Raised to the Third Power

Harry struggled through his next several days of class. Awakening in Sirius' room had been much less awkward than it could have been, and Harry had felt more blissfully exhausted than frightened or embarrassed. He still had trouble convincing himself that any of his schoolwork mattered; but he had a great deal of practice dealing with lessons and exams all day and life-and-death situations in his free time. He had, after all, been doing so since his first year.

After a dismal— even for Harry— performance in Potions, Sirius called his godson aside.

"You seem to be distracted," Sirius said unnecessarily.

"I wonder why."

"I'm sure you have some experience studying while distracted."

Harry sighed. "I was just thinking that myself," he admitted. "I'm not going to get any OWLS at this rate."

"You don't learn the material for the OWLS the month before you take them, anyway."

"Then why are we getting drilled in every class?"

"So you can pick up a few points if you happen to be on the margin."

"Hardly seems worth it."

It was Sirius' turn to shrug. "I didn't invent the system."

"I'll try to do better."

"I'm not arguing that you aren't trying. I'm suggesting that you need a break."

"I'm sure that suggestion will go over well the rest of the professors. And Dumbledore."

"You may have noticed that the Easter holiday starts the day after tomorrow."

Harry looked at Sirius, startled. He had not in fact noticed. Easter had been the farthest thing from his mind. His brief delight at the thought of the holiday melted away quickly, however. "I'm just going to have to use the time for extra homework."

"The professors have been specifically asked to refrain from giving you extra holiday homework. More and more students are showing the strain of the castle's being under siege. Besides, you're used to four or five evenings of Quidditch practice a week, and you don't have that now."

Harry made a face. The Quidditch Cup had necessarily been cancelled when the students had been forbidden to leave the castle. It was a terrible shame, because five of Gryffindor's starters would be graduating that year and would not have another chance to win the Cup. Next year, assuming the world had not ended by then, Gryffindor's team would be terribly inexperienced. Do we need Seamus more as a beater or as a chaser? he wondered for the umpteenth time before returning his attention to Sirius.

"Harry?" Sirius was asking. "What are you thinking about?"

"Quidditch."

Sirius laughed his most beautiful, genuine laugh. "Understandable. But for a moment I'd like you to think about Easter."

"What about it?"

"Would you like to leave the castle? Another trip to the Muggle world, perhaps?"

"We're being allowed out of the castle?" asked Harry, stunned.

"Dumbledore is advising against it, but if parents insist that their children come home for Easter holidays, he can hardly refuse." Sirius neglected to mention that he was not in the mood to cater to Dumbledore's desires just now in any case. He had swallowed his own anger at Dumbledore's behavior toward Harry because he did not want Harry to become further distraught or disillusioned, but he was furious with the esteemed headmaster all the same. Harry was more than a weapon in the arsenal Dumbledore had been forced to build against Voldemort. He was more than a magical prodigy and more than a figurehead. He was a person.

Harry, for his part, was alight with happiness at the prospect of taking a break from Hogwarts and the associations it had recently begun to hold for him. He was reasonably sure that his, Ron's, and Hermione's impromptu visit to the Dark Lord had been the only incident of students leaving the castle since the siege had begun.

"I take it you think it's safe?" he asked Sirius.

"If we're careful. Voldemort has taken some hard hits in the past few weeks. His snake minions are gone. You've drained some of his power and turned his wand into a finicky mess. Pettigrew is dead, not that I imagine he was of overly much help. He's lost his werewolf attack force. We've captured almost two dozen supporters."

Harry's grin widened, but then became wan. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Ron and Hermione—they've always made a point of staying here over holidays, just for me. It wouldn't be fair for me to leave on an adventure now."

Sirius favored Harry with a mock-insulted glance. "You think I'd leave Ron and Hermione behind?"

"Really?"

"Really. I've already used my considerable masculine charms on Ron's mother, and she agreed to allow Ron to accompany us."

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "Masculine charms?" he inquired as he fell into a recently vacated seat, still laughing.

Sirius tried, and failed, to keep the amusement from his voice. "All right, but she did agree, and her agreeing was enough for the dentists Granger."

"That's great!"

"You like the idea, then?"

"I love it! I'm going to— can I go tell them?"

"Go."

Harry bounded from the room delightedly. He scrambled up several flights of stairs, and, nearly breathless, at last caught sight of Ron's bright head just in front of him. He rushed up behind his friend and clapped him on the back.

"Guess what?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "It must be good."

"I think it is."

"You're running so fast you look like you're about to die, and you're grinning like an idiot, but you aren't sure whether or not it's good?"

Harry considered. "Yes," he decided.

"Well?"

"Would you like to come spend Easter in the Muggle world?"

"You have to ask?" A grin that mirrored Harry's split Ron's face. "But with who? Your aunt and uncle?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not. With Sirius."

"Sirius isn't a Muggle."

"Neither are you," Harry pointed out.

"Or you. But I could see how people could make the mistake with you," Ron retorted.

Harry ignored the friendly gratuitous insult. "Sirius already talked to your parents, and Hermione's. And Dumbledore isn't happy, but he has to let us go. So it's all set! Where is Hermione, anyway?"

