Adamo Mortalis

Hermione, sitting cross-legged on the soft, carpeted floor of Flourish and Blotts, absently tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and reminded herself to focus. Scanning through the last chapter of a book titled Creatures' Court Cases: Third Edition, she sighed when she saw the words begin to swim on the page in front of her. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples: even she was beginning to tire of reading.

Harry came to sit down beside her, green eyes wide and sympathetic. "Found anything yet?"

She shook her head. "Nothing helpful. I've just been thinking about how I helped Hagrid with that research for Buckbeak's case third year, and how much easier that seemed...werewolves never really seem to win court cases. In general, people seem to be pretty biased against them--because I'm sure there's been an innocent werewolf sometime along the line. But none have been acquitted."

An arm slipped around Hermione, and she could smell the strong scent of Harry, soap and shampoo and grass. He put gentle fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his to kiss her. She let him--he was a blessed distraction from her research.

Kissing Harry, even though she was now an expert at it, never got boring. Hermione had learned the terrain of his body--the hollows of his throat, the callouses on his palms, the spots where he was ticklish. She buried her fingers in his hair and felt him shiver. He ran his hands the length of her back, his touch like fire on her skin.

Harry moved downward, trailing kisses in a trail from her jaw to her collarbone, and then, to her surprise, his hands slid up her shirt, fumbling at the clasp of her bra in the back. She gave a little gasp of ecstasy as he was successful, and then her own hands moved to the waist of his jeans, and she--

Jerking suddenly, Hermione woke up, her whole body blazingly hot. She threw back the covers and then stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling her hair sticking to the back of her neck.

Dream. It was a dream.

***

The werewolf trailed his subject, growing more confused by the moment about its smell. The creature knew he was tracking a human--was absolutely certain--but its scent wasn't fully human. It was almost as if the human had taken on the shape of another.

The werewolf considered this. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, information floated to the surface that seemed to make his assumption a logical one. All right; so he would be on the lookout for any living thing, not judging by its appearance to determine if it was the person he could smell.

Deftly covering ground made more rough by rocks, tree roots, and weeds, the werewolf sniffed carefully again before making his way into a clearing. The human-smelling animal was nearby; he could tell. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, the werewolf tried to get a better picture of where the creature might be, and caught a sharp scent off to the left.

The werewolf turned to go in that direction, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of a large, black dog.

***

Ron shifted uncomfortably, sighing as he attempted to readjust the sheets underneath him. While his bed at the Burrow certainly wasn't top-of-the-line, it was worn-in and cozy, and he missed it after a few days of the stiff hospital mattress. He had been pronounced healthy and moved to an intermediate care room, but the mediwizard staff wanted to keep him under surveillance for a couple more days to monitor his head injury.

Ron continued to fiddle with the sheets even when he was situated more comfortably, hoping that his friends or family would arrive soon to entertain him. Also, he wished that he hadn't had to leave the Quidditch convention so abruptly, because he'd barely had any time to see anything, and there wouldn't be another one for three more years, and he'd have graduated by then, for heaven's sake.

He perked up at the sound of Harry's voice in the corridor. He was talking to Hermione, and he sounded impatient. "No, I told you twice already what I said! It was just something along the lines of, 'Hey, Sirius, what's going on with Lupin? We read about it in the paper and we're worried. Do you know anything? Let me know when you get a chance. Harry.' I don't know how long it'll take Hedwig to get back--it all depends on where Sirius is. Hedwig's been gone for nearly two weeks delivering messages to him before." Harry stopped talking as they reached Ron's doorway and entered, bearing armfuls of chocolate frogs, Every Flavor Beans, and bottles of Butterbeer.

Ron pretended to frown at the sight of them. "I thought I told you to bring me candy. I can't believe you forgot."

Harry smiled wryly and dumped his load in to Ron's lap. "Sorry. I guess you'll have to survive without it."

Hermione stacked the treats she'd brought for Ron on his bedside table. "How are you feeling today?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much the same. I should be getting out of here in a couple of days, once they make sure I'm not going to suddenly go mental on them or something."

"Would anyone notice the difference?" Harry asked, and ducked when Ron tried to hit him, grinning.

Hermione looked bored with the boys' banter. "Right. Ron, I promise you that we really would stay here with you, but we're trying to figure out what's up with this whole business with Lupin, you know..."

Ron's heart plummeted--he had hoped that he wouldn't have to sit, alone and bored, in the hospital, but he bravely said, "I understand. I want to know what happened, too, so tell me once you find out anything." He took a chocolate frog from the tower beside him and began to unwrap it. "Thak oo for the caddy," he said, with his mouth full.

"Harry and Hermione to the rescue with mounds of sugar," Harry said sarcastically. "You can always count on us to raise your calorie count."

Ron waved a hand as if to say, of course, of course, and looked as if he would have smiled had he not been chewing a chocolate frog.

Harry checked his watch and said to Hermione, "Shall we go and get started?"

Hermione nodded, businesslike as always, and stood up to leave. Ron had a sudden sense of déjà vu and frowned. There was something familiar in the scene that had just happened that struck a chord in his mind...but he couldn't tell what it was.

Ron bade them goodbye and tried to remember what it was that seemed recognizable. Familiar, but ambivalently wrong...he felt a vague sense of foreboding, of something being not quite right: he wasn't anxious, really, but sad somehow.

