and one in particular troubles me.

"There is an ancient magic that can be used by both Light and Dark, the same magic that the Light called upon to banish the Lords of the Dark for all time. Properly cast, it will blast its victim out of Time, into the void from which nothing can return. No power can deflect it, no protection can block it. Once it is cast, it does not miss."

"The Dark Lord will risk all on this spell. If he succeeds...." For the first time, he hesitated, and Harry could tell that it was not because he was searching for the right words. "Well, I have it on good authority that the consequences do not differ greatly from death."

"C-couldn't you cast it, then?" Colin asked hopefully. "Before he does?"

Will looked stunned by the question.

"Certainly not," he said coldly. By the sound of it, the young boy might very well have asked the impossible, as absurd a suggestion as ordering a Muggle to violate the law of gravity. "I would be breaking the law of the High Magic if I did. No, he must cast the spell first, and you, in turn, must capture its power and harness it for your own ends."

Hermione shoved her hair out of her face. "How can we do that? Wouldn't it--surely, we couldn't--"

"Like all magic of its kind, it can be wielded by the party with the greater strength," Will said. "To defeat him, you must use your strength to catch the spell, hold it, and send it back at him. And though I loathe to use such a meaningless word as 'destiny' in this case, it should not come as a shock to hear that the only one of you who can send the captured spell back at the Dark Lord is Mr. Potter."

Harry swallowed. A gigantic lump had formed in his throat, and he had to get rid of it before it choked him. He couldn't bring himself to look at Will or his friends, though he knew they all were looking at him.

"What would happen if I...if we failed?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Will sighed. "I am telling you this now because you need to know all of the risks. Omitting anything would be worse than lying to you outright. But if you--all of you--fail to capture and contain the spell with your own magic, you will be blasted out of Time forever. And if you cannot send it back at him, the concentrated power of the Dark will poison you, swiftly and lethally." His tone had hardened; there was no sympathy or compassion in it. "Either way, none of you would survive."

The children were silent, but oddly enough they were not afraid. Something--the power of the Light, or some deeper, underlying Gryffindor trait--would not let them be afraid. It was too late for worries or regrets, if they had ever had any to begin with.

It was Harry who spoke for all of them when he said, resolutely, "What do we have to do?"

A spark flared in Will's eyes, making the depths glow with an eerie incandescence.

"Form the circle as you did last night, but face outwards this time." He addressed them harshly, a seasoned warrior instructing his front- line soldiers. "Mr. Potter, please stand inside the circle, in the centre. Have your wand at ready."

They did as he ordered. Will waited until they had joined hands, and then he started to pace back and forth before the fire, never taking his eyes off them.

"The circle must act as a shield until the Dark Lord casts the crucial spell," he stated. "And you will know when he casts it. All your instincts will tell you at the moment he releases the spell. But until that moment you must protect yourselves--and Mr. Potter--from the full force of his power." He paused in his pacing. "He will doubtless try everything short of the Killing Curse to break the circle, because he has one chance, and you have one chance, and you will not have another.

"As for you, Mr. Potter, you must not cast a single spell of your own. The absolute last thing you need is a Priori Incantatem duel." He raised an eyebrow at Harry's stricken expression. "Yes, I know all about it. And while having the same core material in both your wand and his does increase your chances for success, you also run the risk of having your wand rendered useless by its own magic."

Harry gripped his wand more tightly.

"Raise your shield," Will said. He pulled his cloak more closely about him.

As the magic crackled around them, Will took a step forward. His body shimmered, rippling, shifting, changing--

Suddenly, it was no longer Will, but a Dementor.

Cloaked and hooded in a dull black that seemed to suck all the light out of the room, the Dark creature reached out a slimy, scabbed hand, decaying fingers clawing the air. Its rattling breath, like the last desperate gurgle of a drowning man, submerged them all in icy cold horror. It started to glide forward, drawing nearer.

Harry reacted blindly, without thinking.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he screamed, and lashed out with his wand.

CRACK!

A bolt of blinding white, bright as a streak of summer lightning, flared from the tip of his wand and struck the Dementor in the chest.

CRACK!

The world tilted upside-down, and just as quickly righted itself. Harry's legs gave out from under him, and he sank to his knees. His wand slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor.

"Harry!" he heard Colin shout. There was a blurry movement on the edge of his field of vision, and Colin gave a sharp cry of pain, as if someone had twisted his wrist.