Ron shrugged. "Didn't feel like waiting around for you and went back to the Common Room. You see who your real friend is."

"I didn't notice you waiting for me, either."

"I did! I waited for you forever. Or at least for five minutes," Ron protested.

Harry rolled his eyes. By now, Harry and Ron had reached the gateway to their Common Room.

"Kangaroo," they said to the Fat Lady, and she allowed them entrance.

The Common Room was surprisingly uncrowded. Hermione and Ginny were curled up together on a couch with a book open between them. Harry and Ron grabbed a pair of armchairs and pulled them around to face the couch.

"Leave, Ginny," Ron demanded more out of habit than any real desire to be rid of his sister.

"That's nice," said Ginny characteristically and sarcastically.

"Ron, what makes you think I'd rather talk to you than to Ginny?" Hermione asked rather sharply at the same time.

"You will, when you know what we want to say."

"Well maybe—"

Harry, not in the mood to wait for Ron and Hermione's spat to play itself out, interrupted. "Ginny, stay if you want. Ron and Hermione, be quiet."

Ron opened his mouth again.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said conversationally. "Hermione, Sirius wants to take Ron and you and me on a trip for Easter. Your parents say it's okay. Dumbledore says it's okay. What do you say?"

Hermione smiled brightly, but she cautiously asked if it would be safe. "I mean, Harry, we aren't allowed to go outside right now. The last two times any of us has been outside, we've been attacked by Death Eaters. It's especially dangerous for you—"

"And you know how fond Sirius is of letting Harry do things he thinks are dangerous, the hypocrite," Ron broke in.

"Ron! Sirius risked his life for Harry every day during the Triwizard—"

Ginny, in her turn, interrupted Hermione. "Just say you'll go," she encouraged Hermione. "It sounds like you'll have loads of fun," she added almost wistfully.

"I'm sure it's okay if you come, too," Harry said instantly. "Sirius won't care, and your Mum already said Ron could go."

"Come," agreed Hermione. "Don't leave me alone with all this testosterone."

Ginny shook her head. "I promised my roommates I was staying. We're going to have a party, too, and it took them so long to be comfortable including me in things after my first year . . ." She trailed off uncomfortably, but recovered herself quickly. "And there might be a little problem with those girls from Ravenclaw. I should be around for that."

"Why might there be a little problem with girls from Ravenclaw?" asked Ron, sounding intrigued by his sister's social life in spite of himself.

"Oh. Well, you know Frances McCourt?"

"I know the name."

"She's in Ginny's year," filled in Harry. "Blonde hair down to here." He gestured at his hip. "Ravenclaw. Plays chaser."

"She scored on you in that match last fall," Ginny added.

Ron's hackles rose. "They were—"

"Listen to me," Ginny continued. "She saw me in the Great Hall, and we started talking about Quidditch, and she bragged about scoring on you. I said that they could take an all-star team from everyone who ever graduated from Ravenclaw and it wouldn't beat a team of my brothers and me. She disagreed rather violently, and some things got hexed." She shrugged helplessly. "I've lived with Fred and George for too long. It's an instinct. And Soleil was egging me on."

"A prank war with Ravenclaw?" asked Ron, looking amused, while Hermione looked disapproving. "Shouldn't be too dangerous. Not like it's Slytherin."

"Professor Lupin says that Ravenclaws just don't get caught," Ginny retorted.

"That's because he was almost a Ravenclaw himself," Harry said. "Sure you don't want to come?"

"Sure," said Ginny firmly. Harry marveled at this version of Ginny that did not blush and knock things over in his presence. He wondered when the change had occurred. Perhaps it was the result of long months of wondering if one of her brothers—Percy in particular had not endeared himself to Lord Voldemort—would be among the next list of dead printed by the Daily Prophet. To those with family members on the front lines of the war, even the owls that arrived with breakfast had become something to dread. Each student feared receiving a square of parchment bound with the Ministry seal and a length of black ribbon.

So Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone did their best to dress as Muggles (with more success in two cases than in the third) and went to meet Sirius as soon as their final pre-Easter class was complete. Sirius was waiting for them down the corridor from the entrance to their Common Room, clad in the leather jacket Harry had bought him for Christmas.

"I don't like to get too close to the Fat Lady," he confided when the three teenagers joined him. "I might have gone a bit overboard with the knife when she wouldn't let me in a few years ago."

Hermione briefly looked as if she might tell Sirius that he had indeed gone quite far overboard, but she closed her mouth without saying anything, and the small group made its way to a little-known side door. The other students who were leaving the castle for Easter would be leaving through the front gate; but, as always, special preparations had been made for Harry.

They traveled by portkey to Diagon Alley, and managed to slip into Muggle London without being recognized. Ron's eyes widened in shock.

"Wow," was all he could seem to think to say. He gawked wildly at the plethora of sights and sounds that composed Muggle London.

"Stop it, Ron!" hissed Hermione, grabbing her friend's arm! "You're going to look like a tourist!"