Pushing the odd thoughts to the back of his mind, Ron got out his wizarding chess board, which his parents had brought for him the day before, and began to set up a game to play with himself.

***

Harry sat in one of Diagon Alley's many libraries, idly curling up the corner of the page he'd been staring at for several minutes. He had forced himself to scan through five books already that morning, and now all the words seemed to blur together and become entirely meaningless in his mind. One of the reasons that he admired Hermione was that she could sit down for hours at a time and go through books without losing her concentration--Harry, on the other hand, took regular breaks when he studied and consequently got less done. If he had something else on his mind, it was nearly impossible to focus long enough to do his homework, and this research session was no exception.

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Lupin's troubles were somehow related to him. As far as he knew, Lupin had tried to stay low-profile throughout his life because of the fact that he was a werewolf. Although he probably couldn't have helped gaining some enemies just because of his affliction, it seemed unlikely to Harry that someone would go to as much trouble to murder a child and frame Lupin for it just because he was a werewolf. There had to be some other reason. If there was one thing that Harry had discovered through his adventures and misadventures in the wizarding world, it was things usually happened for a good reason.

It was possible that someone was going after Lupin in order to lure Sirius away and capture him. Harry didn't know for sure that Sirius had gone off to rescue or hide Lupin, but it would be a logical explanation. As far as Harry knew, he, Hermione, Ron, Snape, Dumbledore, the Weasleys and Wormtail were the only people that knew Sirius was innocent...and although Wormtail, and consequently Voldemort, could be behind this, it didn't seem their sort of job--just like Ron's injury. Voldemort certainly wasn't shy about letting Harry know that he was behind the evil duties he performed.

None of it added up to anything logical to Harry, except the possibility that he had a new enemy, or at least that Voldemort was gaining support from the wizards who had different ideas of ways to hurt him. He didn't like the sound of either of these options.

Harry was distracted from his brooding by the sound of his stomach rumbling, and checked his watch. It was past noon--time for a break, for even Hermione had to eat. He got up, feeling the cramped muscles in his legs protest as he did so, and quietly approached Hermione. She was hunched over a large, musty book, which looked to Harry as if it must be at least a hundred years old.

He tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped, her concentration interrupted. "Sorry," he said, slipping his hands in his pockets as if he could retract the gesture, "but I want something to eat. It's past twelve o'clock, and even you should take a break."

Hermione marked her place in the ancient text and shouldered her bookbag, which she carried around everywhere. The pair walked in companionable silence to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione absentmindedly ate about half her lunch, in the manner of scholars that see their food as something that distracts from their studies, a faraway expression in her eyes.

Harry ate everything on his plate--he felt as if his stomach was still trying to compensate for the days he'd slept away. He'd been eating increasingly more in the last year, and grown several inches. He'd also begun shaving after school had ended; he was rather glad, when he thought about it, that he hadn't been at Hogwarts for the first days when he'd experimented with a razor. Dudley had taunted him mercilessly about the cuts on his chin and jaw, but eventually Harry had figured it out and was now successfully clean-shaven for the most part.

Hermione, still lost in her thoughts (that seemed to be a way of life for both her and Harry, lately), was again startled when Pigwidgeon appeared at her elbow. "Pig!" she exclaimed, taking the letter from the small owl, "What've you brought me?" With one hand, Hermione slit open the envelope, the other stroking Pigwidgeon's beak.

Leaning over Hermione's shoulder, Harry was surprised and a little hurt when she angled the note away from him so that he couldn't read it. Shrugging, he sat and watched her facial expressions, which went from surprised to confused to moderately embarrassed.

"I've got to go to the Weasleys'," Hermione said finally, folding up the letter and slipping it in her bag. "I'll be back tonight. You don't have to keep researching if you don't want."
Harry tilted his head to one side quizzically. "Is everything all right? Who's the letter from?"

"Ginny. Everything's fine--it's just a, er, girl problem." Hermione flushed, not meeting his eyes. "I'll see you later," she called, already walking away.

Shaking his head in confoundment, Harry began eating the slice of cheesecake he'd ordered for dessert. He sat chewing it thoughtfully, debating internally whether or not he wanted to return to the library. Neither he nor Hermione had found anything remotely helpful the entire morning. Finishing his meal, Harry left to go visit Ron for the afternoon.

***

Draco was glad that his time at the Leaky Cauldron was up and it was time to return to Malfoy Manor. His pride was still wounded from the encounter with Hermione in the hallway, and although he was glad he had come up with his plan for Ginny, he would certainly prefer to implement it from home.

He was planning to fly home on his Firebolt, which he had requested be sent from the Manor, leaving his bags for the house-elves to transport. It was a gorgeous day, full of sun and blue sky and light wind--weather Draco hated.

Taking off from behind the Leaky Cauldron, Draco lost all his disparaging thoughts about the sunny day with the joy of taking flight. Love of and skill for flying were the only things that Draco had in common with Harry.

Completely alone in the sky, Draco let himself relax just a little bit. He even allowed himself a tiny smile, the only sign of his inward happiness. It would have looked odd, had there been anyone looking at him--he was strangely much more attractive sans the smirk he usually wore. Of course, had he known this, he might have tried it out more often, vain as he was.