"Don't break the circle!" someone--it came from behind, so it must have been Ron--ordered.

"What happened?" Ginny cried. "What WAS that?"

Slowly, very slowly, Harry's senses returned to him, and he could sit up properly and look round. A circle of very worried faces surrounded him--his friends were still holding hands. There was a faint stench of Dark magic in the air, the odour of rotting leaves and graveyards. But the Dementor was gone, even if its presence lingered in the room.

Will, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Dementor..." he breathed shakily. "Where...where did--"

"It's gone," Hermione said, shuddering at the memory. "Harry, what did you DO?"

He couldn't think clearly. "I didn't...it wasn't...where's Will?"

At the mention of the Old One's name, the air in front of the fire shimmered again, and Will materialised.

He was coughing, great hacking coughs that shook his entire body. One hand was pressed to his heart, and his breathing was an uneven, ragged wheeze. Staggering backward, he slumped against the bookshelf nearest the fire, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Will!" Neville cried out, terrified. "Are you all right?"

The Old One coughed once more, weakly, but he gave them a rueful grin.

"If that had been a real Dementor, a creature wholly of the Dark, you would have vaporised it on the spot. As it stands...." He massaged his breastbone, wincing. "I'll be rather sore tomorrow morning, I can tell you that."

            *            *            *

Will and Harry recovered rapidly from the experiment, and for a long time afterward the only voice heard in the little room was Will's occasional brusque "Again" as the five children practised the shielding spell they had used to guard Harry against the Dementor. They practised raising the shield as quickly as possible, holding it at full strength for the count of thirty, and lowering it again. They did this over and over under Will's watchful eye, and he was quick to admonish if he thought they weren't putting enough effort into it.

Harry, for his part, was told to stand in the centre and feel the magic as it swelled and faded around him. He had to know the precise moment when the magic reached its peak, and when he felt the peak he would extend his arm, pointing his wand at Will.

They worked on the shield for at least forty-five minutes before Will took their practice a step further. He told them that they would be testing the strength of their shield against the spells they had learned so far in their schooling. Even the most simple and harmless charms had to be deflected.

"You need to be prepared for every possibility," he said. "If you have to repel the Imperius Curse, then you should certainly practise repelling a Cheering Charm."

He started out slowly, casting simple spells that they could easily deflect and he could easily block on the return. At first, he seemed to be running through the first five volumes of "The Standard Book of Spells" chapter by chapter, perfectly duplicating many of the spells they had learned in Charms class and Defence Against the Dark Arts and even some from the long-gone duelling club that Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to establish. As the minutes ticked past, he made the spells more complex, often allowing a little of his own magic to seep in.

At first, Harry could tell when Will's magic was present in the spells--he would fell a burning prickle under his skin in the second before his friends could adjust their shield to compensate. But gradually, the prickle lessened and finally stopped altogether.

They were learning.

It was during one of their rest periods, where they were all sitting down with their backs against the bookshelves, that Colin brought up the question that Harry had hoped would slip his mind.

"Who're the Lestranges?" he asked, propping his chin on his knees. "They must've done something awful for Professor Lupin to send you that note, Harry."

The innocent way in which the question had been put was worse than the question itself. Colin was not the only one who did not know the full story of Neville's parents. Harry had only told the others as much as he felt comfortable telling: Neville's parents had been in St. Mungo's for years, victims of the insanity that came with prolonged torture under the Cruciatus Curse. But only he knew who had been responsible for the torture. He had put two and two together in the graveyard the night of the last Triwizard Tournament task--the Lestranges, whom Voldemort had promised to honour 'beyond their wildest dreams', were in all likelihood two of the four persons sentenced to Azkaban for the torture of the Longbottoms.

It was Neville's story, really, and he was about to suggest that Neville tell it if he wanted to. But just as he was opening his mouth to say so, Neville dug in his pockets and took out something thin and greyish-looking. He stood, and walked across the room to where Colin sat.

"Here," he said flatly, holding out the greyish thing. "This'll tell you what you want to know."

Harry watched carefully as Colin took the object and held up to the light. It was yet another envelope, the same size as the others that had come their way so far that day, but unlike the others it wasn't crisp and new. It was grey with dirt, and battered and creased...and very familiar.

It was the envelope that had fallen from Neville's robes at the end of their testing before Dumbledore and McGonagall and Figg.