"So?" asked Ron, too intrigued by the world surrounding him to be drawn into an argument with Hermione. "Why are all the buildings so . . . square?" he asked. Several heads turned to look at him curiously.

"Muggles can't hold their buildings up with magic, can they?" asked Harry in a low tone of voice.

"I reckon not." Still staring up at a tall (and rather square, Harry had to admit to himself) building, Ron took a step into the street.

"RON!" Harry and Hermione shouted in unison. They leapt forward to pull their friend back from the path of an oncoming red double-decker bus full of tourists at least as awed by their surroundings as Ron.

Sirius, trailing behind the three, snickered softly. Harry caught the sound nonetheless and momentarily dropped out of step with his friends and into step with his godfather. "What?" he asked simply.

"Nothing. The three of you look like you're set to have a lot of fun."

"Aren't you planning on having fun?"

"I am having fun."

"Just baby-sitting us?"

Sirius nodded decisively. "Yes." Sirius could see that Harry looked unsure, but he had no intention of explaining himself fully just now. Harry had, for a few heartbeats, looked like an ordinary teenager, and Sirius would not have traded Harry's brief flirtation with normalcy for the world, much less for the chance to explain that Harry, Hermione, and Ron reminded Sirius so strongly of James, Remus and himself that it was almost sickening.

Almost, but not quite. No, the half-terror Sirius had felt upon first seeing Harry as a teenager— looking so like James— had abated as Harry had become his own person, rather than a vague conception, in Sirius' mind.

"You're certain?" Harry prodded.

Sirius took Harry by his shoulders and bore holes through the fantastically green eyes. "Yes!" he repeated in such a way that would have made many shrink back in fear but which only made Harry laugh. Sirius dropped his voice so that it was nearly lost amongst the noises of crowds and traffic. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"I've always wanted to do this with Ron. And Hermione," Harry said, sounding contemplative.

"But?" Sirius prompted.

Harry shrugged. "I've never done this before."

"It's no different from visiting Hogsmeade with them."

"It's a little bit different, since you're with us. It's almost like . . . having friends over. Like Dudley used to." Harry did his best not to think long and hard about Piers Polkiss and his cohorts. "And I know I'm being stupid, but I've never had friends over." He grinned embarrassedly. "I did the same thing when I rang Hermione last summer. I'd almost never touched a telephone before, and certainly not because I wanted to talk to someone. I almost hung up before she answered."

Sirius nodded. "It's not stupid, Harry. It's normal."

"It's stunted development." Harry began to wonder if he had gone too far by explaining this little anxiety to Sirius. Worrying over Voldemort was one thing; worrying over a holiday with Ron and Hermione was another.

Sirius, though, appeared unconcerned by his godson's newfound cowardly tendencies. "It's something that you haven't done. It's only natural to be nervous." He was careful not to tell Harry how closely he understood him. Each time he did some ordinary thing that he had not done during his long imprisonment (listening to the beat of raindrops on Remus' roof came to mind) he felt an irrational surge of panic. Were he to explain this to Harry, though, Harry would only be reminded that Sirius had spent most of his adult life in the torturous cells of Azkaban. "Anything else bothering you?"

"One thing."

"Well?"

"Is it really all right for us to have fun? When . . ." Harry drifted back to the conversation of a few nights earlier, "When people are dying? When the war isn't over? When is it all right to start having fun again?"

A grave look passed over Sirius' features. "You aren't at a funeral, or a hospital, or a memorial service, or a battlefield. You've been doing more than your share in this war and I'm sure that you'll continue to do so. I think you're doing a disservice to the martyrs if you try to dementor the joy out of everything. We're fighting for your chance to live, and I think you should live."

"HARRY!" An annoyed shout ended their conversation, which had been nearing conclusion anyway.

"Hermione?" Harry jogged up to his friends. "What's wrong?"

Hermione's dark eyes flashed. "Explain it to him." She pointed accusingly at Ron. "I can't."

Ron rolled his eyes. "She's just mad because she thought she was a Muggle for most of her life and she didn't notice half the stuff I've noticed in the last five minutes."

Harry grinned. "What in particular?"

Ron, already distracted, pointed at a public telephone. "Can't we call someone?"

"Of course." Harry dipped his hand into his pocket and came up with a handful of pence.

"Are they pence or pounds?"

"Pence."

"The paper ones are pounds?"

"And the bigger coins."

"Why would they make money out of paper? Can't the Muggles just copy it?"

"They don't teach transfiguration in Muggle schools," growled Hermione.

"This is one of the things Hermione isn't a good enough teacher to explain," said Ron, his voice full of mirth and mock-condescension. "Don't the Muggles have other ways of copying things? I know they have loads of books. Dad has a shelf of them. There are some in the Muggle studies section of the library at school, too."

"It's harder with money. Colors and holograms and the exact kind of paper are hard to reproduce exactly."

"Why do they call pence "p" when "pounds" starts with "p," too?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Come on, let's use the telephone."

"Who are you going to call?" asked Hermione dryly.

"The Dursleys?" suggested Ron with a bright grin.