What an uproar there would be in Gryffindor House this year! Ginny, a Gryffindor, being civil to Draco, much less dating him...It'll drive the stupid prats crazy, Draco thought, pleased with yet another aspect of his plan. Of course, he would tell all the Slytherins first, so that they wouldn't ostracize him when he started spending time with her. What a great joke it would be in the Slytherin common room. Draco couldn't wait.

And his father would be pleased. Lucius always got a malicious kick out of hearing Draco's stories about taunting the Gryffindors, especially Potter. Hurting a member of the Weasley family was nearly as good in the elder Malfoy's eyes.

Draco knew his father was involved in some dark business, although Lucius wouldn't yet tell him exactly what. He knew Lucius had been a Death Eater, and knew from Dumbledore that the Death Eaters were rising again. He would never admit it to anyone, but inside he was a little hesitant about being part of such a violent, persecuted group--everyone knew who the Death Eaters were, and nearly everyone aspired to destroy or at least imprison them. But Draco was only fifteen; he knew little of murder and spilling blood and true evil. Surely he loved to taunt Potter, but...well, it had simply seemed what was expected of him. He struggled internally with the question of whether or not he actually wanted to end up a Death Eater, because he wasn't sure that he was quite immoral enough.

But of course there was the family honor to hold up. If Lucius told Draco to be a Death Eater, he would be a Death Eater. Although he might have qualms about it, he would never question his father's authority. Lucius had taught him well--Draco had known from early childhood three things: not to disobey his father, not to shame the Malfoy name, and that he was destined to be a Slytherin.

None of these, he was sure, would ever change.

***

Ginny was in her room, deeply involved in transfiguring some rocks to look like jewelry. Even though Charlie had destroyed her flower, she secretly hoped that her mystery admirer would reappear at some point, and she wanted to be as pretty as possible for him. She would never admit it, but in her mind the mystery admirer still looked like Tom, no matter how many times she told herself it wasn't possible and she didn't want it to be possible.

Her heart leapt when there was a knock at the window, and she couldn't help a grin when it was the same black owl from the day before, holding a similar pink envelope. Eagerly she tore it open, barely noticing as the owl flew away, and swiftly pulled out the enclosed parchment.

Once again, like the day before, the paper took itself from her hands and folded into an ornate rose. In the same voice, it relayed a poem to her.

"Lovely as a springtime blossom

Sweet as warm sunshine

Once again, I implore you

Ginny, won't you be mine?"

And, just like the day before, it hovered waiting for her, as she ran outside to get the watering-can from the yard where she'd impatiently tossed it. After she'd set the new rose in the watering-can-transformed-to-vase, she found Pigwidgeon in Ron's room, where he'd left her during his trip to Diagon Alley, and sent him off with a note to Hermione:

Hermione--I think I might have something of a, well, secret admirer. I've been

getting these flowers and cheesy poems and I've no idea who they're from.

Could you come over sometime? I could use a girl's insight.--Ginny

She tried to return to her transfiguration work, but couldn't anymore. Sighing, she gave up and went to sit by the window. Her earrings still looked like distressingly like small, very glittery rocks, anyway. Perhaps she could pretend it was intentional?...

***

The werewolf stared unblinkingly at the dog for several minutes. He was sure he recognized the animal. Flashes of a human, with tangled black hair and shadowed eyes, erupted in the werewolf's mind. Somehow the two images were connected.

Carefully eyeing the werewolf, the dog began to transform, gradually shifting until he had become the human that the werewolf had associated him with. His gaze locked to the werewolf's, Sirius Black took tentative steps toward the beast. When it made no move to run or attack him, Sirius reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a flask full of some questionable liquid, continuing to approach the werewolf. As the wizard got closer and closer, the hairs on the werewolf's back went up, and his ears pricked all the way forward, but he didn't move.

The werewolf was unsure why, but he was inclined to trust Sirius, and when Sirius uncorked the flask and held it above the werewolf's mouth, he opened it and began to swallow. His yellow eyes grew less and less fierce, and, finally, shut entirely as the werewolf slumped to the ground below with a quiet moan.

Sirius Black lifted the unconscious werewolf on his back and began to walk away.

***

Hermione arrived, out of breath and feeling disarrayed, in the Weasleys' kitchen. It was to the complete surprise of Charlie, who was wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms and drinking straight out of a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Upon her arrival through the fireplace, he spit juice in all directions, and began to cough vigorously.

Hermione felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, but looked concerned and questioned, "Are you all right? I'm sorry I scared you. Ginny owled me and asked me to come."

Charlie coughed for a moment more, then said, cleaning himself up with a napkin, "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

"Is Ginny upstairs?"

Charlie nodded, clearing his throat. He waved Hermione off, and as she crossed the room she tried to force her mind away from the vision of him barechested. Shirtless boys seem to be a weakness of mine lately, she thought wryly to herself, and when she remembered Draco unintentionally, her heart gave a little leap.

Hermione knocked on the door she knew to be Ginny's, and only had to wait a moment before a flushed, expectant Ginny pulled on the knob. "Hello!" she sang out, more energetic than Hermione had ever know her to be. "Come look at the rose! It's so beautiful."

Amused, Hermione did so, and was admittedly stunned by the splendor of it. She bit her lip and had a fleeting desire that nearly swamped her to simply be wanted by some boy so much that he would send her this token.

"Who do you think it could be?" Ginny asked, flopping back on her pink-flower-comforted bed. "I don't know very many boys, outside of my brothers, all that well."