Harry had held the envelope in his hand, and would have opened it if Will hadn't taken from him. And now Colin was opening it, and pulling out a folded newspaper clipping that was worn so thin that it was nearly transparent.

He read through the clipping. His eyes grew wider and his face grew paler as he read, until he looked like he was going to be sick or faint on the spot. Will, leaning against the mantel, was watching Neville, who was standing over Colin. The others turned their gaze from Colin to Neville to Will, afraid to linger too long on any one of them.

Colin finally looked up, and stared at Neville. His hands were shaking, which made the clipping rustle noisily.

"They *did* this?" His voice shook as well.

"They were convicted of it," Neville said stonily. He took the clipping and the envelope from Colin's unresisting hands. "And now they're--"

There was a loud knock at the door.

*They're /here/,* Harry thought wildly.

"Mr. Potter," Will said, as graciously as if he had been expecting guests for tea, "would you please answer the door?"

Harry picked up his wand, and got to his feet. Some of Will's calm had rubbed off on him, because he did not feel nervous as he walked to the door. He opened it a crack, and peeped out.

He saw no one. The corridor was empty.

Just as he was about to close the door, a high, tinny voice chirruped, "Hello, Harry Potter!"

He looked down. It was Dobby the house elf.

"Dobby? What are you....what's that?" He pointed to the two silver domes that Dobby was balancing on his upturned hands.

"Headmistress told Dobby to bring lunch for Harry Potter and his friends," the house elf proclaimed proudly.

"Lunch?" Food was the farthest thing from his mind. The very notion of eating something...his mouth began to water, but only because a delicious smell was seeping from the trays and wafting upward to his nose.

Dobby tried to peer around Harry's leg to see into the room. "Shall Dobby bring the trays inside, sir?"

"NO!" he barked, but quickly regained his composure. "I mean, no, thank you, Dobby. I can carry it."

"Trays are very heavy, sir," Dobby said doubtfully.

"I'll be fine. Just set them down here and I'll take care of them." If Dobby was invited in, he'd never leave.

"As Harry Potter wishes." Dobby placed the trays on the floor of the corridor and sketched a small bow. "Dobby will return in one hour for the trays--if Harry Potter would be so kind as to leave them outside the door?"

"Yes, yes, fine." He was growing impatient.

"Should Dobby bring anything else?"

"No, thank you," he said, nicely but forcefully. "Goodbye, Dobby."

The house elf bowed again, then snapped his fingers and disappeared with a crack.

Harry let out a gusty sigh, and opened the door all the way.

"Sorry," he said to Will, who was regarding him with no small amount of curiosity. "Dobby--one of the house elves--brought lunch for all of us."

"It's lunchtime?" Hermione's eyebrows went up; apparently Harry wasn't the only one who had completely forgotten about food.

Ron, however, hadn't. "Smashing," he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. It was the happiest he'd looked all morning.

Will took out his watch. "So it is. I'm terribly sorry--you must be famished. Let me just take care of the seating...."

He motioned to them to move aside, and they scattered, clearing space in the centre of the room. Will waved his hand and conjured the long table and the seven chairs back into place.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" With a swish and a flick, Hermione sent the two trays floating through the air and lowered them easily onto the table. With another flick of her wand she lifted the shining silver lids and left them suspended in mid-air, hovering over the trays.

A bowl piled high with fresh fruit, apples and bananas and pears, dominated one side of the first tray. Seven tall goblets and a massive pewter jug of something cold--it looked like pumpkin juice-- took up the rest of the space on the other side. The juice was so cold that a film of condensation had formed on the rounded sides of the jug, and it left a wet ring on the tray when Harry picked it up to fill the goblets.

In the middle of the second tray was an oval plate overflowing with still-warm bread rolls. Faint wisps of steam rose from their golden brown tops, carrying a delightful smell into the air. Surrounding the plate of rolls were other, smaller plates that held yellow bricks of Cheddar cheese and heaps of assorted biscuits.

The children ate for the next few minutes, taking whatever they wanted from the trays and not caring about crumbs. In the beginning, it felt like they couldn't eat quickly enough to satisfy the yowling demands of their stomachs. Only when the meal had taken the edge off their hunger did they start to talk amongst themselves.

"Sausage rolls," Colin mumbled happily around a mouthful of the same. "Fantastic."

"I wish there were regular ones, too," Hermione said, setting a half- eaten one aside. "I don't like sausage rolls."

"I'll take it," Neville offered. "Trade you for my biscuits."

"But I've already bitten it."