Hermione looked disapproving. "What are you going to say? 'Do you have Prince Albert in a can?'"

"What?" asked Ron.

"Never mind," said Harry and Hermione in unison.

"I always explain wizarding things to you when you don't understand them," he said, sounding slightly hurt.

Hermione became appropriately guilty and explained the joke before they crowded into the booth together and let Ron dial the numbers of a series of restaurants and inquire as to their operating hours. Ron's enjoyment was contagious, and all three were still laughing happily when they arrived at the same flat to which Sirius had taken Harry the previous summer.

Sirius stayed in the background during the days that followed and Ron and Hermione nearly forgot that they had an escort at all. Harry was vividly aware of his godfather's presence, but he took Sirius at his word when Sirius said he wanted Harry to celebrate with his friends. It was an easy thing to be caught up in Ron's excitement and Hermione's pained attempts to keep order.

"I think we should go to the Tower of London," Hermione announced one morning.

"Is it educational?" asked Ron warily.

"What do you have against ever learning anything?"

"Why haven't you ever learned the difference between 'school' and 'holiday?'"

Hermione braced herself for a long argument, but suddenly her breath caught and she smirked. "We can ride the Underground. With the Muggles."

"That's true," agreed Harry. Ron fell silent and looked as if Christmas had come early. Harry turned to Hermione. "Why do you want to go? You must have been before."

"I have, but not since finding out I was a witch. I've read that the ravens they have there are actually magical and I want to see them again."

They promised Sirius, who as usual opted not to accompany them, to take no detours and to return directly. Ron gleefully fed coins to the ticket machines in the tube station and tickets to the gates near the platforms. Hermione gleefully stared at the ravens (and everything else) once they had arrived at the Tower. Harry gleefully basked in the knowledge that Sirius had been right, and that this trip with Ron and Hermione was not much different from a trip to Hogsmeade.

Harry was just reprimanding himself internally for letting his memories of his time with the Dursleys get the better of him, however briefly, when his anti-fantasies became real.

Just ahead of Harry, Ron, and Hermione atop the wall on which they had been walking was a sea of maroon and orange. Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" asked Ron and Hermione simultaneously.

"That class is from Smeltings," Harry explained, edging away from Ron and Hermione. "That's where my cousin goes. We must get more days off from class than they do."

No sooner had Harry spoken than a familiar large figure detached itself from the group.

"Hello, Harry. I didn't think they let you out of your school except for summer. Or did you get thrown out?" Dudley laughed nastily.

"We're on holiday," Harry explained.

"You came here on holiday? You're even weirder than I thought."

"You thought?" Harry could not resist returning. Childhood habits died hard.

"You've got different glasses," Dudley replied, ignoring Harry's insult. Harry was at first startled by Dudley's observation, but then recalled that some of Dudley's most treasured memories revolved around punching Harry on the nose and breaking his glasses. "Did you rob a bank?"

Harry smiled, and navigated himself and Dudley further away from Ron and Hermione. He lowered his voice. "I didn't have to," he whispered. "You know my father?"

"Your father was a drunk and an unemployed—"

"My father was rich." Harry took his gaze from Dudley for a fraction of a second to assure himself that Ron could not hear him. Ron was sensitive about all discussions of money— and so was Dudley, in an entirely different way. Dudley's jaw dropped as much as it could considering his many chins. "My father was really, really rich! I have a whole pile of gold in a vault in a wizard bank."

"You do not," said Dudley, but Harry had at last been able to one-up Dudley in one of the few things about which his cousin cared.

"I do," corrected Harry. He extended his left arm, on which he wore the watch Remus and Sirius had bought him for his birthday in July. "Does that look cheap? Do my clothes?"

Dudley stood blankly for long enough that one of his friends stepped closer to his side. It took Harry a moment to recognize Piers. Piers had been scrawny as a young boy, but he had grown in recent years. His face was still rat-like, though, and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Peter Pettigrew.

"Harry."

"Piers."

Piers stepped closer to Harry and moved into a stance obviously meant for fighting. Harry willed himself not to step backward, although he knew that he had no chance in a fight that did not involve magic. He especially had no chance in a fight in which he was attacked by both Piers and Dudley. "Dudley's my best friend. What do you think of that?" Piers asked threateningly.

Before Harry could reply, another voice cut in. "Harry's my best friend. What do you think of that?" Ron had closed the distance that Harry had opened between them. He was at least a head taller than Piers, and his sometimes-lanky body had been made muscular by the Quidditch training that had continued even after the cancellation of the contest. Piers gulped visibly, and Ron let his gaze wander to Dudley. "Hey, Dudley. Had any toffee lately?" He grinned so maniacally that no one could have missed his resemblance to his brothers Fred and George. Now Dudley looked nervous, too, and when a chaperone began to herd the Smeltings students back the way they had come, Dudley and Piers hastened to join the group.

Never before in Harry's memory had Dudley and Piers been so anxious to obey an instruction.