At this phrase of Ginny's, Hermione's mind jumped to the conclusion that the roses were a joke being played on Ginny by Fred and George. It would be a little more malicious than their usual tricks, but couldn't be ruled out entirely. However, it seemed mean to suggest this to Ginny when the redheaded girl was convinced that she had a secret lover, and so Hermione kept these thoughts to herself.

"I'm not so sure either," Hermione said thoughtfully, chocolate-brown eyes still fixed on the luminous flower. She was almost sure it couldn't be Harry--it wasn't his style at all, to be overly flamboyant about liking a girl. Hermione got the general impression that he had harbored some feelings for Cho Chang, but now that the Ravenclaw Seeker was leaving school, Hermione wasn't sure about Harry's romantic intentions, if he had any at all. "It's shockingly pretty, Gin. I just don't know who'd spend that much time and effort..."
"Listen to the poem," Ginny suggested, and repeated it to her. It was so sappy that Hermione had to crack a smile, and laughed aloud when Ginny told her the first rose's message, too.

"Well, those are obviously handwritten," Hermione said, reaching out to finger the flower. She added gently, "But it's not really like Harry, you know? He'd be much more subtle than that."

Ginny's eyebrows knitted together. "I know. I just can't think of who else it would be--I've hardly talked to any of the boys in my year, and now is a random time to decide to start liking me when we've been out of school for more than a month."

"Well," Hermione said, "Here's what I can do. I don't know any spells off the top of my head that can trace an object back to its creator, but I'm sure I can look some up. Do you want me to try to find them for you in the library?"

"That would be helpful," Ginny agreed. "Owl me if you find anything, or you can just show up--I hardly go anywhere, and you know where my room is."

Hermione smiled. "I'll be sure to let you know."

Ginny frowned for a moment, then brightened. "Are you any good at transfiguration? I've been having trouble with these rocks..."

***

Harry stared broodingly at Ron's chessboard, considering his own next move. Just as he was about to order his knight to go in to checkmate with Ron's queen, a witch-nurse came in to the room, dressed like Madam Pomfrey. "Visiting hours are over for this one," she announced cheerfully to Harry. "Mr. Weasley needs to take another potion and have a little nap!"

Ron looked mournful, but Harry smiled encouragingly at him. "I'll come later. Hermione might be back from...well, your house, by now."
"See you later," Ron said glumly. Harry wanted to laugh at Ron's petulant expression, but managed to keep his face straight as he left.

He went back to the Leaky Cauldron, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen, in either his room, hers, or the dining area, and he wasn't sure where else she would be--if she was back from seeing Ginny, she probably would have come to find him first, instead of going straight to the library.

Now he was at a loss for what to do. All of his friends were otherwise occupied, he did not want to go back to the library, and the majority of his possessions were still at the Dursleys', because he hadn't been intending to stay very long in Diagon Alley, and had expected Ron to be enough entertainment.

It had gotten dark outside, and was past his usual dinnertime, but he wasn't hungry. Still unsure about his intentions, Harry went upstairs to his room, got a jacket, and slipped out the doors of the Leaky Cauldron.

It was a lovely night to be walking, a little cool for midsummer, but pleasant enough. The clear sky showed softly twinkling stars, and a partially full moon illuminated Harry's surroundings. He walked away from the hustle and bustle of witches and wizards on the streets, refusing a particularly persistent wizard's offer to turn his friends into snails, and ended up, unintentionally, in a small courtyard he'd never noticed before. It was far back from the city streets, and surprisingly secluded. At the moment, it suited his mood perfectly. He sat down on an old wooden bench and traced with his fingertip the initials carved with a heart around them: A.L. & M.S. forever.

He tilted his head back and brushed strands of black hair out of his eyes, trying to take in the whole night sky at once. He took a deep breath and crossed his hands behind his head, trying to force himself to relax. There was still the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that felt as if he were missing something important, some clue that would unravel the whole mess his life had become, something that only he would be able to think of.

Footsteps sounded, surprising him out of his contemplation. He was so stunned for a moment that he couldn't think of anything to say; finally he came up with, "Hermione!" Brilliant, Harry, absolutely brilliant, he thought to himself, color coming in to his cheeks.

He wasn't sure if she'd actually changed anything about her appearance; there wasn't anything concrete he could say was different. But she looked lovely--all windblown curls and coffee-colored eyes and tanned skin from the summer sun.

"Harry," she said, sounding as surprised. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was just taking a walk, and then here I was. How on earth did you find me?"

"I used a Mihi Ostendit spell when I couldn't find you at the hospital, Leaky Cauldron, or the library," she replied, and then, in a quieter tone, "It's pretty here."

"Yes," he agreed, "yes, it is."
Hermione smiled and came to stand closer to him, pointing at a patch of sky. "Look there's Merlin's Wand. It's amazing how clear it is tonight."

"In the Muggle world they call it Orion's Belt, but I'm sure you know that." He moved closer to her, and started, "Hermione, I--"

She cut him off. "We should just go back, Harry, it's getting late," and turned to exit the area without looking back to see if he was following her. He trailed after her, confused and a little hurt, although he couldn't figure out exactly why.