Neville shrugged. "So?"

Hermione made a face, but pushed the nibbled roll in his direction and accepted the biscuits he held out to her.

"Aren't you have anything else, sir?" Ginny asked Will politely, staring not-so-politely at the napkin in front of him. On it was a small chunk of cheese, an apple, and a handful of biscuits--barely half of what Ron and Harry had already devoured.

"I'm quite content, thank you," he replied. "I don't want to take food from your mouths."

Ginny pondered his reply for a moment, but she quickly turned her attention back to the plate of sausage rolls, grabbing the last one just before her brother could take it himself.

The simple noontime meal was a great comfort after the relative misery of the morning. The depressing letter from Percy, the unpleasantness at breakfast, the awful news of the Lestranges' escape, the hours of furious concentration on life-or-death magic--everything that had gone wrong that day had combined to cast a pall over the children's minds. The taste of food helped dispel some of the pressure that had been building up all morning. With full bellies and rested bodies, the Six were prepared for an afternoon of hard work.

Will, however, seemed to be in no great hurry to return to work. He held up his goblet. "Mr. Longbottom, would you please pass the pitcher?"

Neville handed the pitcher to Ron, who passed it on to Will.

"Thank you." He refilled his goblet from the jug and took a careful sip. "And you say this is pumpkin?"

"Pumpkin juice," Ron said as he refilled his own goblet. "Do you like it?"

"It...intrigues me." He took another small sip, rolling the liquid in his mouth as if he was tasting a wine. "I never thought that a member of the squash family could produce a drinkable beverage."

"You should try hot butterbeer," Colin piped up. "It's the best thing when it's really cold out."

Will smiled. "Butterbeer, eh? I've had butterscotch before...it is in any way similar?"

Colin thought for a second. "Well, it's not as sweet, and sometimes the foam gets up your nose. But it doesn't leave your mouth all gummy afterward."

Will opened his mouth, then shut it.

Harry fought to suppress a grin. Trust Colin to give a perfectly straight answer to a tongue-in-cheek question.

He didn't dare look at any of the others. Eye contact would certainly set off the laughter that was threatening to bubble over inside of him. He concentrated fiercely on his apple for a few moments, biting and chewing and swallowing, until he wasn't feeling so hysterical and could look Will in the face once more.

When he finally did look up, he saw that the Old One's lapse of self- possession had been short-lived. In one deep draught, Will finished the last of his pumpkin juice and set the empty goblet aside.

"Let's see," he said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "If the fifth-year Gryffindors were supposed to have Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning, am I right in thinking that the four of you would be missing both Transfiguration and History of Magic this afternoon?"

Ron nodded. "But Professor McGonagall knows we're here, and Professor Binns wouldn't notice if half the class was missing."

"With the four of us gone, half the class *is* missing," Hermione observed sardonically.

Ron grinned. "True."

Will turned to Ginny. "And your schedule, Miss Weasley?"

"Colin and I both have Herbology after lunch, then Potions," she said.

"Ick." Neville pulled a face.

"Potions?" The Old One's gaze slid away into a vague middle distance, then refocused with an almost audible snap. "I don't want you missing that."

"We can get the assignments later," Ginny said, taking another pear.

"That's not what I meant. It would not be a good idea for you--for *any* of you--to miss Potions."

Something in his tone made them all stop eating. Neville and Harry paused in mid-chew, while Ginny set down the pear and Colin froze with a biscuit halfway to his mouth.

Harry swallowed hastily. "Is something...?"

Will's expression told them nothing, but his words were crisp with the briskness of officialdom. "One of the reasons why the meeting was held the Monday after classes resumed, rather than immediately after all the facts were known, was due to Professor Snape. For all of Easter week he was under strict Ministry quarantine, and the Minister's personal supervision."

Colin dropped his biscuit into his lap. "Wh...why?"

"Polyjuice," Hermione murmured.

"Amongst other things," Will said. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement put him through a number of physical and magical tests to be certain that he hadn't been...well, tampered with."

The thought of Professor Snape being 'tampered with' turned the food to lead in Harry's stomach. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

"The tests generally require a minimum of three days, but the Ministry chose to stretch them out to five for greater security. That would take us through early Thursday. And when you factor in the day or so that he would need to recover from these tests--"

"Recover?" Hermione had gone very pale.

"Without going into details, I can assure you that he needed two full days to recover." His unemotional tone did nothing to lessen the chill of his words. "And even then, you saw how he was Monday evening."