Never before in Harry's memory had someone been fighting beside him when Dudley and Piers had attacked. Oh, Hagrid had hexed Dudley; and the twins had fed him ton-tongue toffee; and Sirius had frightened him; but those had been magical situations. Standing with Dudley and Piers, Harry had been mentally transported to his pre-Hogwarts education until Ron had stepped in. Harry's *my* best friend. Those were very, very nice words.

Harry was saved from deciding what to say to Ron by Hermione's "prefect" voice. "Harry? Ron? Were you really going to fight them? Without magic?"

"You'd rather we used magic?" asked Harry and Ron together.

Hermione tossed her curly hair and turned away. Grinning at each other, Harry and Ron followed. The rest of the day was uneventful.

******************************

Harry, Ron and Hermione spent their last afternoon before returning to Hogwarts sprawled lazily in front of a television. Ron had never seen any Muggle shows; in fact, Ron barely knew what television was. Thus, the red-haired boy was rather fascinated and had little desire to tear himself away from the glowing box to do anything else even though they were within walking distance of a multitude of less passive entertaining experiences.

Harry had been exposed to a great deal of television at a very young age because it had been Dudley's fondest way of spending time, but never before had he had any kind of possession of the remote control or permission to comment on the programs as they aired. He had often lamented that his formative years had been spent in such a way. However, now that he could answer all of Ron's questions about every show they came across, he did not feel that his time had been entirely wasted.

Harry stole a fond glance at Ron. Ron was his first and best friend. He had had no friends before coming to Hogwarts, but Ron had certainly been worth the wait. An odd feeling flooded through Harry, almost like the feeling that had flooded him when he and Ron had successfully cast a Loyalty Oath months earlier. Ron turned his head quickly.

"Why are you looking at me?"

Harry heard Hermione giggle, but he ignored her. "Are you sure this is what you want to do today? There's nowhere else you want to go?"

"Not really. I've never seen this before. D'you want to go somewhere?"

"No, but I grew up like a Muggle. I want you to do what you want to do while we're here." Because you might not get another chance, ever added a nasty voice inside Harry's head. Harry told the nasty voice to be quiet and reminded it that he was taking a break from worrying about the war.

Ron shrugged. "I'm happy if you are. And Hermione. Can you handle this, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded. She was still giving Harry and Ron an odd look, like the one she had given them just before bursting into tears and running away after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron returned his attention to the television and began rapidly changing the channels.

"What kind of accent is that supposed to be?" he asked, pointing at the offending screen.

"English," Harry answered.

"This is an American show."

"Yeah. British actors can't do American accents, either, if that makes you feel better."

"Why do people watch this?"

Harry shrugged. "My Aunt Petunia likes this one. Look, that's Penelope. She's the long-lost quadruplet of Susan and Mary and Thomas. That's Susan she's talking to. Susan is an exact look-alike of Kristen, who stole Susan's son and convinced John that it's their son, and she needs Penelope to help her get the baby back. If John finds out that the baby is Susan's and not Kristen's, he'll leave Kristen and marry Marlena. Marlena's the one he really loves. See, he had amnesia and Marlena was his therapist, and she found a file that said he was her husband, Roman. She thought Roman was killed by their arch-enemy Stefano— there's Stefano, he's also Kristen's adoptive father— but then she thought he'd only brainwashed Roman and given him plastic surgery to look like that, so John-as-Roman raised Roman and Marlena's children, even after Stefano faked Marlena's death, too. That was when John proposed to Isabella. Then Marlena came back from the dead, and then Roman came back from the dead and John found out that he wasn't Roman. So John married Isabella and Marlena went back to Roman, but then Isabella died and Marlena had an affair with John, so Roman left her and she wound up getting possessed by the devil. John felt too guilty to have anything to do with Marlena, so he got involved with Kristen, but when Tony— he was Kristen's adoptive brother and her husband— framed John for his own murder, John decided he still wanted Marlena. See?"

Ron nodded and did not remove his eyes from the screen.

Hermione looked at Harry. "You understand that you're sick, right?"

"It's Aunt Petunia's fault!" Harry protested indignantly.

"How can you keep all that straight but not remember the ingredients in the potions book?"

"This makes more sense. Anyway, I'm not thinking about school."

"We have to think about school soon."

"That's why I'm not thinking about it now."

"But—"

"No school, no war, no Voldemort."

"Say You-Know-Who," Ron corrected automatically, although with less passion than usual. "Who's that?"

"That's Sami. She's Roman and Marlena's daughter."

"But she was raised by John."

"Yes, but now she hates him for having an affair with Marlena. She also thinks he and Marlena like her sister Carrie better than they like her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, did you do your transfiguration homework before we left?"

"Yes. Why, want to copy?"

"NO!"

"It's not like it matters. We won't need it unless we win the war and live through it." It seemed that Harry's nasty internal voice had taken over his external voice when he hadn't been paying attention. He scowled at himself. Ron switched off the television and slowly turned to face Harry and Hermione.

"You don't believe that, do you? That we won't win? We wouldn't have been let out of the castle if we hadn't been doing well," Hermione protested.

"We didn't leave the castle fearlessly though the front door, did we?" Harry returned.

"These things don't happen overnight, but . . ." Hermione trailed off.