***

Ron got out of the hospital a few days later, still bearing a white bandage across his forehead. However, he was excited when Hermione told him that there had been a small article about his accident in the Daily Prophet, and as interested as Harry and Hermione about what had happened with Lupin. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were at the hospital to oversee their son's release, but they did allow him to go back to the Leaky Cauldron for a meal with his friends as they Apparated back to the Burrow.

"It's a bit spooky, Harry," Ron said through a mouthful of potatoes, "that you haven't heard anything from Sirius or Lupin yet. When was the last time you talked to Sirius?"

Harry frowned. "Well, it's been a while, I suppose. But I trust Hedwig, and if Sirius is far away we may not hear anything for a couple of weeks. I'm not really worried about it yet." That was a lie.

Hermione said firmly, "We'll just keep searching through books to see if we can find anything to help if Lupin ends up going to court. Other than that, there's nothing we can do but wait." She glanced back and forth between the boys across the table from her. "Actually, though, I have to get home. I've barely spent any time with my parents at all this summer, after being at Viktor's all of June and then coming here...I stayed longer than I said I would here, too."

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his chest when he realized that he would have to go back to the Dursleys. Although he could technically afford to stay in the Leaky Cauldron the rest of the summer, he didn't want to run out of money before his time at Hogwarts was up, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was safe to wander around Diagon Alley alone. The only reason the Weasleys had allowed Ron to accompany Harry here was because they'd placed very costly Tracking Charms on both of them. Harry felt a little guilty, thinking about it, but they had insisted, and it seemed logical.

"I should get to the train station," Harry said heavily. He could feel both of his friends' eyes on him, pityingly, but he pushed his chair back and went up the stairs to get his luggage from his room.

Ron and Hermione were waiting downstairs by the fireplace when he returned. "My mum and dad'll come get you about a week before term starts," Ron told Harry cheerfully. "We'll come here to do our shopping, and you can stay with us for a while."

Harry's spirits brightened slightly at this, but it still meant that he had several weeks to endure with the Dursleys. He watched as Ron and Hermione exited via the fireplace, and, shoulders slumped, entered the Muggle side of London and went to sit by himself on a bench in the train station.

***

Harry's remaining time with the Dursleys passed uneventfully, unless you counted Dudley accidentally-on-purpose pushing Harry out a second-story window, from which he fell into a rosebush. In a way, it was fortunate that he hadn't landed on a pile of rocks, since the Dursleys wouldn't pay to have his shattered bones put back together. However, he did have a startling amount of scrapes and scratches all over his body, none of which were life-threatening; but still not exactly his preferred physical condition.

There was still no sign of Hedwig. Some nights, when Harry had finished working on the essays assigned to students over break, he would simply sit at the window and let his eyes search the vast sky, hoping that his white owl would soon reappear. While Hedwig was gone, not only was he nervous about the lack of news from Sirius, but he had no way to get in to contact with his friends.

One evening, he got his hopes up when he could clearly see an owl carrying something approaching his window, but it was just a hired owl with Harry's birthday present from Hermione. Ron had given him his present the day they'd arrived in Diagon Alley, tickets to a Chudley Cannons match over winter holiday, and consequently didn't send Pigwidgeon out for Harry's birthday. Hermione's package contained a very interesting book, Quidditch: Tips on how to go from Amateur to Professional, and a note that said she hoped he'd like it and that she'd see him when school reconvened. The book entertained him, but since all his wizarding money was in Gringotts, he couldn't send a note back with the owl.

Harry felt as if he'd never been so happy to see Pigwidgeon when the tiny, hyper bird finally arrived in late August with a note from Ron.

Harry--How are the Dursleys? Is Dudley still a fat cow? Hope things haven't been too horrible. Anyway, we'll be going to Diagon Alley Thursday, and hopefully you can meet us there--Mum and Dad say you can stay with us until school starts next week. Send Pig back with your response.--Ron

Harry exhaled, feeling himself relax. Finally, finally, finally--he was almost done with the Dursleys for another year. Quickly, he pulled out his quill and composed a note to Ron, though Pigwidgeon was still greedily sucking down water from Hedwig's cage.

Ron--I'll be there Thursday. Meet me in front of Madam Malkin's at two o'clock? I'm sure I've got to get new robes, since I've grown so much

lately.

Hedwig still hasn't come back.

See you soon.--Harry

Harry folded the note up and tied a ribbon around it, then sat and watched Pigwidgeon as the owl dove in to Hedwig's food. Harry missed Hedwig--it seemed so quiet in his room since he'd come back from Diagon Alley without her. Yet again, he wondered where she could be, or if she'd found Sirius yet, or if something had happened to her.

He watched a little wistfully as Pigwidgeon soared off into the night, but reminded himself that he'd soon be with the Weasleys and Hermione again, and then school would start, and Hedwig had to come back sometime soon. She just had to.

***

Viktor had come to visit for one last time before he and Hermione both had to go off to school, and Hermione wanted to make their last night together for a long time special. She dressed simply, in a white cotton sundress that accented her dark hair, and left her curls down. Her parents, as a surprise, had announced they were going out to dinner and a movie that night, leaving Hermione and Viktor alone in the house. She had pulled the kitchen table out on to her deck that night, and with it two wicker chairs. The evening was cool for August, so Hermione slipped on silver earrings and sandals and went to meet Viktor.

Feeling her heartbeat accelerate, Hermione smoothed her hair down one last time and entered her kitchen to find Viktor pressing the buttons on her microwave.