No one spoke, and Will took their silence as leave to continue.

"I want you to keep a very close watch over him," he said. "I don't pretend to know his current state of mind, but when last I saw him he was a desperate man. You have seen how the Dark can use such desperation against a person's will and without his knowledge."

Wearily, he raked a hand through his hair. "I am very afraid that Professor Snape's most secret and terrible fear has come to pass. He has become a liability to us all."

        *            *            *

The session continued all through that afternoon. Will did not comment on their progress, but he dismissed them at five o'clock with a simple "I will see you Monday evening".

Harry was glad to leave. He was exhausted from the hours of single- minded concentration. The magic that had buffeted his body had left him feeling like he had pummelled by Beaters' bats. He couldn't begin to imagine how tired his friends were; they looked even more worn out than he felt.

Dinner wouldn't start for a while yet, so they walked slowly, taking their time. They had just passed the staircase that led up to the Astronomy Tower when Ron turned to Hermione and said, out of the blue:

"I'm sorry about Fred and George."

She stopped dead. So did Harry and the others.

"L-look, it's all right," she said, doing her best to sound reassuring. "They didn't know--how could they have? They were only joking. I know they weren't trying to be hurtful."

Ron looked down at the floor, scuffing the toe of one shoe against the worn stones.

"They always go too far," he said sourly. "They should know better."

She tossed her head. "It's my own fault for not being able to take a joke. And it's not like they haven't done worse to you. *Much* worse, if half of what you and Ginny have told me is true." She gave him a searching look. "Why are you getting so worked up over this?"

Ron lifted his head. The sourness that had coloured his voice was not reflected in his face. There was sadness in his eyes, but his mouth was twisted in a wry half-smile.

"You know why, Hermione," he said gruffly.

"But I...." She stared at him. A bright red flush started to creep up her cheeks. The tip of her tongue darted out, moistening her lips.

"Th...thanks," she said shyly, and smiled timidly.

Ron returned her smile, the twist of his lips broadening into a full if shaky grin of his own.

Hermione opened her mouth, as if to say something more, but she suddenly shook her head. Her hair flew around her face. When the cloud of brown frizz settled, she turned to the other four, who had been pretending not to notice anything beyond the portraits on the walls and the statues on their pedestals.

"Let's get to dinner," she said. "We don't want to be late." She was her old bossy self once more.

Most of the smile faded from Ron's face, but the corners of his mouth stayed stubbornly turned up.

They started walking again, but this time Harry hung back, dawdling. Something didn't feel right. By the time he had realised what was bothering him, they had arrived at the first of the staircases that would take them down to the Great Hall.

The staircase they wanted was one that shifted positions depending on where you wanted to go, and when they arrived it was just settling into place with a grinding of stone. They hurried down flight after flight until only one set of stairs was left. Going down would take them directly to the hall, while going up the rickety stairs on the other side would lead to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office.

The others started down, but Harry took the up staircase.

"Harry, aren't you coming?" Ginny called up to him.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think I want anything," he said airily, skipping a step to avoid one that tended to vanish without warning. "You go on without me."

Hermione protested, "But Will said--"

"I can get something later. Doesn't take much to sneak down to the kitchens, right?"

A pained expression crossed her face. She fingered her prefect's badge. "I didn't hear that."

"'Course you didn't." He chuckled, and kept climbing. "See you back in the common room."

"Harry, wait!" Colin cried. "Where are you going?"

"To see Remus," he replied. "I think he ought to know what we worked on today."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the mention of their professor's name.

"Will you get the homework from him?" she said eagerly. "And could you ask him if he's finished grading the essays we turned in before Easter? Please?"

Ron stared at her, thunderstruck. "You never let up, do you? I mean, you never--"

"I never *what*, Ron?"

Hermione's retort and Ron's subsequent cutting remark touched off another round of squabbling. Trading sharp words for all they were worth, they were both oblivious to the fact that the staircase had started moving again--and was carrying them away from their intended destination.

Neville, Ginny, and Colin knew better than to interfere. They clung to the moving staircase and waited, patiently or impatiently, for Ron and Hermione to wear themselves out. The argument would have to run its course before they stood any chance of getting dinner.

Harry chuckled, this time to himself, and started the climb again. No matter what trials or problems the day seemed to bring, at the end of the day it was a great comfort to know that some things never changed.

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December 7th, 2002