"We're doing pretty well, Harry," Ron took up.

"Pretty well might not be good enough. You read the Daily Prophet. Probably while we've been here having our vacation, more aurors and families have died."

"There's nothing we can do about that," Ron argued. "It's a . . . a war of attrition."

"It shouldn't be!" Harry responded vehemently. Both Hermione and Ron looked slightly taken aback. Their eyes met, and they turned comically similar worried gazes to Harry.

"What are you planning?" Ron asked at last.

Harry sighed. If he had gone this far, he had no choice but to go all the way. He could not let Ron think that he did not trust him when the exact opposite true. Time was quite possibly running out, like sands through an hourglass. "I have something to tell you."

"No kidding," said Ron sarcastically.

"Remember the night I didn't come back to the dormitory."

Ron briefly looked confused. "No . . . oh, about a week ago? I wouldn't have known. I was in the Hufflepuff dorm with Andrea—"

"RON!" protested Harry and Hermione together.

Ron grinned. "Yes. You stayed with Sirius. A ghost came and told us. We reckoned we'd better not ask if you didn't say."

Harry nodded. "I didn't want to come back to the dorm because I was upset. I went to talk to Dumbledore that day, remember? I thought it was just because of that hexing thing with the Slytherins, or because of the dream I had the night before. But I ended up asking him questions about myself. Why Vol— You-Know-Who wanted to kill me in the first place. He's never wanted me to know. I asked why he kept letting me confront You-Know-Who when most times he could have stopped me. Not last time, and not the time with Ginny and the diary, but the Goblet of Fire— he let that be fixed."

Ron instantly rose to the defense of his hero. "He has a lot to do, and there were spells on the Goblet-- remember the beards?"

Harry held up his hands. "That's what I thought, too, but Dumbledore basically admitted it. I think Sirius agrees with me. I think that's why he took us out of the castle for Easter even though he owes Dumbledore a lot and Dumbledore didn't want us to go."

This was new information to Hermione. "I thought you said it was all right with Dumbledore if we went."

"We have permission, but he still recommended against it."

"Go on," Ron encouraged. "What else?"

"Dumbledore said that when Wormtail-- when You-Know-Who took my blood, because it was my blood, it made him mortal to me. Not to anyone else." Harry was torn between annoyance and amusement when Ron and Hermione locked eyes and had a silent conversation as to who should say what next. "Ron, Hermione, I'm still here, you know."

"The killing curse is Dark Magic," Hermione said, not even bothering to avert her eyes from Ron to Harry. "If you're planning to go after him again, you don't know how to kill, and even if you did, you don't want to use the same methods that they do. The ends don't justify the means."

"These are special circumstances," Harry said, surprised at how calm he felt. His decision was made. He could not explain that the incident on the wall of the Tower of London had washed away the more minor confusions that had long plagued his mind, and that he suddenly felt more secure with the world and his role in it. He could not explain that Sirius was not at all at the level of the Death Eaters, and that Sirius had used the killing curse on Wormtail. (At least, Harry THOUGHT Sirius had used the killing curse; Sirius had not given him details. Perhaps, Harry thought, he should ask Sirius about that before he went after Voldemort.)

"Special circumstances?" asked Ron warily.

"Special circumstances," Harry repeated. "Without You-Know-Who, there is no war. Period. He's immortal, except to me. There's no way to contain him or stop him from getting back the power he's lost other than killing him. And killing him and ending the war will save more people than we can count. It's almost a black and white situation."

"Do you have a plan?" asked Hermione. Apparently she and Ron had decided to alternate questions during the silent conversation to which Harry had not been invited.

"The same thing as last time. Except this time I'll get kidnapped on purpose. They'll take me to You-Know-Who alive. He wants to kill me himself."

"And what if he does?" asked Ron, sounding rather like he was about to lose control of his temper.

"That's a risk I have to take."

"Did you ever think that the reason Dumbledore didn't want to tell you the whole truth is because he doesn't want you to do this? He wants to wait until you're older and you have a better chance of surviving?" This from Hermione.

"Is my surviving more important than someone else's surviving? Cedric Diggory, maybe?"

"It is to us," Ron blurted out. He instantly went to work beating down the flush that crept up his neck and ears. "I know that's selfish and . . ." he either did not know or did not want to say what else it was.

Hermione agreed. "You don't even know if you can defeat You-Know-Who, Harry. You probably only get one chance. And you probably want that chance to be a good one, later. AND, Ron's right. Your life isn't some worthless thing even if you do happen to be the symbol of the whole stupid war."

"You sound like Sirius."

"Does Sirius know about this?"

"Of course not!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry thought that he saw a calculating look briefly cross her face. He quickly decided, though, that he must have imagined it, because Hermione suddenly relaxed and changed the subject. "We still have some food left that we can't take back to school. Feel like doing some more Muggle cooking?"

Harry and Ron both agreed. Cooking had been another thing that Harry had not appreciated learning about while living with the Dursleys; but with Ron and Hermione, almost anything was fun. Ron, of course, was fascinated with this as with all things Muggle.