"Vat does this do?" he asked curiously, watching the light turn on and the platter in the center spin around.

Hermione smiled, bemused. "It's called a microwave. It reheats food for you. You can watch--it's how I'm going to cook our dinner: I made it before and just need to warm it up now."

He did watch, highly entertained, as she put their dinner on a plate and slid it smoothly into the microwave. Then she served them both sparkling cider and directed him out on to the deck, where they sat and looked at the sky as the sun began to set, leaving crimson streaks like welling blood through the few clouds.

Hermione stood up and wandered over to the deck railing, leaning against it and tilting her head back better to see the sunset. Viktor came to stand next to her, a warm and comforting presence. "Herm-own-ninny..." he began, and trailed off.

"Wha--"

And then he was kissing her. She stiffened at first from the unexpected embrace, but then closed her eyes and tried to let herself just flow with it and not think too much. Their noses bumped, and she could taste spices and night air in his mouth, but she didn't feel anything inside. She pulled away.

He smiled sadly at her, but his cheeks were flushed. "I am sorry. I should have asked first."

"Viktor," Hermione said, her mind racing for something to say. But there was very little. "I...I like you, but not like that. I don't want it to be complicated. And you...we'd never be able to see each other during the year."

"I know."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "We can probably eat now," she said, and gently tugged him by his wrist to the table. Going back inside to get the food, she realized that she was trembling and stopped momentarily to steady herself. Kissing, in principle, was wonderful, but she knew in her heart it was wrong to be kissing one person and picturing another.

***

Ron jerked upright in the middle of the night, hitting his head on a lamp that extended over his bed. "Oww," he gasped, and it took him a terrified moment to remember where he was. He was shivering, and he could see in the pale half-light of the moon from the window that his fingernails were blue. Something--he tried to grasp a shard of the nightmare he'd awoken from--but it was already fading.

Upon closer inspection of his hands he saw something else--five half-moon imprints from where he'd squeezed his fist together too hard.

This was the third time he'd woken up from a dream he couldn't remember, and it was beginning to put him on edge. He was now wide awake in his hospital bed, although he knew that the next day he'd feel as if he hadn't slept at all. He desperately wanted to tell someone, but his parents had enough to deal with in Ginny and all her problems, and Krum was visiting Hermione, and Harry was at the Dursleys. Besides, he didn't want to just send a note, he wanted to see the reaction when he finally did tell someone.

But what was there to tell, anyway? He was having dreams he was sure were bad, but couldn't remember them? He felt that in his subconscious, he recognized the things involved in his nightmares, but try as he might, he couldn't recall them. And he wasn't sure how that was going to change.

Besides, it seemed weak. This was different from Harry's scar hurting--this wasn't great evil in the world, or premonition of events that would be life-changing to anyone. It was just Ron, a red-haired fifteen-year-old boy, waking up to nightmares he couldn't remember.

With a sigh, Ron decided to put it behind him until things got any worse. It isn't like this could ever matter, he told himself.

Later, he would remember this night, and how very wrong he was.

***

Harry felt very pleased with himself that he had finally acquired the long-desired habit of completely tuning out the Dursleys. They had begun to think that he was developmentally slow, even more so than they'd previously believed, but he didn't really care. Harry stared out the window and wondered where Hedwig was while Mr. Dursley blathered along the ride to the train station.

He stared out the window the entire train ride, too, hardly noticing when his stop came and it was time to get off. Absently he picked up his luggage, and Hedwig's conspicuously empty cage, and climbed down the train stairs. Entering Diagon Alley was a relief--his hair was messy enough that his scar was hidden, and fewer people stared at him than had in the train station.

"Harry!" It was, blissfully, Hermione and Ron, Hermione throwing her arms around his neck and Ron slapping him on the back in a greeting. Harry laughed, for the first time in weeks, and felt himself relax. He would be with Ron and Hermione for the entire rest of the year.

The rest of the Weasley clan followed quickly behind, and Harry was enveloped in a sea of red hair, freckles, and hugs. Mrs. Weasley even kissed the top of his head when he bent down to receive her hug, and Harry felt himself turn bright red. Still, he had to admit it was nice to have a motherly adult who cared about him--every once in a while.

Ginny was there, too, looking pale but much more serene than when Harry had seen her weeks before. "Hello, Ginny," Harry said a little shyly, and shook her hand. Bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks, but she didn't run away as she would have done when she was younger, and simply replied with, "Hey, Harry."

All the Weasleys seemed to be talking at once, along with Hermione, and Harry had to fight mentally to sort out the confusion. It seemed that Percy had gotten a promotion, and his head was so swelled that, according to George, "It'll explode any day now, and spatter small bits of ego all over the house." Hermione was a fifth-year prefect; this came as no surprise to anyone. Ron had been to see Oliver Wood in a Quidditch game, and had been to visit the locker room and talk to the other players. It seemed that they all had purchased Alfred Augur's Magic Broom Wax, and Harry just had to try it, because it made them all go noticeably faster. Fred muttered to Harry in an undertone, "We've been using your money to bargain for a lot in Hogsmeade. Hope to start running our own joke store as soon as we finish with school this year."

Harry grinned, in spite of his worries about Hedwig and Sirius, because on this bright, sunny day in Diagon Alley, it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.

That was when he spotted Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco smiled ruthlessly when he saw Potter and his gang approach across the square. It was his perfect opportunity to start fooling them all. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants; it was rare that Draco was nervous, but he was taking something of a risk.

"Potter." Draco strode towards him, looking hopeful, a hand outstretched in greeting. "How's your summer been?"

There was a flash of confusion in Harry's green eyes, but he recovered quickly. "Peachy. Yours?" Harry didn't move to take Draco's hand, and although Draco had expected this, he still tried to look disappointed as he reluctantly retracted it.

"Pretty decent," Draco replied smoothly. "I hope this school year'll be a good one."

Harry simply stared at him, brows furrowed and green eyes confused. "Draco...have you got a drug addiction or something?"

Draco gritted his teeth in annoyance, but didn't outwardly show anything except a muscle twitching in his jaw. "No, Harry, I haven't. In fact, I'd like to make peace with you--we've fought enough over the years. We're both good, competitive Quidditch players. Let's just make it a friendly rivalry."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all blanched at Draco's use of Harry's given name. Their jaws dropped as they watched, possibly for the first time in recorded history, Draco Malfoy smile without smirking. It had seemed a biological impossibility.

Harry was quick on his feet. "Sure," he said, and shook Draco's hand. "Friendly rivalry. Great."

Draco looked relieved, if still a little apprehensive. "See you around school, then. I'll look forward to facing you on the Quidditch pitch, and we'll both try to play clean." He walked off then, silver-blond head held high, as Harry, Hermione and six Weasleys trailed their eyes after him, looking as surprised as if they'd just been told that wands were not, actually, necessary for magic, only pointy little sticks that wizards carried around for fun.

"What," said Hermione, finally breaking the silence, "was that?"

"I don't know," said Ron, sounding awed. "Was that really Malfoy? If it was, did somebody slip something in his regular drugs? I want some of whatever that was."

"Ron!" Molly Weasley chided. The group of eight had been standing in the middle of the street for quite some time with identical stricken expressions, and passersby that had to walk around the were beginning to get annoyed. Mr. Weasley finally roused himself and moved the huddle of people to a place that was more out of the way.

"Now," Mrs. Weasley said primly, "none of us are going to get any shopping done by just standing here. We've got a day to get everything for everyone, and I think we're going to have to split up in to groups. Arthur, take Fred and George, because they'll need more because they're seventh years; Ginny can come with me, and Ron can go with Harry and Hermione. Wait!" she cautioned just as everyone was poised to scatter, "Meet back here at six o'clock, all right? Don't be late! Right here on this street corner!"

***

Ginny hated being dragged around Diagon Alley by her mother. She wished she could create her own timetable, instead of rushing from store to store, and that Mrs. Weasley would stop sharing every last detail with everyone they ran in to.

"This is my daughter Ginny, you know," she told the clerk at Flourish and Blotts. "She's going to be a fourth year at Hogwarts. In Gryffindor. All seven of our children have been Gryffindors."

Ginny distracted herself from her mother's mindless chatter by thinking about the collection of roses on her desk at home. She had received one, always accompanied by a four-line poem, every day for the rest of the summer. She saved all of them, excepting the first, of course, and not a single had dried and crumbled, or even wilted in the slightest. Dewdrops still clung to their fragile petals as though they'd just come from a garden, even though some of them were weeks old.

She still couldn't understand why someone would go to all that trouble for her. She felt as if she'd gone over all the possibilities in her head as to who it could be--and found no motives or clues for anyone.

Ginny had allowed her mother to lead her around blindly, visiting Flourish and Blotts for new books and then Madam Malkin's to lengthen the hems on Ginny's everyday robes, which had grown too short for her. Immersed in her thoughts, Ginny was surprised to end up in front of a place she'd never seen before. The sign in front read: Andrew Goodman, P.h.D. from the London University of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"What's this?" Ginny asked her mother, frowning. "Why are we here? Do you know this man?"

"Let's go inside, dear," Molly Weasley said, tugging Ginny along by the wrist. Ginny followed grudgingly, still wondering what was going to take place.

"My daughter, Virginia Weasley, has an appointment here," her mother said smoothly to the elderly receptionist. "Three o'clock, I believe?"

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, her voice raising an octave. "Why did you take me here? What's he going to do to me?"

"Calm yourself, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley whispered to her. "He's a doctor. He specializes in dream psychology, and he's just going to have a little chat with you."

"You can't possibly expect me to go along with this without even asking me first," Ginny said, utterly horrified. "Mum, I don't even..."

"You can have a seat right over there." The receptionist directed them toward an area of tables and chairs behind them. But Ginny didn't budge.

"I'm not going," Ginny said in a quiet, furious voice. "You can't make me go."

"Ginny!" her mother said reproachingly. "Let's not make a scene in public...just come sit down over here."

"No," Ginny said, and ran out of the building. She hit her wrist painfully on the doorframe as she dashed away.

***

Harry was still reeling from his encounter with Draco Malfoy as he, Hermione and Ron searched Flourish and Blotts for their new spellbooks. Well, Harry and Ron were getting schoolbooks, anyway; Hermione had purchased hers in July and was now immersed in a work entitled Training and Disciplining House Elves, frowning vigorously.

Ron staggered over towards Harry, carrying an enormous stack of books. "Here. I got two of everything. Take yours from me, preferably before I drop them all over the floor."

Smiling faintly now, Harry took half of the books from Ron's arms. He shuffled through them, seeing The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five and several new works covering the Dark Arts were among the required items.