However, they had not been at their task very long when Harry leaned down and Hermione managed to dump a bottle of vinegar-- why there was vinegar in the cabinet at all was a mystery to the three-- over his head.

Harry straightened up angrily, but managed to calm down in the face of Hermione's nearly-tearful apology. "Why did you have that open, anyway?" he questioned as he tried to dry off his sopping wet shirt and hair with a nearby towel. His glasses, at least, had protected his eyes.

"I like the smell."

"The smell of vinegar?"

"She also likes arithmancy," Ron pointed out. Harry seemed to accept this as a reasonable explanation. "You're going to have to wash your hair," Ron added, gesturing toward the bathroom. Harry made a face and agreed. No sooner had the door been shut then Ron congratulated Hermione. "Good job."

"I wasn't too obvious?"

"You were very obvious, but that's fine. I mean, that time you slapped Malfoy-- that was obvious, and it was one of the best things anyone's ever done, ever," said Ron sincerely.

Hermione nearly blushed. Ron was never at a loss for words when he was insulting someone, but compliments came to him in an endearingly awkward sort of a way. Ron's opinion meant more to her than she cared to admit, as well; Ron's opinion meant more to her than the opinion of almost anyone else. "Do you think he knows?" she asked before the silence could lengthen. "Maybe he didn't notice."

"Because he's such a famous idiot?" Hermione glared. "No, I don't think he's picked up on it yet. He will soon enough, but by then we'll know what to do with him."

"What do you think we should do with him?" Hermione opted not to waste any more time.

"I dunno."

"That's not very helpful."

"What do you think, Miss Top-of-Every-Class?"

"I think we have three choices. First, we let him go and get himself killed."

"We can take that off the list."

"Second, we can try to stop him."

"That wasn't working very well before."

"We can physically hold him down."

"Permanently?"

"We can tell Sirius, or Professor Dumbledore."

"That would make things harder for him, but I think he'd still do it. You know how he gets when his mind is made up."

"Not like anyone else we know."

Ron straightened up regally. "No," he answered guilelessly.

"You're right, though, and he'd stop trusting us, too. That leaves the third choice."

"Which is?"

As if he doesn't already know, Hermione thought. "Which is, we go with him."

"He won't want that, either."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, not with Ron but with Harry. "I don't care. Do you?"

Ron grinned his brightest grin. "No."

The decision having been made, Hermione sighed and crossed to the other side of the room, where she sank down onto a bed. Ron followed her, and sat beside her. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," she admitted.

"But you're going to do it, anyway."

"Are you planning on stopping me?"

"I know better," Ron said firmly. Hermione smiled. "I also don't want to try to control the great prat all by myself. He's bound and determined to get himself killed." The smile melted off her face, and, for the umpteenth time that day, tears threatened to fill her eyes.

Ron, naturally, panicked. "Hermione? Wait. No. I didn't mean that. He'll be fine, he's always been fine. I won't let anything--"

"That's it, Ron. That's part of it."

"What's part of what?"

"You. I know you wouldn't let anything happen to Harry if you could possibly stop it. But I'm worried about *you* exactly as much as I'm worried about Harry. You're my friend, too."

"You-Know-Who isn't obsessed with me," Ron answered, trying desperately not to look as if Hermione's words meant as much to him as they in fact did.

"He might as well be! You're almost always there. Actually, I believe you've been in three fights with Death Eaters since this school year started, and he's only been in two! And yes, I'm scared for Harry. I can't remember a time when I wasn't scared for Harry. But I'm scared for you, too, Ron! The very first time Harry almost died, after he was baby that is, we had to get through that horrid giant chess set! Remember?" Her voice became a cruel mockery of Ron's. "'I've got to be taken! You've got to make some sacrifices! That leaves you free to checkmate the king!' I don't want to see you 'make a sacrifice' and let Harry 'checkmate the king' this time. I don't think any of us ought to be trying to checkmate the king." Hermione was crying now, and she didn't especially care.

Ron took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. "We have to try."

"I'm not arguing."

"For once."

Harry chose this moment to re-enter the room wearing clean clothes and with his hair still damp. He raised his eyebrows. "So this is why you wanted me out of the room," he said, raking his eyes over the scene before him. Ron and Hermione laughed, rather weakly in Hermione's case, and untangled themselves from one another.

"Sit down, Harry," Hermione commanded. Harry followed her instructions in silence.

"We have to talk," Ron added.

The tiniest edge of annoyance tempered by the deepest sort of affection entered Harry's voice. "Have I ever told you how much I love having conversations with the two of you when you've obviously rehearsed them beforehand?"

"I'm sure you love them just as much as we do," said Ron in much the same tone.

"Can I just say that the last time you did this you told me to stay away from Sirius and now we're all on holiday because he took us?"

"Obviously you can say that," Hermione returned dryly. "And we can say that if you go after You-Know-Who, so do we."

"No," said Harry.

"Yes," said Ron.

The mature conversation that Ron and Hermione had intended to have was disintegrating rather quickly.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"No."

"You think I'm going to fall for that, Ron? Who do I look like? Goyle?"