Ron sighed, adjusting the remaining books in his grip. "I hate switching Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers every year. We have to get different books every time."

Hermione looked up from her reading. "Maybe we'll finally get a teacher that stays this year."

"Yeah," Ron said glumly. "One that isn't You-Know-Who, or a dunderhead, or a werewolf, or a Death Eater."

"There was nothing wrong with Lupin as a teacher," Hermione was quick to point out.

"That's not what I meant. He was a great teacher."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I wish he could still be our teacher."

"I wish he wasn't under suspicion from the Ministry for killing a human," Hermione inserted quietly. "I wish we knew what was going on with all that."

Harry's stomach tightened. "Hedwig still hasn't come back," he said, putting his books down next to Hermione and sitting on her other side.

Ron plopped down next to him, groaning as his schoolbooks slid off his lap and on to the carpeted floor. He bent to pick them up, and as he did, a note fell out of his shirt pocket. Harry picked it up off the floor, intending to give it back to Ron, but as he did, he glimpsed what was printed on the parchment: Dr. Andrew Goodman, Dream Specialist, 1356 12^th St., Diagon Alley.

"Ron, what's this?" Harry asked curiously, reading it aloud. "Why do you have the name of a dream specialist in your pocket?"

"Eurgh," said Ron, looking green as he snatched it back from Harry. Thankfully, he was saved from further replying as Ginny burst in the front door of Flourish and Blotts, colliding with an exiting customer.

"Sorry," she murmured, her face glowing, but she didn't stop to help the disgruntled wizard pick up his books. She spotted Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the corner and rushed over to them.

They'd all been watching her since she entered, because she'd made such a racket, but Ron stood up to approach her first. "Gin, now is not the time"-- he stopped and peered at her closely. "Are you all right? Is Mum all right?"

"Everything's fine," Ginny said in a small voice. There were tear tracks streaked down her face, and she wiped a hand across one cheek fiercely.

"Obviously not," Hermione said, but it was gentle, and she cleared a spot for Ginny next to her and patted the place where she should sit down. The younger girl did so, and to everyone's surprise, Hermione put her arms around Ginny and rubbed her back. Tenderness of any sort was so utterly un-Hermione that Ron and Harry were stunned to silence.

Harry felt supremely sorry for Ginny as he watched her shoulders shake in Hermione's embrace. Something had happened to upset her deeply, and although he couldn't imagine what it was, he pitied her, because she seemed so young and defenseless. If Harry had been a chivalrous sort of person, he would have offered her a handkerchief, but he didn't, in fact, actually carry one, the practice having gone out of habit in the younger generations of the wizarding and Muggle worlds years ago.

Hermione continued to comfort Ginny until she finally sat up and, wiping her face, began to apologize for interrupting them all.

"Don't," Hermione inserted gently, still patting one of Ginny's shoulders lightly. "We weren't doing anything important. Can you tell us what happened?"

"My mum," Ginny said quietly, looking at her shoes, "tried to take me to some doctor for crazy people. She said he analyzed dreams, but she didn't tell me about it until we got in the building, and she'd scheduled me an appointment." Ginny paused to wipe more tears away. "They...my parents...they're so stupid. They don't know anything, they don't know anything about me...they've never paid any attention until now..and they don't even know. They have no idea." She gave an embarrassed sort of combination between a laugh and a sob, and leaned back against the wall of books.

Ron was the first to speak. "Gin, I...had no idea. I mean..." Ron's strength was definitely not being comforting or sympathetic. He was looking at the floor, and a blush was creeping up his neck. "Can I buy you an ice cream or something?" he finished up lamely.

Ginny laughed again, and rubbed her fingers over her face, attempting to look normal once again. "Ice cream would be good," she said, and gave a tiny smile.

Ron looked relieved. "Ice cream it is, then," he said, and stood up to take his schoolbooks to the cash register. Harry offered Ron his books, too, and a handful of Galleons, and Hermione went to purchase her book about the house-elves.

Harry, too, was uncomfortable with people who were upset. "Ginny," he said finally, "I like your...hair, all curly like that. It's pretty."

She looked up at him, her eyes still red and swollen from crying. "Thank you," she said, and watching the way she relaxed a little bit more made Harry feel as if his opinion of her hair actually mattered to her, and by complimenting it, he had made all the difference in her world.

***

It took Remus Lupin much longer than normal to transform back in to a human. Over a month, in fact. Sirius Black, puttering around the shack he'd been living out of for the past year, grew more worried by the day as Remus' werewolf body rested in the corner. Remus had never been a werewolf for this long before, to Sirius' knowledge, and it was a laborious job to give a potion daily to a sleeping werewolf.

But finally, one day in late August, Remus Lupin returned to his human form, licking his dry lips and feeling more exhausted than he'd ever been in his entire life. Sirius quickly gave him water, and watched as Remus, with shaking fingers, fed himself real human food, a chicken dumpling and potatoes. Helping Remus to an actual bed was a difficult task, but Sirius managed to support his friend, who had lost a considerable amount of weight, in getting to a separate room with a bed.

They were quiet as Sirius pulled out blankets, spreading them out over Remus, and then sat himself on the end of the bed. Finally, Sirius spoke. "Moony," he said, fingering the fraying stitching on an old quilt, "what the devil's happened to you?"