"Not since second year, no. Thank Merlin. But the fact remains that we are going with you."

Harry rose from his position on the bed and began to pace. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"For one thing, You-Know-Who wants to take me himself. The two of you he'll just kill." KILL THE SPARE! sounded painfully in Harry's head, and he quickened his pacing to dull the roar. "Kill the spare. That's what he said about Cedric." He continued on before Ron and Hermione could wonder what other details of the end of the Triwizard Tournament had eluded them. "And by the end of your conversation just now, you were talking pretty loudly, and I wasn't very far away. What Hermione said about the chess set . . ." He stopped pacing long enough for his eyes to bore holes into Ron's. "She's right. I don't want it to be some sort of twisted foreshadowing."

Ron shook his head numbly. "With all the things that have happened since then, I don't know why the two of you are so focused on that."

"You really don't know how bad it looked, do you?"

"It was even worse than the time Sirius broke your leg," Hermione added, sounding frightened, but Ron silenced her with a "whose-side-are-you-on?" glare.

"Trust me," Harry continued, not much feeling the loss of Hermione's support. "It was terrifying when that thing took you down. I've had even more dreams about you getting hit over the head by the queen than I've had about spare-killing. I don't ever want you 'making a sacrifice' again. LIFE is not CHESS!"

"How would you know?" asked Ron in a dangerously casual voice. "You're awful at chess. I mean, really bad."

"Be that as it may, I'll not have you come with me!"

Harry cringed at how much he sounded like Uncle Vernon.

Ron rose slowly from the bed and positioned himself inches from Harry.

Harry suddenly felt sorry for Piers Polkiss, who had faced Ron this way the previous day.

"You sanctimonious, full-of-yourself, obsessive PRAT!" Ron began, his voice rising in volume with each word. He reached out quickly, and his hands made contact with Harry's shoulders. Harry found himself forced back onto the bed. Ron loomed over him, eyes flashing dangerously. "You will stop trying to save the wizarding world all by yourself, or Hermione and I will go to Sirius, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and ABSOLUTELY ANYONE ELSE WHO WILL LISTEN and tell them what you told us today. We'll have bodyguards and escorts assigned to you. We'll have tracking charms put on you. Do you believe me?"

Harry did, and said as much. He began to apologize, thinking that perhaps he had been a bit sanctimonious, but Ron waved him off. "If it makes you feel better, Hermione and I are still here even though we were with you the last time you saw--"

"--I know--"

"--Voldemort."

Harry stared at Ron, who looked rather proud of himself. "What did you just say?"

"Do I have to say it again right away?"

"I didn't think I'd ever hear you say it."

"I didn't think I'd ever see him, and live to tell about it. He does look almost like a man."

"Almost," agreed Harry, and silence fell. "So we're actually going to do this," Harry said at last.

"It looks that way," Ron agreed.

Both boys now turned to Hermione. "Hermione? Are you sure about this?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure."

"You don't have to come," Harry continued, eyeing her critically.

"If you go, I go. Why wouldn't I?" Despite her comparatively subdued mood, her voice held a hint of warning.

"You're supposed to be the smart one and this is a really bad idea?" suggested Ron.

Hermione forced a laugh. "When has that stopped me before?"

Harry and Ron, their near-altercation forgotten, exchanged puzzled looks. "Something bothering you besides the obvious?" Harry asked Hermione at last.

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about the day the two of you cast Magnes. Well, you know I couldn't do it."

"There are loads of reasons why that could have happened," Harry began to argue right away. "We could have pronounced it wrong. Your magic might be too young-- technically, it should be. It was probably a freak when Ron and I did it. You might subconsciously think that it's a bad idea for us to do this at all, or just to do it when we're still in school." Hermione was looking rather shocked. "What? That's all true."

"You really did your homework."

"I like to make Remus happy and he was teaching that day."

"I can't imagine what would happen if you wanted to make the other professors happy, too, but that's not the point. Anything you said might be true, but I also might be some sort of liability for you."

"If that were true, we would have noticed by now."

"I suppose." Hermione still did not look happy. "Have you considered trying to cast Certus? The dueling spell?"

"The incantation for that one is awful," announced Ron.

"I think that it might be a good idea if you tried anyway."

They had little else to do until Sirius returned from Diagon Alley to escort them back to Hogwarts, and so they pulled their wands out of their bags and did their best to master the admittedly awful incantation. More attempts later than they bothered to count, though, Harry and Ron had not been able to cast the spell on one another.

"Listen," said Hermione, sounding exasperated. She placed her wand against Harry's chest in a long-suffering way and recited the words in her typical, flawless way.

Harry in turn drew his wand, but laid it against Hermione's chest instead of Ron's. Hermione began to protest, but she wanted to listen for further mistakes in Harry's pronunciation and kept quiet.

They brought their wands together.

The wands glowed.

Harry and Ron began to whoop with delight, and Hermione smiled more with relief than with victory.

"Try it on me," Ron demanded.

This time, the incantation failed; and in any case their work was interrupted by the entrance of an irate-looking Sirius Black.